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lotusarchon · 2 months ago

Text

hot to go (nezha x reader)

content warnings: trans-masc reader (he/them pronouns used), rabbit spirit reader, second pov (you/your), racer/racing au, modern-ish au, fssy characters mentioned, weird plot, kidnapping attempt gone wrong, self indulgent, smut/nsfw warning - minors/ageless blogs dni, outdoor sex, cowgirl, oral (m receiving)

author's notes: save me racer nezha, save me

Just focus on the race. The track is all yours.

“Yo, Nezhie! Good luck buddy! You're gonna need it! Not for the other racers though. From me, haha. Okay, I'm gone now, byeeeee~!”

….

Li Nezha was a popular racer. Going from barely remembered in his rookie days to the current moment that everyone in the racing world was aware of his name, and the title he had been graced with ― the Lotus Prince. He who was above all ‘worldly desires’, expressing a profound commitment to his racing career. If it wasn't obvious enough from the sleek design and commitment to his car, the extra care given to his racing suit, then perhaps the countless offers from different sponsors, each one more determined and desperate than the last, to have him as the show of their fortune, should've been visible proof of his ever growing talent and power.

His arrogance and cockiness was irritating to his fellow racers, crew and even family members, that was a given. None enjoyed having to deal with an arrogant prick ― a person who spoke insulting words with false kindness, someone who always wore a fake smile and who cared little who's feelings he crushed, friend or foe.

Lotus Prince was the title he was given on the racetrack, but behind closed doors, arrogant prick was a generous if not kind title.

He was a ‘one-man’ show as the rumours went, and if it was possible, he most likely would've long since abandoned his crew. The one, sole reason anyone was willing to put up with him, either on the pit or as his driver, was because of his sweet, gentle golden retriever of a brother, Jinzha, who had inherited the family's business and his father's legacy. Said father had also been incredibly unhappy with Nezha's choice in careers, but since no amount of beatings and nights without dinners worked, he wiped his hands of this unfilial child and gave up on him.

He wanted to race so badly!? So be it! It wasn't his (Li Jing’s) life that was being thrown away anyway! Ha!

With a slight twitch of his eye, Nezha's hands clenched around his steering wheel.

Against other racers, Nezha was always certain to come out on top, even in his rookie years, stealing the title of racing champion to whoever it first belonged to.

At least, until recently, when he was promoted to go up against the Monkey King ― that Sun Wukong who was all but a cocky rookie, yet still managed to win more races than Nezha ever could.

What a damn monkey indeed. Second place had been given to Nezha, again, and again, and―

“The Monkey King takes the lead once again!”

“Son of a bi―”

***

“Whoa, buddy. Ya look pink.”

Mentally, Nezha countered to ten. His brother had always insisted that if he couldn't control his temper, at least give himself some sort of countdown to relax and think rationally.

It was bullshit. Counting didn't help him relax, it only made him itch to hit the person who thought this method was remotely helpful to begin with.

With an agitated huff, Nezha raised his head to the man―er, monkey?―who came to irritate him with that stupid remark.

Of course he looked pink. Nezha was probably the only racer who was man enough to not give a fuck that his signature colors were…pink. His car, his racing suit, hell, even the ribbons that he wore were colored pink.

To be honest about 70% of Nezha's fans were women, and one only needed a mere glance at him to know why.

He was the epitome of a pretty boy: jade white skin, thick lashes and full lips tinted pink from his constant gnawing, and many often wondered what he would look like of he just smiled. A sharp jawline and dark eyes that reflected none of his true emotions, and his hair tied into twin buns, styled with girlish looking ribbons. When he wore his helmet, strands would occasionally slip from the style, but it only served to make him look more appealing to his fans.

Naturally, it should be common knowledge―forget about the color, no man alive would dare to step outside their house looking like that, nevermind allow pictures to surface and plaster across billboards and the like. The fact was, an even rarer 10% of those remaining thirty percent of his fans were actually straight men, and even they at times couldn't bring themselves to admit they were diehard fans of this pretty-boy racer, who may as well have been better off playing the role of some prince or something in a xianxia setting.

Sighing, Nezha rubbed the crease in his forehead that always seemed to appear whenever Wukong was within sight. His temple throbbed as he answered, “Can you take your silly jokes and gloat somewhere else? Weren't you supposed to be partying with Yang Jian?”

That Yang Jian, in question, was either Wukong's boyfriend or close friend. Whatever the relationship was mattered little to Nezha ― the farther away Wukong was from him, the easier life would be.

Unfortunately, this monkey was as smart as a koala bear. The lousy grin he wore widened, and he promptly sat himself down on the back of Nezha's car, designed with white lotus flowers and his title.

Nezha felt his eyelid twitched.

“You know, I'm really just concerned about ya,” he said cheerily, swinging his legs back and forth. “I mean, you should've seen your face when you hit second place today. You looked like someone had just fucked your mom!”

Nezha listened to his inner voice and grabbed a wrench from one of his mechanics.

“I mean, damn. I know you hate losing to me but could you really not have expected it? I'm me, and you're, well, you. So I don't really see why―” He suddenly paused, his eyes on the wrench Nezha clenched. “Why do you have that.”

“....”

After much shrieking and a comical chase, Nezha retired inside his trailer for the day. His next race was supposed to be held in Donghai, which was at least a few days worth of driving. The sooner he got there, the less chances of him running into that annoying monkey.

The fantasy of not hearing Wukong yap in his head was enough to withdraw a rare, barely there smile. One that would've made his driver―his annoying brother Muzha―stare at him in terror, or his fangirls squeal with glee, to be given the knowledge that their cold, unreachable lotus could smile.

He settled back against the seats, staring boredly through the windows with an unreadable expression.

A knock from the driver's seat roused him from his daydreams. He spared it a brief glance, meeting a face that could've been carved of the same mold as Li Jing's had it not been for the slight delicate softness inherited from their mother's.

Nezha squinted.

“Ge wants to know if you wanna give any of your friends a few tickets,” Muzha deadpanned from where he sat, his gaze focused on the road before him. “Speak quick, I don't have time, and neither does he.”

Of course he didn't. Jinzha was always so busy, yet still attempting to make time for his brothers.

Nezha thought and sighed.

Tickets for what friends? Most of the people Nezha worked with tolerated him for the promise of money, or for Jinzha. Arrogance was what he was known for, and to be honest, he never allowed anyone the chance to get too close.

He wasn't so caught up in his own ego, like a certain Monkey King. He was more than aware of his own unlikable personality, and thus knew better than to try or pretend, instead dedicating his life to his racing.

Checking his neatly trimmed nails, picking at the faint nail polish left behind, Nezha merely hummed.

“Tell him not to bother. I don't need support anyway.”

From the driver's seat, all he heard was a snort from Muzha, before he finally fell silent.

***

Nezha had only rested his eyes for a few minutes, yet when he reopened then again, almost three hours had passed.

He yawned, grumbling as he sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes. Outside, the moon was high in the sky, and so the passing scenery was mixed in a passing blur and darkness, lit only by the occasional streetlight.

For a split second, he was mildly concerned. As much as he disliked his older brother, that wooden prick, there was no way he could keep driving without rest. Even if he desperately itched to arrive at Donghai in time, if Muzha fell asleep at the wheel and an accident happened, it wouldn't end well for either parties.

Resolutely, Nezha leaned over, knocking on the front compartment that opened to the driver's seat.

“Muzha?” He called out, a slight frown to his expression. “Hey? You know you can stop, right? If you crash, the one who's being blamed is me.”

A pause. There was no answer, only the gentle driving that continued.

Nezha hesitated.

“Fine. I won't stop you. But don't blame me either if something happens.” Another pause. “Get some rest too. Good night.”

Fuck.

Nezha knew something had been off when he woke up properly the next morning, squinting at the bright sunlight that threatened his vision. He must've been lying on the bare ground, to be in this position, and thanked his stars the jacket he wore was padded to avoid the feeling of gravel pressing into his back.

He squirmed, discovering that his hands had been tied in front of him, and sighed.

Honestly. He'd have to be an idiot to not recognize the situation he had been placed in.

With a huff, he tried to make an attempt to roll onto his side. There was much difficulty, but in the end, he found himself leverage, and was finally able to sit up and examine his surroundings (after his eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness).

What he first noticed was that his trailer, thank the heavens, was parked nearby, and didn't seem to have been dealt any damage. There was no sign of his brother however, and that made his relief become gnawing guilt as he examined the rest of his surroundings.

A long gravelled road, with some sort of rickety fence that stopped for a few short miles, at least from what he could see. Either side overlooked what might've been dunes, miniature at best compared to the ones he had seen on another trip, but sandy dunes all the same, and flat exposed rock that seemed to glimmer from the sun beating down upon them.

For all his pretty boy appearances, Nezha wasn't exactly a stranger to the rough outdoors. His childhood was spent froclicking wherever he could, and tearing a dragon's sinew from it's body. If he reached into his pockets, he could still feel the remains there, rubbery and often used as a past time for him to turn into different patterns between his fingertips. Soft and princely he might've been, and with smooth, gentle hands that could've been a woman's, Nezha was as much at home in this blistering weather as he was in the racetrack.

That didn't make him any less happier, however. Briefly, he contemplated summoning his sash tied around his belt, when he spotted two figures emerging from the back of his trailer. They took no notice of him, so Nezha took it upon himself to stare as much as he could.

One was a man much taller, with a bushy bear and long flowing hair tied into a low ponytail. With only a mere side view, there wasn't much for Nezha to go off on, aside that he wore loose, black robes in this hot as hell weather. He faced a smaller figure who bounced in place, but at least looked like someone from the modern century.

Nezha stared, taken aback by the fluffy black ears that twitched on their head. Most animal demons or spirits in this day and age hid any sign of their true forms behind a glamor, not a part of them revealed to be an animal. Even Sun Wukong in this day and age had opted for an appearance that though still stood out, was enough to hide his true form from unwanted remarks.

Even their fluffy bobtail, which Nezha barely spotted from the pastel pink jacket they wore around their waist, was in sight.

A rabbit spirit? He blinked. They've got guts showing up like that, I'd give them that.

They also had the guts to try and capture him of all people, but for now, Nezha wouldn't dwell on it. At the very least, this spirit was at least dressed comparably decent, in loose, white clothing in this warm weather.

And appearances aside, Nezha couldn't tell if the latter was male, or female. Their voice, which was a mix of a high-pitched whine and feverish garbling, was androgynous at best.

“Honestly….” The older man interrupted the rabbit spirit's indecipherable speech. “How does one find themselves in such a mess…..your Qiu-mei will not be pleased.”

Huh. They must've recognized him then, and clearly had much regrets. Good that they did, and Nezha with a pleased conscience, decided not to attack them yet.

“I’m sorry.” The rabbit spirit wrung their hands nervously. Their ears twitched rapidly, and Nezha was mildly amused by the sight. “I didn't mean too…i-it just kinda happened.”

“....(Name), how does one happen to kidnap a racer and mistake him as their target!?”

So their name was that, huh. Mumbling the name to himself, Nezha continued to eavesdrop to pass the time.

(Name) burst into tears, still wringing their hands. “It really was an accident!!” They whined out, fidgeting in place. “It was so dark outside! I just jumped at the first trailer I saw outside….”

Nezha finally understood.

This, for some ironic reason, had genuinely been some sort of accident. Muzha must've stopped somewhere after Nezha had fallen asleep, for a small break to rest his eyes. The designated area he'd chosen was a seedy gas stop, but while he was busy at the counter, this (Name) person mistook their vehicle as some other target of theirs, and had stepped inside.

And now that they'd realized their error, they clearly were about to faint on the spot.

Luckily, the older black-robed man caught them, stuck between laughing and sighing.

“Okay, okay, relax―” The older man chided, patting the smaller figure's back. “Just breathe, alright? I'm sure we can work this out…probably….”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh, or cry. The knowledge his brother was at the very least safe soothed his temper, but at the same time, knowing these people were criminals was enough to make him grimace. Accidents were…excusable, but on purpose…that went against everything he stood for, arrogance be damned.

Unable to keep up with their mindless banter, Nezha cleared his throat―loud enough to catch their attentions. The rabbit jolted with surprise, but the darkly-dressed man simply spared him a glance. Nezha caught the sight of a scraggly beard and dark eyes, but what stood out to him was the familiarity.

“Shen Gongbao.” The name fell off his lips with a bitter taste to his tongue.

The centuries old Taoist spared him a lecherous grin. “His Highness, the Third Lotus Prince. Nice to see you again. You lost the baby fat from your face―couldn’t recognize ya’ for a sec.”

Nezha rolled his eyes at the remark. Next to the Taoist, the rabbit was flailing their hands, attempting to stop their accomplice from talking. Shen Gongbao merely waved them off, still smiling at the racer bound and tied on the road.

“Huh. Always wondered where you and the others disappeared off too.” Shen Gongbao toyed with his beard and took slow, calculated steps towards him. Up close, Nezha could spy grey strands mixing with his dark hair.

So he got older too.

“Don't see why that matters to you,” he retorted back, and flicked his gaze to the bouncing rabbit spirit. For whatever reason there was, they seemed at least able to recognize him if the dark flush to their freckled cheeks was anything to go off by. They bit their thumbs and stood in the same spot, bouncing on their heels with a look of anxiety in their eyes. “Besides. Aren't you too old now, pulling this type of nonsense?”

Shen Gongbao simply pouted. “And aren't you too old to be having such a sour attitude? Honestly, how did you manage to become a racer? And such a popular one too?” He reached out, pinching Nezha's dusty cheek. There was now little distance between them, and the faint smell of sweet liquor filled Nezha's senses and made his eyelid twitch.

“Don't tell me.” Nezha winced when the Taoist finally released his possibly red, swollen cheek. “You weren't happy with what Jiang Ziya gave you, so you decided to terrorize everyone else. How very….” He struggled to find the correct word.

“Demure?” The rabbit spirit piped up from where they sat.

“(Name), do be quiet.”

“Sorry….”

“.....” Nezha exhaled. “Just what the hell are you planning on doing with me? I don't have all the time in the world to be wasted on the likes of you and your little pet.”

Shen Gongbao snorted. “I find that highly unlikely, little prince.”

“And I'm not his pet!” The rabbit quipped again, earning another sigh from their master. “Master Shen, I'm not! Tell him I'm not!”

“Of course you aren't (Name).” The Taoist stood. “But why waste our words on a dead man? Don't get so upset, he's not worth our time.”

Nezha's brows furrowed slightly. Did this guy seriously think they could just kill him just like that? Sure, his skills were a little rusty, but―

“Um….we can't kill him.” The rabbit, no, (Name), looked mildly upset as Shen Gongbao took a swig from his flask he must've kept hiding in his sleeves. “I mean. Well….. isn't there something else we can do? Like sending him back?”

Maybe this rabbit had the right head on their shoulders.

“Um. No.”

And maybe he should've used that brick of his on Shen Gongbao when he had the chance instead of listening to Jiang Ziya’s nonsensical babbling.

