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[the-secret-formulaone]

prompt: you and max have been secretly together for years. neither the fans or the media have a clue. what happens when you and max are neck and neck for the drivers championship and you get the unexpected news that you’re pregnant?

pairing: max verstappen x ferrari! reader

word count: ~7.6k

warnings: 18+, cursing, mentions of sex but no real smut, mentions of miscarriage, some mention of blood

a/n: hello, i'm brand new at writing fanfic for f1. i've had this idea for a while and it was eating at me so i hope you enjoy. i thought it would be cool to have it be like a normal fic with a bit of that social!au content that the fandom loves.

this is pt.1 of how everything is going down and then the next and final part will be what happens after, her pregnancy and what reader does this time around. along with some fan social media mayhem.

id love to hear your thoughts!

enjoy!

LAS VEGAS, USA | NOV 2024

The nausea settling in the pit of your stomach is unbearable, it gets worse with each lap you complete. You're confident you can push through and finish the race without throwing up in your helmet, until the track begins doubling and tripling.

You haven’t felt this dizzy since you crashed in Spa three years ago due to rain. There were no stakes then as you were having a bad race weekend and started P7. Today you’re P1 and the gap between you and Max is getting shorter as you slow to try and compensate for the nausea and dizziness.

You hear your team in your ear, asking you if the car's giving you trouble since there’s no apparent reason for you to be slowing down at this point. Especially with ten laps to go.

“The car is fine,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to relax your abdomen to keep the nausea at bay.

“Then what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Riccardo, your race engineer, asks. His tone is stern yet concerned.

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. My head feels like it’s spinning is all.” You're nonchalant but deep inside you’re panicking. This race means so much to you and your team. Now is not the time to get sick.

“Can you finish the race?” His filtered voice asks through the radio.

“Yes, I’m finishing the bloody race,” you curse, pressing on the gas pedal and tightening the hold on the steering wheel.

“If you continue feeling this way, box immediately,” he orders, not wanting to risk the safety of his driver, “By the way Max is 2 seconds behind you.”

“Fucking hell.” After all the work to create a 10 second gap Max is catching up because your body decided to get sick.

There’s rage building inside of you, keeping Max away is the most difficult part of racing. It took pure skill to keep him at a distance, he’s only catching up because you’re slowing. You're letting yourself down.

It’s been a battle of pole positions and fastest laps for you two. The championship is within your reach, threatening to break Max’s two year streak. It's why Max is giving everything he has to get ahead of you. If he wins this race he’ll be on top once more.

Another bout of nausea takes over your body, shivers running down your spine. Why are you nauseous and dizzy? You were hydrated before the race, the temperature in the car is warm as always but it’s cool outside, unlike Singapore, and you felt perfectly fine earlier.

It’s most likely karma for teasing Max this morning and leaving him with a raging hard on.

You notice Max in your peripheral vision. He’s ready to attack and regain P1. You accelerate and block him as best you can but nearing the turn you miscalculate giving Max the perfect opportunity to pass you.

He settles right in front of you, mocking how he got ahead so easily. If you didn’t love him and felt the bile coming up your throat you would’ve cursed at him. You were famously known for insulting the men driving the other cars.

At this point, you weren’t driving straight and your race engineer, Riccardo was telling you to pit and pull out of the race.

“I promise you I’m good enough to finish the race,” you say after a moment to swallow the bile coming up. You'd rather die than DNF'ing with a handful of laps to go.

“Norris is catching up. Let’s finish this race quickly so you can get checked.”

You’re glad you created a gap at the beginning of the race, otherwise Lando and Charles, your teammate, would’ve caught up already.

You see Lando trying to overtake you but you surprisingly block him and go as fast as you can. It’s not your best work and the FIA will have something to say about it but you make do.

Finally, down the final straight you press on the gas and cross the finish line. You finish the race out of pure muscle memory since you can’t rely on your distorted vision. Ignoring the celebratory cheers, you pull up on the spot marked #2. No one says anything about the askew parking job.

Your hands are clumsy, pulling out the steering wheel and standing. One of your teammates is right there giving you the hand you clearly need as you sway and almost fall straight out of the car.

Max is none the wiser, calmly getting out the RB and running over to his team who congratulate and scream his name. In his head, you lost control of your car, giving him a way to pass you. That's how F1 works.

You pull on your helmet and all the straps fast, the Ferrari team member helping you when he sees your urgency. As soon as you pull off your balaclava you bend over and empty the contents of your stomach.

Privacy be damned.

It’s not pretty. You’ve been holding this in for 20 laps and it’s not going to stop any time soon. The cameras focus on you as you push away the Ferrari team and finish throwing up. Ready hands catch you and you’re sat on a wheel chair as they roll you over to the medics. You close your eyes and throw your head back, everything around you spinning.

The murmurs of the crowd and the media cause Max to notice. He catches sight of you being wheeled away into the back. He takes a tentative step towards you, itching to be by your side but remembers the agreement you made to keep your relationship a secret.

Sometimes he hates how stubborn you are. At this point, the world should know you two are together, married even. Yet he understands your hesitancy with how cruel the media and the fans can be.

Max stays rooted on the spot, watchful eyes and dozens of lenses noticing every movement. Lando gets close to Max trying to avoid the cameras.

“What happened?” Lando asks referring to you.

“No idea, mate,” Max says, staring intently at the door you were just rolled through. A sleuth of Ferrari members following.

“She wasn't driving straight,” Lando shakes his head. He knew something was off when he caught up to her. “It was so unpredictable it made it harder on me to battle it.”

Max didn’t think much when he pulled up behind you but he did think it was strange how easy it was to overtake you. You always give him the hardest time.

He remembers this morning when you were in bed kissing him, touching him, teasing him. You were so cheeky, his length in your hand as you sweet talked him. 'Convincing' him to throw the race. Not like he’d ever do it. You were simply having your fun with him.

There wasn’t any sign of sickness then. It’s not like you spun out during the race either. You had been flawless out on the track until you weren’t.

“I'm going to check on her,” Max tells Lando, motioning with his head and wondering what exactly is wrong with his wife.

"Just wait," Lando stops him with a hand on his chest. They notice Charles in the Ferrari garage, heading to the back where they have you. "If you go, it'll stir up rumors."

Max tenses his jaw and looks away. With a roll of his eyes he turns to get weighed. He doesn't like it but Lando is right. He doesn't give a damn about his reputation only yours and the promise he made you.

f1_news tweeted: Ferrari’s Princess is transferred to hospital after race. It was heard through their radio she was having severe motion sickness, giving Max Verstappen the lead. Not many details are known as of this moment. More updates coming soon!

comments:

user2: hope she’s doing okay! she needs to come back to kick max's ass and take the championship from him 😮‍💨

user3: bet max is celebrating

-> user4: he looked very concerned when he saw her in the wheelchair

-> user14: who wouldn’t, she looked like death 💀

user4: did ya'll notice max disappear after the ceremony?

-> user5: lol he was making sure his favorite rival was okay 🤣

-> user101: no point in staying if he can’t rub it in her face 🤐

user6: our ferrari princess 👸 looked out of it. not sure how she made it out the car

user7: the podium felt so empty without her in it 😓

-> user8: did you notice max kept looking at the spot she was supposed to be as if expecting her to suddenly appear

-> user9: she’s like his best friend and his enemy wrapped in one. can’t live with her, can't live without her

-> user10: i swear he’s in love with her. 🗣️ it’s not normal the way he looks at her

-> user11: please, she’s married. you guys need to stop being delusional and stop shipping her with every guy on the grid

-> user10: not every guy, just max and maybe charles… -> user76: let's take a moment to appreciate charles immediately asking about her and leaving the track to see how she was. it's a win for us predestined x princess shippers

In the hospital, they quickly take you into a private room. The nurses retake your vitals and give you a shot to help with the nausea. A doctor comes in relatively quickly, asking you an array of questions to help him figure out why you got sick.

"The nurse should be in quickly to draw blood. I'm not too worried about this being anything other than a virus but we just want to make sure you're all good before leaving."

"Thank you, doc," you respond, lying back on the bed. They've given you one of the flimsiest hospital gowns in existence but you've gotta admit it's more comfortable than your race suit.

It's awfully lonely in the hospital room but it gives you time to relax and wind down. Fred and Riccardo were extremely concerned for your well being- not related at all to the fact you're on the run to win the championship-forcing you to go into the hospital.

Their stressed energy, the ambulance ride and then the nurses fussing over you was overwhelming. It would've made your nausea worse had it not been for the shot.

You're snoozing off when the door opens and your husband walks in. Max has a backpack slung over his shoulder with a set of clothes for you, along with your phone and other personal belongings you left at the paddock. He hurries over to you, dropping the bag and wrapping his arms around you.

"I was so worried, schatje," Max says in your ear, kissing your temple. The softness of his hoodie and the familiar scent he carries is comforting.

"I'm okay. You should keep your distance though, doc says I have a virus," you tell him, slightly pushing him away.

He’s stubborn as he keeps hold of your hand. "I don't care if I get sick. We've got two weeks until the next race, plenty of time for me to get better." Max sits on the chair next to your bed, asking you what happened during today’s race and listening to every word you say.

"What did they do for podium?" You later ask curiously, turning on your side to get more comfortable. Max props his head on his hand as he leans on your bed, getting closer to you despite your protests.

"Riccardo was there to accept it," Max tells you, kissing the back of your hand. He had been really worried. A part of him kept checking his surroundings for any sign of you.

It’s days like today where he wishes your relationship wasn’t secret. Max wants to express how worried he was about his girlfriend wife. He wanted to say ‘fuck you’ to all protocol and go after you.

He understands your reluctance and the need for privacy in your personal life. He knows what it’s like to have his privacy invaded and Max agrees that good things have come out of keeping your relationship a secret but you’ve also had to miss out on others. One day, you’ll have to come clean to the public to be able to live your life to the fullest.

The doctor returns before he can vocalize this. He knocks on the door as he steps into the room, a tablet in his hands. “Results have come back. Would you like the gentleman to step out or is it okay if he stays?”

“He’s my husband,” you tell the doctor.

You're used to people not recognizing you outside of Formula One but Max is more known than you. You wait for the doctor to react at the sight of Max, except there’s not an ounce of recognition in his face. Good, or else, you’d have to rely on his patient-doctor confidentiality.

“Let’s get into it then. Lab’s show dehydration which is normal for the state you came in like. In addition, to the fact, you had just finished a physically demanding race. Surprisingly they also showed that your quantitative hCG levels are high meaning—"

“I’m pregnant?” You pan, shocked. Max's hand tightens around yours. Last year's endeavors left you with enough knowledge to know what that term means.

“Yes, you are pregnant,” he nods.

Max instantly turns towards you in complete shock. There’s part of him that’s happy but then there’s another that’s concerned. Personally, he’d love to have a child but it would mean you would have to sacrifice the championship.

You stare at the doctor with parted lips and furrowed brows, “That’s impossible. I have an IUD.” This couldn't be happening at a worse time.

“All methods of contraception have a percentage of failure,” the doctor sighs. “Your pregnancy explains today's sudden dizziness and nausea.”

“Do you know how far along she is?” Max asks, holding your hand tightly to show his support.

“We would need an ultrasound for that but based on her last menstrual period it can’t be more than 6 weeks.”

“Six weeks,” you breath out. You could only hear your pounding heart and the air coming in and out of your mouth. God, you've been training and driving the whole time. For fucks sake, just two weeks ago you had been celebrating your win with lots of alcohol.

You hardly hear the doctor excuse himself, leaving you and Max alone. Tears brim your eyes at the cruelty of the universe. You have in your hands the two things you want most in life. A shot at the championship and the opportunity to become a mother.

Max sits on the bed, wiping away your tears. He doesn’t say much, at a loss of words. There’s not much he can say to make this better but he thumbs away your tears and pulls you into a hug.

You fist his shirt in your hands, crying onto his shoulder, “This is not fair.”

“I know, schatje.” Max is at a loss. He understands the conflicting feelings you have. It’s no easy thing especially after everything you and Max went through.

“I can’t go through this again,” you sob, remembering the painful memories of the previous year.

United Arab Emirates | Nov 2022

The last race of the season has come quickly, deeming Max the World Champion for the second time running. He’s at the top of the podium as the Dutch national anthem plays. You look up at him from the third position, smiling at him proudly.

You’re frustrated that you weren’t able to catch up to him but you’re confident your time will come. Every year you’ve spent in the grid you’ve been able to rise through the ranks and get great contracts.

Mercedes took a chance on you this year and you’ve made them proud. It was a challenge against Ferrari and Red Bull but as the only woman you’d say you did brilliant.

You’re going to miss this next year but a break is due. After years of hard training and dedicating everything to your career you’ve decided to focus on your personal life.

It’s been nearly a year since you’ve married Max and the conversation surrounding children becomes more constant. It's a nagging sensation in the back of your head. A longing you can't stop.

Feeling at peace with your performance, you decided to take this next year to become a mother. You’re young so in two years you’re sure you can come back stronger than ever and give Max a run for his money.

As the ceremony comes to an end, the party begins and the champagne bottles are brought out. “Don’t run,” Max laughs, spraying the frothy liquid in your direction.

You fight back, shaking the bottle and spraying some at Max and Charles. They gang up on you as Charles blocks your way and they both spray you. That will keep the fans making edits for months to come, the implication of the action clear.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Charles yells over the cheers when you aim the spray at his mouth.

Getting off the stage and into a private room, Max takes off his hat and pulls you in by the waist to press his sweet tasting lips against yours. You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. “Congrats two-time world champion.”

“Thank you, schatje,” Max responds, brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead.

“Get a room you two,” Charles huffs, knowing you forgot he was there.

“Sorry,” you say with a blush.

“I’m not,” Max laughs, stealing another kiss.

Outside, reporters of all kind were waiting to interview all three of you. They want Max’s celebratory words and you and Charles’ disappointment and regret. They live for the heartfelt promises you'll make for next season.

“Over here!” A reporter calls you, handing you a microphone. “What’s the plan for next year? Are you renewing with Mercedes or is there another team making offers?”

“I come with sad news,” you pout at the camera, “I won’t be on the grid next year.”

The reporter stares wide-eyed at you. This is the first time you've said those words out loud. “Could you share with us why?”

You nod at his question, fixing your hat as you speak the words you rehearsed many times before. “Since I was young I was prioritizing racing and getting into Formula One. I love how far I’ve come but I want to take a step back and enjoy my personal life for a little while. As you know, I got married a year ago and I want to enjoy that newlywed life. I will be back though,” you say with a smile and a wink at the camera.

“Is there a chance you’ll tell us who the lucky guy is?” The reporter questions, not really expecting you to answer. That the one thing you won't disclose.

You laugh, shaking your head at him, “No chance. I like to keep my personal life private.”

“Worth a shot," the reporter laughs with you. "Thank you for your time and we hope to see you soon!”

youtube upload: The Grid's Princess QUITS

thumbnail 📸: Toto Wolff looking angry and yelling at a Mercedes staff member. Lewis Hamilton with an arm around an upset looking reader.

comments:

user25: our queen is leaving? 😫 user30: who is going to keep the boys in check -> user5: i bet that’s why she’s taking a break, it’s not easy keeping charles and max under control user6: aren’t we curious as to who this mystery husband is? 👀 -> user17: i bet it’s either someone old or a billionaire, or both, i mean did you see the rock on her finger? -> user 46: oh they must be loaded to win over the grid's princess -> user96: i'm sorry but until i see proof of this man i will continue to set her up with charles user59: please, use a more dramatic title user48: i'm ready to fight 🤺 whoever made her stop racing. she's the only reason i watch them go in circles. who else is going to learn french to curse out charles properly? user55: *sigh* guess it’s time to rewatch all of the edits of her and max on repeat until she returns user104: let’s make a game. take a shot every time max and charles mention her next season.

Monaco | March 2023

When you temporarily retired, you thought you'd become pregnant in a matter of weeks. That is not the case.

Movies make it seem so easy to become pregnant, when in reality, it’s a challenge. It took nearly four months and multiple doctor visits for you to become with child.

The Winter break was spent tangled in sheets, keeping warm in each others embrace. Max was insatiable and so were you. Any chance you had you’d be dragging him somewhere private, his hands pulling at your underwear to tug them off...or to the side.

Max's voice would be in your ear as he spoke of how good you take him. He'd encourage you with words he'd never otherwise use. His cologne would intoxicate you, putting you in a trance.

His hold was firm and steady, making you shake and arch against him. His length sinking into you until you came with his name on your lips and his seed inside you.

Then, it finally happened. A positive pregnancy test in your bathroom counter. The alarm rang loudly, making you and Max share a nervous glance.

“You look,” you say with a shaky voice and shakier hands. Your period was late, followed by your tender breasts and the morning sickness. You fear your body was making it up because you wanted it so much.

“Before that,” Max says, cupping your face, “Don’t be disappointed if it’s negative. We’re just getting started and we have a whole year to try, yeah?”

You place your hands over his and nod with a small smile. Max presses a kiss to your forehead before he picks up the home test.

Max erupts in a smile, nodding and showing you the word positive. You scream, falling into his arms. He spins you around, kissing all over your face.

You and Max are over the moon, giddily waiting for every appointment with your doctor. Every ultrasound was recorded along with the babies heart beat.

Max is ecstatic. He's been wanting to have a family with you since he realized you were the one. He thought it wouldn't happen for a long time but then you revealed you wanted it too and soon despite your career.

