#wanted to give him the correct race suit

[ilikecarsandlike4people]

Mick✨

[pencil-n-pen]

YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi | next part

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

EDIT 2: part two is up you heathens :) (affectionate)

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Ten

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, kissing (!!!!!!!!), Christian Horner.

Notes — Ok. Prepare yourselves. This one is a rollercoaster of emotions. Spam me with your reactions. I NEED THEM.

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2020

The garage exploded around her the moment Max crossed the line.

Cheers, shouts, a metallic clang as someone slapped a wrench onto the floor in sheer joy, but Amelia barely flinched. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, on the numbers and coloured bars and steady, glorious confirmation. They'd done it. Max had done it. No tire drop-off. No panic stops. Just pure strategy, cool driving, clean execution.

She didn’t smile. Not yet. Her hands twitched first.

Left-right stim. Thumb against knuckle. Then both hands up, fluttering briefly before she reached into her hoodie and pulled out her golf ball. It spun smoothly across her palm, rolling fast with muscle memory. The hum in her chest started to ease, just a little.

She felt electric. Not in a jump-up-and-scream way. Just charged. Lit up from the inside. She could’ve written a novel in equations with the adrenaline fizzing in her blood.

Max had asked, earlier. A quiet, sincere little question. “Will you come? If I win?”

She’d said yes. Of course she had. But now—

“Thought you might need a rescue.” Lando’s voice cut through the static in her brain.

She turned, and there he was. Still in his race suit, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, a faint flush on his cheeks. His smile was crooked, a little breathless. He’d jogged the whole way from the McLaren garage — she’d bet money on it.

For her.

Because weeks ago, nervous and hesitant, she’d asked, “When the Red Bull wins—when Max crosses the line first—will you come find me? Be there? Go with me?”

He’d remembered.

“You’re late,” she said automatically.

“I’m just in time,” he corrected, giving her an amused glare. “Podium celebrations start in three minutes. Come on.” He held out his hand for her to take, eyebrow raised, waiting. 

Amelia blinked at him. The deafening noise didn’t vanish, but it softened. Became a dull roar behind something steadier. She walked straight into his chest, hands curling around his fireproofs. He smelled like rubber and heat and gas. It itched her nose but she couldn’t tear herself away. 

“You okay?” he asked, a little lower now. Just for her.

She nodded. “I just— It got loud. Too loud, too fast.”

Lando’s eyes crinkled. “Alright. We’ll make it quiet again.”

She didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t matter. She stepped away. 

He held out his hand.

She hesitated. Just a second.

Then took it.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid, and for the first time since Max crossed the line, her shoulders dropped. Not all the way. But enough. “You’re lucky I like you,” she muttered as they walked, Lando carving a path through all of the gatherings of people. “Otherwise, I’d still be hiding behind the telemetry screen.”

Lando looked back at her and smirked. “You were hiding behind the telemetry screen?”

“Shut up.” She blushed. 

“God, I’ve missed you.”

Her steps faltered just slightly.

He noticed, and didn’t push it. Just gave her hand a gentle swing as they turned toward parc fermé.

Max was waiting. The champagne. The anthem. The high of a win that was already being written into the season’s story. And Amelia would be there for it; not because she had to be, but because she’d promised Max, and Lando had remembered.

— 

When her office door opened, Amelia glanced up from her laptop and stared.

Christian didn’t smile in greeting like he usually did. Instead, he walked to the table and laid a piece of paper flat in front of her.

It was a printout. A Kym Illman photo. Glossy. High quality. Nearly identical to the viral one from a year ago; Lando standing behind Amelia at the base of the podium. This time, Amelia was beaming up at Max, instead of last year’s Lewis. And Lando wasn’t watching the celebration; he was just smiling at her.

Amelia blinked at it. “Why are you holding a photo of me?”

Christian pulled out a chair and sat down, folding his hands over the table. “We need to have a conversation. About optics.”

She frowned. “Optics?”

“Perception, Amelia.”

“I know what the word means, Christian.” She frowned at him. 

He exhaled, slow. Like he was having to work hard to be patient. “People are starting to talk.” He told her. 

She nodded slowly. “They do that a lot.”

He exhaled. “About you, Amelia. About your relationship with Lando.”

Amelia paused, fingers hovering over her keyboard. She’d been avoiding Twitter all week after coming close to publicly arguing with a woman who tried to blame her daughter’s autism diagnosis on vaccines. She blinked, then looked up at Christian.

“…Are they saying something bad?”