“Why not!?”

“(Name). Your Qiu-mei would hit you if she heard you speak.” The Taoist rubbed his forehead. “You don't…kidnap people and then just return them. He knows too much and isn't our target, so we have to get rid of him without our secrets being leaked.”

The rabbit blinked. “He's rich and people would pay a lot to have him back and alive.”

Nezha nodded. For as dumb as they appeared to be, it seemed that they were quite smart for whatever age they were. It benefited him, because then he wouldn't have to lift a finger in restraining these villains until the last second.

Shen Gongbao’s thick brows looked like they wanted to frown harder. He spared Nezha a glance and stood, dusting the gravel and stone that clung to his thick robes.

“My little A-Lan,” the Taoist said, his tone gentle and laced with kindness, like when a parent was trying to deliver bad news to a toddler. “Your….admiration for the prince is showing. Look at him―do you think any honest woman would want to be near him? Nevermind anyone in general. He's a prick.”

The rabbit’s lips pursed slightly.

Nezha looked offended where he sat.

“Um. I most certainly would be missed,” he deadpanned from where he sat.

Shen Gongbao spared him a look. “Would you really?”

“Yes. I'm quite famous you know.”

The rabbit nodded. “He is, Master.”

“(Name), shush. My point still remains. You're arrogant and haughty. It's not an issue about holding you for ransom. It's simply that you aren't worth anything, and no one would be willing to pay the price to get you back.”

“Um.” The rabbit tried again. “But we can't kill him. That's…I mean, it's not really nice….”

The older man looked like he wanted to roll his own eyes, but fought back the temptation to flash the rabbit a small, fond smile. It seemed, by their dynamic, that this was not something new, and Nezha felt a little disappointed that he was not the exception to this sympathy.

“You and Qiuyue are far too different.” Shen Gongbao heaved a sigh and tugged on the rabbit's fluffy ear. “Perhaps it is for the best.” He spared Nezha another glance, and continued, “Fine, then. If you don't want for me to kill him, then we'll go with your plan.”

***

When Shen Gongbao had asked for your plan in sending Nezha back without either of you getting caught, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Yet, who would've guessed―not only did he have you take control, he left the racer in your hands.

It's totally fine, he had said. He sealed Nezha's meridians away, so he couldn't get away from the cables tied around him. No big deal!

It was in fact a big deal. Nezha's face might've been soft and pretty, but his body did not match that delicateness. He could crush you to death with one hand alone! The fuck!? Did your master not see the size of those things!? And he expected you to watch him!?

Hahaha, what the fuck!?

“You're telling me you don't know how to drive?” He deadpanned from the driver's seat, his free hands clenching the steering wheel. His expression was blank, if not unamused, and he seemed itch to roll his eyes. “How on earth did you even steal it to begin with?”

You flushed with shame, staring at the dashboard in front of you.

The truth was, you barely managed to steal his trailer that night. It was genuinely pure luck you had managed to keep it from driving on the road without attracting attention.

Nezha continued on, “What kind of kidnapper has their own hostage doing the driving? That's pretty lame, isn't it?”

You covered your face in shame, your ears drooping.

“Please, no more. I can't take it anymore,” you managed out, fighting back tears of shame.

Whether or not he felt any sympathy, he wouldn't say, but at least his insults stopped for the time. His gaze remained focus on the road before him, his lips pursed.

Arguably, you might've been decades younger than your cousin and master, but at least that meant you had more common sense than they did. Sure, you were probably useless for a lot of things with your anxiety always ready to skyrocket, but at least your first thought hadn't been to murder a guy because he was the wrong target.

And to be honest, you did like Nezha a lot. You might even dare to call yourself one of his fans, but that would be a bit much. His pretty boy looks were the only things you really liked, because racing was a boring sport to you, and you didn't understand anything related to it. Ignoring that Nezha's personality was also ass.

With a sigh, you propped your hand under your cheek to stare out the window. If Nezha did, and he most likely would, try to turn you in to the authorities, you could always just make a run for it. Just as long as he returned home safe….

A few hours passed before Nezha finally spoke again.

“Where are we going?”

You blinked.

“You…you're the one who's doing the driving!?”

“Yeah, and you brought me here.” Nezha glanced at you. “Shouldn't you at least be able to tell what direction we're in?”

“....”

Shen Gongbao was the one who asked you to meet him here, but that didn't mean you knew where here was. It was the middle of nowhere as far as you could tell, and when you'd dragged Nezha inside the trailer sometime later, your master hadn't told you that you might've been heading in the wrong direction.

Not to mention, you didn't think you would've gotten lost. Nezha was a driver, so surely he should've been able to tell where you were heading??

Fuck.

“Oh my god we're lost.”

“You're fucking with me.”

Nezha groaned, banging his head against the steering wheel. You panicked when the trailer swerved, but it didn't crash into anything unassuming, and Nezha muttered another curse under his breath before regaining his bearings. He glowered at the open road, his brows twitching.

You gulped nervously.

“I'm supposed to be in Donghai in three days!” He muttered out, digging his nails into the steering wheel. “And I can't believe I got kidnapped by Bugs Bunny and his fucking evil wizard accomplice.”

You processed his words, and gaped. “Who are you calling Bugs Bunny, you…you fucking….”

Nezha raised a brow. “Go on.”

“....” You looked away and pouted. Finding an insult that would hurt was too hard. You should've listened to Qiuyue when you had the chance. “I'm not a Bug's Bunny.”

“Could've fooled me then, Lola Bunny.”

“Okay, stop.”

The trailer came to a stop on the side of the road. Nezha couldn't keep driving forever, and because you were useless in driving and couldn't take turns at the wheel, he had no choice but to stop for a break, even when he would much rather keep driving until daybreak the next day.

He sat at the edge of his cot, watching you try to figure out how to pry the sink open without breaking anything.

“You're a bad kidnapper,” he commented, picking at the last bits of nail polish on his fingers. He frowned, looking around for the bottle he'd had tucked away somewhere. “Like. Seriously. What kind of kidnapper just grabs someone without knowing how to drive? Much less do anything in general?”

“It was an accident.” You gave up on the sink, choosing to look through the cupboards instead for anything of nutritional value. All your hands could find were bowls of lotus seeds, covered to prevent spilling over. You stared at the several bowls lined up neatly in the cupboard, and deadpanned.

Well….lotus seeds it would have to be, then. Though you really wished you could find meat….at least you wouldn't have to cook it.

You grabbed a bowl and faced Nezha, taken aback by the sight of him sitting cross legged and painting his nails a fresh layer of pastel pink that matched his car's designs.

He glanced your way, cocking a brow. “What?”

“Nothing…” You shook your head, taking the empty spot next to him. “Um. I found this….if you're hungry….”

Wait….wasn't he reborn from a lotus root? You glanced at him nervously. Would it count as cannibalism if he ate them―

“Feed me.”

“Pardon?”

Nezha sighed. All of his attention remained on painting his nails with precision, and he barely even spared you the energy of an eye roll. He stuck his tongue out, examining his index finger in the trailer light, and made a gesture with his free, unpainted hand.

“You're pardoned. And I said, feed me. I'm busy.”

“...” You picked at one of the seeds, your ear twitching. Perhaps Shen Gongbao had been right. With an attitude like that, did he even have friends? Or, if he somehow magically had any, how did they tolerate him this much?

Begrudgingly accepting your role, you placed a lotus seed to his lips. Though distracted, his teeth latched onto it with ease, and you watched with awe as it disappeared into his mouth.

Well, you were already bored anyway. Might as well make a game of how fast he could eat and swallow lotus seeds.

“Stop staring.”

“Oh.”

***

Two days had passed, and unfortunately, you were both still very lost. There was an occasional gastop and settlements on the road the longer Nezha kept driving, but neither had been helpful with directions. Either because they sensed you were a spirit and they were awfully superstitious, or because Nezha's not too-pleasant attitude and expression scared almost everyone into fainting on the spot.

You didn't have the heart to ask the lotus prince to try to be nicer. If you did, he would probably go back to calling you those mean names again. He had stopped after reducing you to tears once, but you weren't very eager to remind him. Creative as they were, you did not enjoy being at the receiving end of those insults.

Maybe he was just a sadist.

Unsurprisingly, Nezha did not take pleasure in driving for this long. After your most recent gas stop, he ended up stopping the trailer in an empty grazing field. You sat with newly acquired snacks to watch him drive his race car around, kicking up dust and scaring the local wildlife in the process.

You couldn't make heads or tails of whatever he was doing, but when he drove past, you did manage to catch sight of his expression. For once, he seemed genuinely happy to be there, behind the steering wheel of his stupid car, driving repeated circles in the same tire tracks until he was tired.

It might've been a trick of the light, but you could've sworn you saw a faint smile on his lips.

“Honestly,” you spoke to one of the rabbits that hopped closer to the blanket you sat on. “He seems like a nice guy in the field. Is it that hard for him to place that same energy into talking to people?”

The rabbit twitched its nose at you.

“I mean. Qiuyue is always complaining about people being unchangeable.” You threw a lotus seed at the rabbit. “But it's…not fair, is it? People can change! And, I dunno. He's lived decades longer than I have, but doesn't seem to have anyone to really be there for him, does he? Outside of his brothers, I mean.”

“...”

“Ugh.” You groaned and allowed yourself to fall back onto the grass beneath you. “I'm going mad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You glowered at the familiar face hovering above you, a smirk curling on those lips that you had gotten used to staring at in the two days you spent with him.

He was right, at least. You were a horrible kidnapper. I mean, who let's their hostage drive around knowing damn well they could escape if they wanted too!? Qiuyue would have your head if she saw you as you were now.

Nezha extended a gloved hand towards you, and you accepted it, allowing him to pull you up with ease. His car was parked near the trailer, and as he sat himself next to you, you couldn't help but spare him one more glance. The sweat beading down his temples, the slight motion of his chest as he caught his breath, his ruffled hair and the strands that escaped his bun….

You sighed as he stole another bowl of lotus seeds, propping your hands behind you.

Don't misunderstand ― you most certainly was not falling for a guy you met only for two days. This wasn't a cheesy romcom to begin with.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't mildly…atttacted to him.

“Why were you talking to yourself?” Nezha asked between a mouthful of seeds.

“I was talking to my rabbit friend.”

He blinked, giving you a weird look between stuffing seeds into his mouth. “So you can….communicate with them?”

“No….”

“...”

“Oh. You're really weird then.”

“It's not weird! I was just talking out loud! How is that weird!? Stop looking at me like that! Hey!” You gasped as he snickered, grabbing him by the arm. “Stop laughing! I'm not weird! It's not! Don't you talk to yourself all the time!? Stop laughing!!!”

There was nothing you could do about it. With a snort, Nezha's free hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward, if only to grin at your embarrassed expression.

“But it's funny,” he insisted, watching you squirm. “You're the only person I've ever met insane enough to talk to a rabbit. I have to laugh.”

“You! You're so horrible.” You gave up, slouching on his lap. Maybe if you stayed incredibly still, you could pretend to be dead. “I was just pointing something out…”

Too bad Nezha didn't want to follow with your pretense. He set his now empty bowl aside, both hands free to do as they pleased. With your front on his lap, he placed his hands on your back, and casually grabbed at the fluffball that was your tail.

“I heard.” He squeezed the soft fur experimentally, ignoring how you twitched and tried to pull back. “While I appreciate your concern, it is as you've said. I've lived for centuries, I don't think I need anyone else to be there for me. It's pointless.”

You gave up on escaping and prayed for your tail. The legends of how Nezha tore out the dragon king's son's spine and was probably still playing with the sinew made you mentally sob.

“But it's not nice being alone, is it?” You tried to look at him. “I mean…even gods get lonely every once in a while. Isn't that why they like to visit humans?”

Nezha caught your gaze, and a small, barely visible smile adorned his expression. The hand not occupied with your tail pinched your chubby cheek.

“But being lonely is far better than pointless attachments,” he pointed out, leaving your cheek to tug your ear. “A god lives forever. Eventually, you'll learn that it's better to simply be as you are, and to depend on no one but yourself.”

“Is it because you've been hurt before, or that you'd rather not take the risk of being hurt ever?”

He paused, and released your tail. “The latter.”

“Oh.”

Without his hand on your tail, you managed to roll yourself onto your back, staring up at him. He stared back a blank expression, and you frowned, wanting to say something.

“.....do you wanna fuck?”

Nezha choked and shoved you off his lap. Which, come to think of it, really was well deserved. Who asks that question with a straight face, after having a conversation like that!? The fact he didn't try to kill you was mercy in itself, but you didn't exactly think of that while staring at the way his face seemed to flush and grow pink in color to the tips of his ears.

You picked yourself up, dusting the grass that had stuck to your pants. Nezha blinked.

“Um…what the fuck?”

“Qiuyue told me that in awkward situations like that, relief helps with the tension.” You held up a finger. “And I mean. We're stuck here for a bit. Might as well make the most of it.”

Nezha didn't know if he should laugh or cry. In all his years of living, he had never heard anything more ridiculous, and very tempting.

“....very well….I guess. We can um. Try.”

You gave him a thumbs up. “Yay!”

“Don't do that.”

“Oh.”

With how shy and bouncy you were, Nezha thought you would've wanted to do this….thing, you suggested, behind the walls of the trailer for privacy.

Yet instead, you insisted that you stay outdoors. For what reason, he couldn't tell, and he lost all thoughts of questioning you when your warm hands wrapped around the base of his cock and slowly pumped your hand.

Nezha's breath hitched, his hands clenching the blanket he sat upon to leverage himself. His bottom lip worried between his teeth, and his face burned ever so warmly when your warmth breath brushed against his sensitive tip, flushed an angry red, the slit slowly leaking precum from your ministrations. Your tongue dragged against his weeping tip, leaving him fisting the blanket and his hips instinctively bucking against you.

You raised your head slightly, blinking up at his blushing experience, and as if an afterthought struck you, you gently patted his thigh.

“Don't worry, I'll be nice,” you assured him with a smile.

Shouldn't I be saying that to you?

If he wanted to respond, he had no chance to do so. His teeth sunk into the tender skin of his lip, and a strangled moan managed to escape through gritted teeth when your mouth enveloped his cock, your lips sucking at his tip and the warmth of your tongue dragging against his slit.

His tip kissed the back of your throat, and your hands clenched at his bare thighs, forming crescent shaped cuts from your nails. You glanced up at him through your lashes, and Nezha couldn't bare to keep eye contact for long. He squeezed his eyes shut, hissing as you began to bob your head against his length.

You could feel him throbbing, yet for some reason or the other, the Lotus Prince remained stubborn in his actions. He refused to even look at you, despite the red blush spreading to his neck, or the fact he was trying so hard not to buck his hips with every swirl of your tongue.

Honestly….