It took a long conversation to figure out how to go about it with both of your careers being at their peak but you came to an agreement. He was ready be a father and you were ready to be a mother, even if it meant putting your career in pause.

Your desire to bring a child into the world was greater than giving the championship another shot. Whenever you're ready to return to F1, he'll take a step back and support you.

Max planned a dinner with the whole family where you told them you were expecting. Plans to decorate the nursery littered your coffee table and your internet browser history was filled with shop links with cute clothes and baby items.

Weeks later, it happened. Something felt wrong, off.

“Maxie,” you breathe heavily, feeling wet between your legs. Cramps littering your lower abdomen.

“What's wrong?” Max sits up in bed, sensing your distressed state. His gaze fixes on the red stain forming on the white sheets.

“I’m scared,” you cry, afraid to move or do anything. Cramps squeezing your insides like a bad period.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” Max reassures you, “Let’s go to the bathroom, yeah? I’ll call the doctor.”

A quick trip to the ER confirmed it. You miscarried.

You couldn’t look at Max that night, hugging yourself tightly as he drove home. You ignored all the glances he threw your way, shiying away from the hand that reached out for you.

All that happiness you felt drained out of you, leaving complete sadness behind.

Max was sad about the baby but he was more focused on you and the toll it took on you. It was always a possibility. The doctor spoke about what to expect on the first trimester and this was one of the things he mentioned. You both chose to ignore it at the time.

Max kept most of the lights off in the apartment. Remembering the bags with baby stuff from your online shopping. He kept the spare bedroom closed, where you were planning how to arrange it and paint it to transform it into the nursery.

He’s never seen you this devastated. After years of knowing you and dating you he never had the chance to see you at your lowest. It breaks his fucking heart.

Max holds you that night while you're in pain and bleeding. He rocks you as you cry, tears spilling from his eyes too as all that new hope is crushed.

You need him. Max is all you have at the moment because while he goes to race on the weekends and clear his head, you stay home with the weight of losing a baby.

Zandvoort | August 2023

With medical clearance and a couple of months to heal mentally. You and Max got to trying again.

You aren’t quitters and again you both desperately want a child. There's lots of sex, more than before. Something reignited in the relationship, like when the relationship began. Nothing could keep you away from Max back then.

He would fuck you wherever he could. Often times risking being seen. It was a moment where neither of you cared about being caught or being exposed to the whole world.

The Two-Time World Champion and the Grid’s Princess. Happily Married and Horny for Each Other.

The second time you found out you were pregnant was in Zandvoort, Max’s home race. You weren’t traveling as much trying to give your body rest and hopefully encourage it to take but this was a special track for Max so you tagged along.

Similar symptoms were arising so you waited to arrive at Zandvoort to take the test with Max. You were once again in the bathroom, sitting on the counter. He was between your legs, his head on your chest, waiting for the four minutes to be over.

“If it’s negative?” You asked, your fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp to relax him.

“Then we try again and again and again,” he says cheekily, grabbing onto your thighs and kissing you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” you giggle, pulling at his roots to make him groan.

“Perhaps but I’m not the one yelling out my name,” he smirks, recalling the other night when he had you with your legs up on his shoulders as he entered you slow and deep. If he closes his eyes he can hear your whiny moans begging for him to tip you over the edge.

“Poor Checo had to call the front desk and fill in a complaint,” you giggle, hiding your face from Max with your hands.

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see his text,” Max shrugs, not having a care in the world.

He was in his suite with his wife, having fun and trying to conceive. It’s not his fault he was making you feel so good you felt the need to scream his name and it’s not his fault Checo’s bedroom was right next to yours. Blame the Red Bull team for reserving two suites right next to each other.

The triggering alarm sounds, making your heart race. This time you grab the test, deciphering what the faint lines mean. You ran out of the good pregnancy tests and you were too lazy to go out and get new ones.

“It’s positive!” You squeal, showing the home test to Max.

Max’s eyes widen, “We did it!”

“I'm so happy,” you tear up from joy, hugging Max’s shoulders. Nothing is stopping him tomorrow on the track. He’s going to ride this high as long as possible.

Max grabs your thighs, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. He carries you over to the bed, kissing your lips, your neck, your chest.

Max was going to make you scream out his name again.

There was little celebration. You and Max kept the news to yourselves for a while longer. You took every precaution on the book. You stopped traveling with Max afraid it was one of the causes of your first miscarriage. You took care of your diet, you did minimal exercise, took every prenatal vitamin you could find but much like the first time, it happened again.

This time you felt so defeated, like something was wrong with you. Like maybe you weren’t meant to bring a child into the world or become a mother.

Max found you on the balcony one night after it happened. It was freezing outside so he got a blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“‘I'm sorry,” you sniffle, not meeting his eyes. Your tears were cold against your cheeks.

“For what?” Max asks, watching you carefully. Your eyes red rimmed and nose runny.

“There’s something wrong with me and I can’t give us a baby,” you cry softly, wiping away at your tears.

You feel so ashamed and embarrassed. Having a baby shouldn’t be this fucking hard. You’ve done so much in life and this simple thing you can’t do. Something your body was designed to do.

“Hey, no. You know what the doctor said. There’s nothing wrong with you and there’s so many other ways we can have children together,” Max chides you, pulling his chair closer and grabbing your shoulders so you look at him.

“If there’s nothing wrong with me why does it keep happening?” You ask as your eyes well with more tears. They haven’t stopped in a good ten minutes.

“It’s not our time yet.” It’s the only thing Max can say. He doesn’t have all the answers in the world but there is one thing he’s sure of. “I love you no matter what.”

“I don’t want to go through this again.” Your bottom lip wobbles as you speak. The words getting caught on your throat.

It’s not like you don’t want children because you desperately do but you can’t go through another disappointment. More pain and more blood. More false hope.

“You don’t have to,” Max tells you, comforting you the best way he can. He picks you up, settling you on his lap as he wraps his arms around you. He kisses your head, coming up with words to make you feel better.

He doesn’t want a child if the process is going to cause you so much suffering. It’s hard seeing you like this when he’s used to seeing you be this independent strong woman, who broke barriers in a field of men.

He’s discovering a new side to you deep into your relationship. He loves you but it’s shocking to see you be this vulnerable when a lot of times you love to handle things on your own. In a way, he’s happy he’s able to be here with you and help you.

Monza | November 2023

In Formula One rumors spread like wildfire. Within the teams and its members and riders the reason for your break didn’t remain a secret for long.

It didn’t stop certain teams from reaching out and persuading you into joining them. As far as they know you’re not pregnant yet and you did promise to return one day.

As the only woman in the grid you pull in lots of sponsors and the media and fans love you. Having you on a team is a win all around, considering you also bring in trophies.

Ferrari is a big team showing their interest in you. They’ve sent your manager multiple invitations for you to come and visit Ferrari Headquarters. No strings attached just a simple tour and meeting.

It’s tempting. Driving for Ferrari is every F1 racers dream and to be invited to test out their car and talk business is an honor.

You went quietly to the meeting, undecided if it’s the choice you want to make. Mercedes awaits your return whenever you’re ready, having led them to victory many times alongside Lewis.

Oh, Toto Wolff has you in his sight constantly. If he knew you were at Monza he’d probably fly down and get you out. You’re one of his biggest assets yet.

“There's our princess,” Charles greets you, running up to you and giving you a big hug.

He missed having you around. The fans never let him forget of all the good times, constantly tagging him on instagram and twitter.

“Hey Charles,” you laugh as he sways you from side to side.

“I missed you,” he says as he guides you over to the garage.

“Missed me kicking your ass?” You quip, playfully pushing him.

“Please, competing against Max on my own is exhausting. Too much responsibility,” Charles admits.

“He’s having the time of his life.” Max has the most fun when there are challenges and Charles has proven to be a worthy one. Insults and all. He loves getting a rise out of him.

The Ferrari team sets you up with a bright red race suit, giving you a visual of what your future has in store.

The feel of the baclavla is familiar around your head and the weight of the helmet comforting. It’s been a year since you last wore the uniform and it feels like home.

You step into the car, slidding in the steering wheel. The crew gives you the signal to pull out and you do with a push on the gas.

The rumble of the engine is exhilarating as is the blend of colors around you. It comes back so naturally, knowing when to push the car when to break. Learning this car is easy, like it’s made for you.

It has the potential to be a winner, to help you achieve the goal of becoming world champion.

“Ready to join Scuderia Ferrari?” Frederic Vasseif asks you once you get out of the car. There’s a smugness to him. He knows you enjoyed it and you’re itching for more.

“I don’t know. Carlos seems to be doing really well,” you try to play it cool, taking off your helmet and baclavla to shake off your hair.

“He’s good but you’re the greatest,” Fred says, giving you a knowing look.

“If I accept it’s because I want to win the Championship,” you negotiate. Charles is the first driver and it makes sense he stays there since he’s been with the team longer but you will not sacrifice yourself for him.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” Fred agrees, extending his hand to shake yours.

“The predestined and the princess?” Charles smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

You smile and bite your lip, “It’s time to take down Max Verstappen.”

No wonder the fans think there’s a long standing rivalry between you and Max. You talk a lot about taking him down and winning the championship. With the trust you two have he bites back with words of his own. It makes for quite a show. They’re going to lose it once it’s revealed you’re joining Ferrari.

Your joy returning home is palpable. Max notices it the moment you walk into your shared home in Monaco. The cats notice it too as they weave between your legs asking to be pet.

"Hi, love," Max greets you, placing his hands on your hips and kissing you. You wrap your arms your his neck loosely, smiling into the kiss.

He doesn't let you go when the kiss breaks, his thumbs caressing your back. You smile at him, a hand on his face, as your fingers brush over his stubble. He leans into it. “How did it go?”

“It's top secret," you say cheekily.

"Really?" Max follows along amusedly, "You can't even tell your dear husband Max Emilian?"

It's been an inside joke since you started dating that the person you're dating is Max Emilian and not Max Verstappen. Helps keep things separated to a certain degree but mostly it's funny.

"Well, if it's Max Emilian asking I can tell him that I've just signed with Ferrari and that Max Verstappen will have some serious competition next year," you tell him as your smile widens.

“Congratulations!" Max exclaims, hugging you tightly. You laugh is music in his ears. From the moment you stepped in he knew something changed. You were laughing and smiling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

“I’m a Ferrari girl now and I’m going to take that title from you,” she boasts, playfully pushing him.

“That’s a big statement,” he says, playfully caging her in his arms. Max adores that her competitive streak is back, it's one of the things he fell in love with when you began dating.

Being married means being there in the bad and the good, in sickness and in health. He'll be by your side through it all but he'd rather have you be happy and competitive than depressed and anxious.

“What you think I can’t do it?” You laugh when he tries tickling you. Your this close to elbowing him if he doesn't stop.

Finally letting up, he cups your face and looks into your eyes as he says, “If there’s someone who is going to do it, it’s you. You're my girl after all.”

f1 posted on instagram: The Princess is back and in red. Everyone bow down. 📸: Reader wearing a Ferrari race suit posing in front of the new Ferrari SF-23. Comments: user8: holy shit she’s back

user95: this was not on my bingo card, but it was in my dreams every night since she left -> user57: like a wise woman once said in rome; this is what dreams are made of

user72: guess she had enough of that married life and is back to wreck these boys

user14: i might actually fucking cry. our queen is back and in ferrari red -> user98: red is definitely her color. -> user67: you know who's color it is too? charles... ->user53: you know who likes charles? max... ->user17: i can't with you 💀

user67: i want to see max squirm with both charles and her against him -> user55: please if anything it’ll turn him on -> user45: hell even i'm turned on

user88: wait does this mean she can’t curse at charles anymore? -> user68: don't worry, the second charles gets in her way it's coming. don't you remember that one time she almost crashed with lewis and she let him have it? -> user 90: i've never seen lewis be that fast outside of a car

user12: i’ve got my editing program ready, i’ll get all the edits. max x princess, predestined x princess, max x charles, i got them all -> user56: i'm not picky, i'll help -> user02: you should do one where she's walking in like in those wwe fights with the dramatic music

Monaco | Nov 2024

The conversation about the pregnancy is kept on pause. You and Max wait till you're back home in Monaco to continue it. It's fresh in your minds though as you try and make sense of he timing of it all.

There's only two more races to the season, you are so close to the end. You wish you hadn't found out till much later, they do say ignorance is bliss.

You're filled with fear and uncertainty. What if this pregnancy ends up like the rest? What if you give up the championship for something that might not even happen? But what if you chose the championship and give up a viable pregnancy?

The morning after arriving at Monaco you're in the kitchen with your laptop in front of you as you schedule an appointment with your doctor. The cup of coffee you made earlier is now cold as you could barely drink it with so many thoughts in your head.

You cover your face with your hands, groaning at the headache forming so early in the day.

Max finds you like that and he knows it's time to talk. He comes up behind you, pressing a kiss and resting his chin on your shoulder as he hugs you from behind.

"What's on your mind, schatje?"

You take a deep breath, focusing on him to try and gather your thoughts, "I don't know what to do, Maxie. What do I do?"

"I can't tell you what to do. I can tell you that I want to have a baby with you but I don’t want you to go through all that pain again or feel pressured that you need to do this for me. I love you and I want you to be happy. If it's choosing your career I'm here for you. If it's starting a family I'm here as well," Max says as he hugs you tighter until you relax against him.

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with his as they lie on your midsection. "It's the fact that the first two didn't end well and it was such a horrible experience. If I knew for a fact I was going to give birth to this baby I would drop the championship in a heartbeat."

"I'm happy with whatever you choose. Even if you decide that carrying a baby isn't for you. Later on we can try surrogacy or adoption."

It's 2024 and there are tons of options out there in the case you want to become parents. It doesn't have to be one way or no way. Plus, they are young and have their lives ahead of them.

"Really? You couldn’t be like one of the awful men who insist women need to have a baby? You’re making this hard on me," you lightly joke, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss it.

Max laughs along with you. He knows you've made a decision even if you haven't realized. He's only there to guide you. “You already made a decision, schatje.”

Your eyes return to your laptop where the appointment with the specialty clinic is displayed. “I need to give this pregnancy a chance. I mean think about it. I've raced, I've drank alcohol and it's still here. It happened against all odds, Maxie. What if it’s a sign? That the timing is right,” you say, recalling the conversation you had with him a year ago. “I just hate I need to withdraw from the rest of the races.”

Max made a decision that same moment, “I’ll pull out from the races too.” It feels shitty that because you're a woman you have to pull out the races for your safety and the baby's while he continues on like nothing has happened.

“What? That’s insane Max,” you exclaim, staring at him bewildered.

“It’s only fair. You have to do it to have OUR baby, why do you have to be the only one who quits?”

You laugh and shake your head, placing your hands on his chest, “You’re not doing that, Max. This is F1 and it’s ruthless which is why you’re so good at it. Besides, with last Sunday's race you're already ahead of me and there's no chance the others are catching up with two races to go. The title is yours," you reassure him, kissing the corner of his mouth, “It’s not my time to be a world champion yet and maybe it never will. I have to accept that."

Max scoffs, poking his tongue on his cheek, “No, you will be. Once you have this baby you’re coming back even if I have to give away my seat in Red Bull.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you hum, looking into his eyes.

“You beat me on your rookie year,” he reminds you.

Back when you started in F1 and neither you or Max were on the top you had friendly battles in the midst of the races. It wasn't for podium but it kept the fans entertained and recruiters eyes on you both. Max beat you most times but there was one day you beat him on a wet race which is unheard of.

“Once!”

“Once was enough!” He insists. Max fell in love with your competitive side, it didn't matter if you beat him or not. That day when you approached him with that big smile and malicious intent in your eyes he was done for.

“How will we handle the media?” He steers the conversation a different place. He's not sure how much longer he can keep the relationship a secret with a baby on the way.

“Same as always. They can’t know about us yet, Maxie. They will throw your name on the ground and say horrible things.”

If the media finds out that you're pregnant with Max's baby they will say it's sabotage cause he felt threatened that you were going to take the title from him. They don't care for details.

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep this a secret,” he confesses, trying to reason with you.

“Not long okay? After the baby comes,” you promise him. After the baby comes you will tell the world everything.

F1_news tweeted: The Grid's Princess is withdrawing from the rest of the races this season due to her health. Not much is known yet. Carlos Sainz to take over her seat.

comments:

user56: not again please -> user97: i'm in tears -> user57: alexa play 'see you again' by charlie puth

user64: i hope she's doing okay and is able to return next year. she was so close on getting the championship

user76: i love the queen but i'm happy to get charlos back again! -> user34: it's very bitter sweet isn't it? -> user57: i wonder if she'll be back with ferrari next year? -> user45: well her contract is for two years so if she's okay when the next season starts i don't see why not -> user08: contracts mean nothing in F1 user04: get ready to witness a pouty max -> user 87: these next few races will be a piece of cake and he hates it -> user72: i love lando and charles but there's no way they are going to give him a hard time

user46: this is the end of the princess, who is going to want her back? -> user 43: get the fuck out of here you hater -> user345: who asked for your opinion?