Your nose pressed against his pelvis, and Nezha choked, his hand flying to your head. His fingers laced through your hair that had fallen from its ponytail, gently tugging and fisting the strands when you hollowed your cheeks and dragged your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He twitched and groaned, his chest heaving with his shallow pants.

His cock throbbed in the cavern of your mouth, and you allowed yourself to pull back, his cock slipping from your mouth with a slick noise. Saliva clung to his tip, and your hand, breaking the strand that connected his tip to your lips, stroked him to completion. You could feel his hand tugging at your hair, his head falling back with a quiet moan as he came in your hand, his cum coating your wrist in sticky, wet spurts.

You sat up, allowing him to catch his breath. His hair must've come undone at some point, and the strands of silky black hair draped his face like a curtain. The redhue spread across his nose, and he gazed at you through hooded, glossy eyes.

“Well?” You looked around for something to wipe your hand on. “That felt nice, didn't it? Now, you can feel better about yourself.”

Nezha frowned, using his elbows to push himself up. “That's it?”

“Hm?”

“That's….” He trailed off, clenching and unclenching his hand. “You…um. I mean, is there not another….”

He was looking at you again, but not quite at your face. Intrigued, you followed his gaze, lower―

“Pervert!”

“What!?” He choked. “How am I the pervert!? You just sucked my dick!”

“And!?”

“W-well, I thought that….you uh…”

“....”

“Fine.”

“Yay!”

“WHY IS IT FINE WHEN YOU DO IT!?”

You refused to lie on your back, and Nezha was adamantly stubborn, so in the end, you both compromised, and thus was your position. On one hand, you figured you didn't want to complain, but on the other….you really did not do well with prolonged eye contact. You almost wished you'd accepted his offer to do it on the grass instead….

Nezha's hands squeezed the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your hips to meet with his upward thrusts. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, though you had to wonder why he chose to stare at your exposed breasts instead of anywhere else.

“You're…you're a…” He briefly looked up to catch your flushed gaze.

“Um. I'm a guy.” You deadpanned at his surprise. Was it not obvious from the beginning? “Did you not know this?”

Nezha blinked as if realization dawned on him. His lips parted to make a remark, but then he immediately snapped them shut, burying his face between your plush tits abruptly. You gasped when you felt his lips latch onto your nipple, his teeth teasing the sensitive skin.

The action caused your cunt to abruptly clench around him, a whimper escaping you, mixed with another moan when his cock brushed against a sensitive spot inside you that made your toes curl and your entire body tremble.

One of his hands slowly crept upward, against the curve of your ass, until it found your fluffy tail. His nails scratched against the base connected to your back, and then he tugged in time with another bite to your sensitive nipple.

You wanted to smack him for that. Of all the places he had to touch, why the hell was it your tail!?

As revenge, you tugged off his ribbons, allowing the rest of his hair to fall against his shoulders. He parted from your bite- covered breast to glance up at you, and his hair seemed to frame his face like a dark halo.

Oh.

He tugged on your tail again, and this time, you could see the grin he wore everytime your body reacted.

“What?” Nezha asked innocently.

You exhaled. “I'm gonna hit you.”

“Doesn't that go against your little code?” He angled his hips again, finding that sensitive spot inside you. The warmth coiling in your stomach spread, and your hands clung to his shoulders, digging into the fabric of his jacket. “And you like it, so why are you complaining? You'll probably cum from this too.”

You scowled. “No, I won't.”

“Yes, you will.” Nezha gave your tail another firm tug. His nails scratched at it's base again, soothing the sensitive skin before he tugged again, all done with repeated motions, until your cunt spasmed and coated his cock with your arousal and slick as you came.

He cooed when you buried your face in the crook of his neck, his fingers still teasing your twitching tail while his cock throbbed inside you.

“See?” He insisted when you grumbled against his neck. “Told you you'd cum from it.”

He waited for you to catch your breath, and when you did, you raised your head to glare at him.

“Rot in hell.”

“And leave me with blue balls?”

“....”

***

“Nezhie! You're alive!!”

Nezha sighed, rubbing his temples from the incoming migraine threatening his skull. He had to fight the urge to grab the wrench nearby, looking so, so tempting as Wukong's big mouth came closer.

“Wukong, please.” He set his helmet down, glancing at the champion once again. “I'm not in the mood to listen to you yap. Yes, congrats, you won.”

The monkey looked offended by his comment. Nezha frowned, until he felt Wukong slugging him in the arm.

The wrench looked really tempting right about now.

“Dude! You're funny.” Wukong chuckled and patted his head. “Nah, nah. I'm not here to gloat. We're friends! I thought you upped and died!” He pinched him on the cheek, tugging the flesh until Nezha hissed a curse. “Don't be like that man. What else was I supposed to think, huh? Then you show back up again and you bring back a boyfriend too!”

“....boyfriend….?”

He glanced in the direction he'd last seen you. You had followed him back to Donghai, and the minute Jinzha had seen you with him, he hadn't waited before he jumped on you, bawling his eyes out about taking care of his little baby brother.

You were still there, trapped in his brother's hands.

“Wait…he's…. he's not my boyfriend.”

“Ah, right. Husband.”

“NO!”

67 notes · View notes

stars-and-the-min · 1 year ago

Text

☆ the wrong way to hard launch (6) | OP81

summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au

pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc

a/n the highs (friends) and lows (exes) of life aka lina lore 👀 preface : i know nothing about nfl or american football so suspend ur beliefs if u happen to know a thing or two, also my amateur photoshopping skills are really improving from this

masterlist | last part | part 6 | next part

INSTAGRAM

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon and 142,394 others

logansargeant The long-awaited ultimate rematch tagged: selinabui and oscarpiastri

alex_albon Wait, why wasn't I invited?

selinabui ok captain america pack it up ↳ logansargeant @ selinabui Stay mad 😎 ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Why would you challenge two professional racing drivers to a racing game? ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri i thought you loved me? ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui Ah but you love winners more 😏 ↳ logansargeant @ oscarpiastri Stop flirting in my comments???

cofrisy_f1 LOSCAR??? OSCALINA??? LOLINA???

beemiepie she chose the orange car 🥺🥺🥺 ↳ siera_mblanc @beemiepie a true papaya girlie 🧡🧡

cameliazzz just posted to their story

replies selinabui cami, did u or did u not insist u'd be fine 😭

lukaszhang the SLANDER??? didn't we have loads of fun???

aidan_ebass Touché Millie, see you soon?

eb_jonno sidenote: can you bring mochi on the plane? are there food restrictions?

oscarpiastri

liked by opeightyone and 121,983 others

oscarpiastri 次回まで trans: until next time

piastri_lina obsessed with this couple's dedication to never tagging each other

opeightyone Get 'em next year 💪

selinabui currently feeling like a 1930's housewife waiting for her husband to return from war ↳ cameliazzz @ selinabui HELLO NOT YOU PLAGARISING MY STORY??? FOR A GUY??? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz nooooo wifey i didn't mean like that :(((

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 37m you've gotta be shitting me

NFL Jersey Numbers @nfljerseywatch · 1h Tennessee Titans RB Thomas Howard (@THowdy) is wearing number 24. Last worn by Kenny Vaccaro. #Titans

↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 34m no fucking way... i don't wanna jump to conclusions but... ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 32m he tweeted about it. girl- jump to those conclusions.

Thomas Howard @THowdy · 58m The move to the #Titans has been a huge change, and 24 has been a number close to my heart for many years, I'd consider it a lucky number for a lucky year 👊 ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 23m eat shit and die i'm so fucking serious you have no right to wear her number ↳ kayla @luna_apocolypse · 22m hahaha (not) funny but april fools was last week say sike RIGHT NOW

fiona🩷 @fififorlina · 29m thinking about how tommy is playing with lina’s number i'm weak 😭 ↳ 🕯️manifesting EB3 🕯️@ linabelles · 13m no, we're absolutely not doing this, it's not sweet at all, do you even know how badly he treated lina? ↳ emme @flowersforcami · 11m there are tommy-supporting linami’s in this day and age???

oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 39m lina watching her ex and cousin play/drive with her number be like:

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 23m idk how to feel bc it's kinda hilarious that our little rockstar is slowly plaguing the sporting world with her number

lina !!! @EB_selina · 22m @LoganSargeant for my own mental health we're not going to talk for the next... 50 years ↳ Logan Sargeant @LoganSargeant · 8m I'm sorry? Did I do something wrong? ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 5m it's not you, it's just your countrymen (i'm generalising again)

MESSAGES

from the phone of selina bui

TWITTER

liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 35m WHY IS EVERYONE FLOODING MY TL WITH T*MMY SHIT ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m lina is one of the only music girlies who is SO SO SO vocal about how much she HATES her ex and you still can't listen to her??? ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 34m not just with her music but as in SHE OUTRIGHT HATES HIS GUTS ON MAIN she COULD NOT possibly make it clearer that she would rather shoot herself in the head than ever consider getting back together with him ↳ liv is SEEING EB LIVE!! @olivielina · 33m i'm so tired can't you just let the woman be happy with oscar ↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 17m liv, baby, i think you need to change ur name to 'defense minister of linami nation'

INSTAGRAM

selinabui

liked by oscarpiastri and 139,204 others

selinabui some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning

cameliazzz thought the message was 'let everyone know i'm doing ok'? ↳ selinabui @ cameliazzz message appropriately sent :)

oliviarodrigo AAHHH stunning as always 💝💝 ↳ selinabui @ oliviarodrigo watch out, the literal moment we're in the same city i'm hunting u down (my favourite american 🥺)

oscarpiastri Haha not me though right :) ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri idk maybe...?

TWITTER

lina !!! @EB_selina · 1h this is really hindering my enjoyment of 'so american' ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 1h I reaaally hate to break it to you but I think you might be the American in this relationship ↳ lina !!! @EB_selina · 53m take that back rn i'm serious ↳ Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 49m Which one of us has lived in California for half a decade? 🤔

↳ abby <3 @devilvows · 37m can you imagine waking up to that face? oscar piastri, you lucky bitch

↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h oscar piastri i was not familiar with your game ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h selina, i understand you now, i get it now, truly i do, hooooly

oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h i think the entire empty bottles fandom and oscalina shippers trying to cleanse the tl by posting some of the most jaw-clenching, hottest pictures of oscar and lina is so funny ↳ oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 1h the best part is that it's actually working and also so many more empty bottles fans are realising how unfairly attractive oscar piastri is

INSTAGRAM

selinabui Seoul, South Korea

liked by oscarpiastri and 138,958 others

selinabui heal my s(e)oul tagged: cameliazzz, blublublupi, and lukaszhang

lukaszhang i thought i specifically asked you not to post that ↳ selinabui @lukaszhang i actually wasn't gonna but then you told me not to so obviously i had to

oscarpiastri 🧡 ↳ selinabui @ oscarpiastri any other fucking colour heart i beg ↳ oscarpiastri @ selinabui You know I'm contractually obligated

emptybottlos i'm convinced they agreed to go on tour just to travel, visit friends and eat a bunch of authentic food

ceciliapham someone else is in seoul rn 👀 ↳ marie_h.sb @ceciliapham in what world do you think your gonna see lina and chris yamada in the same room again?

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee

#f1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x oc #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri smau #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 smau #f1 fic #f1 smau #f1 imagine #f1 social media au

206 notes · View notes

isacksteban · 16 days ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/isacksteban/780240921086328832/if-i-wrote-a-little-blurby-blurb-would-anyone-read?source=share

they're compelling me. the blurb will be the deciding factor as to whether i finally given in. no pressure tho 🤗

well you're in luck... heres my trans gabby x nico blurb!!

The 2025 season buzzed with a rare blend of anticipation and speculation. Paddock whispers turned into a media storm when Kick Sauber made a headline-grabbing announcement: their newest driver lineup would feature not only the returning veteran Nico Hülkenberg, but also an audacious, unexpected choice — Gabriella Bortoleto.

A talented rookie and reigning Formula 2 champion, Gabriella had taken the junior racing world by storm with her razor-sharp racecraft, calm under pressure, and charismatic presence both on and off the track. But what truly made the signing historic was that Gabriella would become the first ever full-time female driver in Formula 1 history — a milestone that thrilled fans, divided critics, and set the internet ablaze.

Yet behind the triumph and triumphalism, very few knew Gabriella’s full story.

Years earlier, she had been Gabriel — a name now tucked gently into the past. Gabriella had socially transitioned at a very young age, supported by a fiercely loving family and a select few in the motorsport world who respected her privacy. Her past wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t a headline either. In the hyper-competitive, deeply traditional world of motorsport, she had quietly fought her own battles long before strapping into a Formula 1 car.

From the very moment she stepped into the Kick Sauber garage in Bahrain for pre-season testing, she turned heads — not out of novelty, but because of her unmistakable presence. She moved like she belonged. Her calm demeanor under pressure, the easy warmth in her smile, and her articulate reflections during debriefs caught everyone’s attention. Most of all, though, it was her speed. Her pace was undeniable.

Nico Hülkenberg, once considered the sport’s perennial unlucky hero, had returned to the grid expecting another season of gritty competition and maybe, if the car allowed, some fun battles in the midfield. He didn’t expect Gabriella.

He’d seen rookies before — most of them came in with wide eyes, heavy shoulders, and a desperate need to prove themselves. Gabriella was different. She was confident, but never arrogant. Calm, yet never dull. She asked questions. She listened. She learned. And more than anything, she carried herself with a quiet resilience that Nico couldn’t help but admire.

They bonded quickly, almost accidentally. It began with shared simulator sessions that stretched long into the night, both of them pushing setups and strategies, challenging each other to shave off milliseconds. Then came the companionable walks through the empty paddock after hours, helmet hair and all, talking about everything from tire compounds to childhood dreams.

Nico didn’t know when it shifted. Maybe it was the time she brought him coffee just the way he liked it, without asking. Or maybe it was the way she laughed — a real, full-bellied laugh — after he made some dry joke during a chaotic strategy meeting. Or how she clapped the loudest for him when he placed in Q3, even after a tough session of her own. Somewhere between the long nights and quiet mornings, Nico realized he’d fallen for her.

And Gabriella felt it too.

The closeness between them deepened — the subtle, lingering touches, the stolen glances during driver briefings, the way her expression softened when Nico was near. There was an intimacy in their shared silence, in the way they knew what the other needed before either of them said a word. But with that closeness came a familiar, creeping fear.

For Gabriella, affection had always been a tightrope walk. She had spent years learning to read people — to anticipate when admiration might curdle into something cruel. She knew what the world could be like when it discovered something it didn’t understand. And though she trusted Nico, part of her still braced for the moment it might all unravel.

Nico wasn’t oblivious. He knew there were things she hadn’t said out loud. He’d heard the whispers, the half-formed rumors floating in the media lounges and private WhatsApp chats. He didn’t care. But he also knew that caring might not be enough.

One quiet evening in Monaco, the city lay bathed in a soft golden hue, the sun dipping slowly into the horizon beyond the shimmering sea. From Gabriella’s balcony high above the marina, the world felt still — a rare, perfect silence that wrapped around them like a blanket. Below, the yachts bobbed lazily in the harbor, lights flickering to life one by one, but up here, it was just the two of them. No media, no pressure, no engine noise — just the faint sound of waves and the shared rhythm of their breaths.

Nico leaned against the railing, his arm brushing against hers, both of them content in the hush between them. She was curled into her chair, knees drawn up to her chest, wine glass untouched beside her. The air smelled faintly of salt and jasmine, and the last bits of sunlight danced in her dark curls. He looked at her like he always did — like she was something luminous. But tonight, Gabriella couldn’t bask in the warmth of it. Her heart was pounding too loudly, drowning out the quiet. The truth she’d carried for so long pressed against her ribs, aching to be spoken.

“Nico,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a breath.

He turned immediately, sensing the tremor in her tone. The ease between them shifted. Her hands were clenched together in her lap, her gaze on the horizon but unfocused, distant. He straightened, concern flickering across his face.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she continued, eyes still fixed on the orange-streaked sky. “Before this goes any further. I owe you the truth.”

Nico waited, giving her the space she needed. He had a feeling, maybe deep down, that this moment was coming — that there was something Gabriella had been holding in. But he didn’t push. He never did.

She swallowed hard. “I was born a boy.”

The words came out raw, heavy with fear. Her voice trembled, her hands shaking slightly. “I transitioned a few years ago. It wasn’t sudden — I knew who I was when I was a kid. My parents supported me, and… I’ve been Gabriella for a long time now. Buy— barely anyone in the paddock knows. Not the press. Not the fans. And— I don't know... I'm so sorry I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see me differently. Ididn’twanttoruinwhateverthisis.”

She paused, finally looking at him, eyes wide and brimming. “But I couldn’t keep lying by omission. Not to you. I care about you too much. And I’m scared. I’m scared you’ll pull away. Or tell someone. Or…” Her voice cracked. “Or that you’ll be disgusted.”

A long moment passed. Gabriella’s breath caught in her throat.

But then Nico reached out — not hesitating, not even for a second — and gently took her hand in his.

“Gabriella,” he said, voice steady, grounding. “Thank you. For trusting me. That takes more courage than most people will ever understand.”

She blinked at him, confused, vulnerable. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, to backtrack or apologize, but he shook his head slightly and held her gaze.

“You do know that doesn’t change how I feel about you, right?” he said. “Not even a little.”

Her eyes welled up, and she let out a shaky breath, the beginnings of tears shining on her lashes. “You’re not… angry? You’re not freaked out?”

“No,” he said firmly. “I still see you. You’re the same girl I’ve spent nights laughing with, racing beside, talking to until sunrise. That’s not going anywhere. I don’t care who you used to be — I never knew him. I know you.”

She stared at him, the words slowly sinking in, cracking through the years of armor she’d built around her heart.

“You really mean that?” she whispered.

Nico smiled, warm and unwavering. “I want to be with you, Gabriella. Not the idea of you. You.”

A laugh escaped her lips — light and wet with relief. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been terrified of this.”

"It's all okay now,” he said gently.

And with that, she leaned into him, and his arms wrapped around her like they were made to fit. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to feel safe.

Truly safe.

Wanted.

Seen.

#f1 #formula 1 #gabico #gabriel bortoleto #nico hulkenberg #nh27 #gb5 #ship #rpf #fanfic #fic #ao3 #rule 63 #sorry its straight #i think its still rule 63 #is rule 63 trans #or just cis genderbend #idk im still tagging it #kats f1 blurbs!

39 notes · View notes

wrxangel · 21 days ago

Note

Hiiiii

Could I request some nsfw of wataru Akiyama (initial d :p) with a trans ftm reader? I love your blog by the way!!!!

So cute... (Wataru Akiyama)

NSFW

Transman AFAB Reader

a/n: haven't gotten any notifications about new asks for some reason until I checked my inbox, so I apologize for the wait!! dude, tbh I never think abt Wataru but really looking at that mf, he's HOT. like I could definitely take him (not behind a wheel ofc 🤭). I'm gnna make this kinda nyastyyy lol. I haven't written smut in a hot minute so I gotta unleash the beast😼

cw: mention of top scars, dirty talk, Dom Wataru, Sub reader, fingering, cunnilingus, use of the word boyc*nt/boyp*ssy

tags: @dreamcastgirl99

Want to get tagged? Fill out this form: ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡

Your heart raced as you walked to the closest parking lot on campus. It was a little embarrassing how excited you got every time you made your way over there despite doing this on a daily basis.

But I mean, if you were dating Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome, you would certainly be eager to see him after a long day of lectures and uncomfortable seats.

Your eyes scanned the rows of boxy sedans and somewhat sleek compact cars, searching, looking for one beater in particular. A black and white levin with a familiar face sitting in the driver's seat caused you to flush and fight down a little grin.

Wataru's eyes caught yours as you grew closer to his ride, and he gave you a subtle smile, nodding in greeting as you opened the side door.

"Hey, baby." He chuckled, eyes never leaving you as you slid into your designated spot.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, chest fluttering at the nickname. A bashful smile graced your lips when you turned to him. "Hi. It's been a while."

He softly snorted as he started the car, the floor rumbling beneath your feet. "I had lunch with you."

"And I missed you every second after that, Wataru."

You watched as his high cheekbones dusted pink, your words clearly affecting him. Knowing that you could do that to him, make him blush with your sincerity, gave you a rush of pride with a hint of possessiveness.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡

The next day came too quickly, and despite the lingering warmth from yesterday's ride with Wataru still buzzing faintly in your chest, the familiar grind of lectures and note-taking dulled it a little. You were lost in the monotony of it all—half-tuned in to the professor's droning voice, half-daydreaming about the way Wataru's voice had sounded when he called you baby. Low and smooth, like a car engine purring at idle.

The thought alone made you smirk a little to yourself.

By the time class let out, you were shuffling out with the crowd, making your way across campus when you heard a voice behind you.

“H-hey! Excuse me!”

You slowed and turned, glancing over your shoulder. One of the girls from your lecture jogged up beside you, her backpack bouncing slightly against her shoulder. She was cute in that casual, university-student kind of way—choppy bangs, loose sweater, and a bright-eyed look that made her seem a little younger than she probably was.

She smiled sweetly, a little breathless. “Hey, um…” she started, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Her eyes flickered toward the parking lot where you knew Wataru’s Levin was probably waiting, the image of him sitting with you in the car yesterday still fresh in your mind.

“I was just wondering…” she bit her lip slightly, her voice lowering shyly. You were starting to suspect that you were about to be asked out, judging by her actions.

Until she said something that threw you completely off.

“…could I get your cute friend’s number?”

For a brief moment, your brain didn’t fully process her words. Her soft tone made it sound like she was making a polite, casual request, but it hit you square in the chest like a gut punch.

Your cute friend.

She was talking about Wataru.

The realization sank in slowly, but heavily.

You blinked, feeling the words get caught in your throat. It was such a simple question, so casually asked, but something about it made your stomach flip uncomfortably.

Your fingers curled slightly around the strap of your own bag as you forced a polite smile, one that probably came off more awkward than you intended.

“Ah… sorry, he’s- he’s taken.”

The girl’s brows shot up slightly, eyes widening in surprise. “Oh! Oh, I didn’t know,” she stammered, clearly flustered, quickly waving her hand. You could see the disappointment in her eyes clear as day, even if she was trying to play it off.

Before you could respond, she was already retreating with an embarrassed wave, leaving you standing there, still processing the whole thing.

You exhaled sharply, more from the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding in your chest than anything else. Your feet carried you toward the parking lot automatically, but your thoughts were still tangled up in the conversation.

You didn’t mention it when you slid into Wataru’s car.

You didn’t say anything as he greeted you with his usual smooth smile, his eyes warm and easy as he leaned over slightly to brush his knuckles against your knee.

But your replies were shorter than usual, and your gaze lingered a little too long out the passenger window, the subtle weight of the earlier conversation still making your chest feel tight.

Of course, Wataru noticed.

You felt his gaze flick toward you as he shifted gears, his hand deftly working the shifter with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times. His fingers tapped the steering wheel lightly as he casually glanced at you again.

“Hey…” he murmured, low and smooth. “What’s with the face?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“Face?” You forced a clueless look, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Mm.” His lips twitched slightly. “You’re making that bratty face.”

You shot him a look, the faintest flush crawling up your neck. “I am not.”

That earned you a deep, throaty chuckle that made your stomach flip and your core grow warm.

“Oh, you definitely are,” he teased, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slow smirk. He kept his eyes on the road, but you could feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. “What, you mad at me or something?”

Your fingers clenched slightly around the fabric of your jeans, and despite yourself, the words came out a little too quickly, a little too huffy.

“Just don’t… let any other girls flirt with you,” you muttered, voice lower than you intended.

For a second, the car was silent, except for the low hum of the engine.

Then, he snorted softly, followed by a low, disbelieving laugh.

“Wait, wait.” He shot you a slow, almost playful glance. “Are you jealous?”

You turned sharply toward him, but his smug grin was already firmly in place.

“I’m not jealous,” you mumbled, glowering slightly, feeling the heat rush to your face.

“Oh-ho…” His voice was all rich amusement now, the deep timbre making the warmth in your chest spread lower. “You are.”

He shifted gears fluidly, one hand on the wheel while the other slid casually over to your thigh, his thumb stroking small, lazy circles just above your knee.

"What happened baby? Did someone ask you about me?" Wataru hummed, eyes facing forward.

You didn't say a word, only letting out a small grumble until you felt him squeeze your thigh, wordlessly demanding an answer.

"Some girl asked me for your number. She probably saw you picking me up yesterday or some shit." You huffed, clearly bothered by the earlier interaction.

"Mhm. Probably. And what did you tell her?" He questioned, calmly looking deeper into your feelings.

"That you're taken... I wasn't just gonna give you away. Hell no!" You bristled, possessiveness for Wataru taking over.

Wataru’s lips parted slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you saw the glimmer of surprise in his dark eyes. But then, almost immediately, it melted into something warmer, something softer—pleased. His thumb paused for just a second against your thigh, before he slowly resumed those lazy, tantalizing circles, this time a little slower, a little heavier, more deliberate.

“Mm…” he hummed, voice low and utterly pleased with himself. “That so?”

The weight of his gaze settled on you, and you could feel the slow, deliberate drag of his eyes as they traced over your profile—the stubborn set of your jaw, the faint flush that still painted your cheeks. You could feel him drinking it all in, savoring every bit of your flustered state.

You felt him lean over, his chin pressing on your shoulder when he stopped at a red light.

“You’re cute when you’re huffy, you know that?” he murmured, voice low and teasing against your ear.

You squirmed slightly in your seat, but his hand tightened gently on your thigh, keeping you still.

“You got no reason to be jealous, baby,” he whispered, his lips barely brushing against your jaw. “No one else makes me feel the way you do.”

You let out a tiny moan, unable to control the shivers of pleasure running up your spine from his touch, his warmth, his warm breath tickling your skin.

He chuckled, a tone filling with sin. "You like that, don't you pretty boy?"

You didn't answer, too flustered to form a coherent thought. Instead, you swallowed and didn't dare show him how red you had gotten. But you were sure he could see the blush formed on the tips of your ears to the high of your cheeks.

He leaned back into his seat, one hand still on the wheel while the other slowly stroked up your thigh, growing so close to your aching heat. "Don't worry honey, we're almost home. I wanna see how horny my baby got for me."

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡

The bedroom door barely had time to click shut before Wataru had you pressed against it.

His lips were already on yours, hot and unyielding, swallowing the small gasp that slipped from your throat. His hands were on your waist, rough but reverent, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your shirt as though he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t hold you close enough.

You barely had time to think—barely had time to breathe—before he was tugging your shirt upward, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank it over your head and toss it aside. His lips were back on you instantly, trailing down your jaw, your throat, and lower still, leaving a searing path in their wake.

You let out a shaky exhale, your back pressing into the door, fingers trembling slightly as they fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt his hands, warm and calloused, splay against your bare chest, stroking along the soft, sensitive skin, his thumbs circling slowly and deliberately over your scars, over the tissue you still felt self-conscious about.

But he didn’t hesitate—not for a second.

If anything, his hands were hungrier, more tender, cradling you with so much care it nearly made you dizzy. He wanted to touch you, to feel you. All of you.

Your breath caught when he dipped his head lower, his lips brushing softly over your chest—featherlight kisses, slow and reverent, his breath hot and shaky. He pressed a lingering kiss just below your collarbone, then another, then another, trailing lower with agonizing slowness, as though worshiping every part of you.

“So fucking handsome,” he murmured softly, the word low and reverent against your skin.

The sound of it made your throat tighten, made your chest feel warm and full, and you curled your fingers into his hair, tilting his face back toward yours. You kissed him hard—desperately—letting the weight of your affection pour into the press of your lips, into the way your hands trembled slightly against his face.

He groaned softly into your mouth, his hands sliding down your back, gripping your waist firmly as he guided you toward the bed. His steps were slow and deliberate, never breaking the kiss, walking you back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

You sank down onto the bed, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling heavily as you stared up at him.

Wataru stood over you for a moment, catching his breath, his lips slightly parted, his dark eyes heavy with desire. He made no move to rush. He only stared at you—devoured you—with a look so raw, so utterly worshipful, it made your stomach tighten with want.

“God, you’re perfect. My fucking perfect boy,” he muttered, voice low and breathless, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Your lips parted slightly, a faint, shaky breath escaping you at the words. Your chest felt tight with warmth, your face flush with heat.

You reached for him, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, and without a word, he let you tug it up over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

You drank him in—all of him. The smooth expanse of his broad chest, the lean, sculpted muscle, the dips in his collar and plunge of his v-line into his pants. Your eyes traced over every inch of him, your heart thudding wildly in your chest.

He lowered himself onto the bed, bracing himself over you, his hands caging you in on either side of your head. You felt the heat of his breath against your lips, his dark hair falling forward slightly, brushing against your skin.

“You still all riled up, baby?” he murmured softly, his lips barely grazing yours.

You let out a shaky whimper in response, your hands moving greedily over his bare chest, your fingers tracing along the hard lines of his torso, dragging your nails lightly down his back.

He hissed softly through his teeth, his arms trembling slightly from the sharp sensation. His eyes darkened, a low, satisfied rumble rising in his throat.

“Mm…” he purred, his lips brushing along your jawline, then lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. “That eager, huh?”

You clenched your jaw slightly, your hands fisting the bedsheets as he shifted lower, his tongue dragging lazily along the curve of your collarbone, making your back arch slightly beneath him.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. Your brain was too fogged, too clouded with heat and want, with the feel of his lips on your skin, with the weight of him pressing down on you.

But he didn’t need a response.

The way your body responded to him—the way you squirmed slightly beneath him, the way your nails dug just a little harder into his back—told him everything he needed to know.

And he relished it.