F1_fanpage: The Grid's princess seen walking out of a clinic specialized in complicated pregnancies. 📸

user45: holy shit, it all makes fucking sense she’s pregnant -> user58: i didn't want to say anything but dizzy and nausea? it’s textbook pregnancy

user67: our queen is having a prince(ss) -> user176: who is the fucking dad? -> user404: he needs to be a part of F1 for her to still be around when she should be home resting

user47: she's glowing

user68: not her audibly rooting for carlos on the latest race -> user99: well it is only temporary and it's not like they kicked her out. she left because she had to -> user55: we love a supportive queen either way

user88: did ya'll see her interacting with max and charles after the race? they were so careful with her. it makes so much sense! -> user44: i'm hyperventilating we got a max hug! -> user 67: better yet we got a charles hug! -> user12: opening up my editing program as we speak

Part 2 Coming Soon

The world is aware you're now pregnant. You got a job working for the F1 social media and interview team during your pregnancy. Rumors keep spreading about who your husband and baby daddy is. Fans keep shipping you with Max and Charles. Max might just explode if he doesn’t tell everyone, but will he?

[mywritersmind]

WINNING KISS - LN4

summary : lando isn’t used to being a human mirror, but when a pretty girls tells him to hunch down and let her fix her lipstick in the reflection of his glasses, he’s more than happy to oblige.

listen up : no warnings!!

word count : 750

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can practically feel the music through my veins. The lights of the club are flashing and my friends are laughing and swinging shots back.

I won today. Singapore has been fucking amazing honestly. Besides the whole drowning in sweat thing.

“So…” Max Fewtrell claps a hand on my shoulder, “Taking a girl home tonight, winner?” He teases me as I roll my eyes and sip my drink, “What- You too tired?” he fakes a frown. I didn’t really want to go out tonight but decided it’s sort of a one in a lifetime thing.

“Go find your girlfriend, idiot.” I eye him.

He throws up his arms and laughs, “Gladly!” As he walks away I feel a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I’m surprised who did it had such force for being so small.

A girl stands in front of me, a pencil in hand and for a second I think she’s going to ask for an autograph, “Bend down a bit!” She tugs on my shirt and I do as I'm told because I'm genuinely so confused and the pretty girl means business.

She takes the sunglasses from my head and pushes them over my eyes, looking directly into them and bringing the pencil to her lips.

The ‘pencil’, I now realize, it’s a makeup product and deposits a dark color to her lips as she uses me as her mirror.

As she’s stood in front of me, my eyes can’t help but analyze her. This club is stuffy and smoky but she’s so close I can see everything she has on.

She’s got messy brown hair, silver jewelry, a mini skirt, a fur jacket, and a white corset top. Something about her feels magnetic. She’s stunning.

My eyes go to her lips which she smacks together before pulling out a proper lipstick, as she runs the makeup over her lips I start to smile a bit. She finishes quickly and doesn’t pauses as she starts to place the makeup back in her back.

I slide the glasses down to hang around my neck, I see the recognition appear on her face, “Shit.” She says confidently, “You’re that guy!”

I laugh a bit, standing up straighter and looking down at her, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry! Everyone’s been talking about you today!” My tongue runs over my teeth, smiling a bit, “Thanks for being my mirror. And- congrats, I guess?”

“Thank you. And no problem, I’d never deprive a pretty girl of her lipstick rights.” This makes her laugh and fuck I want to keep her laughing.

She gets a look in her eye, her arms behind her, and her eyes staring up at me, “Well I appreciate it. Like it?” I look at her lips again and I’m beginning to think this is a trick just to make me want to kiss her.

“I do. It suits you.” Her lips pull into a wide smile and she steps a bit closer. “You know- people are talking about me for a reason.” I say, building myself up a bit.

She squints, “Right… A win?” I nod, “You’re celebrating then?”

I nod again, “A bit boring though… if only there was a girl to make my night better.”

She scoffs, “Suppose you want a winning kiss then?” I eye her, sipping my drink once more. My eyes flick to her lips but she doesn’t stop looking at me.

“I mean- your lipstick would look great on me.” I say smugly as she stops herself from smiling, humming and nodding.

“Would it?” She says into my ear, the club getting louder with the music.

“Suppose we’ll have to check and see.” I say in her ear this time and when I pull back, I can tell she’s trying to figure me out.

She hums again, leaning in close and slipping her hand onto my neck. Her cool rings practically sting my hot skin. She turns my head slightly, I feel her stand taller to softly kiss my cheek.

When she pulls away, I’m smirking again, “Let me get your number.” I don’t even ask it as a question.

She pulls the lipliner out of her bag once more, uncapping it with her teeth and taking my arm. She scrolls the numbers slowly against my arm, holding me close.

When she’s done and there’s red numbers up my arm, she closes the product and smiles kindly, saying “Congratulations, winner.” before walking away.

[leclsrc]

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k  

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day. 

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes. 

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading. 

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka. 

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward. 

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed. 

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control. 

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time. 

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.” 

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.” 

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

[fancyfeathers]

With the bat family daughter darling, did she already go to the same Gotham rich kid academy or did Bruce have her transfer there?

Referencing this post

Nope, her mom left Gotham before she was born traveled for work so she went with her so essentially she grew up around the world with maybe one or two homes in some place like New York or Singapore where they would stay for longer periods (1-3 months) when not traveling, with a tutor/governess teaching her. Like when her mother was originally engaged to Bruce he was more wealthy than her but she certainly has quite a bit of money to her name, like think Astrid Leong from Crazy Rich Asians, like the the first scene we see her in she buys earrings in Shanghai that cost 1.2 million (at cost), she has money.

Now I think Bruce would want her to attend a private academy, especially with Damian (despite the fact that she is terrified of him, it’s good sibling bonding). Now this could go one of two ways, she wants to go or she does not.

The first of two is if she might not be the best behaved and school would be her only way of socializing with other people her age, she is in a different class than Damian since he’d probably be older than her so he is not there to watch her every move throughout the day despite how much he would try to.

The other way is that she would not want to go to school there, like I mentioned earlier her and her mom had houses in New York and Singapore and while NYC isn’t too far away from Gotham, Singapore is and she has friends in both places and if she went to regular school it would be harder for her to see them when their own families were in town for business or if some good grace allowed it, being able to go back to see them.

Now the second option is very much less unlikely unless there is some serious good behavior from both of the darlings, mother and daughter. Bruce could certainly be convinced, especially after seeing his little girl’s wide smile when she finally gets to see her friends at the wedding of her parents.

Now her brothers certainly would not be happy, namely, and in order of how upset they would be, Damian, Dick, and Tim (Jason would not care enough that it would be a major issue for him).

Damian is very much that scary big brother that scares everyone away, there is no way he can look after her if she is with a bunch of people he’s never met besides maybe once or twice tops.

Dick is clingy, he doesn’t think his baby sister old enough to have friends outside of her family (ignoring the fact that she was raised by her mom and these are the kids she grew up with), he knows she doesn’t like his company much but to see her actually enjoy herself around people he does not know, it gets under his skin.

Then Tim, he has looked into everything about both of their darlings, he knows all about her friends, he knows those friends’ parents are friends of her mother, he knows of those parents and their sketchy business deals that come with most other socialite circles, and Tim certainly does not approve of them because children could turn into into their parents, he just doesn’t like the way it sits with him.

So while Mother!Darling tries to convince Bruce of allowing her to homeschool Daughter!Darling, the little girl is in the other room playing, pretending her old friends are with her.

[moviestarmartini]

flores amarillas. — franco colapinto x gf!reader

él la estaba esperando con una flor amarilla / ella lo estaba soñando con la luz en su pupila / y el amarillo del sol iluminaba la esquina / lo sentía tan cercano, lo sentía desde niña.

summary: franco surprised you at the airport on a special saturday.

wc: 800

warnings: none! just fluff, conversations in spanish, idiots in love and a established relationship.

A/N: feliz día internacional (latino mostly) de las flores amarillas hehehehe i added the context in the fic so i won't give it here !

now playing... flores amarillas from floricienta

The only way your trajectory to Singapore could get worse was if the plane exploded mid-air like in Final Destination. 

It was humiliating; you were supposed to arrive Friday, and by the time you took your last connection, the estimated time of arrival was for early Saturday morning. The bags under your eyes were bigger than the ones sitting in the compartment underneath the passengers, you went from lack of sleep due to excitement to hibernation, ignoring the flight attendants who attempted to wake you up. 

You only rose from your slumber while the destination edged nearer, to freshen up and half heartedly have breakfast. You did your best to look presentable, flushing away in the sink the despair from both the missed connections and long customs lines. This involved changing out of the designated airport lounging outfit into something more fresh, having prepared the outfit in your personal bag, feeling the humidity already crawl up your bones even when you hadn’t descended. 

After his excellent work in Baku, Franco was eager to finally fly you out to see him race live in the top category, only having experienced him in the feeder series. The nerves ate you up, walking the paddock with your boyfriend was something you had fantasized about, but never expected to become a reality even when he reached Formula One. 

But there you were, praying for your bag to come out and not have gotten lost, leaving a big sigh of relief upon spotting it, untampered with. It wasn’t that heavy, and it was that moment of strength that took over you whenever your boyfriend wasn’t there to carry everything. 

As soon as your roaming plan kicked in you contacted him, letting him know you were there. He told you he hired a chauffeur to pick you up and take you back to the hotel, excusing himself due to the need to rest before paddock duties, which you completely understood. 

Imagine the surprise to see him standing at the arrivals gate holding a bouquet of yellow flowers. 

His face lit up in joy at the same time yours lit up in surprise, a delicate hand flying over to cover the O your mouth had turned into. 

Gifting yellow flowers on September 21st was used to celebrate the beginning of spring in the southern hemisphere, and the phenomenon just spread all throughout Hispanic countries. You’d dropped hints here and there, but with the stress from your flight… situations you’d completely forgotten about everything else. 

Your suitcase made noise against the floor as you dragged it along your sprint, letting it go— but making sure it stayed put— before hugging him tight. His laughter replenished all the energy the trouble had taken away from you, nuzzling into his shirt to breathe in his scent. 

Yeah, it was your Franco. 

“¡Me mentiste!” You proclaimed, hitting him in the chest. He ignored the subject of the yellow flowers and supposedly arranged for a third party to pick you up. 

“Buen día princesa hermosa, feliz de verte.” He blatantly ignored your claims, leaning in to smooch your cheek, hanging the bouquet of sunflowers with fresh eucalyptus mixed in for some greenery. You didn’t know if your ears felt warm because of the high temperatures or the flattery. 

“¿Cómo es que iba la canción? Ella sabía que el sabía que sabía que algún día pasaría—“ You interrupted his annoying high pitched sing along while you took a picture of the plants, heart thumping in your chest. 

“No, no. Que él sabía que algún día pasaría a buscarla—“ Now it was his turn for him to interrupt you, putting a finger over your lips. 

“—con sus flores amarillas!” Though you would regularly be offended at him interrupting you, you almost giggled at his antics. 

You stood there for a second, unable to tear your eyes away from the warm toned bouquet, still in the best type of disbelief. You didn’t notice it was you who he couldn’t tear his eyes away from. 

The second you told him you were asking for all the permissions to get a vacation sorted to see him race, he knew he had to make it special. And by your reaction, he knew it was a mission accomplished. Besides, it warmed his heart to see you so happy. 

“Let’s go get you freshen up and head to the paddock, if I’m any later than the hour I have left, they’re going to replace me.” Now the idea didn’t terrify you just as much, you were too busy gawking about the surprise to your mom and your friends, following him to the car knowing you had no time to lose nor spare. 

He took both your weekender and the medium sized suitcase, letting you to only carry the weight of having the best boyfriend ever. 

[theonottsbxtch]

MADE IT OUT ALIVE | FC43

an: okay so this is so late but this is the thing i asked if you guys wanted to read which is a blow by blow of my situationship but make it franco colapinto lol. had it actually been him ong it would hve lasted longer i swear.

wc: 2.4k

SHE FIRST MET HIM in the humid chaos of Singapore. The paddock buzzed under the relentless sun, and the air was thick with the sounds of engines screaming and the staccato click of cameras. It was just another race, just another weekend. She was there with her usual kit—a clipboard tucked under one arm, a microphone in hand, and that practiced, effortless smile plastered on her face.

But then he walked up.

Franco was late, sauntering into the media pen like he owned the world. A half-zipped race suit hung loose around his waist, his hair a mess of sweat and confidence. The kind of man who seemed to know exactly how magnetic he was.

When she spoke to him, it wasn’t just her voice that carried the questions. It was the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she leaned forward just a little too far. She hated herself for it, but it was instinctive—like gravity. And when he answered, smirking at her with eyes that lingered a second too long, she knew she was already in trouble.

For a month after, she said nothing. She told herself it was better that way. Just another fleeting crush; it would fade. But the silence was deafening, and one night, sitting alone in her hotel room with the glow of her laptop casting shadows on the walls, she finally sent the text.

Nothing complicated, nothing vulnerable. Just a joke about his race start and a winking emoji.

It took him eight minutes to reply. Eight minutes that stretched into eternity, her phone burning a hole in her hand. When the screen lit up, her heart raced. And so, it began.

The first texts were harmless. Banter about his pit stops, teasing remarks about his qualifying performance. It didn’t mean anything. Not then. But soon, her phone became a lifeline, each ping a jolt of adrenaline. He wasn’t always quick to respond, but when he did, his charm oozed through every word. And when he called her “trouble” for a particularly sharp comment, she swore she felt her stomach flip.

But Franco didn’t text first. Not once.

It was her who built the bridge. Her who asked how he was doing after a rough weekend, her who sent a meme about the top three at 1 a.m., her who tried to hold on when he drifted too far. And when he answered, when his words carried the flirtatious edge she’d started to crave, it felt like winning. A small victory in a war only she knew she was fighting.

It took weeks of careful persistence before he started calling her a friend. He even said it once, casually, in passing: “You’re fun. I like hanging out with you. You’re a good friend.” She had smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, ignoring the way her chest ached at the word “friend.”

The next time Franco offered to drive her back to her hotel, she tried not to read into it. The streets of Monaco were deserted, the night wrapped in a blanket of stars. He turned the music low, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming a beat on his thigh. She stole glances at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

At the hotel, she reached for the door handle, but his voice stopped her.

“You ever wonder how you ended up here? Like, in all of this?” He gestured vaguely toward the brightly lit paddock in the distance, his expression softer than usual.

“All the time,” she replied, her words quiet, like a confession. “And you?”

He just shrugged. “Sometimes.”

The silence stretched thin between them, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel. She thought he might say more, but he didn’t. He never did.

The nights like that came sporadically, each one a thread that bound her closer to him, though he didn’t seem to notice. She would stay awake until 3 a.m., talking to him about everything and nothing, feeling like she’d finally cracked through his armour. But then morning came, and he would pull back, as if they were strangers again.

It broke her in ways she couldn’t describe, the whiplash of his attention. One day, he’d invite her to meet his parents—his parents, for God’s sake—and charm them so completely she’d feel like she belonged in his world. The next day, he’d brush past her in the paddock without a glance, as if she were invisible.

She called him out once, in the heat of an argument after a particularly long day. “Why do you do this?” she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended. “Why do you act like you care, and then…then act like I don’t exist?”

Franco looked at her, genuinely confused, like she was speaking a language he didn’t understand. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t know.

Now, sitting in her apartment far from the glamour of the paddock, she looked at her phone. His name still sat at the top of her blocked contacts list. She had stopped unblocking him just to read old messages. She had stopped pretending his words still had the power to hurt her.

She scrolled through her gallery, past blurry selfies with drivers and candid shots of pit lane chaos. Then she saw it—a photo of him. Taken on some idle afternoon in Abu Dhabi, sunlight catching the curve of his smirk. Once, she would have stared at it for hours, dissecting every detail.

Now, it was just a picture.

The flirty texts that used to make her heart race were nothing more than hollow echoes. She had given him everything—her time, her patience, her heart—and he had taken it all without a second thought. But she wasn’t angry anymore. She wasn’t sad. She was free.

For the first time in years, she closed her eyes and didn’t see him.

Freedom wasn’t the grand epiphany she thought it would be though. It didn’t come with fireworks or triumphant music. It crept in slowly, like the way morning light slips through the cracks of blackout curtains—soft and almost unnoticed at first. But once it was there, she couldn’t unsee it.

The texts stopped hurting long before she blocked him. She realised, one day, as she was reading through an old conversation for the hundredth time, that his words didn’t have the same weight anymore. The “miss you” he had sent after a particularly bad fight felt hollow, like an echo of a voice she used to love. The nicknames that once made her cheeks flush now sounded mechanical, calculated. She read them as if they were addressed to someone else entirely.

And maybe they always were.

She thought of the girl she’d been two years ago, standing in the Singapore paddock, heart racing just from the sound of his voice. That girl wouldn’t recognise her now. The woman she had become was sharper, tougher, less willing to bend herself into unrecognisable shapes just to fit into someone else’s life. She wasn’t bitter—bitterness was too much like holding on. She was just…done.

The next time she saw him, it was on her television, a post-race interview in Austin. He was standing next to another interviewer, flashing that same practiced smile he’d once aimed at her. She noticed the way his hand brushed against the microphone, the way he leaned in just slightly, like he was sharing a secret only they were worthy of hearing.

She laughed, quietly to herself. She had memorised every one of his tricks, his arsenal of charm, his arsenal of lies. The thought used to hurt. Now, it just felt like watching an actor on a stage, performing a role he’d rehearsed a thousand times.

The interviewer asked him a question about the race—a tough one, about a strategic error that had cost him a podium. His smile faltered for a second, and she caught the flicker of irritation in his eyes. He recovered quickly, answering with a mix of deflection and humour. But she saw it. She knew him well enough to spot the cracks in his armour.

Once, she would have texted him after something like this. She would have reached out, offered some ridiculous joke to make him laugh. Once, she would have stayed up until dawn listening to him vent about how the team screwed him over.