“God, you’re so good for me,” he muttered lowly, his voice strained with hunger as his lips dragged lower still. His hands slid down your sides, his fingers trailing along your skin with deliberate slowness, making you shiver beneath him.

"So fucking cute..." He mumbled against your skin, the vibrations making you shiver.

His hands found the waistband of your jeans, and with slow, deliberate movements, he unbuttoned them, taking his time, watching you through heavy-lidded eyes as he dragged the zipper down.

"Let's see that needy cock of yours," he chuckled, tugging down your pants along with your underwear.

His lips parted slightly, and he let out a low, shaky breath as he slowly eased the waistband down over your hips, his eyes trailing hungrily over every inch of newly exposed skin.

You watched him, chest heaving slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. You were trembling faintly beneath him, your thighs clenching slightly from the way his gaze roved over you, heavy and heated, devouring you whole.

You squeaked at the cold rush of air hitting your slick boypussy, your sensitive clit twitching at the sensation.

“Fuck…” he exhaled softly, the word nearly a groan as his eyes went up and down along your slit. He could feel his mouth begin to salivate at the thought of his tongue doing the same thing.

You watched with half-lidded eyes, lips gently parted as you admired how utterly sexy he looked worshipping you.

And then, with agonizing slowness, he pressed his lips against the side of your puffy pussy. You let out a sharp gasp, feeling his tongue give a swift little lick up your skin, not even touching your aching bundle of nerves.

"Wanna see you take my fingers, sweet thing." He mumbled into you, voice muffled by your skin. You could feel yourself gush at his words, face red and heart pounding from every sound that left his lips, every press of his skin against yours.

"Please..." You weakly whined, hips jolting when you felt his fingers tap the entrance of your cunt.

"So fuckin' cute." He hummed, leaning back to watch himself play with you.

He used both hands to gently spread your walls, your hole squeezing around nothing and clit twitching as if vying for his attention.

Moving one hand, he gently pressed his index and middle fingers on your sensitive button, rubbing tight, slow circles. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you clamped down on nothing. Your nails dug into his arms and your eyes squeezed shut, body trembling with pleasure.

"Oh, god…" you managed to whimper, eyes opening slightly, needing to see him. Your needy, lust-drunk eyes met his, and he smirked, his eyes filled with affection for how much you were enjoying yourself.

He continued rubbing, his lightly calloused fingers sending warmth and sparks where they touched you. You felt yourself tense and your hips begin to shake against his grip.

"Wataru…!" you cried, not really sure what you wanted.

But he knew.

And with a low, satisfied hum, he used his other hand to slide a single finger into your boypussy.

You felt it in every molecule of your body. Your vision began to blur, your muscles tensed and your whole body shivered as you felt that satisfying stretch that always drove you so wild.

"Ah!" You cried out, head falling back and hips clenching around him.

He fucked you with that single finger, the pace quickening as he watched your face. You could hear your wetness every time he thrust in and out of you, the sounds making you blush harder and your toes curl from how dirty it all felt.

He let out a groan from above you, hips rocking into the air as he watched his fingers play with your tight heat.

"Fuckin' hell… You're so tight," he mumbled to himself, unable to keep his eyes off your pussy. He felt his own cock growing thicker, needing to be touched as badly as you. He slid his fingers out of you with an embarrassingly loud click, giving you a few moments to catch your breath.

"I'm gonna finger you until you cum," he said, voice deep and thick. His eyes looked up at you, filled with desire and lust.

His fingers slid back into you, this time it being two fingers. You let out a desperate whine when he started fingering you again.

"Oh god, Wataru-!" You cried, hands reaching for him and digging into his shoulders.

He pressed his lips to yours as he fucked you harder, his tongue meeting yours in an eager dance as his fingers curled inside you, teasing your sensitive inner walls.

The pace got quicker. The friction of his fingers dragging in and out of your tight cunt sent waves of pleasure up your body, your hips bucking desperately into his grip.

"Ahhh…!" You moaned into his mouth, the pleasure too much to contain. Your head fell back, your mouth falling open with a silent scream.

"Oh god, you're gonna make me cum so hard," you managed to say, your voice tight and desperate. Your legs clenched around his hand and your nails dragged down his arms, making him gasp and buck his hips into the air once more.

You looked back at him with lust filled eyes, lips swollen from kisses and flushed from how long we had been making out.

He pulled out his fingers, the slick sound of his digits leaving your boypussy loud in the quiet room. You cried out with the sudden emptiness and whined when his fingers stroked your abused walls.

"Stay still, baby boy. M'wanna watch you cum." He ordered, voice husky from arousal.

He used his fingers to rub your sensitive bundle of nerves, your legs clenching around his hands once more and your eyes rolling back into your head as you felt yourself approach climax.

You let out a small whine and tried to writhe beneath him, but he held you still with a firm hand on your stomach.

"Look at me," he demanded, voice thick and breathy.

You opened your eyes, looking at him with a dazed, lust filled expression. Your hands reached for his head as you felt your climax nearing.

His fingers moved faster, your slick juices making a wet, obscene sound with every touch.

"Ahhh, fuck…!" you gasped, hips jerking desperately into his touch. "Wataru, I-!"

"Come for me," he grunted, voice filled with need, watching you closely for any sign of your release.

You gasped and your body began to tense. Your muscles clenched, your whole body shaking as you came. Your whole world disappeared from the sheer pleasure and your legs squeezed tightly around his arms. You cried his name out through clenched teeth, your boycunt spasming and your back arched off the bed.

He leaned over, his lips pressed gently against your ear.

"That's it, sweet thing, cum all over my fingers." His voice was deep and filled with need. You felt your muscles shiver at his words, the sound of them sending sparks through your sensitive pussy.

As you came, his fingers continued stroking your over-sensitive clit, teasing out as much pleasure as possible. Your body twitched and you whimpered from the too much pleasure but Wataru refused to stop.

You panted heavily, your skin sweaty and warm, muscles feeling limp and boneless from how well he had fucked you. He slid his hand away from your sensitive pussy and let you rest for a moment.

He laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms so that his front pressed against yours. He kissed along the nape of your neck, nuzzling into your soft skin and holding you tightly. You felt him twitch against your leg, his arousal not yet sated.

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

"Wataru," you murmured, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch, his expression softening.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, voice sleepy sounding from how much he'd pleased you. His nose brushed against your cheek, nuzzling you gently.

"Thank you," you said softly, your hands curling into his hair.

He smiled against your skin—a gentle, soft smile that made your chest feel full and warm.

"Don't ever thank me for fucking you, baby," he whispered softly, his lips grazing your ear. He moved lower, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw, then lower still to find the spot on your neck that always made you go weak in the knees. "You deserve to feel good." His voice was warm and thick, filled with a kind of deep, sincere affection that always made your heart skip a beat.

His hands slid up your sides, making you shudder at the feel of his palms against your skin.

You leaned into his touch, your fingers slipping down the back of his neck. He let out a soft, pleased sound as he felt your fingers curl against his skin.

“Wataru,” you murmured softly, your lips parting slightly.

He kissed along your throat, his breath warm and gentle on your skin.

“Yes?” His voice was muffled against your skin.

“I love you,” you whispered, your heart full to bursting with emotion.

His lips stilled against your skin for a moment—just a moment. And then, he pulled back to look at you, his eyes soft and searching.

You met his gaze without faltering, your heart pounding in your chest as you held his stare. The room was silent but for the sound of your breath, and the feel of each other’s heartbeat.

And then—just when you thought you might collapse from the intensity of it all—he smiled.

That slow, lazy smile—the kind that only he had ever given you—that made your stomach flip and your chest feel full.

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice soft and gentle. His lips pressed against yours, his kiss soft, and sweet, and warm.

And with that, everything in the world just seemed to melt away. It was just him, and you, and this moment. The kind that would last forever.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

#initial d #initial d x reader #initial d imagine #initial d fanfiction #wataru akiyama #wataru Akiyama x reader #wataru x reader #afab reader #afab #transman #ftm reader #transman reader #initial d Wataru akiyama #initial d wataru

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 11 months ago

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Parnelli Jones 1970 Ford Mustang Boss 302

USAC driver Parnelli Jones in the #15 1967 Ford Fairlane

Parnelli Jones dives out of his car after it caught fire in the pits during the Indianapolis 500 auto race May 30, 1964. He suffered burns and was hospitalized but was not seriously hurt. Jones, won the 1963 Indy 500.

Rufus Parnell "Parnelli" Jones was an American professional racing driver and racing team owner. He is notable for his accomplishments while competing in the Indianapolis 500 and the Baja 1000 desert race, and the Trans-Am Championship series. In 1962, he became the first driver to qualify over 150 mph

#parnelli jones #car #cars #indianapolis 500 #Baja 1000 #Ford Mustang Boss 302 #Ford Mustang #Ford #Boss 302 #Mustang #motor racing #stock car racing #racing #motorsports

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babybearnation · 2 months ago

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sir bear's sweetheart special masterlist (part 2: week two)

part one, week one HERE

day 8:

bear hybrid!ollie bearman x puppy hybrid!gn!reader

string sighted!taylor barnard x string sighted!gn!reader

jenson button x gn!gamer!reader

cat hybrid!taylor barnard x gn!reader

bunny hybrid!charles leclerc x gn!reader (physical hurt/comfort headcanons)

power bottom!zane maloney x taller!service top!male!reader

zane maloney, nyck de vries, alex albon, logan sargeant & arthur leclerc x gn!pop star!reader

day 9:

golden retriever hybrid!mick schumacher x gn!reader x maine coon hybrid!callum ilott x gray fox hybrid!marcus armstrong

pato o'ward & oscar piastri x gn!reader (royalty au)

christian mansell, liam lawson, esteban ocon & mick schumacher x gn!childhood bff!reader

top!jack doohan x bottom!gn!reader x switch!liam lawson (cold sex headcanons)

sam bird x male!mechanic!reader x taylor barnard

arthur leclerc x gn!reader (insecurity hurt/comfort headcanons)

lewis hamilton x gn!race engineer!reader

nico rosberg x gn!f1 driver!reader

yuki tsunoda x gn!reader x pierre gasly (date headcanons)

luke browning x gn!poet!reader

logan sargeant x gn!reader (secret relationship date headcanons)

day 10:

switch!dino beganovic x switch!male!reader x switch!paul aron

yuki tsunoda x gn!wheelchair user!reader

lance stroll x male!tiger hybrid!reader x sebastian vettel

lance stroll x male!reader (university au)

pato o'ward x gn!cupid!reader

callum ilott, marcus armstrong, paul aron & pepe marti x switch!gn!reader (smut headcanons)

marcus armstrong x gn!commentator!reader (soulmate first words au)

charles leclerc x gn!reader (tired domesticity headcanons)

marcus armstrong, callum ilott & polyamorous!mallum x gn!motogp!reader (safety concern hurt/comfort headcanons)

cat hybrid!oscar piastri x gn!reader (sleepy!oscar headcanons)

marcus armstrong, callum ilott, yuki tsunoda, ollie bearman & kimi antonelli x gn!reader (you show up late to a race)

alpha!lando norris x gn!omega!reader (clingy!lando headcanons)

alex albon, arthur leclerc, marcus armstrong & sebastian vettel x gn!cat hybrid!reader (sleepy headcanons)

day 11:

dino beganovic x gn!reader (emotional hurt/comfort headcanons)

marcus armstrong, paul aron & oscar piastri x gn!reader (physical hurt/comfort headcanons)

mick schumacher, esteban ocon, lance stroll & polyamorous!esteban /lance/mick x gn!reader (date headcanons)

bunny hybrid!arthur leclerc x gn!koala hybrid!reader

paul aron x gn!astrophysics student!reader

bottom!liam lawson x top!male!reader x top!jack doohan (brat taming headcanons)

alpha!zhou guanyu, alpha!yuki tsunoda & alpha!logan sargeant x gn!omega!reader (general omegaverse headcanons)

day 12:

oscar piastri x gn!reader (playfully judgemental headcanons)

dino beganovic x gn!reader (gaming headcanons)

mclaren boys x gn!tsundere!reader

labrador retriever hybrid!lance stroll, golden retriever hybrid!logan sargeant, miniature longhaired dachshund hybrid!charles leclerc, mestizo hybrid!pato o'ward & australian shepherd!oscar piastri x gn!cheetah hybrid!f1 driver!reader (fluff headcanons)

marcus armstrong x male!rapper!reader

switch!dino beganovic x switch!male!reader (smutty headcanons)

alex albon x gn!reader (fluffy headcanons)

day 13:

logan sargeant x gn!reader x alex albon (meeting/getting together headcanons)

top!paul aron x bottom!male!motogp!reader (smutty headcanons)

yuki tsunoda, pepe marti & arthur leclerc x non-famous!trans!reader (going public headcanons)

brown bear hybrid!ollie bearman x gn!badger hybrid!reader x black cat hybrid!kimi antonelli (paddock behaviour headcanons)

court musician!liam lawson x gn!royal!reader

trans!oscar piastri x gn!reader (fluff headcanons)

bartender!pato o'ward x gn!arrow mclaren indycar driver!reader x car mechanic!callum ilott

lando norris x gn!motogp!reader (red string of fate au)

alex albon x gn!reader (knowledge of soulmate via touch au) (ft. childhood bffs!loscar & briefly mentioned george/lando)

werewolf!esteban ocon x gn!vampire!reader

george russell x gn!ghost phaser!reader

day 14:

dragon shifter!zhou guanyu x gn!dragon trainer!reader

artist!jenson button x gn!f1 driver!reader

wealthy!non-royal!pepe marti x gn!stablehand!reader

lewis hamilton x gn!f1 driver!reader (racing headcanons)

liam lawson x gn!venom host!reader

marcus armstrong x gn!reader (romantic details)

part three, week three HERE

#ᵔᴥᵔ navi #sir bear's sweetheart special

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russilton · 5 months ago

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18.5 of you 😭😭😭 go on, call the millionaires out!!!

I mean, I would genuinely love to hear of proof of more, I really would!

But as far as I know only Lewis and Valtteri are the only drivers on the current grid have been outspokenly pro transgender rights.

George has made a blanket statement of being proud to race under the pride star/ kept the we race as one rainbow on his helmet longer than most, but even that’s not specifically about trans people. I think Ocon may have done similar. I’m not saying others haven’t- I just don’t keep up with them.

There’s been a lot of cars that used pride flags during pride month, but Sauber raced with a progress flag for June then made one of their race posters Harry Potter themed- the activism has its limits. Redbull loves to wave racing pride around but then 5 minutes later Marko says something racism— there is no true pride without fighting racism with it.

If an f2 kid who ISNT funded out the ears like these drivers, can get online and say exactly what needs to be said, then the rest of them can do better.