Now, she just changed the channel.

Months passed, and Formula One kept moving. New races, new faces. She kept moving, too. She started saying yes to invitations she used to decline, let her friends pull her into adventures that didn’t end with her glued to her phone, waiting for a reply that might never come.

At a café in Paris, during a rare off-weekend, she caught herself laughing—really laughing, the kind that left her cheeks sore and her chest light. Her friend across the table raised an eyebrow.

“What?” she asked, still grinning.

“You just seem…different,” they said, stirring their coffee. “Like you’re finally letting yourself breathe.”

She thought about that for a moment, about the weight she hadn’t realised she’d been carrying until it was gone. “Yeah,” she said, her smile softening. “I think I am.”

The season wrapped in Abu Dhabi, as it always did, the desert sun blazing down on the circuit. She stood in the paddock, microphone in hand, interviewing a rookie who had just secured his first career points. The excitement in his voice was infectious, his grin wide enough to split the sky.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to find Franco standing there. The flirt. He looked the same—effortlessly handsome, his hair slightly tousled, his race suit tied around his waist. But something was different.

Or maybe it was just her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice as smooth as ever. “Long time, no see.”

“Yeah,” she said, her tone polite but detached. “It’s been a while.”

He hesitated, as if expecting her to fill the silence with something else. When she didn’t, he gestured to her microphone. “Still asking the tough questions?”

“Always,” she replied, flashing him the same professional smile she gave every driver.

For a moment, he just looked at her, like he was trying to read something in her expression. But whatever he was searching for, he didn’t find it.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” he said, offering her that same practiced smirk.

She watched him walk away, his swagger as unshakable as ever. But for the first time, it didn’t make her heart skip a beat. It didn’t make her feel anything at all.

That night, as she packed up her things and prepared for the long flight home, she caught herself humming a tune. The melody was bright, unburdened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this light.

She wasn’t thinking about him anymore. And that was the best gift she could have given herself.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, the wheels of her suitcase clattering softly as she pulled it down the quiet hallway of the hotel. The race weekend was over, the desert sun outside already setting, casting long shadows through the thin gaps in the curtains. Her flight was in a few hours, and she was looking forward to the silence of the plane—a reprieve from the buzz of engines and voices that had filled her days for months.

As she turned the corner, she heard it. Muffled at first, but unmistakable: raised voices behind one of the doors.

She paused, her steps faltering despite herself. She wasn’t the type to linger, wasn’t the type to pry. But something about the tone—sharp, exasperated, and yet heartbreakingly familiar—made her stop.

It was Franco’s voice.

Even muffled, she could recognise the rhythm of his words. And then she heard hers, the other voice. The journalist from the interview, the one who had been laughing with him so effortlessly, so naturally, in the paddock earlier that day.

She didn’t mean to listen, but the words cut through the barrier of the door like they were meant for her to hear.

“I’m not ready for something serious,” he was saying, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Then why do you act like you are?” the journalist shot back, her voice trembling. “Why do you text me every night? Why do you call me at 2 a.m. and tell me things you won’t tell anyone else? Why do you—why do you make me feel like there’s something here?”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she was there again—standing in front of him in the parking lot of a Belgian hotel, her heart in her throat, her voice cracking as she asked the same questions.

“Why do you stay up till 3 a.m. with me?” she had said, her words sharp with frustration and hurt. “Why do you only reply to my messages after a bad race? Why do you treat me like everything I want, but never follow through?”

His answer had been maddeningly simple. “I don’t know.”

Listening now, she realised it wasn’t a unique script. He hadn’t given her anything special, anything real. It was the same dance, the same empty promises, the same threadbare excuses. The realisation hit her like a punch to the gut—not because she missed him, but because she had once thought she could fix him. She had believed she was different.

And now, another woman was standing where she had been. Another woman was asking the same questions and feeling the same ache.

She didn’t linger. She started walking again, her pace quicker now, as if trying to outrun the flood of memories. But as she stepped into the elevator and the doors slid shut, she felt a pang of something she hadn’t expected: pity.

Not for herself. For the journalist. For every person who would stand in that hallway, in that argument, hoping for answers he would never be able to give.

By the time she reached the lobby, the pity had faded into something lighter. Acceptance, maybe. Relief. She wasn’t the one standing there anymore. She wasn’t trapped in that endless loop of hope and heartbreak.

For the first time, she realised how far she had come. How much lighter her chest felt now that she wasn’t carrying the weight of him.

the end.

[moonstruck-poet]

I Missed You

Pairing - Carlos Sainz x fem!reader

Summary - You were finally attending a race after being away from him for so long. But your work didn't seem to leave your back resulting in a very pouty boyfriend.

Warnings - None!

Your foot was impatiently tapping the ground, eyes trained on the screen, more specifically on the red Ferrari as it was completing the final three laps.

"Come on, come on," you muttered under your breath as you watched Carlos maintain the lead quite well. It was only the last lap to go and your heart was hammering uncontrollably.

Your fingers played with the wire of the headphones around your neck, one of the buds in your ear to notify you about any important calls from work. Despite wanting to devote your entire attention to the race, you couldn't just excuse your job especially since there was important intel to be acquired.

"Yes- Yes YES!" The scream erupted from your lips as soon as you saw the beautiful car bearing the number 55 finish the final lap.

He had won. Your man had just won.

"CARLOS SAINZ TACTICAL BRILLIANCE! CARLOS SAINZ, THE WINNER OF THE SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX!" Came the announcement and the garage roared in celebration.

You couldn't help it as a laugh full of absolute pure joy burst out, emotions welling up as you saw him stand on the hood of his car, his arms up as he soaked in the cheers. His head held high as he punched the air in victory.

And finally his car was parked and he jumped out, lunging forward to hug his team and they adored him back. Squeezing his shoulders and ruffling his hair as everyone yelled. Suddenly the engineers made their way and pushed you, their lady luck to be greeted by the winner.

As soon as his eyes landed on you he stilled before a radiant smile lit up his entire face and he pulled you right into his arms. Carlos buried his face into your neck, neither of you cared about his sweaty form and you squeezed him gently.

"You did it," you laughed, unable to keep the emotions at bay as you pulled away and cupped his cheeks. "You did it, love, you won!" You managed through your shaking voice and he mirrored your expressions as he nodded frantically, eyes closed as he leaned into your palms.

"I won," he whispered and chuckled when you pressed your lips to his cheek, lingering for a few seconds before looking at him proudly.

"Go get the trophy champ," you murmured in his ear and he grinned, smoothing out his wild hair and embracing him once more you said, "I love you so much, Carlos".

"I love you too, cariño. I'll be back soon I promise," he gently kissed your forehead before pulling away to make his way to the podium. He shot you a last, adoring look and a wink as he turned around to celebrate, making you laugh.

The Ferrari squad quickly hurried over to the podium and you felt a tap on your shoulder, turning to see Charles le Clerc there.

"Oh hey Charles," you smiled and immediately brought him in a hug. And when he released a long breath you knew the boy needed it. "You were so good, you know? I'm so proud".

"Thank you," he said, accepting the compliment though you knew he was feeling slightly down. "He did well," his eyes shifted to the podium and you copied his actions.

"He did," you smiled. A giddy sensation infecting your entire soul as you watched him stand in the first place and accept his prize, bouncing on your feet in anticipation for him to lift it up.

And lift he did.

A huge roar went through the crowd as Carlos lifted the trophy in the air, a bright, gorgeous smile on his face as he admired the beautiful sea of red. A chuckle leaving his lips as he heard fans yelling 'Smooth Operator' at the top of their voices. His happiness only seemed to increase tenfold when his glistening brown eyes met yours, his heart feeling heavy as he saw the love in them.

He smiled, that damn Carlos Sainz smile and you were a goner. Your insides quite literally skipped a beat as he watched you with such intensity before his attention was diverted. You cheered and clapped as he was showered with champagne, laughing at the drivers all messing with each other.

And that's when there was a vibration in your ear making you confused before realising that you had gotten a call and you couldn't help but groan. Pulling out your phone to check the name you sighed, it was your operation leader and you had to answer.

"Hey Charles," you whispered and he immediately gave you his attention. "I've got a call from work and it's urgent so unfortunately I have to take this. Can you just tell Carlos that I'll be in the driver's room?"

"Yeah 'course I'll do that," he nodded and you thanked him before walking backwards, scanning every inch of your boyfriend's elated face before turning your back on him and running back inside to attend the meeting.

====================================

Carlos Sainz had finished his post-race interview and was tired down to the bone. His suit hung low on his waist as he looked left and right in search of his girl. It had been too long, he had been away for too long and the only person he wanted to see was not visible anywhere.

He walked to his room, wanting to check there before calling and alas, his efforts bore fruit.

"Oh amor," he muttered and rushed across the lengths of the room, wasting no time at all to pull you in a well-deserved hug. "God I missed you," he sighed and tightened his grip, wanting to be impossibly closer to your body.

He was however met with silence making him pull away to look at you with a frown. You just gave him an apologetic smile and waved your phone in front of his face. He saw the name and deflated ever so slightly, trying to be subtle but of course you noticed.

"Just give me some time," you replied, feeling bad as you looked at his form.

Carlos could feel a frown again beginning to show on his face but he shook it off, instead offering you a tight-lipped smile, "It's fine, my love. Your work is important".

"So are you," you murmured without hesitation and gave him a chaste kiss, stroking his cheeks before having to pull away to share your inputs with the team. "Lo siento, corazõn," you mouthed but he just waved it off and urged you to pay attention before heading over to shower.

The small smile that was present on his lips faded away as he stepped inside the bathroom, not wanting to feel down over such a silly issue. You had your own priorities for god's sake, how can he expect you to give him attention 24/7? It was already more than enough when you had travelled in your meagre holiday of 3 days to see the race and he couldn't even let you work.

He groaned internally, having the urge to smack himself for being sulky over such futile matters. You had a job and a very important one too, the protection of Spain, his own country literally rested on your soldiers. You along with your team were the agents responsible in handling matters of utmost importance and urgency.

But it had indeed been too long and he just missed his girl, his other side came floating in. Was he wrong to want your attention after spending weeks apart, both of you being so busy that you barely had time to call each other every night.

Carlos sighed as he changed into comfortable clothes and dried his hair, not wanting his mood to spoil the rest of your evening he put on a natural smile and went looking for you... Only to find you completely engrossed in your laptop. Headphones on with fingers furiously typing as you spoke with the team.

You looked up at the noise of a door shutting and offered him a bright grin, looking at him looking all cozy in a Ferrari hoodie and sweatpants. You pushed aside your documents, placed the laptop on the table and patted the place beside you, internally happy at how excited he seemed.

He didn't waste another second before occupying the space and immediately resting his head on your lap making you chuckle softly, understanding that all he wanted at the moment was your attention and it made you feel bad that you couldn't provide him with every bit of it.

While keeping a keen ear on the ongoing conference, you took a break from typing and carded your fingers through his dark, fluffy hair and he let out a deep breath of relaxation.

"Gracias hermosa," he said softly, eyes twinkling with affection and he raised his arm slightly to caress your cheek, gently pulling you down to finally kiss you properly after so so long.

"Are you here??" A sudden voice blared through your headphones making you jerk away as you addressed your superior.

"Yes, sir. I think I'm in agreement of your decision regarding the operation. We've received enough intel and our sources have also bought the confirmation. So I suggest there shouldn't be any further delays".

As you spoke rapidly, your brain worked to formulate strategies, analysing every bit of data you had received. In doing so your attention had once again drifted away from Carlos and unknown to you, his face turned down.

The universe was really testing his patience today. All he wanted was to spend some quality time with his girlfriend, to kiss her, hug her and just be with her. But he was being denied these simple things.

And as though somebody was really testing him, you took off the headphones, rubbing your ears as they had dug into your head.

"Are you done?" He questioned quietly, voice low so as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere. His brown eyes were wide as they bore into yours, searching them intently and you were about to reply when your phone rang. Again.

"I-" you wanted to explain as he got up from your lap. The minute he faced you, your heart sank.

"You're busy, amor," he said softly. "It's okay you do your work, I won't disturb you," he offered you a small smile and began walking away and you stood up immediately.

"Carlos-" you began, walking quickly to hold his arm making him turn. "Please I honestly did not think it would be so busy, I just- lo siento-"

"Shush," he cut you off and cupped your face, his kind gaze staring you down but you couldn't brush off the slight loneliness present in them. "I said it's okay, no? It's your job, you have to do it. You finish it off I'll be outside. Nobody to disturb you, hermosa," he laughed, but even a stranger could have picked on the void in it.

Before you could say anything, he pressed a kiss to the hand that was holding his before backing off and exiting the room. In doing so your heart had torn as you watched the door shut, the phone in your hand ringing again.

====================================

After a rather tedious work of another two hours you were at last free. Rubbing your eyes and shutting off the laptop you dug your fingers in your hair, massaging it in the process.

"Carlos," was your immediate thought as soon as you got back to your senses. And you quite literally sprinted out of the room, being greeted by some engineers as you hurried past them, your head moving around searching desperately for the one man who had simply craved you all day.

"He's near the track," Riccardo spoke and you thanked him, quickly rushing over to the racetrack.

Since you had been sprinting, it took you nothing less than two minutes to find him, sitting on one of the raised platforms and staring at the sky. You ran towards him, wanting to fix every mistake you had unintentionally made.

He heard the sound of feet running and looked around, his body language considerably low.

"Hey love," you greeted tentatively, walking closer to him and helping yourself up.

"Hi," he replied back, short and simple.

"Carlos?" You tried, wanting him to look at you and he did, for a fleeting moment before looking up at the stars again. "Hey come on, look at me," you whispered, gently holding his jaw to turn him fully.

But he still wouldn't meet your eyes, a small pout on his lips as he played with his fingers.

"Please mi vida. You're mad at me aren't you?"

"No".

"Yes you are. You're upset".

"It's not your fault," he shook his head and once again turned his body away from yours.

"Why're you upset then, love?"

"I just- I wanted to spend all my time with you today, especially since I won the race. But well you had work. And no I don't blame you, I don't expect you to throw your life away because of me," he murmured and your heart clenched as you took his hand in yours. "But I just.. wanted to be with you".

"I'm so so sorry," you could only apologise as you brought his hands to your lips. "I know what you're feeling and I'm so sorry I couldn't make it better. I got so caught up in everything that-"

"No please don't say that," he cut you off nervously. "I told you it's not your fault. You couldn't help that you were busy".

You nodded not knowing what else to say as you merely looked at him, wanting him to do something, anything.

"Carlos," you whispered and that was all it took for him to throw his arms around your waist and bury his head in the crook of your neck making you stumble backwards. "I'm all yours now".

"You promise?" He muttered, not caring in the slightest of how childish his question sounded. Not giving a single fuck that he was feeling extremely vulnerable.

"I promise, amor," you nodded with a smile and he pulled back, looking at you with the same pout though this time, it was clear that he was pretending and you felt your insides warming up.

"Carloos," you dragged out his name in a teasing manner, poking his cheek and trying to catch his eye. "Carlitos?" That nickname was his soft spot and you knew it all too well. And as expected he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face like a wildfire, igniting yours in the process.

And at long last you grabbed the front of his hoodie to pull him in a much needed kiss. A proper, passionate kiss. And he responded with as much, if not more vigour as he held your waist, anchoring yourself to him. Your arms wound around his neck, bringing him closer as you took the lead before feeling the need for some oxygen.

"Wow," he said, breathless as he glanced at you, cheeks a little flushed.

"You liked that?" You smirked, resting your forehead against his while your hands played with the ends of his hair.

"I loved it," he answered, closing his eyes and savouring the moment. "I missed you so much, cariño".

"I missed you too. You have no idea how difficult it was being home and just watching you through nothing more than a screen," you confessed. "I'm lucky I haven't gone insane from the amount of work we've been doing everyday".

"I'm so proud of you, you know?" He told you gently, eyes sparkling with fondness that he reserved for you and you alone. "You're doing an incredible job, love. I'm so proud".

"Thank you," you smiled at his honesty. "But it can never come near to the amount of pride filling my chest every time I see you buckled up in the car".

He laughed like a teenager drunk on love, red coating his cheeks as he embraced you, resting his cheek on your shoulder, his soft hair tickling you. While you chuckled, instantly wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close.

====================================

Thank you so much for reading!

Let me know if there are any requests <33

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

Victory Tastes Damn Good - Carlos Sainz

<word count - 3384>

warnings - smut, under 18s dni

"Come on Carlos, come on," you muttered, feeling sick with nerves that you thought you might throw up. It was the final lap of the Singapore Grand Prix, and Lando was doing a great job as he backed up the final of the two Mercedes.

You couldn't help but close your eyes as they hurtled down the homestraight, unable to watch just in case it went wrong. But, the angels were looking down on you and granted your wishes, as you heard through your headphones, "Carlos Sainz has won the Singapore Grand Prix!" 

The team were screaming and jumping for joy, and you couldn't help it as tears escaped your eyes and down onto your cheeks. Even more tears flowed as you sang along with Carlos and his engineer, in celebration of the smoothest of operations. 

You rushed out to parc ferme, but couldn't get anywhere near the front due to the masses of Ferrari personel that were out there. You didn't even care though, as you got to watch Carlos get out of the car, finally victorious. He had been close in Monza, but that didn't matter. 

You may not have been able to see his face, but the pure joy that radiated from him could be felt from the distance you were at. While everyone was occupied at parc ferme, you headed straight to the podium.

Seeing him stood up there was magic. There was no easy way to describe how you felt, but it was like drowning in a sea of golden delight, and you didn't know whether to open your eyes or let it take you away.

It was like you were in a dream, and a part of you was terrified that you were going to wake up. You just couldn't tear your eyes away from him. You thought he was going to fizzle away, and the Spanish anthem would turn Dutch, and Carlos would turn blonde. 

But, it didn't happen. The anthem finished, and the Scuderia finally got to hear the grace of the Italian anthem. Carlos simply couldn't wipe the grin off his face, and you didn't want him to. It was the embodiment of everything he had worked so hard to achieve, and his brilliantly clever and down right genius racing had brought him to where he deserved to be.

At the top.

Watching him hoist his trophy high wa bliss, and it was like a King in front of his people as the whole of the Tifosi beneath him cheered and screamed. As the champagne flowed, Carlos and Lando showed everyone just how precious Carlando was, and you adored the friendship they had. 

Just as you had managed to stop crying, you finally got to see Carlos properly, and he had finally found you. He was looking for you, but was too caught up in the moment to properly search. You didn't know what to say as you looked at him.

He was stood right in front of you, and you couldn't muster a single world. "I just-" you fumbled, putting both of your hands on his face and squishing his cheeks lightly, trying to check if he was actually real. 

"You just fucking won, Carlos!" you squealed, violently shaking him by his shoulders, before yanking him into your arms. "Did I? Huh, I was wondering where the trophy and champagne came from," he deeply chuckled in your ear. 

"I think someone slipped something in my drink this isn't normal," you laughed, ruffling his hair slightly. "It's called being extremely fucking happy, baby, I feel it too," he said, kissing you as he picked you up and twirled you around. 

"We are getting so fucked up tonight," you beamed, itching to get celebrating as wildly and extravagantly as you wanted. "Well, you might be," he cheekily smirked, winking at you. 

"Wasn't what I was talking about, but since you've done so spectacularly, I'll consider it," you smirked, spotting the mischievous glint in his eyes. "I doubt you'll be having to do much considering," he whispered in your ear, backing you up and pinning you against the wall of the motorhome with his body. 

"I think I deserve it, don't you?" he lowly asked, his breath tickling your ear. 

"Oh you do, but you'll have to wait," you mused, knowing that you had absolutely no control in this moment, but you knew he liked it when you thought you had the upper hand. "Winners don't wait, baby," he coyly grinned, leaning impossibly closer to you and peppering a few light kisses down your neck.

"This one is going to have to, this isn't the right place," you said, gently pushing him away with a tap on the shoulder. "And why is that?" He asked, gazing down at you as he still pressed you against the wall. "You know why,"

"Maybe I do, but I want to hear you say it," he leered, knowing the exact reason why you didn't want to do anything with him right here, right now. "Because I'd have to be quiet," you muttered. "And why would that be such a challenge, my love?" he teased, tucking a lock of loose hair behind your ear.

"I don't think I'll be able to refrain from telling you just how brilliant you are. At racing, and other things," you giggled, snaking your arms around his neck. Judging by his reaction, you knew you had told him exactly what he wanted to hear. 

"Well, I guess that would be an added bonus to finding somewhere away from here," he winked, stepping away from you when footfalls approached you. "Carlos, race debrief in five," Charles said, practically stomping past.

"Alright, thanks," he nodded, waiting for Charles to round the corner at the end of the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight, Carlos lunged forward and captured your lips with his. His hands found their place on your waist, one of them slowly trailing down your body.

"Hey, patience," you said, tugging his hand away by his wrist. 

"Sorry, I just can't keep my hands off you," he said, forcing himself to walk away, because if he got his hands on you again, he wouldn't be able to get them off. As he backed away, he shot a wink towards you with a smug grin, "I'll see you later, baby,"

"I'll see you later, Carlos," you smiled, leaning back against the wall and giving yourself a minute to catch your breath. Carlos made you feel like a rowdy teenager all over again, and he never failed to surprise you with his antics. 

You were in for one hell of a night. You thought back to when he won in Silverstone last year and what happened after that, and there was no doubt in your mind that tonight was not going to be any different. 

You didn't really know where to go to wait for Carlos, so you just sat on the couch of the motor home, posted pictures of him on every social media platform known to man and tried to wipe the huge, goofy smile off your face.

There was pride still bubbling in your chest, and it was a tingle that you never wanted to shake off. You checked the time, seeing that they had been in the team debrief for about fifty minutes. It had been a while, and you wanted to stretch your legs.

The general public had gone, leaving the track staff and team workers in at the track. It left you to wander around the paddock freely, without reporters fishing for a quick headline, or people constantly surrounding you as you shuffled through, shoulder to shoulder.

You could walk past the motorhomes, as the lights lit up the path, the air feeling warm on your skin. You smiled at the few people that walked by, none of them stopping you on your travels around the paddock. 

Most of the teams and people were in their motorhomes, still going through their debriefs. After some time, you saw a stream of papaya walking out of the doors, and you figured there would soon be a river of scarlet to follow. 

"Hey Lando, great job out there, you smashed it," you smiled as the curly haired boy passed by, a huge grin plastered on his face. "Thanks, it was a great race," he nodded, "Hey, you free tonight? You look great," he smirked. 

"Don't let Carlos hear you ask that," you laughed, used to Lando constantly flirting with you. He had done it ever since you had met him, and Carlos knew it. "He's fine with it, he knows a pretty lady like you gets plenty of attention," he charmed.

"Are we talking about the same Carlos?" you raised an eyebrow at him, knowing how possessive Carlos could be at times. He liked to have you all to himself, and you wouldn't have it any other way.  "Why only have first place when you can have second too?" he continued, leaning against the wall behind him. "It's happened before, it can happen again," he said.

"OK Lando, I'm going to go and see if Carlos is ready now," you side-eyed him, brushing off his comment as a joke and hoping it was nothing more. 

Lando just chuckled at you, waving you away as you walked. More teams were filtering out of their motorhomes for the night as you strolled down the path, no sign of anything red. Just as you reached the outside of the Ferrari motorhome, a hand was held over your mouth as another hand positioned itself on your stomach, tugging you back.

You went to scream, but the hand muffled the sounds. You tried to kick away, hoping to catch the attention of a passerby. "Baby, don't struggle, it's just me," a voice whispered in your ear, and your struggling muscles instantly relaxed.

"The hell are you playing at?" you whisper shouted, spinning around to face him. He still had his race suit on, and his skin was still sticky from the champagne.

"I just needed to see you, needed to touch you," he murmured, pulling you as close as he could. "Wait until we get back, we've been over this," you sighed, trying to ignore the feeling of his hands roaming your figure.

"But I need you now, baby," he spat, pinning you against the wall in one swift movement. "Everyone will hear and anyone who walks past will see," you told him.

"As soon as the last few guys from ours leave, we're the only ones left," he explained to you.

"There are security cameras everywhere, Carlos," you told him, your eyes darting around the space surrounding you, checking for any sign of surveillance. "Nothing can see here, I checked," he smirked.

One of Carlos' hands braced on your waist, the other trailing over your hip bones. "Fuck it," you mumbled, pulling him in by his neck and passionately kissing him. "That's my girl," he breathed against your lips.

You realised that people had stopped wandering out of the track, and you poked your head around the corner to see if there was anyone there. Much to your delight, the path past all of the motorhomes and across the paddock was like a ghost town. 

Most of the lights around the circuit flicked off as the final staff left for the night, leaving you alone at the track. There was a rush of excitement surging through you, curious to do whatever it was that Carlos was so hell bent on doing out in the open, where anyone could potentially see.

No more words were exchanged as you nodded at him to give him the all clear, to give him permission for whatever he was wanting to do. He hungrily took your lips with his, not even giving you the chance to breathe.

It felt like you were in a stormy sea, only able to capture a small gasp of air every now and then, but the burn that lingered in your lungs was like cold air on a winters' day.

Carlos' hands slithered up the sides of your thighs, sneaking under the material of your dress. His touch left tingles in their wake as his fingers brushed the skin on your hips.

"Can I?" he asked, hooking his fingers into the thin side of your underwear. "Of course," you nodded, pulling at his neck to bring him back into a kiss. Once you had stepped out of the lace, it was kicked to the side and discarded.

His lips moved across your jaw and delicately down your neck, across your shoulder. "Unfortunately for the both of us, we need to keep this on, just in case anyone decides to ruin our fun," he smirked against your skin, tugging at the material at the waist of your dress, "I don't want anyone else seeing you the way I get to,"

Normally you'd be alarmed at the prospect of someone seeing, or catching you in the act, but you were too caught up in it to care. Too fuelled with desire to be bothered. Too needy for him to think.

His lips still roamed slowly down, his hand sneaking back under the skirt of your dress and dangerously close to you. His fingers teased the skin of your upper thighs, and the temptation to push yourself closer to him was nearly unbearable.

But then, a thought struck you. "Hey, tonight is about you, allow me, I think you deserve a reward, no?" you breathed, pulling his face within a centimetre of yours by grabbing his chin. Your other hand snaked down his chest, all the way down to where his race suit was rolled down.

Carlos grabbed your wrist, pinning it against the wall. "If it's about me, then it's about you too. Getting to see you squirm for me, getting to hear how much you need me is the best reward you could give me," he smugly grinned, sinking to his knees in front of you.

His lips placed feather light kisses up the insides of your thighs, flitting from one to the other. "Fucking hell," he groaned, seeing the effect he had on you. "It's that easy, huh?" he teased, still kissing the insides of your thighs. "You're just too good," you lightly chucked, a hint of desperation in your voice.

"Say it again, it sounded good," he told you as he pushed your knees further apart. 

"You are so fucking brilliant, I don't even- Fuck," you breathed out as he teased you with his tongue. He slowly circled your clit as you pushed your hips into him.

"Tell me baby, tell me how much you want me," he told you, lightly running his tongue over you. "I need you, Carlos, I don't think I can wait," you pleaded, and it was music to his ears. It was the fuel that kept him going.

Without further hesitation, he started lapping and sucking at all the right places. Those special spots that he had mapped out in his mind. You both held the dangerous assumption that there was not a single soul around that could hear or see what you were doing.

"Am I doing a good job?" he asked, not ceasing with his movements. With his every action, the fizz in your lower abdomen became closer and closer to bubbling over. "Fuck yes you are, please don't stop," you mewled, tangling your hand in his hair, pulling at his dark locks. 

You couldn't help but buck your hips towards him, desperate for more. Carlos let out a low chuckle, "So I'm that good, huh?" he teased, adoring the way you tugged gently at the strands of his hair. "You're a winner for a reason," you said, your back arching off of the wall. 

Tingles were slowly spreading across your body, and the ever more desperate moans you were letting out told Carlos everything he needed to know. "You close, baby?" he asked, half mocking, half serious. 

He could tell the answer of the question quite easily, your legs were starting to shake and your hands were slowing their movements in his hair. "Fuck yes, I-" you managed to get out, the pleasure hitting you in a wave that spread across your body.  

It was like electricity pulsing through your veins, and your legs were buckling underneath you. Carlos rose from his knees and captured your lips in a heated kiss, the taste of you lingering on his tongue. "You know what that is? That's the taste of victory, and I think it's pretty damn good," he told you, caressing your sides.

"You OK to keep going?" he asked, despite is desperation. Even if he needed you more than anything else right now, your comfort was still his top priority. "Mhm, I don't wanna stop," you told him, and that was enough for him. 

You pushed his race suit down his legs quickly, knowing just how much both of you needed it. "Jump," he instructed between kisses, hoisting you up as your legs locked around his waist. He held you against the wall as he guided himself into your entrance. 

"Shit you feel good," he groaned, burying his head into your neck as he rocked his hips into yours. His lips left purply-red splotches on your skin, and you could feel them forming. Every time he thrust into you, you both let out groans of pleasure as you came closer to release. 

"Oh my god you're good, so fucking amazing," you rambled, and your praises fuelled him on more. He started to thrust into you deeper and harder, and he touched that spot that made you see stars. 

"You're the best reward I have ever gotten," he spat through gritted teeth, trying to hold himself together. "You deserve it," you breathed, your thighs burning from being clasped around his waist for the length of time you had. 

"Carlos, I-," you fumbled, unable to form legible words as you felt the pressure in your stomach build up to an unbearable level. You didn't need words to tell him, he could feel the way your walls wrapped tightly around him. 

"Carlos, I'm going to-," you started, but you were silenced by Carlos smashing his lips against yours, "Me too," he groaned as his pace picked up, hungry for release. Both of your moans were muffled as the release of pressure made your vision black out. 

It was like ropes of energy shooting through your abdomen, as you cried out and threw your head back against the wall. Your nails scratched over the skin of his neck, leaving red streaks in their path as the skin turned raw. His hips slowed to a halt as you were both left, breathless and exhausted. 

"Are you OK to stand, or do you want me to hold you for a bit longer?" he asked, his eyes turning from hungry to soft. "I should be fine, you can put me down," you said, Carlos gently lowering you back down to the ground. 

Your legs were kind of numb, as you leant against the wall to catch your breath. "We're still going to get pissed, right?" you asked, not ready for your night to be over. Carlos pulled his race suit back over his hips and stood in front of you, staring at the hickeys he had left on your neck. 

"You're probably going to have to cover these up, but then again, I'd love for everyone to see what I get when I win," he smirked, his hands gripping your waist. 

"Then you're probably going to have to cover these up," you laughed, running your fingers over the red scratches on his neck. "Let people see, I don't mind," he laughed, ignoring the sting they left on his skin. 

"I don't know if I want people knowing what we get up to," you chuckled, leaning against him as you started to walk out from in between the motorhomes. "True, I don't want anyone imagining you like that, that's all for me," he said, gripping you tighter. 

"Tell that to Lando," you quipped, since you knew Carlos knew how flirtatious he was with you. "He's an exception," he winked, checking to see if there were any people around. A blush tinted your cheeks as you realised that Lando's comment from earlier might not have been a joke. 

A/N - It's been a week, I know, I'm sorry. I've been really busy, so think of this as a one week anniversary gift. But in all seriousness, it still doesn't feel real, and it makes Forza Ferrari-ing through the pain that little bit easier. That was the smoothest of operations, and could not be prouder of our chili 🌶💖

|masterlist|

[foggieststars]

sex pollen + overstim and/or denial for landoscar queen?

"Jesus fuck," Lando says, and Oscar glares at him with baleful eyes. Lando takes affront to that. If anything, Lando reckons he's sort of underreacting to the whole, finding his teammate slumped nearly-unconscious outside the door of his flat, thing.

"Are you - I mean. Y'alright?" Lando asks, heartbeat loud in his ears. Oscar's got sweat pouring off him, like he's just finished 62 laps of Singapore. His hair's clumped together with sweat, stringy and

"Of course I'm not alright," Oscar snaps, and - that’s new. 

Lando blinks, unsure what to make of Oscar like this. It’s the most tense Lando’s ever seen him - the most genuinely irritated. Even after Carlos took him out of the race in Spa last year, the most emotion Oscar had shown was the tightly clenched fists in his lap during the debrief. Seeing Oscar like this… it’s an uncomfortable display of vulnerability. 

“What’s happened to you?” Lando asks, reaching out to offer Oscar a hand. “Why are you–?” here, he doesn’t say. Figures it’d be rude. Make Oscar think he’s like, unwelcome or something. 

“I dunno,” Oscar says, breathing heavily. “I was opening some fucking - oh, fuck,” he says, doubling over. Lando fumbles in his pocket for his keys, unlocks the door with clumsy, trembling hands. “I was opening some fanmail, for some stupid fucking video, and one of them had all this powder in it, and it got all over my hands, and I started feeling - like this.” 

“Oh, christ,” Lando says, mind whirring. Can people send, like, drugs in the post? Drugs that only need to touch your skin to activate? Lando tries not to panic too obviously, wants to stay calm for Oscar. Who’s crawled here, for some reason. 

“Fuck, Osc,” Lando gnaws on his lip, shutting the door behind them. When he reaches out to steady Oscar, swaying on the spot, his skin is searingly hot to the touch. “I reckon you need to go to the hospital, mate.” 

“Dunno where it is, do I?” Oscar snaps. “And besides. I don’t think… I don’t think I need a hospital. Not for this.” 

Lando nearly shrieks, panic turning his hands clammy. “Oscar, you just told me that you - that you’ve touched some random fucking powder, and now you’re here, sweating buckets on my doorstep. Of course you need to go to the hospital!” 

Oscar lurches dangerously to the side as Lando’s speaking, and Lando reaches out to grab him. One hand finds Oscar’s forearm, pulls him in close to his body. The other hand lands on Oscar’s waist, trailing around to his stomach. 

“Oh,” Oscar moans, swaying into Lando this time. 

“What hurts? Your stomach?” Lando babbles, scrabbling with the hem of Oscar’s top. “It might be your appendix or something, you know?” 

When he gets Oscar’s top up, exposing the smooth expanse of his stomach, Lando presses his hand to it. He doesn’t know what the fuck he thinks he’s looking for - like he’ll be able to feel Oscar’s appendix about to rupture - and then Oscar makes another noise. It’s low and sharp and unmistakably aroused. 

“Osc?” Lando probes, and then Oscar’s doubling over, moaning louder, and his hips - well, oh Jesus, he’s fucking forward into the air, like he’s got his cock in someone. 

The movement continues for what feels like forever, but is probably no longer than ten seconds, and then Oscar slumps over, like a marionette with its strings cut. 