#asks #anonymous #and that’s just f1 #don’t even get me started on the fuckers in FE #I love the sport but we have more known transphobes than pro trans drivers #the bar is so fucking low

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totothewolff · 1 year ago

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Grand Prix Elite Academy (1/10)

[🗯+18][👩‍❤️‍👨Toto (professor) x reader (student, future F1 driver)][👨‍❤️‍👨Lewis x Seb][💘Romance][🥵Smut][🎀Age-gap][❤️‍🔥Wild parties][🏫College AU][🌈Queer/Fem/Trans Sebastian][✍️WIP][⏳Long read]

Summary: Your life turns 180 degrees after receiving your acceptance letter for the Grand Prix Elite Academy, the most exclusive and prestigious Formula One College, designed to shape the future drivers of the motorsport world. You will try to navigate your new life among the Monaco elites, survive the campus dynamics and rivalries between the faculties, and try to win this year's Elite Cup to beat an undefeated Mercedes, all while befriending your eclectic classmates, join the wild parties, have a couple of make-outs under the racing circuit benches, lose your v-card and get over that stupid crush you have on professor Toto. Will you make it alive to graduation? Race to Greatness! Author's note: This is a Formula One college AU fic set in an elite academy in Monaco, where the F1 Teams are Faculties, their Team Principals are professors, the FIA is the college board, and all the grid drivers are your classmates. You are accepted under a scholarship program called WomenOne and have lots to catch on to after years of putting your racing dreams on hold. Becoming the outcast new girl is always challenging, especially when all of you live on one campus.

< Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

Chapter 1: Hi, Society

Everyone in Monaco, they say, is filthy rich.

Well, that’s a half-lie. There's also the working class, the ones who keep the yachts polished, the mansions spotless, and the restaurants bustling.

That's your tribe, the ones who live far from the elite’s sea-view penthouses and sprawling estates, on the outskirts of town near the border with France, where the mountains rise behind and your family resides, from where the world-famous Monaco marina looks like a tiny little ant in the distance.

You’re part of a middle-class household of three: you, your dad, and your dog.

It’s a life of early mornings and long commutes. Between school and the family’s auto parts and components store, your days are a blur of movement.

But you’ve always found comfort in the rhythm. Even if it’s not the glamorous Monaco dream, it's a good life.

You had the misfortune, now you call it that, of having a childhood shaped by your dad’s obsession with motorsports.

He’s the kind of madman who’d call Formula 1 a religion, and your home, by extension, was practically a shrine to it.

Books of Senna and Schumacher lined on the bookshelf, and the TV never missed a race. To your dad, Monaco wasn’t just home, it was sacred ground.

Your dad’s a middle-aged man with an easy smile and charming persona. He’s the kind of guy women flirt with, and some men too.

But despite the attention, he’s stayed single, ever since your mom passed away.

You’ve encouraged him to date, even pleaded at times, but his devotion to work and to you has left little room for anyone else.

Okay, he's a charming man with a sense of humor and is in shape, I get it now.

He is a hard-working mechanic/manager/business owner, who invested his inheritance into building two family businesses: a repair shop and an auto parts store, located just a stone’s throw from each other.

It was a gamble, but one that paid off within years of sweat and perseverance.

And yes, you’ve inherited his passion for cars.

Yes, yes, I am a "daddy's girl." Fine. I admit it.

It's a bit embarrassing, but he's your hero. He has been fundamental to your childhood and life.

By the time you were in elementary school, thanks to him you could name every part of an engine and explain its function.

By high school, you were helping at the workshop to fix them.

By your senior years, you were racing cars.

Since you were little daydreaming has always been your escape.

Your therapist calls it MaDD, or maladaptive daydreaming, a coping mechanism born from the need to find solace in a life filled with cracks.

Even with loving and caring parents, you grew up feeling a bit alone, they were always working, so when you were a kid, you started to sneak into the driver’s seat of the luxury cars that came into the shop for repairs. The leather and the smell of high-octane fuel were intoxicating... literally.

You’d close your eyes, gripping the wheel, imagining the unit transforming into the fastest racing car as the engine's roar took you on sharp corners in a Formula 1 track inside your mind.

Of course, I always won the race!

That if none of the mechanics or your dad got you out of the car before time.

When you turned eight, your family scraped together enough to take you karting. It was more expensive and demanding than anyone expected, besides heavy on the body.

But you loved it, more than anything on this Earth! Your dog was a second close, that says a lot.

As the years passed by you lived for the burn in your muscles after practice and the exhilaration of Sunday races. Your natural talent shone, collecting trophies on your way up, and soon enough, sponsors noticed.

You rose through the ranks with grit and determination. Formula Renault came first, then Formula 4. Victory after victory, you poured your heart into making your dream a reality, and by that point, you were body and soul invested in your racing career.

And then, one sad September, everything changed.

Your mom got sick.

After her passing, nothing was ever the same, and your racing dreams got buried along with her.

Dealing with the aftermath of her departure left your family emotionally shattered and financially drained. Medical bills piled up, and the dreams you’d worked so hard for, slipped through your fingers.

The racing world moved on without you, and you without them.

“Time heals all wounds.”

Another half-lie people tell.

You learn to go on with the ache, but it never truly leaves. Grief lingers in your bones yet you learn to live life the best way possible.

In the years that followed, you entered the second half of your teen years with a reset, as if your life started over as if someone else lived your past.

You start helping more with the family business, the one your mom ran, as you witness your father getting more tired and stressed day by day after her absence, trying to juggle everything.

The karting and tracks soon become memories, and the store is now your life. After school, you go there instead to the circuit to practice.

The shop is located in an old part of town that once used to be a cheap neighborhood, but not anymore, still not the most luxurious area, but very centric, just blocks down from Monaco's main avenue.

As the business grew, the shop underwent several refurbishes and improvements. All made by your uncle Marco's construction company, he's your late mom's brother and also your godfather. He's as "young" as your dad and mom. Your parents had you amidst their college years.

Now thanks to the work he has done, the store is modern and bright, and thanks to you it looks clean and organized.

The shop has tall white walls with blue product racks, ones you helped paint, and shelves that gleam with products, tidy and organized, and a neat grey polished concrete floor where you can almost see your reflection, pendant lights hanging from the ceiling, and large promotional posters giving the place character.

Your days are spent behind the counter facing the entrance, balancing the stock, doing customer service, and your schoolwork, even watching Netflix on slow days.

'Diesel', your old basset hound, was always by your side, sometimes wearing his shop-logo bandana like the unofficial mascot of the store he is. Customers adore him, some come back just to see him and give him some pats.

I know this isn't racing, but it's something at least.

The store's most recent and exciting acquisition is a set of automatic sliding doors and a welcome custom floor mat with the shop's logo.

Jesus! How fucking boring has my life become?! From the trills of racing, and the high adrenaline of winning to spend my days inside a shop.

But still, you are so grateful for those small acquisitions. Before, the sliding doors came, during busy days you wanted to tear your ears off at the nonstop sound of the bell atop the door every time it opened and closed.

The store is at the very corner of the street, and your dad's large workshop is two buildings away, across the road, pretty near and convenient for your commuting.

Your dad lives and breathes inside that workshop. Your household is one of those that leaves the family home very early in the morning only to return at night to sleep.

In Monaco, if you want to achieve anything you need a good appearance. Both your businesses are different from your 'usual' mechanic's spots.

Yes, there is still oil in some parts... but this is Monaco, after all.

When you turned eighteen, things started looking up, and financially healthier after some pretty rough years.

Businesses stabilized, and your dad and godfather surprised you with a gift. After working hard they’d revamped the store’s attic into a small apartment just for you.

The shop's second floor used to be a storage space and now it has become a tiny and simple but cozy flat, an open-floor concept, a one-bedroom with a kitchenette and a counter bar for two stools, plus a sitting area with a bulky love seat and a TV.

You asked for a study desk to be placed not that far from the skylight window facing the street, and your queen-size bed with a nightstand completed the space, along with a door that leads to the world's tiniest bathroom.

You love this rabbit hole so freaking much, even more than your actual home, a bit more spacious two-and-a-half-bedroom apartment with a small balcony on the outskirts of town nearer the mountains.

Your dad and godfather allowed you to choose the decor style, so you furnished it with minimalist boho touches, creating a space that felt uniquely yours.

It wasn’t an apartment with ocean views, but it was a home to you. And you loved it!

With each passing year, you took on more responsibilities at the store, from managing social media to convincing your dad to expand online. You became the backbone of the business, you knew every product on the shelves and every price.

At this point in your life, you were fluent in the language of the mechanics, and you joked around it should be listed as a skill on your future CV, due to growing up and still living surrounded by them.

When you revisit your childhood photo albums, depending on the picture, you may react with a smile or laugh. There are too many photos from your birthday parties, all held at the workshop.

Where in them, you appear surrounded by groups of the most alpha males you could imagine, mechanics with tattoos, beards, and muscles all wearing girly birthday props as you blow candles off a Barbie-inspired cake or with whatever theme was trendy with girls back in the day.

And since now you are a full-grown woman under their stares, they act all overprotective of you nowadays, especially when some boy your age tries to flirt with you while buying something with their parent's credit card at the store.

But they can't get it any more wrong!

While you excel at work, your personal life remains empty. You’d never had a boyfriend, and the idea of romance feels as distant as your racing dreams.

Not that you are uninterested, quite the opposite. You don't recall when or how, but you started developing an attraction for MEN, real men.

Not boys, but older guys.

No seniors tho, but for that dangerous middle-aged group of males that make your knees quiver and you to beg, "Please, Daddy, run me over with that sports car," as you stare at them driving past the store's big windows facing the street on their direction to your dad's workshop's entrance, holding the wheel of their expensive fast cars.

You had a weakness for them, but those fantasies sadly were just that: fantasies.

Sigh.

Those guys remained totally out of your league, and well, you don't have enough of a social life for somebody to introduce you to a man of that type or status.

And let's not talk about the fact you have never had action of any kind, no bed experience or skills flirting. To your dad's peace of mind, you imagine, you remain a virgin.

Maybe my shy nature or insecurities, who fucking knows?

Fast forward a year and you are only a couple of days to graduation.

The end of your high school years brought you a mix of hope and dread, many universities showed up at your school to promote their college programs in a sort of reverse 'Open Day'.

You try to avoid the Grand Prix Elite Academy people like they had the plague, knowing that's one dream you can't afford.

And looks like they know it too!

You can tell by the looks their extremely hot model-looking 'Student Affairs' promoters give you as you succumb to the temptation to peek into their fancy promotional stand.

You nervously approach it without saying a word and leave after they unwantedly hand you a booklet with all the information about their college, programs, tuition, scholarships, and more, knowing you weren’t part of their target demographic.

In all honesty, they looked a bit annoyed to be there, to attend a school without potential or preferred clients. They weren't shy to hide their blatant classism.

Back at your loft, you remove your shoes by the entrance and drop your stressed tote bag on the couch before getting cozy in it as you gather the courage to hurt yourself by daring to flip through the GPEA's booklet.

"Grand Prix Elite Academy, the ultimate path to success in the world of motorsports.

Our programs are exclusive bachelor's degrees designed for aspiring Formula One drivers and those who dream of pursuing a career in professional racing or the motorsports world.

Our unique racing driver program offers unparalleled training and mentorship from seasoned professionals, personalized coaching from world-class racing experts, and access to state-of-the-art facilities and cutting-edge simulators, opening the doors to the world of F1 through our networking opportunities with industry leaders.

Our degree aims to cultivate the skills and mindsets of future champions, being the ultimate platform for developing the aptitudes, knowledge, and connections necessary to reach the pinnacle of motorsports.

Drive to Greatness. Race with us. Go Elite, Go GPEA."

After reading the entire booklet a hundred times and scanning all the pictures, you take a look at the degree's subjects, hollering at the tuition prices attached to it.

To enlist in all classes and to enroll for JUST ONE school year! Paying for the accommodations, materials, and equipment required plus the academy's maintenance fee and your health care/insurance and nutrition plus fitness plan, you needed for your dad to sell the house and the store.

You can't help but be miserable, feeling the burden of your life's dream getting crushed, and you cry about it till you fall asleep.

Your dad goes up to your loft, looking for you, worried, after three missed phone calls and sending several texts to your number, getting no reply.

The day was over, and you two should be heading home already to avoid traffic. He always texts you when it's time for you to leave, usually, you rush downstairs to the sidewalk by the store's exit to wait for him to pick you up in the car.

On this occasion, it went differently. He comes closer to the sofa to wake you up but stops halfway, noticing the GPEA's booklet now spread on the floor next to your limp hand falling from the edge of the couch.

He perceives the puffiness and redness around your eyes, you have been crying! That makes him feel a bump in his throat, he gets it, he knows why, then he releases a heavy sigh as bends to pick it up and place it inside his satchel.

He doesn't mention anything of this as you two and Diesel share dinner once you arrive home.

Your graduation came and went, and your dad and his team of mechanics cheered and sobbed louder than anyone else in the audience as you went up the strand to receive your diploma, their little girl soon to be a college freshman.

And with that, the summer break officially arrived!

You apply for several engineering bachelor's programs within your budget, in town, or nearby like San Remo, aiming to carve out a path in the motorsports world, even if it wasn’t behind the wheel.

As the morning the acceptance letters were due to arrive drew closer, with each passing hour, your nerves grew. You crossed your fingers, silently hoping that rejection wasn’t waiting for you inside those crisp white envelopes.

When the day finally came, three out of four programs welcomed you, and for the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of pride.

Fuck yeah!

A part of you wasn’t surprised. You’d worked hard for this, acing admission tests and nailing interviews, besides having stellar grades.

I am quite a nerd.

Still, the validation felt like a warm light after years of shadow.

That same afternoon, the postman arrives once more, unexpectedly, as you stare at him perplexed he hands you an envelope, its heavy paper embossed with the Grand Prix Elite Academy’s prestigious crest.

You freeze, staring at it, trying to process it, then tear it open, hands trembling.

It's good that your dad is sitting across from you at the shop’s counter, sharing a quiet lunch at the exact moment this unfolds, to clarify your doubts.

"What is this?!" your voice comes out louder than you intended as you hurry over to him.

"Listen, don't get mad at me," your dad puts down his fork and stops eating for a moment to face you. “And wait! Don’t get your hopes too high just yet,” he adds, noticing your breath coming faster. “Read it first.”

"WHAT?!!"

"Y/N, breathe, easy..."

You quickly scan the letter's content.

"AH!" a funny scream comes out of your mouth, and you look at your dad with eyes so wide before pulling him into a tight hug, brusquely. "I GOT IN! I GOT THIS YEAR'S SCHOLARSHIP!! THIS CAN BE FUCKING HAPPENING!! HOW!!?"

"Language," he scolds you. "I applied for you, well, I wrote them an email pretending to be you. I hated it, by the way. I had to channel my inner annoying teenage girl,” he adds with a mock shudder, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Then, I sent their college board a long ass e-mail explaining to them our financial situation, I told them about your backstory, about your talent, and how you deserved that scholarship. I didn’t think they’d actually say yes," he looks a bit embarrassed at his confession. "Good thing I documented your entire promising racing career as if it were to be televised on Nat Geo."