“Oh my god,” Lando says, hating the way his voice has gone all high-pitched. “Did you just–?” 

Oscar groans, still bent double at the waist. “‘M sorry,” he grits out, voice hoarse. His cheeks are stained pink. “Fuck, Lando. I’m so sorry.” 

“When you said - when you said you didn’t need a hospital…”

Oscar looks at him, eyes shining. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. “Ever since I touched that stuff - I don’t know. I just - I can’t stop.” 

Lando’s brain goes offline at the mental image of Oscar, alone in his flat, jerking himself off frantically, again and again and again. 

“And - so. You came here?” Lando queries, voice tremulous. 

Oscar looks at him with a pained expression. “I want. Will you - help?” 

Lando feels like he’s teetering on the precipice of something massive. There’s been tension between them since Oscar arrived. Lando never acted on it. He’d sworn to himself - this would be the teammate he doesn’t let fuck him. Oscar’s always respected that unspoken decision; never pushed too hard, never made so much as the tiniest of moves. Even though Lando knows he feels it just as urgently - the intangible thing shimmering between them. Seems like Oscar’s finally reached his breaking point. 

Lando steadies himself with a deep breath. “Alright, Oscar. I’ll help.” 

*

Five minutes later find them in Lando’s unmade bed, shirts off, Lando fiddling with the drawstring of Oscar’s shorts. Shorts - in December. Lando barely resists the urge to tease him about it, thinks it might be just too much for Oscar right now. 

When he finally gets them down around Oscar’s ankles, Lando doesn’t feel much like joking any longer. 

“Fuck, Osc,” Lando says, looking down at the mess. “You came so much.” 

His cock is an angry shade of red, so hard it’s resting against his stomach. There’s a mess of drying come in Oscar’s boxers, a testament to how many times he’d gotten himself off before coming to seek out Lando’s help. It must hurt. Lando’s never come this many times in one session - not even when he was a horny teenager with no refractory period. 

Oscar pants, arm thrown across his eyes, nods. Didn’t even bother to clean himself up. Needed it that badly. 

“How many times did you–?” 

Oscar makes a quiet noise, like he’s embarrassed to admit to it. “I - Lando,” he rasps, hips hitching as Lando takes his hot cock in hand. It’s pulsing gently, weeping pre-come when Lando thumbs over the tip.

“Come on,” Lando pushes, unsure why he can’t resist the urge to tease. Why he never can. “I won’t tell anyone. Swear.” 

Who’s Lando gunna tell, exactly? Max wouldn’t even believe him. 

“F-four,” Oscar says, moaning when Lando twists his wrist. “Lando, fuck, I’m - so close.” 

“Already?” Lando asks, laughing despite himself. “I’m not even - oh.” 

That’s all it takes to have Oscar spilling all over Lando’s hand, hips kicking into the air. It’s scorchingly hot. 

“Jesus,” Lando says, and Oscar throws his other arm across his face too. Like if he buries himself deep enough, this will all go away. “I barely even touched you!” 

“I know,” Oscar says, seemingly more lucid immediately post-orgasm. “It - the powder shit. It doesn’t take much to - y’know. Makes everything feel… louder.” 

Alright, maybe not so lucid after all. 

“Does it hurt?” Lando asks, and Oscar nods. Doesn’t seem to stop his cock filling up again, straining with desperation. Oscar finally brings his arms down from his face, more flushed than ever. 

He’s so - vulnerable, like this. Like Lando could do anything to him, anything at all, and he’d just lie there and shudder through it, small, bitten-off moans spilling from his mouth. It’s a thought that shouldn’t turn Lando on as much as it does. 

Lando gets Oscar off again with his hands, once with his mouth. Oscar starts fully crying when Lando sucks on the head of his cock, and Lando’s never really been one to get, like, turned on by tears, but - well. It’s Oscar, so. 

“You okay?” Lando asks, sitting up, wiping off his chin. “I don’t wanna like, hurt you or nothing.” 

“It’s just - it’s a lot,” Oscar hiccups, chest heaving. “Feels so - I dunno how to explain. I’m all… tingly.” 

Lando finishes him off, sits back on his heels to give Oscar a short break. He leans forward, rests the back of his palm on Oscar’s forehead. It feels absurdly domestic - weirdly maternal, actually - but he’s even hotter than before, if anything. 

“I don’t know if this is helping,” Lando says, watching Oscar ball his fists into Lando’s duvet, trying not to hump the air. “You’re like, properly burning up. Should I call someone?” he hesitates. “Mark?” 

“No!” Oscar practically shouts, hands flying up to grip Lando’s wrists, like he’s in any fit state to physically wrestle a phone out of Lando’s grasp. Like Lando would even have Mark’s number saved. He’d have to call Jenson probably, and then that would be a whole thing. “Not Mark. Not - okay.” Oscar blows out air, ruffles his fringe. “I think. I think you’re gonna have to…” 

Lando raises his eyebrows, not following Oscar’s deluded train of thought. 

Oscar groans, half-twists his body to bury his face in the pillows. He takes a couple of deep breaths, and Lando watches the muscles in his back twitch and flex. 

When Oscar rolls back, he’s calmer. More measured. And then, as if it’s normal, as if this is something teammates do with each other all the time, he plants his feet into the mattress, and spreads his legs.  

“Oh,” Lando says. His cock, already half-hard, jumps to attention so quickly Lando feels briefly dizzy. “Oh, right. Fucking hell.” 

“Only if you want to,” Oscar says, voice trembling. “I know it’s - I’m sorry. I know this is fucking insane.” 

“If I want to,” Lando echoes, feeling vaguely hysterical. Maybe he’s the drugged one. Maybe Max thought it would be funny to slip something into his drink last night, and all this is just one long, horny fever-dream. 

“Yeah,” Oscar says, in a voice that betrays his barely-suppressed panic. “Lando? Can you - oh, god. Say something, please?” 

“Are you - fuck, Oscar. I mean. Are you sure?” 

Oscar nods desperately, the movement ruffling his hair. “Please, Lando. I came to you for - for a reason,” he gulps. And then, softly, almost begging – “Please.” 

It’s so hot Lando almost sees stars. “Alright,” he says after a moment of indecision. “Alright, Osc. I’ve got you.” 

The relief on Oscar’s face is almost enough to make Lando feel guilty, that Oscar thinks Lando’s the one doing him a favour. Like he hasn’t been gagging to stick his dick in Oscar since that first day in the MTC. 

Lando fumbles for his hand, threads their fingers together, gives Oscar’s hand a tight squeeze. “‘M gonna make it go away, Osc, I swear.” 

Oscar gasps at the sensation, banal and sexless as a squeeze of the hand is. He needs it. He’s sore from overstimulation, gasping whenever Lando so much as brushes his cock, and yet he’s still begging for it, desperate to be touched. 

Oscar smiles at him, so sweet and polite. “Thank you,” he says, and Lando loses his grasp on reality. 

[mauvecherie-writes]

Bathe Me In Your Warmth.

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Black Reader

summary: Comfort after Singapore GP in Japan.

themes/warning: none, angsty, comfort fluff.

notes: SAME PAIRING FROM MERITORIOUS. It’s a bit rambly but I hope it makes sense. The ending is a bit ambiguous but I feel like right now that’s needed as we head into the final day of Sazuka weekend. Preferably read before the race 🫶🏾

word count: 1.86K

You absolutely hated it when Lewis drove himself to exhaustion.

The physical toll always wore on his body drastically. Sunken cheeks which made his sharp features more protruding. His shoulders sagged more with the weight of the aftermath. His beautiful, golden brown skin had now gone a tinge of grey.

And worst of all, the sparkle in his eyes was gone. You could see it from where you had been standing and it absolutely killed you that he even had to push himself to that point.

But he fucking got the podium.

It’s not the win he had wanted because he definitely knew had he not been made to give Norris back his position by the stewards, he would have been on the top step. You think that’s what is most disappointing about the weekend.

Everyone knew that he had it.

And yet, still nothing.

—

You had left for Japan earlier than him thus by the time he had arrived at the hotel, you were already there waiting for him and his trusted companion, Roscoe and seeing the both of you there brought a genuine smile onto his face for the first time in hours.

Roscoe was already in his set-up bed , lightly dozing up. He quirked up when Lewis softly scratched behind his ears but Roscoe kept his head low, too tired from the travelling. Then he stood up to his full height and turned his attention to you. He still looked exhausted but the happiness was slowly returning to his eyes.

“Hi Baby.” You softly greeted him as he wrapped his arms around your waist and your hands settled on his cheeks. You caressed his cheekbones which caused his eyes to flutter close. He softly sighed as you placed a soft kiss on either side of his face and then all the way down his jawline, ignoring the way his beard tickled your lips.

You finally laid your lips onto his. Your breath rushed out from your lungs as he kissed you back. Lewis always kissed you like he wanted to consume your entire being. One small kiss could never be enough, he always needed more, especially on a day like today.

Lewis pulled you into him, gripping you tighter as if he was afraid that you could vanish at any moment. You could feel the need coursing through his veins from his touch, from his kisses. It always felt like the first time and you would never get tired of that.

Your fingers caressed his face as he slowed down the kiss, letting your touch reassure him that you’re here, that you’ll always be here.

You pulled your lips away and pressed your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled as your hands came to his ears and softly rubbed on the outer shell, a move that always seemed to soothe him.

“One to ten?” You softly asked him which caused a chuckle to escape from him.

“A hundred now that I have you in my arms.” You giggled at his answer.

“Ever the flatterer.” You pecked his lips once more before you took his hand into his and began pulling him towards the bathroom.

“I took a shower at the track and then one on the plane on my way here.” Lewis groaned as he trotted along behind you.

“And I love that for you but you’re not getting into bed with me after you’ve been in a compressed can with recycled air and recycled water to wash your body. Just a quick one, you don’t need to scrub yourself down.” You placed a kiss on his chin as you handed him the body wash he regularly used along with his exfoliating sponge.

He rolled his eyes as he watched you walk out of the bathroom and close the door behind him. You knew that he was going to be incredibly quick so you hoped that his food was still warm enough for him to eat despite the fact he’d probably deny eating so late at night.

You dropped your gown and fixed your pyjamas back into place as you got his food ready for him. As you heard the shower turned off, you got on the bed leaning on your knees as you waited. Lewis walked out wearing his grey sweatpants and a white vest top. He had tied his twists into a low ponytail.

“Did you moisturise?” You asked him. He rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Yes and before you ask I’ve done my whole routine.” He answered as he walked closer to you. You wrapped your arms around his torso and rested your chin on his chest as you looked up at him.

“Are you going to eat something?” You goad him which causes him to groan. You knew that he wanted to say no but with the way that you were looking at him with slightly pleading eyes.

He sighed as his hands came to your shoulders. “What did you get for me?”

You instantly grinned as you began to rattle off everything that you had ordered for him. You had probably suspected he hadn’t eaten anything in hours but you just had to feed him before bed. Despite his reluctance, Lewis accepted the red lentil curry that you fed him.

The naan bread was so still warm from being freshly baked and when infused with the flavours of the curry, they just burst on his tongue and it pleased him which made you happy. You always tried to keep his eating in check even when he had moments of not wanting to. He only took a few bites but it was just enough to satisfy the both of you.

After a fruit bowl, you laid on the bed with Lewis in between your legs and you stroked his head as you felt his breathing slow down. His head was perfectly settled in between your chest as you played with his hair in silence, only loft music sounding in the background.

Bathed and fed, laying in your arms - Lewis was feeling content. Even though the previous race was still plaguing his mind, it was slowly fading into the background. By now you’d usually ask about his thoughts and feelings about the race weekend but tonight, none of that happened.

“You’re not gonna ask me about my weekend?” He questioned.

“No.” You mumbled as you continued to play with his hair. “I think you’ve said everything that you needed to say. Me asking you anything else wouldn’t really help you distress especially when it’s the same issues you’ve been having for over a season and a half.”

“That is true.” He mumbled into the fabric of your sleeping shirt. He sighed before letting his body weight sink into yours. He appreciated the fact that you just knew how to deal with him when he needed it.

“What we can talk about is this hair. Why did you let Willow play with it like that?!” You exclaimed which caused him to laugh, the laugh vibrating through you.

“It wasn’t Willow. But you weren’t there and I needed my hair redone.”

“Then you should have waited for me. I cannot believe you’re out here embarrassing me like this. Now the girlies are going to think I allowed this.”

“The girlies?”

“Yes, the girlies! You’re not online like I am. They’ve been complaining about your hair all weekend. About how bad it is and as your black girlfriend, it reflects badly on me that I even let you step out of the house, let alone going in public to a track like this.”

“I feel like this is becoming a bigger issue than it needs to be.” Lewis chuckled but you playfully flicked the side of his head.

“It IS a big issue and I need you to be serious right now!”

“I am!” He chuckled.

“No you’re not. Your hair is such an integral part of you and I cannot have you letting someone butcher your hair like this. Brassy blonde with rubber bands - just terrible.”

“Okay! Okay!”’Lewis laughed as he laid his chin on your stomach. “I’ll never let anyone touch my hair without your approval.”

“Thank you.” You smiled. You still continued to cuddle him until you could feel his heavy breathing as sleep began to take over him. He slept the best when he was in your arms and having your comfort was all that he needed in that moment. He didn’t need to dwell on the results of the Singapore race, there was so much more to look forward to.

You brought that optimism out of him.

“Whatever happens, I need you to understand that it doesn’t take away from all the accomplishments you’ve achieved up to this point. Don’t let them get to you.”

He didn’t reply straight away as he pondered on your words. His thumb caressed the side of your stomach. “What if the words do get to me? What if I am losing my touch?”

You sat up straight which pushed him to follow your lead. You cupped his face into his hands and looked straight into his eyes.

“Now you listen to me Carl Davidson. You’re not losing anything. The regulations were changed and for once Mercedes and their engineers failed to understand and fully grasp the concept. That is not on you! No matter how many times people will try to lay that burden at your feet. You told them what they needed to do and they didn’t do it. That absolutely has nothing to do with you so for your sake, stop putting that mental load onto yourself.”

He knew what you were saying was correct but for some reason he couldn’t shake the feeling away. He was a world champion, he had done this plenty of times but the frustration of not winning was getting to him in a way that it shouldn’t but couldn’t stop.

“You’re right.” He mumbled.

“You know I’m right.” You quirked. “But I can’t think that for you, you have to come to that conclusion on your own.”

“I know” He sighed before he buried his head in your chest and cuddled into you more. With him still laying down on you, you wrapped your arms and legs around him and placed chaste kisses on the side of his head.

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.” You whispered.

“Right now, I don’t think we will …”

“As long as you don’t lose yourself trying to.” You kissed the side of his forehead once again before hugging him tighter. Nothing was truly going to get him out of his funk but your warmth encapsulated him just enough to forget about his worries.

Even just for the moment.

——————————

@queenshikongo3 @lostinlewis @hersinsarescarlet @dhlfastestlap @olyvoyl @chaneajoyyy @kindan3rdy951 @ricciardosheart @lewiscrown @sarah-ev @mercedesjpg @playgurlxoxo @scorpiobleue @leilaxaliel @amorestevens @nomnombibblenibble @honey-prinxess @ohkapten @bahatibloom @meganwestan @theonlyblue2 @mangodreamsicle @jayvila0 @royallyprincesslilly @felicity-x0 @melodicheauxxlovesfood @lh44adore @mimihopie @paradisehamilton @riasrecs @weetjy @mochachocolatteyaya @lewisroscoelove @valkryienymph @miyuhpapayuh @write-fromthe-start @stronglikemusic @judelver123 @thickbihhwitdagapp @n0vaj3an @cocobuttersmooches @blowmymbackout

[folkloresthings]

in honour of us both going to uni tomorrow, i have a lil drabble request…fernando with a younger gf doing a degree 🫣 nando is my guilty pleasure ngl

EL ur a genius 🤍 my two fav things. also made her do a journalism degree because i’m doing a journalism degree so what

A WORLD AWAY. ❨ fernando alonso x reader ❩

“how’s your essay going?”

fernando’s soft spanish accent is muffled through the speaker of your phone, his face propped up on your desk next to your laptop. the glow of the screens and your newest candle illuminate your face in the top—right corner, hair scraped back and a large hoodie hanging on your shoulders. fernando still thinks you’re the most beautiful thing.

“not terrible,” you sigh, glancing at the word document that has laid untouched since your phone had rang thirty minutes ago. “need some more sources to fill it out a bit. i’ll probably have to stay up to finish it.”

“not too late,” fernando orders, brows raised. “you need your sleep.”

glancing at the clock, you mentally work out what time it is with him. he’d have only been up for a few hours, morning in singapore while it was night in london.

“yes sir,” you chuckle, sipping your lukewarm tea. “how do you feel for quali?”

the usual updates from your boyfriend pour in, and you know he could talk for hours about his job and the race. frankly, you’d let him. your degree was exhausting at the best of times, but you were in your final year now and with the deadline for your dissertation looming, the stress was piling on. fernando’s calls to rant about work or just dissect a race distracted you from your own responsibilities, even if it was just for a little while.

“go to sleep, mi amor. you look exhausted,” he sweetly worries, head titled adorably in the camera. “you can finish it tomorrow.”

“wanna talk to you, though,” you pout, already shutting your laptop and crawling under the covers of your bed. “i miss you.”

“i miss you too, cariño,” fernando murmurs. while the other wives and girlfriends jetted off to as many races as they could, your degree kept you far too busy to be able to visit fernando as much as you wanted to. you went to as many races as you could — but both of you felt the hardships of the distance.

“but you need to sleep. i’ll speak to you later, okay? i love you.”

“i love you too. goodnight.”

when you did get the chance to visit fernando at work, he was ecstatic. showing you off was his favourite thing to do, bragging about your academic achievements and whatever article you’d written most recently. it made a nice change to people asking, or not so subtly whispering, about the evident age gap.

you were almost twenty—four, fernando eighteen years your senior. it gained a lot of attention when you first went public, and still did two years into your relationship. you’d learned to deal with it, but you could always feel the eyes on you when you entered the paddock.

“don’t worry about them,” kika always told you, walking arm in arm to hospitality for a coffee. she had her own struggles, with her and pierre’s smaller, but still noticeable, age gap. “you love each other. that’s what matters.”

and, god, you did love fernando. watching him race, embedded in his element, he was easy to adore. when, every time he took him helmet off, he found your face in the crowd and sent you a wink.

“i’m so glad you could come,” your boyfriend mumbles in your ear when you hug him after the race, congratulating his impressive P5. it wasn’t podium, but you were proud no matter what. your chest seized as his words flew straight to your heart — you knew how much it meant to fernando to have someone there to support him, even with the tough facade he so often put on. you only wished you could be there more.

“a few more months and i’ll have graduated, then i’ll come to every race,” you tell him happily, lips squished where his hands press to each cheek. lingering forward, his soft lips fall on yours and kiss you adoringly. a thank you, everything he wasn’t very good at vocalising when he wanted to.

“i’m so proud of you,” fernando mumbles against your lips, hands heavy in your hair.

“i’m supposed to be the one telling you that.”

“i mean it, mi amor. you’ve been working so hard, and i know it’s not easy being with me. but i’m glad that you are,” fernando admits. your teeth find your bottom lip, willing it not to wobble as your eyes begin to sting with warmth. no matter what happened with the race, or your degree, or even the scandal of your relationship — you had each other.

[brakingpoint]

i missed your answer but happy day of the lord i'd love you to rank drivers by hotness because i think you're hilarious

you know what it's been like three days of the lord since you sent this but i've finally got bevved on one of them so let's go. i do not believe in rankings so i will instead be offering my commentary in current drivers championship standings order

max verstappen - i wont lie i know he's not everyone's cup of tea but i do find him quite sexy. do not understand the overwhelming tit hype on this website because this man would have to clench for his life to fill a victoria's secret training bra but it's fine because his beautiful autistic rizz and enchantingly bold nose make up for it. points deducted because i can tell his skincare routine is dish soap

lando norris - 2019 lando norris is like, i am honestly too old to have found him sexy if i'd been into f1 at the time bc even though we're only like 2/3 years apart in age he looks about 5 years younger than me. but i can completely get how if you were like 16 at the time he would seem like the cutest boy on the planet. like up all night era one direction vibes you know. unfortunately his 2024 styling with the weird desperate attempt at facial hair makes him look like a man who uses snapchat for evil

charles leclerc - objectively beautiful man crafted by the gods themselves but i can't honestly say he makes me feel anything carnally. i look at him as i would a marble sculpture in a museum

oscar piastri - he is not a bad looking guy but he does nothing for me. partially an age thing and partially his complete lack of rizz. he doesn't have time to be sexy he's got a job to do and that job is scaring the pants off lando norris every time he's within DRS range

carlos sainz - sometimes i think he is one of the top 10 sexiest men ever to exist on the planet and sometimes i think he looks like that really angry eagle off the muppets. he's got to work the right angles

lewis hamilton - much like charles leclerc he is someone who is so deeply objectively sexy that it almost reverts to me feeling nothing wait a second somebody just beamed psychic images of those interviews from like singapore 2019 where he had his hair up but with a couple bits framing his face so gorgeously and now i can't form words or think of anything else

george russell - the thing you have to understand is i went to oxford and i went clubbing a lot in oxford and so i have made out with a number of george russell lookalikes that is easily in the double figures. and i have zero regrets

sergio perez - he's not sexy he is like a cabbage patch doll whose nose i want to boop so fondly as i very gently whisper in his ear to DRIVE FUCKING FASTER

fernando alonso - i don't find him sexy but at the same time i can understand why lance stroll does

nico hulkenberg - i feel like you either have to be a really really straight woman or a really really gay european man to find him hot. and i am unfortunately neither

lance stroll - i'm refraining from answering until he grows his hair back out. at which point i will still refrain from answering but moreso for my own dignity

yuki tsunoda - we must not underestimate the rizz of a man so short he could be a back up dancer on sabrina carpenter's short 'n' sweet tour. i can unequivocally say i would

alex albon - you see physically he is not really my type but being engaged in conversation with him for more than five minutes would have me so horny i can barely breathe. i just love a dork yknow. i feel like i'd match with him on tinder by the strength of his bio even though his selfies are a bit shit and then i'd be actively drooling throughout the entire date

daniel ricciardo - in 2018, yes. in 2021 onwards, no. was he in some sort of reverse dorian grey situation where his portrait has gotten both hotter and attained better f1 results? who knows

pierre gasly - if he brings back the long swoopy hair with the frosted tips we are back in fucking business quite frankly

ollie bearman - i know he's technically an adult but he looks so young that even including him in this poll as an aside feels noncey to me

kevin magnussen - i have nothing to say. next

esteban ocon - he's tall, i suppose

franco colapinto - once again it's an ollie bearman situation where i can objectively acknowledge that he's a handsome lad but i've been following him since he was 19. i CANNOT see him that way.

zhou guanyu - i feel like his inherent swag is wasted in f1 i'd probably fancy him a lot more if he was some rando catwalk model i saw reblogged onto my dash precisely once when he was walking the runway in dior's latest collection at paris fashion week or something

logan sargeant (rip) - i really can't knock the people who fancy him because i feel like if you're american making out with 5000 guys who look just like him at college parties is my equivalent of making out with a ton of george russell impersonators at oxford. but thus i cannot see it due to our vastly different life experiences

valtteri bottas - he's hot in the way that like i walk into a gay bar and see the posters of men in leather jockstraps plastered around the place and go you know what this is not targeted to me but i can see why this is hugely titillating to the people these pictures were actually put up for. he's the closest to 1980s gay porn we have on this grid and i have to hugely respect that even if he's not my personal type

bonus liam lawson round - he looks like he was meant to debut in a boyband circa 2014 but accidentally got locked in a portaloo before their first recording session and they just kind of forgot about him there and he's just stumbled out into the daylight right now for the first time in 10 years and he's a little startled and hasn't learned about modern fashion yet but he's still kind of hot to people who would have desperately fancied luke from 5SOS were they above the age of seven at the time that band debuted

[annisassintchaska]

You Shall Pay For It: Toto Wolff x Black!Caribbean!Reader

TW: Reader is 29 years old.

Working for MERCEDES AMG PETRONAS F1 TEAM always has its ups and down. There are days when the team does extremely well, and days when things go extremely south; it was how well they learnt and upgraded from their mistakes, that made the team as strong and dominant as it is today. The blood, sweat and tears from hard work and dedication that has given the wanted results.

Today is just like any other day in the paddock where drivers are getting ready for the race here in Singapore. The drivers are in their cars waiting for the green light. The race started and the drivers and defending and overtaking one another, fighting for the top position and hoping to get a pole while pushing each other to perform to the best of their abilities as always.

Unfortunately for George, he made a mistake that caused him to DNF close to the end of the race. The whole Mercedes garage was in shambles as they tried to console a disappointed Russell as they completely ignored the fact that Lewis had gained a pole, crossing the finish line in third place. The whole celebration went on, yet no one from the entire garage came out to congratulate him. The Ferrari and McLaren engineers realized his loneliness and decided to give him a hug. He went onto the podium and celebrated without any support from his team and seeing this caused Toto's wife to become livid at how he was treating his driver that literally made the team what it is today.

Walking into the garage, she stormed straight for Lewis. "Hey schatzi, how are y-" Toto cut himself off after his wife pushed him out the way. "Hi Lew, congratulations on your podium, I'm so happy for you! You did amazing out there!" Y/n cheered on the older man as she gave him a tight hug. "Thank you Mrs. Wolff, I did my best" Lewis blushed at the sudden admiration. "No worries here, you did just great for me and I appreciate it, unlike SOME PEOPLE!" Y/n emphasized as she stared down her husband. "As for you Mr. Wolff, weh di bumboclatt yuh feel like yaah do?! di man a work fi yuh fi how much years now and dis is how yuh treat him? yuh pussyclaat never deserve fi get nuh win den yuh dutty jankrow, move outta mi face man!" Y/n cursed in her native language walking off to the office and slamming the door, which had the whole paddock in silence since they had never heard her speak it before.

The rest of the day went by as no one spotted the previously angry woman until it was time for them to leave, she walked ahead of her husband as they came to a stop in front of the car. "Give me the keys" y/n demanded as Toto passed them over without question, thinking that she just wanted to be the one to drive; therefore was shocked to find that she entered the car and locked him out before starting the car and rolling down the window. "What are you doing leblieng, open the door?" he pleaded but it fell on deaf ears as she replied. "No, you embarrassed me today and you'll pay for it. You are not welcomed into the car and definitely not at home. You will find somewhere else to sleep that ISN'T a hotel or motel until you can apologize" before driving off and leaving him in the parking lot confused and basically homeless. The media had managed to get the footage and the entire F1 community is in chaos trying to figure out what he did wrong.

For a whole week, Toto had to be sleeping inside his office and using the shower in the change room to freshen up as he and other team members, including Lewis and George try to figure out what was to be corrected. Each day, Y/n would show up to the paddock and completely ignore her husband as she interacted with everyone but him, making him sad and almost in tears. "Schatzi, please tell me what I did wrong? I promise to fix it immediately, for whatever reason I've been wrong I'm sorry!" Toto wailed as he fell to his knees in the middle of the paddock where everyone could see the crying man who now looks like a child being scolded. Y/n looked down at the man she called her husband, contemplating before she decided to finally enlighten him. "You have been very wrong for what you did over the weekend. The way you treated Lewis was awful and I am expecting you to apologize. right here. right now." she said in all seriousness as the whole paddock watched on in shock.

"Lewis, I know I didn't congratulate you on your win and it may have seemed like I didn't care due to me addressing the issue with George, but I am really proud of you. you always do your best and aim for the highest and that makes me proud to be your team principal" Toto said, tears pouring down his face in shame that he did such act without realising. "I forgive you Toto, I know that you meant no harm and honestly I might have made the same mistake if I was in your shoes." Lewis responded as y/n motioned for Toto to stand.

Everyone went back to their regular job, of course cameras were still live as the married couple interacted for the first time. "Now you listen here Torger, both drivers are equal and should be treated as such. What happened was George's mistake therefore Lewis shouldn't have had to pay for it. the next time this happens, you will be added to the burial list, you understand me?" Y/n asked getting an immediate reply "yes ma'am. does this mean we are on good terms again? I really want to hug you and come home the end of the day?" Toto asked carefully not to piss her off again in case his punishment wasn't over. Surprisingly Y/n held her arms open for him to walk into, the couple embracing as the crowd awed and cheered at them, glad that Toto was finally in the clear.

[rayyanishere1]

what, another one? ANOTHER intro?!

you heard right, folks! because of new years, and my 15th birthday coming up, i've decided to make a new one! be warned, this thing is a colourful NIGHTMARE.

∆ my name is rayyan! i am but a silly teenage boy trying to live life as cringely as he can.

∆ i do tons of stuff! draw, sing, write, talk your ears off, everything!

∆ my most active fandoms are gravity falls, the hellaverse (hazbin hotel, helluva boss), and link click!

∆ my less active/retired fandoms are:

danganronpa (with the recent 2020 comeback, it may come back too!)

ghosts cbs (seriously gotta watch that new season)

big hero six (i had a hiro hamada fan account back in the day, yk!)

avatar: the last airbender/legend of korra (i was positively obsessed as a kid!)

∆ saya orang malaysia! (translation: i'm malaysian!) although, i would love to move to singapore or another less homophobic country.

∆ should've done this last time, but here's my do not interact list:

proshippers (incest/pedo supporters)

bigots (racists, homophobes, transphobes)

bullies (those who are relentlessly mean for no good reason)

(these are just what i can name off the top of my head, anyone being weird will be blocked! like, immediately!)

∆ before i end this off, i wanna give a special shout-out to my friends! @nazchokey and @sharkiewyu ! go check out their blogs, im sure youll find something of interest (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

∆ till next year, boop oop be doop, boop!

[vsyrworld]

i rrly need a quick fluffy post monza charlos fanfic so here is my shot (turn out its not quick but anyway)

rated : m (bcs of they kiss a lot)

tags : sleepy cuddle and kisses, singapore as core memory, not beta read so sorry bout error.

♡ enjoy ♡

///

carlos is so so done. so freaking wasted as he could only sprawled on his bed, lying there like a death log. feet cramp, shoulder aching, body hurts everywhere. and finally after a dreadful weekend, enormous laps of attacking and defending rewarded by a worthy podium, is an ecstasy but not for long as he has to spare his social energy for boring long ass press interview and celebration. at least the last one is another reward.

he thought.

if isnt because of that stupid thieves out of nowhere, he already eating his dinner out, have a drink that charles had promised him through interview and the bad thing was charles also already texted him, "matee! lets have a drink together tonight!!", he read and left the chatroom opened, and then his watch accident, ran his breath out then the police -- oh merde, charles must be waiting him at bar or atleast his response and yet- carlos told rupert to skip a dinner and call it a day.

the other bad news is, if he is too tired. he couldnt sleep. and tifosi are still out there whatever the chantng or lullaby they are doing-- its actually nice and heartwarming-- but he needs sleeps. constantly nagging by the anonymous hands, scents, crowds making him dizzy. he lost sense of familiarness. then he remember this week, they didnt film anything about c2 challenges. carlos hadnt had a chance to annoy charles because they are cramped in a big crowd, people here people there --

his phone ringing stopping carlos from circulating haze thought

lazily, or more pricisely, fatiguely, reach his bed side stand and swipe the call without minding the caller id,

"carlos?! you okay? where are you now?" carlos stunned in silence but his lips form a smile, cahlos

"hey" he turned his body to lay down on his left side. the phone is on top of his right ear, as he dropped his own hand to matress, "sorry" he speaks slowly, his energy already depleted

"forget it, the important is you are ok." charles' voice smoothing right to his ear.

"hm" he hummed in agreement. already closing his eyes.

he heard a chuckled from other line, "do you want me ...um..."

carlos smiled as his hand mindlesly caressing the empty spot beside him,

"dont wanna get up. too tired" he said truthfully. the bed is already swallowed him half of his body and soul,

"okay" charles said. carlos didnt expect anything so he doesn't hang up the phone.

but he knows charles will come anyway,

thus when his hotel room door closed with a soft thuds, and his arms streched into a cold empty spot is finally, finally, now replaced by a slender warm figure.

carlos with eyes closed, instinctively wraps the body and pulling him so his chest against charles' chest, legs tangled each other, a warm laugh land on his sleepy face

"is this how you greet me, hm? mister ministary of defence? pole sitter? podium winner? or hm a superhero who chasing down the thieves around the street hmph--"

carlos shuts him with long deep kiss, with the very last energy he had. his hands welcoming him by smoothers down the softness of hoodie charles' wears. it is so warm and cloudy. charles fresh scents is a lily, musky vanilla. sweet and calming makes him dropped his lips into charles juncture neck.

"wrong," he replies and left a warm kiss on charles exposed skin. "it's your lover." finally. a familarness.

charles breathed out as his finger massaging carlos hair softly. "hi to you too, mi amor"

they take their own time respectively, trying to gain and mapping each other body again after a full weekend constantly dealing with stranger sweats, sticky skin.

"miss me?" charles said into carlos thick hair. he loves when charles does that.

he opens his mouth to answer but then his wicked mind does something else,

charles let a sudden moan as carlos nipped and sucking charles neck slowly, open mouthed, "ca- ah, carlos, wait" the way charles gripped carlos hair's is so addicting. its soft but firm, delicate but sensual. carlos cant get enough from it.

carlos grunts and continue licking the spot, "you said you tired, ah-" charles didnt even finished his sentence because their hards-on rubbing against each other and carlos circling his arm on charles wait, trying to get the friction

but carlos is tired, so the movement is painfuly slow thus creating a consistent gap of moan from charles. "you menance" charles said between moan as he chin up carlos so they are facing each other.

"open your eyes you idiota" carlos slowly blinking his eyes to find charles hazy gaze straight at him with such a fondness.

carlos breath into his face and decide to gives him a eskimo kisses. the one that he and charles likes to do. its ticklish but sweeter than lips kisses.

from carlos hooded eyes, he bring his palm to caressing charles' cheek, "tired. sorry" and eyes flutters to shutting again

charles laughs like a lulabby to him, "okay okay. so don't rub on me. let save it for the morning" he exchanged the kiss by rubbing his nose to carlos cheek and back again to carlos' nose, then he stayed there.

"charles" he said after a moment with, of course, the tifosi singing at outside

"hm?"

"tell your fans to shut up please"

charles giggled then smacked carlos biceps that hugs them close, "hey that's rude to say like that!" carlos didnt mean it but he really really need a quite and good sleep. really, he let out a dissapoint grunt

charles shifted his head to see beyond carlos shoulder, at the closed curtain window, luckily they couldnt be seen from outside. "they are not my fans, carlos"

another nose rubbing, "its ours"

carlos smiled at charles statement as his mind start day dreaming about monza podium celebrations. he is enchanted by the prancing horse.