"HEY!" you protest at his hint of your bio-pic belonging to the animal network.

"I knew... I know... how important this is for you. I'm so sorry that we cannot afford it on our own. I know my girl has the talent, after what we have put you through, you deserve a place in that college more than any of those rich kids. Thank God they went all charity on your ass and gave you that full scholarship!"

You laugh it off as happy tears run down your face. Your dad hasn't seen you this happy, not since your mom was still with you.

"OH GOD!" you exclaim suddenly, scanning the rest of the letter.

Your dad’s heart skips a beat. “WHAT?!” he asks, his brows knitting in concern.

“It says here I need to register ASAP on their virtual classroom platform since I missed the in-person summer program they just held!” you explain in a rush. “I just got in, and I’m already behind!”

Without waiting for a reply, you bolt to your laptop, fumbling to set it up. Before you open it, though, you pause and glance back at your dad. "Dad, I love you, you have nothing to apologize for, you have done more than your very best."

The countdown to the start of the academic year begins, and with each passing day, your anxiety levels increase. While your dad, watching your growing hysteria, begins second-guessing his decision.

Billions of thoughts flood your mind.

What if they don’t like me? What if I fail? Am I even good enough? Will they welcome me? Shit, I have nothing to wear. For fucks sake this attire list is so pretentious. What the hell is "smart-casual" supposed to mean? Do I really need four cocktail dresses? I think I have something that fits the formal requirements but I don't own any black or white tie gowns. Aren’t we supposed to wear those beautiful, preppy private school uniforms?

OH, LORD!

Then, one morning, a heavy box arrives, addressed to you.

You tear the seal open, heart pounding, only to be met with a sight so luxurious it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

Inside lies your Grand Prix Elite Academy 'welcome package', elegantly folded, pristine, and undeniably expensive.

Several sleek grey blazers, impeccably tailored lie inside along with blue, grey, and striped cashmere sweaters with matching pleated mini skirts and many more meticulously branded items, all designed by none other than Thom Browne.

You run your fingers over the expensive fabrics, soaking their significance.

This is real, this is happening.

Enclosed is a note outlining the GPEA's dress code: This uniform is to be worn temporarily, a neutral identifier until you earn a place in a faculty. Each faculty has its distinctive liveries/uniforms.

If accepted into one of the faculties' driver's programs, as a rookie, you might get a seat in one of their cars and maybe, just maybe, a shot at competing in the Elite Cup, if you are good enough.

A shiver of anticipation courses through you as you picture your name in one of those 22 slots after excelling at the Qualy rounds.

But first things first.

You were asked to start by doing your faculty assignment process. Student Affairs made it clear: You must apply for two faculties of your choice.

If neither selects you back after reviewing your curriculum and conducting interviews, you’ll have one final chance to get into one, in the form of an invitation from a faculty willing to take you in by selecting you from what they call the "driver's market".

If no invitation arrives, you’ll remain within the generic GPEA's faculty, waiting for another chance next year when you are allowed to apply for faculties again or for someone to switch faculties mid-year, which is rare.

You spend hours researching each faculty, poring over their legacies, leadership styles, philosophies, values, and ethos.

You inspect the pictures of their exclusive common rooms referred to as ‘hospitalities’—where only their alumni can gather and enjoy their exclusive facilities and where their special and unique lessons take place.

After careful deliberation, you submit applications to Mercedes and McLaren.

Then moving your attention back to the bottom of your 'welcome package' box, you find additional paperwork, an extensive checklist of tasks to complete before your first day on campus, the official attire code handbook, and, at the very end, your scholarship details.

Your sponsor is ‘WomanOne,’ a global charity dedicated to supporting young women in higher education.

Reading their brochure, you’re flooded with a mix of awe and gratitude. Those stories of resilience, ambition, and success ignite something within you, something fierce.

You swear, right then and there, to prove yourself.

Your grades, your race performance, and your reputation are crucial to them.

No pressure, right? Study hard. Ace your subjects. Win the Elite Cup. Easy peasy!

Two weeks later, another envelope arrives, this time bearing an invitation to the Homecoming Gala, a luscious extravaganza and themed event hosted annually by GPEA to welcome their alumni.

How is everything they send so ridiculously luxurious?!

The gala is scheduled two nights before the academic year starts, set to take place in their grand ballroom on campus.

It’s mandatory. The thought makes you laugh, you’ve never been demanded to attend a fancy party before.

The next morning, following instructions, you download the GPEA app and begin filling out your student profile.

What should have been a simple task turns into an ordeal, costing you blood, sweat, and nearly a tear or two.

It takes a million snaps before you finally capture a photo of yourself that you like and also meets all their strict requirements.

White background, check. Proper lighting, check. Face visible, check. Wearing the uniform, check. Medium-shot framing, check. A picture where you actually like how you look? Eh… close enough.

You did what you could, adjusting angles, fixing your hair, and trying to smile just right. You wanted to look perfect. You wanted to look like you belonged.

Four days later, a push notification pings on your phone. Inside the GPEA's app are two new messages under the ‘Driver's Market’ tab.

Your breath catches as you open them. The Ferrari and Aston Martin faculty principals have invited you for scheduled video interviews.

Without hesitation, you tap ‘accept’ on both invitations. Instantly, two new events are added to your iCal, different dates, different times, all set.

Shit just got real!

“Y/N seems rather sweet for this brutal concrete jungle. I hope she survives,” Lewis says, lounging in nothing but a pair of tight, white trunks that leave none to the imagination.

As he holds his beloved Seb in his arms. Both of them are sprawled across Lewis’ bed inside his campus dorm room, the one Sebastian moved into, a decision that surprised no one as he peeks at Vettel’s MacBook Air screen.

This year, they both volunteered at the Student Affairs Department to obtain the mandatory credits they need to graduate. Well, Sebastian applied for the position, and as always, he dragged Lewis along.

Vettel was scrolling through the new student profiles on the GPEA platform, and their eyes landed on yours. As part of his duties, Seb is in charge of this year's admissions, so he started copying your details into the student's ID template he has ready on Canva, preparing files for printing, those new student credentials needed to be ready soon.

“Is Y/N available in the 'Driver's Market¡ already?” Lewis asks lazily.

“Yes,” Sebastian murmurs, eyes still glued to his screen. “All faculties principals have received her profile, but so far, only Ferrari and Aston have booked interviews with her.”

Seb angles his neck to tell Lewis, and places a sensual kiss on his lips while both his hands travel down Hamilton's muscular thighs. “Guess what? She applied for Mercedes.”

“Interesting,” Lewis replies, his voice a murmur as he begins placing gentle kisses on Seb’s lips with each word he lets out.

“So,” he whispers, pressing another soft but longer kiss to Seb's mouth, letting the warmth linger.

“Any,” another kiss, this one deeper and more playful, as he pulls back to meet Seb’s gaze, a hint of mischief in his eyes, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Seb’s inner leg.

“News,” another kiss, teasingly slow, savoring it.

“From,” a suggestive bite on the bottom lip arousing them both.

“Zack?” Lewis continues, slipping his tongue into the kiss, making Seb’s breath hitch in surprise and excitement.

“Toto hasn’t mentioned anything to us, has he, my love?” Lewis ends the passionate kiss with a satisfied smile, pulling back slightly to examine the flustered expression on Seb's face; his cheeks are visible red on his white skin and his parted lips are slightly swollen.

Seb blinks couple of times, trying to gather his thoughts, “No, he hasn't, but you know how it goes my scholarship god. I have a feeling we’re about to find out soon enough,” he replies.

Then Lewis tightens his hold around Seb’s waist, shifting his attention to the inviting skin of Seb's collarbone, his lips trail down sucking his soft milky skin.

“Y/N looks so promising, such a talent with a raw story. Feeling nervous about it? She could claim your ‘full scholarship prodigy’ title,” Seb teases, his fingers dancing playfully over Lewis's chin.

Without waiting for an answer, Seb flicks his laptop aside, the device bouncing slightly as it meets the soft mattress.

With a swift motion, he shifts on top of Lewis, chest to chest, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him closer, enjoying his warmth.

“You wish!” Lewis laughs, delivering a playful but hard slap on Sebastian's left asscheek before pulling him up by his thighs, enjoying the softness of his skin beneath his fingertips. “I’m used to it, you know? Seems like everyone’s always after my titles... and my good looks also,” he continues, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Feeling a tad nervous, then?”

With that, Lewis lets his hand slide lower, his touch deliberate, teasing, going inside Sebastian's tiny, lacy baby pink panties, igniting a low moan from his lips.

“You wish, no one gives you what I give you,” Seb moans out, rolling his hips into Lewis’s hand grip. “And this, baby," he pauses, his voice thick with desire, his gaze darkening as he slides his hand wrapping Lewis’s half-hard cock, “This is all mine, mine only.” He breathes heavily, his arousal palpable as he rubs himself against it, stroking Lewis completely erect.

“My dearest, would you care to remind me exactly what it is you give me that’s so unique?” Lewis flirts with a dangerous grin.

Sebastian tilts his head, a slow, knowing smirk creeping onto his lips. “Oh, love,” he murmurs. “Let me show you.” and slowly slides down on top of Lewis' body.

The Grand Prix Elite Academy is so far from your home that commuting there would be a nightmare.

You’re beyond grateful that your full scholarship included on-campus housing, securing you a dorm room within the prestigious institution.

With Waze as your guide, you now know exactly how much time you’ll need to reach the academy tomorrow, ensuring you arrive on time for the Homecoming Gala.

That night, sleep eludes you. Anxiety hits you as you think about the unshakable fear of standing out for all the wrong reasons. You whisper a quiet prayer, hoping that you somehow fit in.

From your Uber’s window, you watch as moonlight dances upon the shimmering waters of Monaco’s coastline. The car winds its way up the long, two-lane road leading to the luxurious and massive campus, hidden behind towering cypress trees and formidable stone walls that shield it from the outside world, standing there as a bubble of its own reality.

Tonight, the GPEA hosts the most glamorous Gala you ever attended, to mark the commencement of a new school year. As your Uber rolls past the security checkpoint, the scene before you is one of sheer excess and splendor.

Dorothy, we're not in Kansas anymore!

Lights swirl and flicker against the façades of the campus buildings, painting them with vibrant colors, while a video montage of legendary ‘Elite Cup’ moments plays across the academy’s main structure. Your breath catches as you recognize a young Lauda and Prost in the flashing clips.

The gardens are nothing short of breathtaking, with perfectly maintained green grasses, towering palm trees sway gently under the warm Mediterranean breeze, their leaves illuminated by strategically placed lights that cast colorful glows on them.

The architecture is a seamless blend of contemporary sophistication and Monégasque heritage, money, modernity, and classical elegance mixed in one. Wide, manicured walkways wind through manicured stances, flowers, ornate fountains, and cycling and scooter paths, exuding wealth.

The soft sounds of water cascading bring you a sense of tranquility, soothing your nerves, though it does little to drown out the deep bass of the DJ’s set pulsating from inside the ballroom.

Your car slows, caught in the long procession of vehicles parading up the gravel driveway to the grand rotunda entrance. Ahead and behind you, the most luxurious cars, gracefully chauffeured guests who descend with elegance, women in breathtaking designer gowns and men in impeccably tailored tuxedos descend radiating effortless glamour.

You glance down at your dress, crossing your fingers that it blends in.

This gala looks like something straight out of Gossip Girl, though it also carries the grandeur of the Met Gala just with fewer photographers screaming names.

As you step onto the red carpet, the intoxicating scent of thousands of fresh roses envelops you. The floral installation serves as both a breathtaking backdrop and a statement piece, adorned with the GPEA logo in neon lights by the center.

This year’s theme is "La Vie En Rose," and ahead of you, students glide through in couture floral-patterned gowns and tailored suits, both with vintage-inspired cuts, embodying the evening’s romantic aesthetic.

The row of photographers ahead flashes their lenses in rapid succession, capturing the splendor of the event. The electric buzz of the crowd is contagious, setting the stage for what promises to be an exhilarating night.

And you were right. As the evening unfolds, champagne glasses clink louder, laughter grows uninhibited, and the party takes on a life of its own.

The room is filled with impossibly beautiful, impeccably dressed students, their effortless confidence radiating a sense of superiority.

Despite your best efforts, despite how striking you feel in your dress, you can’t help but feel a little out of place. Your look is elegant, but standing beside these elite attendees, it suddenly feels less.

You roam through the grand ballroom, taking in the opulent décor. Round tables draped in crisp linens, Tiffany chairs arranged with precision, students dancing, some drunk, some already making out, others whispering secrets beneath the crystal chandeliers that catch and scatter light like a kaleidoscope. Neon lights pulse against the tall walls with gilded moldings.

At the far end of the hall, a stage was built for the occasion and hosts a world-renowned DJ, his beats blasting so hard that the champagne in your glass quivers.

Then, your eyes land on him.

Toto Wolff.

Standing just a few feet away, his presence commands the room in an instant. A wave of feelings crashes over you, striking you to your core, and making it tingle.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored Brioni navy-blue tuxedo, he exudes effortless charisma. He’s surrounded by a group of students, all enraptured, clinging to his every word. They watch him in awe. And so do you.

Tall, striking, magnetic, hot. The sheer presence of his striking features, towering height, and muscular body makes you ache for him.

Is this what love at first sight feels like?

You try and fail, to stop yourself from openly staring, mesmerized by his physical features and persona.

That’s a MAN.

He is pure eye candy, and you feel like a computer crashing by the overflow of sensations.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot her, a stunning blonde with striking features, witnessing you lusting for Toto, and in a millisecond, you go all red.

She smirks knowingly.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says, stepping closer. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. That’s just the typical reaction to Toto. We’ve all been there,” her voice is smooth, rich with amusement.

She extends you a hand. “I’m Leandra de Vries. Ferrari sophomore. Haven’t seen you around before.”

You shake her hand, still mildly flustered, Lea is a stunning, busty, lean, fit, with legs for days, perfect hair, and white teeth.

So that's having a face card?! Her nose is to die for, Jesus, those eyes!

She looks tan as if she spent her summer at the beach, her skin silky, and shiny.

I need to moisturize!

“I’m Y/N Y/LN, I'm new here,” you introduce yourself quickly. “Leandra, that gown is absolutely gorgeous!”

“Call me Lea. Leandra is my grandma,” she laughs. “And thank you! Vintage Dior. They just don’t make them like this anymore, right?”

As if I'd ever owned anything Dior...

Then she proceeds to showcase you her dress, extending her long, athletic leg. She's wearing a stunning pink vintage Dior chiffon A-line gown with a seethrough effect that cascades elegantly to the floor, with intricately embroidered flowers on the whole attire.

“You look good, though,” she says, glancing at you. “Even in that…” she gestures at your dress before flashing you a playful grin. “...Thing you’re wearing. No offense.”

You instantly look down at yourself following her hand movement.

“You better get used to these kinds of comments,” she warns, raising a perfectly manicured finger. “This place requires thick skin. And, preferably… a thick ass, too. My advice? Never take it personally.” she says with a big smile.

"Oh, thank..? you, I guess?!" you gigle, softly bump her with your shoulder.

You both laugh.

Lea leans in conspiratorially. “Is it from Zara?” she whispers, as if the brand name itself was scandalous as if it were something that shouldn't be heard, scrunching her nose, curious and disgusted at the same time, but with comedic timing. Nothing mean-spirited.

“Yes,” you whisper back, barely holding in a chuckle.

She gasps dramatically. “We need to fix that. Remind me to get you into my wardrobe, I have some pieces that would fit you perfectly,”

You pretend to think about it, then grin. “Help me, please!” you beg.

She links her arm through yours with a smirk. “Game! But first, let’s take a walk around. Let these guys witness us.”

With a dramatic lift of her chin, Lea guides you into the glamorous chaos of the night.

So far, you like her. Lea may have the striking beauty of a classic 'mean girl,' but her warmth, empathy, impetus, boldness, and honesty set her apart. She doesn’t hold back, and that’s exactly the kind of friend you want and need.

As you two walk together, she tells you she transferred here a year ago from the GPEA’s Italian campus after her older brother’s tragic and polemic crash at Monza, her parents wanting to leave the past behind and start fresh.

“Well, in reality, they were running from it,” she admits, her voice steady. “I’m a tough bitch. I faced it. Do I miss my brother? Like you’d miss breathing. Did I let it break me? No fucking way.”

She recounts you how difficult it was to gain acceptance among the elites here, even with her wealth and family ties to the sport.

“The social circles here are airtight,” she explains, directing you toward the bar. “I don’t want you to go through what I did.”

Then, with a dramatic flair, she waves her hands. “This place thrives on gossip, loves it, breaths it,” she warns. “And right now, my dear Y/N, you are the hottest topic, the ‘charity baby’ who got the ‘Lewis’ scholarship.”

She rolls her eyes, ordering drinks as you absorb her words.

Across the room, a conversation unfolds.

“Is that ‘Charity Baby’? She's kinda hot!”

“WHERE!?” Lando's head pops up from behind Oscar, eyes scanning the crowd.

“There, with our very own Lea,” Oscar nods. “Our girl does love picking up stray ones, doesn’t she?”

"How does that woman get even hotter each year?! Fuck, look at those tits, man, shit," Lando undresses Leandra with his eyes, almost at his feet, begging.

"Already getting a hard-on this early?! That's a new record, even for you," Max teases, smirking at Lando’s lusting for her.

Lea leads you toward their group, completely unaware of the conversation unfolding before you arrive.

The group is gathered in a lavish sitting area near the bar, where you overhear George leading the conversation as you approach.

“She’s still so out of your league, mate,” George quips, earning a round of laughter. “But how did it go with Arabella?”

“Oh, she was delicious, we had fun in the spa’s pool. Her ass felt terrific!” Lando lets him know the gossip.

“Arabella is the redhead with the great ass?” Max inquires.

“No, no, that's the Mercedes girl, the one I fucked in the old library,” Lando corrects, grinning smugly.

“You did Bonnie too?!” George’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“And the librarian,” Mick adds dryly.

Lando nods, clearly unbothered.

“And my trainer’s assistant,” Carlos says.

Another nod.

“And that Human Resources MILF he got fired,” Lea adds after joining the group.

The rest continue listing off names, each addition met with amused howls and knowing looks.

“You better brace yourself for Lando’s disappointing dick game,” Carlos suddenly jokes, his gaze flicking toward you as he addresses you for the first time as soon as he notices you standing there in complete silence.

The entire group turns in unison, their attention now on you.

Your face heats instantly.

"Nothing is disappointing about my dick, I assure you, and if you’d like, I'm available tonight,” Lando shoots his shot, shamelessly flirting with you and reaching for your hand to place a kiss on it, earning a mix of laughter and exaggerated groans from the group.

“And welcome! Officially,” Sebastian chimes in, comfortably perched on Lewis’s lap, sharing the chair, legs crossed, as he watches the exchange with amusement. “Nothing screams Grand Prix Elite Academy as Lando pulling moves on you,” he adds.

“Lando, you truly fuck everything that breathes,” Yuki states, impressed, as he laces his fingers with his girlfriend Pippa.

“It’s all due to my INCREDIBLE dick game, to Carlos' jealousy,” Lando teases, winking.

Out of nowhere, you sense someone standing beside you. Turning slightly, you find Lance watching you with mild curiosity.

“I heard you come from a low-class family and got here on the scholarship Lewis got, but you have years without racing. All true?” His tone is sweet, almost innocent, but his words land like a slap.

“Told you! They live for gossip,” Lea interjects, rolling her eyes.

You swallow, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Yes, I’m from a working-class family,” you reply, your voice steady despite the attention all on you. “We own a car repair shop and an auto components store. I work there.”

Lance’s jaw nearly drops, his expression a mixture of shock and fascination. Sebastian, noticing both his reaction and your discomfort, steps in without hesitation.

“Lance, you can’t just ask that!” Seb scolds, shaking his head. “Unlike you, some people actually work for a living. God, you’re so out of touch. Excuse him,” he adds, giving you an apologetic glance.

“That’s my people’s princess!” Lewis murmurs fondly, stroking Seb’s cheek before shooting you an amused look as if to say, see what I have to deal with? He follows it up with a playful wink. “Lance doesn’t mean it, he’s just… not great with words.” Lewis clarifies the situation.

Lance rubs the back of his neck, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he mutters.

“Welcome, Y/N. I’m L—”

“Lewis Hamilton,” you finish for him. “Yes, I know.”

Lewis grins, and for a fleeting moment, you see it, the unspoken understanding between you. He’s the only one here who truly gets it, who understands what it’s like to be an outsider in this world, who gets you.

People like you are rare at the GPEA. Full scholarships are rare, and reserved. To think you share that small elite group with Hamilton and Senna feels absurd.

Everyone knows Lewis’ story. His family worked tirelessly to get him into the GPEA, scraping together everything they had before the academy itself finally took notice.

At the end of his freshman year, still a McLaren rookie, he was offered a full scholarship, one that would change the course of his life, becoming the scholarship prodigy of this era.

That's when Mercedes snatched him away, with a very juicy deal, they moved quickly, securing him as their reserve driver for their F1 team, and offering that when Michael Schumacher retired, they would honor their promise: Lewis will get a driver's seat in their racing team.

No one in the history of GPEA has won more Elite Cup titles than Lewis Hamilton at this point.

As you are getting to know the group a little better, chatting a bit with everyone you’re caught off guard by Zak, the McLaren’s faculty principal, suddlenly approaches you.

“Miss Y/LN, a word, please?”

“Of course,” you say, cutting your conversation with Mick short.

Zak leads you away from the group, making small talk before getting to the point. “I appreciate your application to join our faculty, but unfortunately, it’s not possible at the moment,” he says with professional politeness. “We noticed the long hiatus in your racing career, which puts you behind other candidates. However, we’ll be keeping a close eye on your performance throughout the year. Perhaps you apply again shortly.”

A polite rejection. A door closed just for now.

“You have a promising future,” Zak adds. “You’re talented. I wish you a great start. See you around the track, okay?”

“Bummer,” you reply, forcing a smile despite the sting in your chest. “But I understand, sir. I’ll do my very best. Thank you.”

The group had been watching from afar, reading the interaction like a silent play unfolding in front of them, betting their money it would have a Greek tragedy ending.

As you return, their eyes scan your face, waiting for confirmation.

“And…?” Yuki asks first.

“Not McLaren,” you shake your head.

“Their loss,” Mick offers warmly. By far, he seems the most kind and soft-spoken of the bunch. Maybe growing up in his father’s shadow gave him an extra dose of empathy.

“I haven’t heard from Aston or Ferrari after my interviews with their faculty principals,” you admit, slightly worried now.

“Give it time,” Seb reassures you. “They’ve got tons of applications to review.”

Across the room, a microphone crackles to life. Lewis groans dramatically.

“Bloody hell, it’s too early to endure Ben’s speech. I’m not wasted enough yet,” he mutters, watching the man take the stage.

“Anyone feeling like powdering their nose before the speech starts?” Lea offers casually.

“Count me in, loca! You coming?” Carlos then asks you, tilting his head toward you. “Being high as a kite is the only way to survive this.”

“Oh! No, no, thanks,” you reply quickly, shaking your head.

“Guys, don’t go too hard! I brought mushrooms for later,” Max calls out, earning synchronized nods from the duo.

This night is turning out to be nothing like I expected. But so far, so good!

In that momment, the dean steps onto the stage.

“Good evening, esteemed faculty principals, staff, and enthusiastic students. As the dean of this institution, it is my honor to welcome you all to another academic year at the Grand Prix Elite Academy. We are here united by our shared passion for speed, engineering, and the excitement of Formula One racing.

Our college stands as a unique institution, dedicated to shaping the next generation of brilliant minds and innovative professionals in the motorsport world.

Remember, this year holds incredible opportunities for growth, learning, and discovery. I encourage each of you to embrace challenges, refine your skills, and push the boundaries of knowledge in this exhilarating field.

Before sharing with you our goals as an institution for this year, let's hear it from the crowd..."

A lazy round of applause ripples through. Midway through the lame speech, Lea materializes at your side, catching you watching Toto once again, without paying atenttion to a word of what Ben says, Toto is standing among the other faculty principals up on stage as every year.

“Do you want some tea about Toto?” Lea whispers, following your gaze.

You nod, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"He's been single for over two years, and fucking girls around. Toto has a type: blond bombshells, the supermodel type, you know, with insane bodies. I'm friends with two of his conquests, and one told me he fucks like a bull, the other girl let me know he has a delicious fat cock, but he hits it and quits it, leaving both begging him to fuck them on another occasion, didn't happen."

Your face burns at her words, something Lea immediately picks up on.

“Oh, and last time I saw him in action with my very gorgeous eyes, he was hooking up with Anitta, the Brazilian singer, at our fancy Ferrari anniversary party,” she adds, grinning. “Girl was all over him. It was a wild night overall. We all got smashed. I ended up cowgirling Dani so hard in the back of his car, oops.”

You elbow her playfully, glancing toward Ricciardo, who’s laughing just meters away completely oblivious to the intimate details she is sharing with you. “Daniel is so hot,” you confess.

“And a moron, a complete fucking moron,” Lea fires back instantly. Then her eyes widen. “Oh, right! Shit, I almost forgot! Toto went through a very public divorce about three years ago. It was the scandal. The talk of town. The elites went CRAZY.”

You glance at her, eager for more.

"His ex-wife is a counselor here so you will see her around. Those two have a weird relationship, I think they still fuck. Toto still looks at Susie like she is a goddess, I don’t blame him; she is one."

"So, then why did they—" you begin, the hint of jealousy in your voice surprising even yourself.

"No one knows for sure," Lea says, tilting her head thoughtfully. "But people believe Toto was cheating on her with a younger girl."

Your eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, but that’s not even the shocking part, hun!" Lea waves a dismissive hand. "That’s the usual in this city. What made it scandalous was who it was with, his goddaughter. One of his students, his protégé. So, believe it or not, you may have a shot..." Lea returns you the soft elbow on the ribs.

Okay, this is a lot of tea, not a cup, an entire teapot.

"Just a warning," she adds, her voice lowering slightly, "Toto is a very demanding professor. One of the best. His classes are hard to get into, and even harder to pass. But if you manage to pull it off, you’ll earn a ton of respect around campus."

From the stage, Toto’s sharp gaze catches both of your stares set on him as he watches Lea whisper stuff into your ear while looking his way, discretion zero.

And in that moment, for the first time, Toto's and your eyes meet. There’s a glint of amusement in his expression, perhaps? It may be a knowing smirk just beginning to form in the corner of his lips.

You feel your entire body go Ferrari red as you shift uncomfortably under his direct stare.

"He has an eye for talent," Lea murmurs. "So think twice before choosing him. Plenty of girls sign up for his class just to get closer to him. Never ends well. He's a dream crusher, don't fall for it,"

She turns her head back toward the stage and smirks. "Oh, looks like we got his full attention. Want me to introduce you? I’m one of his favorite students."

"Oh, no, no," you stammer, suddenly feeling like a nervous wreck.

Lea bursts into laughter, watching you spiral into near panic. "So you’re one of those who only likes to stare?" she teases. "How very voyeur of you! But I don’t judge, I like to watch too, sometimes. Especially when it’s two hot boys in front of a naked me." She winks mischievously.

"Shut up!" you laugh, shoving her playfully.

But your gaze drifts back to the stage once more.

And damn, he looks fine. That suit is tight in all the right places.

The gala gets wilder as the night progresses, the alcohol taking its toll on everyone.

Students are entranced by Lando’s impromptu DJ set. At some point, he, completely inebriated, goes up the stage, shoves the actual DJ aside, and claims the console for himself.

To everyone’s surprise, despite his state, Lando manages to create an intoxicating mix, one so sensual that couples begin hooking up all around as the lights go so dim and the neon lasers pulsate to the beats setting a perfect alluring mood.

Your body moves in sync with the rhythm, the packed dance floor a blur of shifting figures. Then Max offers the mushrooms, and for once, you let go.

Fuck it. I deserve to feel alive.

As the others cheer you on, you take two. At first, nothing changes, you barely notice the effects of the mushrooms. But soon, the world begins to shimmer. Everything feels lighter, freer, liberating. Each beat of music seeps into your bones, your inhibitions melting away.

Carlos catches your eye and grins, reaching for you. Before you can process it, he’s pulling you into him, sweeping you on the dance floor, his movements fluid and commanding.

But as the song streams, as the effects of the mushrooms deepen, something shifts, Carlos blurs before your eyes, morphing into the man who has occupied your thoughts all night.

The one you have been yearning for, Toto.

A rush floods your veins. The man from your future fantasies now stands before you, close enough to touch. You lean into Carlos, Toto in your mind, your body moving in ways you’ve never dared before.

His hand on your waist burns through the fabric of your dress, igniting something primal.

Your body sways seductively, syncing perfectly with the rhythm, lost yourselves in the moment. The neon glow reflects off your skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat from dancing. Your heart pounds wildly, breath quickening as you imagine Toto’s hands guiding your movements, his fingers pressing into your hips, shaping the way you move against him.

Even tho are Carlos's fingers doing it as you press against him, with heat, fervor, and desire.

Drunk on the atmosphere and your uninhibited desires. The alcohol, makes you feel bold and alive. Each bump of your body, sway, and spin, arouses you, amid your intoxicated and euphoric state.

Your dilated pupils lock onto his firm chest, your hands aching to explore further. You feel small beneath Toto's towering height, his intense dark eyes urging you to slide them down and run them around his dark hair.

You needed this, this tempting display of youthful freedom. This release from years of sadness, loss, and solitude.

And as you move, completely untethered, you know one thing for certain:

You can’t wait for this new chapter of your life to begin. To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

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