"si, but i really need a quite moment." carlos hummed,

charles doesn't answered him, only shifted his head closer to him then flushing their forehead together. breath rising constantly with each other, trying the best to focusing their breathing rhythm and so the tifosi chant become a soft background sounds.

"charles" carlos said again between the time their chest expand.

"i'm here" a slow long exhale drawns out from both of them.

as both of them inhaling the oxygen, carlos closed the gap by placing himself to charles' lips with a soft kiss. charles , slow but reassuringly, sealed them with pulling carlos closer and they start to exchanged some languid kisses. it was a simple peck then turns into a french kiss somehow, back again to calmer one and ending it with their most favorite kisses all the time, the one long deep kiss.

to have charles lips against him, and their nose flushed into each other cheek. carlos kissing him raw and breathlessly until the air in his lungs sucked all out, charles not wanting to apart from carlos' lips, cluthed his hand to carlos' tshirt, and other one is settle down at spaniard cheek to trails carlos face up and down. thus, carlos answered it by tighting his waist grips.

they pulled out together in a loud exhale, "god i love when you do that" charles giggled and bring their nose kissed each other affectionately.

carlos grins widely with his eyes still closed. he rubs charles' in agreement.

"carlos i have an idea"

"what is that?"

"lets go to singapore a couple day quicker than others"

charles statement successfuly makes carlos' eyes open. he analyze charles expression but none other than a soft private smile he gives him and there is a longing, like a want feeling, a desire and a permission for spending a time together outside racing schedule

"you want to flight early?" he reassure charles again, afraid it's might his delulu scenario since his brain is not working properly.

"us. i want us to ..." charles dimples appear as he bites his lips nervously,

"to what?" carlos raised his eyebrows

"you know, do what couple do?" he said shyly

carlos swear he melted against the bed sheet ever more, "date then?" he gives charles a kiss on his dimples.

which create a soft giggle, "you can say that"

"yeah" carlos brings his hand into charles' nape and goes into his cheek where the dimple is rested. he really really want to feel him all.

singapore, a perfect runaway country. is not monza, is not charles' monaco and it is also not carlos' malorca. it's their singapore.

"yes, i like that" carlos said again this time between the kiss.

"yeah?" charles is caressing his eye bag. smoothing them like a butter, making carlos purrs

"yes and then we can make love there too" he grins teasingly and a hand smack on his chest making him laughed.

"you are really what max said, naughty" charles rolled his eyes, "but yes i guess we can"

"in the pool?" he pushed again, eyes glint with a mischieve, "pool sex?"

"oh my god cahlos, stop!" charles put his own hands to covered his well redden face.

he chuckled seeing charles flushtrated so he dropped a kiss on charles' hand, whispering a "carino" against the slender fingers.

"if is not singapore..." carlos trailed his voice down as charles opened his hand and settled it down into carlos' cheek. A circular hand motion drifting him to sleep,

"if is not because of singapore, i wouldn't be here with you" he said before closing his eyes

he doesn't have to see charles expression, he already know it by all of his heart

so he doesn't protest when charles tucked him down, resting his chin ontop of carlos head, wraping his arm protectively as carlos felt a drop of forehead kiss

"let's sleep and get out from here"

with that, carlos finally get his best sleep in that day.

[ereardon]

Friends Don't || Chapter 3

Summary: Bob Floyd has been your best friend for almost a decade, ever since he quietly agreed to tutor you in college. The two of you have spent years chasing each other around the globe – Bob as a WSO, you as a travel blogger. You’ve always been the anywhere-but-here girl, and he’s been your rock. But when a surprise diagnosis threatens to crumble your picture-perfect life, you’re on the first flight back to San Diego, desperate to put down roots for the first time. Will Bob finally have it in him to admit that you could be the love of his life? What will he say when he finds out the secret you’ve been skillfully hiding from him? Or worse, what if he doesn’t find out until it’s too late? 

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Floyd x OC [Reid] 

Tropes: Friends to lovers

Warnings: Cursing, angst, alcohol

WC: 2.8K

Series masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

You met Denver when Bob got stationed at Lemoore. You had still been living in New Orleans, planning your move up to San Francisco, but it was taking a while because the magazine had you doing an Asia tour: Vietnam, Laos, Japan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Nepal. 

On your way back from Tokyo, you stopped in San Francisco to do some apartment hunting, before renting a car and driving down to Lemoore to visit Bob. 

He was still a newer member on the team; everyone but Denver had been there for years. They were a knit family, and he was the odd one out. But at least he had her. 

“You’re going to love her,” Bob said. He was teeming with excitement. Seeing him happy made you happy. You knew that he hadn’t quite fit in at Newport, his station before Lemoore. You knew that he desperately wanted to be part of a team. 

And he had found that with Denver. 

The bar was crowded. And hot. You were wearing a tiny tank top and a pair of denim shorts, not much of a going out outfit but Bob had insisted the two of you go straight to the bar so you could meet his friends. 

Bob weaved through the packed bar, his hand warm in yours, over toward one side of the curved wooden bar. You spotted the familiar khaki outfits that screamed military. Bob raised his free hand excitedly in a wave and you smiled up at him. 

“Hey guys,” he said, and a few of the khaki uniforms turned. Their eyes shamelessly rolled over you, and your hand in Bob’s, jaws going slack. 

“Floyd,” one of them, a classically attractive guy with a broad jawline, said. “Who’s the girl?” 

“Reid,” you said, sticking out one hand, keeping your left firmly in Bob’s. You shook his hand. 

“Harvard,” he said. 

You squinted. Another guy, even more ridiculously handsome, sidled up behind him. “I’m Fritz.”

You nodded. The other two were Omaha and Yale. The callsigns went in one ear and out the other. You were notoriously bad with names. 

And then you heard a small voice, like a delicate bird. “Stop drooling all over her, fuckheads. She’s way too hot for any of you.” 

All eyes turned to the right. A tiny redhead was making her way over to the group, her hands full of beer bottles. She handed one to Omaha and then another to Bob. Finally, her piercing green eyes landed on you and she smiled, holding out the remaining beer bottle. “You must be Sunny.” 

You grinned. “I am. You must be Denver.” 

“Sure hope so, otherwise I’m wearing someone else’s uniform.”

You laughed and took the beer, sipping it carefully. You watched Bob’s face light up as he spoke to the pilot. The casual way she put her hand on his forearm. How easy and light they were together. The way his eyes tracked her across the room. How she always brought him back into the conversation where he might have fallen out of it. 

For the rest of the night you snuck glances at the two of them. And for the first time you saw what Bob looked like when he was in love. 

“Hey.” Fritz approached you from your right, leaning against the wall where you had your butt pressed, staring out across the bar at Bob and Denver. 

“Hi,” you replied, taking a swig from the gin and tonic in your hand. You were tipsy, edging on drunk. 

Fritz followed your gaze. “They’re good together, don’t you think?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, they are. Never seen him like that before.” 

“Like what?” 

“So happy,” you replied. “Carefree.” The two of you watched as Bob laughed at something Denver said, her eyes sparkling as she faced him. 

“He looked pretty damn happy when he told us you were coming,” Fritz said. 

You shook your head. “Nothing like that.” 

Fritz moved slightly closer and you looked up at him with a smile. 

“Live nearby?” you asked. 

He grinned. “In fact, I do.” 

You took his hand, weaving through the crowd toward where Bob was standing near the bar next to Denver and Yale. “Bobby?” you said softly, raising a hand and pressing it to his upper arm. 

He turned around with a smile. “Hey Sunny, where’d you go?” 

You looked up at Fritz. “Just got another drink. I, uh, think we’re gonna head out. Can I call you tomorrow, get a ride back to your place?” 

He frowned. “Are you sure?” 

You felt Fritz’s hand slide into the back pocket of your jeans, fingers gripping the swell of your ass. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Bob looked between you and Fritz with narrowed eyes. “Sunny? Gonna ask you one more time, darlin’, are you sure?” 

You nodded then leaned up and kissed his cheek, letting your hand fall from his arm. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.” 

You let Fritz’s hand migrate to your low back, guiding you out of the bar and into the humid California night. You weren’t sure why, but it took everything you had not to turn around and take one last look at Bob before you walked out the door. 

Bob looked up at Denver with angry eyes. 

“I shouldn’t have let her go. She’s been here twelve hours, she has no idea where she is. Fritz is a goddamn stranger to her.”

“Reid can do what she wants, Floyd,” Denver said, leaning her small arm against the bar. “She’s a grown woman. Besides, Fritz is a puppy dog. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

He shook his head. “I’m going after her.” He put his glass of seltzer down and started to walk toward the door when Denver grabbed him, yanking him back shockingly hard for such a small person. 

“Floyd! Snap out of it man. She isn’t yours.” 

“Yes, she is. She’s my responsibility, don’t you get that? I brought her here.”

Harvard shook his head. “Fuck, man, you’re down bad for her aren’t you?” 

Bob squinted his eyes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Harvard laughed. “See, I always thought you had a thing for Denver over here. But apparently you’re just the nerd in love with the hot girl next door. And she ditched you the first chance she got.”

Bob felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He lunged forward, but Denver grabbed his arm. “Come on, let’s get some air, Floyd.” 

He let her yank him out onto the back patio of the bar, anger already starting to pool in his stomach. 

“Is it because of Fritz, or is it because she left with anyone but you?”

Bob shook his head, taking a deep breath. “Please, Denver, just drop it.” 

“No. I won’t drop it. Tell me the truth. What is it about her that has you so wound up, ready to fucking combust?”

Bob sighed. “It’s just been me and Reid for a long time, OK? It’s a hard dynamic to change. That’s all, I promise.”

Her green eyes scanned his face. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you Robert?” she asked softly, stepping closer. 

Bob raised his eyes to hers. “No, Sarah. I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

She nodded, lips pursed in a tight line. The two of them stood side by side, leaning against the railing of the patio, staring off into the distance in silence.

***

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but somehow you ended up hosting a pizza night at the house as a way to repay the team for helping to unbox all your stuff that had finally arrived from Brooklyn, along with all of the new items you had purchased that had shown up on the doorstep, much to Bob’s dismay. 

The two of you arrived home one night to no less than twenty boxes from Crate & Barrel on the front porch. Bob turned to you with wide eyes and you gave him a small shrug across the middle console of the car, hopping out to examine the boxes. 

“Sunny,” he said, exasperated. “I said yes to redecorating. But what on Earth? Did you buy the whole store or what?” 

“Hate to break it to you, honey,” you said, opening the door and scooting the nearest box inside. “But your house? Your stuff? It’s depressing.” 

“I’m offended,” he said, following after you with a box in his arms. 

“No you’re not,” you replied. “And if you are, you’ll get over it when you see how much cute shit I got for us.” 

Bob groaned, digging in his pocket. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Calling in backup,” he said, hitting a button and lifting the phone to his ear. “Rooster? Yeah, can you and Hangman and Phoenix come over? Bring Coyote. Reid bought all this stuff and we’re never going to be able to unload it all ourselves.” He paused, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll buy you guys dinner.” 

He clicked off the phone and you laughed, already headed to your room to change into athletic clothing. “Remember that you love me!” you called from down the hall. 

“How could I ever forget?” Bob replied, shaking his head and grabbing a box cutter from the top drawer in the kitchen. 

That was how you found yourself sitting on the floor in the middle of Bob’s kitchen unwrapping a set of Estelle colored wine glasses and handing them to Phoenix, who was carefully placing them in a cabinet. 

In the living room, Rooster and Hangman were fighting over the instructions for the media center that you had ordered, while Bob was chatting with Coyote as he built a coffee table. 

You handed a blue stemless wine glass to Phoenix who took it with a smile. “So, how are you liking San Diego?” 

You shrugged. “It’s alright. I like the beach nearby.” 

“Bob said you’ve lived all over the place.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ve bounced around a lot. I did New Orleans, Seattle, Austin, SF, London, Barcelona. Most recently I was in Greenpoint.” 

Phoenix put one hand on her slim hip. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why here, then? Sounds like you’ve lived in the best cities in the US, maybe even the world. So why the hell would you want to move to San Diego?” 

You looked out over into the living room. “It’s the only place where I can see him every day.” 

Phoenix raised an eyebrow as you stood up from the floor, dusting off your knees with your hands. “Bradshaw is gonna ask you out. Even got a blessing from Floyd.” 

You turned to her. “Bob said yes?” 

She nodded. “Wasn’t too convincing, but he said Bradshaw was free to do whatever he liked. So just keep an eye out. He’s a good guy, Rooster. You could do worse.” 

You ducked down, opening a new box to reveal a set of ivory plates. “I’m not really looking to date right now.” 

“Anyone, or does that just apply to Rooster?”

“You two gossiping about me?” Bradley appeared in your field of vision, guzzling from a water bottle on the counter. He set it down and wiped his mouth, revealing a wide grin. 

You looked at Phoenix with panic and she cleared her throat. “Was just telling Reid here that you’re a sore loser because Hangman beat you at darts last week.” 

“Fuck, it was one time!” Rooster tossed his hands up and his genuine nature made you laugh. He dropped his hands and smiled. “Listen, Reid, if you’re not busy tomorrow, I’d love to take you to dinner.” 

You hesitated. What you had told Phoenix wasn’t a lie. You moved to San Diego to spend time with Bob. It wasn’t about a new crop of potential suitors. But the way that Bradley was smiling down at you, and the broadness of his shoulders, and the air in the kitchen, all had you nodding. “Sure,” you said softly. “I’d love to.” 

Bradley smiled so wide it threatened to split his face in half. “Great. I’ll pick you up here, say seven thirty?” 

You nodded. The rest of the night was spent unpacking boxes, you and Phoenix largely sequestered to the kitchen. Hangman and Rooster finally stopped yelling at each other long enough to get the black wood and cane media console set up and you watched with a grin as all four men argued about how exactly the tv should be set up. 

At the end of the night, you swept the empty pizza boxes into a trash bag and followed everyone out into the driveway to say goodbye, dumping the trash inside the can near the garage door. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said lightly to Bradley and he stepped closer, kissing your cheek softly.

“See you tomorrow Reid.” 

He walked away and you heard Jake huff to himself, muttering under his breath, “What does fucking Bradshaw have that I don’t?” 

You smirked to yourself, waving to Phoenix as she got in her truck, before heading back inside. In the kitchen, Bob was wiping down the counter, placing the last beer can in the recycling. 

“Good work tonight,” you said, looking around with your hands crossed over your chest. You still had some boxes to unpack and you were lacking a dining room table, but the living room was practically brand new. 

Bob shook his head. “You didn’t have to do this, Sunny.” 

“Um, I kind of did if I didn’t want to live in a frat basement for a house.” 

“It wasn’t that bad.” “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” You slipped past him, opening the fridge and pulling out a water bottle. “Alright, I’m gonna take a shower and head to bed. Goodnight.” 

You started down the hall when Bob’s voice stopped you. “Are you really going out with Bradley tomorrow?”

You turned. Bob stood in the middle of the hallway, his hands in his pockets. There was an air around him that you couldn’t place. You nodded. “Yeah, I am. Phoenix said you told Bradley it was OK to ask me out.” 

Bob grunted, turning around and heading for the kitchen, breaking down a cardboard box in frustrated silence. 

You followed him back into the kitchen, one hand on your hip. “Bobby? Are you mad? Do you not want me to date your colleague, is that what this is about?” 

“You always do this, Reid,” he said, shaking his head. There was something unnerving about Bob calling you by your first name. It was always Sunny, honey, darlin’, sweetheart. Never Reid. 

“Do what?” 

Bob looked up. “You leave a trail of men everywhere we go, Reid. I get it. You’re the anywhere-but-here girl. But you have to realize that you can’t do that this time. This is my life you’re walking into. You’re meeting my friends, living in my house. You told me you were settling down this time. But you’re still acting like the same Reid as before.” 

“And who exactly is that?” you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest. 

Bob let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to do this right now.” 

“You started this,” you practically shouted. “So fucking end it, Bobby. How am I acting?”

“You’re doing what you always do!” he yelled. “You’re acting like the Reid that fucks any guy that’s halfway decent to you. And then you run away before it can become anything more than a one night stand because you’re fucking terrified of having to stay and owning up to responsibility for the first time in your life. You just steamroll over everyone and everything, have your fun and then you’re gone. And you’ve always been like that. But this time you don’t get to just flit off to Mexico or Sweden or Croatia and send me a little gift basket and act like it never happened. This time you’re fucking with the people in my life, Reid, and it will have consequences. For once can you care about someone other than yourself and look at the situation and realize that what you do impacts me, too?”

The two of you stood, frozen, in the kitchen. The tension in the air was palpable. You could count on one hand the number of fights you and Bob had gotten into over the last nine years. 

This was one of them. 

Your eyes were locked on Bob’s blue ones. You watched as his face fell. As the realization of what he had just said washed over his familiar face. 

“Sunny,” he murmured, stepping closer and you shook your head, backing away. 

“No.” You whispered it, but there was venom laced in the word. “Don’t you dare try and take that back,” you added. “Because you can’t.” 

“Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.” 

You whipped around, practically jogging down the hall toward the stairs at the front of the house. 

“Reid!” 

You climbed the stairs, two at a time, and slammed the door to your room, locking it behind you, sliding down against the back of the door onto the ground in a heap. 

You hated fighting with Bob. But this time, what you hated the most was that he was right. 

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