“No. Not yet. But this is Red Bull. You know how the press is,” he said, laying a sheet of glossy photo paper on the desk in front of her. “You’re in the garage, you’re on the pit wall, and now there are photos of you with a McLaren driver, looking very… close.”

She looked down at it. The Kym Illman shot. Lando behind her, smiling at her. Her face lit up, eyes on Max on the podium. It was a nice photo.

“I’m allowed to date whoever I want,” she said plainly. “I read my contract very thoroughly.”

Christian’s jaw tightened. “Right. But it could get… complicated.”

“What part of it is complicated?” she asked, genuinely trying to understand.

He tapped the photo like it was evidence. “People might start questioning your objectivity. Your loyalty. Your role here.”

“My role is outlined in my contract. I help develop and refine trackside software, adjust data feedback loops, manage sim transitions, and review aero telemetry based on driver feedback. Lando doesn’t factor into any of that.” She tilted her head. “Also, my objectivity isn’t an issue. I’m autistic.”

That made Christian blink. Visibly recalculating. “That’s not what I meant—”

“You said it was about optics,” she cut in, voice even. “Which implies image over truth. So what you actually mean is that you’re worried I look emotionally compromised.”

Christian shifted, the corners of his mouth drawing into a tight line. “It’s not great optics, Amelia. One of our most valuable technical minds, publicly entangled with a rival driver—”

“Would you say the same if I were dating Max?”

He hesitated. “No. Max is part of the team.”

“Exactly.”

He sighed. “It’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because McLaren isn’t Red Bull.”

“Neither is Aston, but you let Dan sit in the garage like it’s his second home,” she pointed out, tone flat. “If you think I’m leaking secrets because I share a bed with someone who drives a slightly worse car, you’re not only insulting me, you’re misunderstanding the entire point of your own data security protocols.”

Christian’s expression hardened. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m asking you to consider how this looks.”

“I have considered it. It looks like I have a boyfriend who helps me regulate stress in high-intensity environments. Which, last I checked, makes me better at my job.”

“That’s not the image we’re trying to cultivate.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly. “So Red Bull’s image is what, exactly? That autistic women can only be here if they’re single, quiet, and conveniently useful?”

That landed. His mouth opened. Then closed again.

She leaned back in her chair and frowned at him. “I’m here to work. And I do my job well. If you genuinely believe that my personal life is more threatening to your team than the fact your car only functions when Max is driving it, maybe you should consider redirecting your attention.”

Silence.

Christian stood up, smoothing his polo down. “We’ll talk again if it becomes a bigger problem.”

“It won’t.” She scrunched her nose faintly. “Why would it?”

He didn’t answer.

Just walked out. Left the photo behind.

Amelia stared at it a moment longer. Then she picked it up, folded it carefully into a small square, and tucked it into the front pocket of her skirt.

It was a nice photo.

— 

They were halfway through running back-to-back telemetry comparisons when Adrian broke the silence.

“Amelia,” he said, not looking up from the screen, “if Christian ever says anything to you that’s... out of line, I’d like you to tell me.”

Amelia blinked, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. “Out of line how?”

“You’ll know it if it happens,” Adrian said simply. He didn’t look over, just kept reviewing the data, as if he were talking about downforce, not interpersonal politics.

She tilted her head, trying to interpret. “He hasn’t said anything I can’t handle.”

“I know you can handle yourself.” This time he did glance at her, brief but steady. “But you shouldn’t always have to.”

Amelia frowned, processing that. “I’m not... bothered,” she said after a moment, carefully. “He’s patronising, but so are a lot of people. Especially when I’m being direct and they mistake it for rudeness.”

Adrian hummed. “Even so.”

There was a silence, save for the quiet click of her keyboard. She turned slightly in her chair. “Why are you bringing this up now?”

He considered. “Because I saw the photo. The one with Lando.”

“Everyone saw the photo,” she said flatly. “I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”

“Neither do I. But Christian’s twitchy about image. And he’s not as subtle as he thinks.” Adrian sat back, finally meeting her eyes. “I just want you to know; if he crosses a line, I’d like to be in the loop.”

Amelia looked at him. There was no pity in his expression. Just steady intelligence, and a kind of quiet loyalty that made her chest feel tight for a second. “Wouldn’t telling you mean you’d have to act on it?” she asked. “And if you act on it, it becomes a problem. And if it becomes a problem, Max finds out.”

“Yes.” He agreed.

She frowned at him. “And if Max finds out, he’ll lose his mind.”

Adrian didn’t deny it. “He’d get distracted. Angry. It wouldn’t help his performance on track.”

Amelia leaned back in her chair, chewing her lip. “So… you’re saying that you want me to come to you. Not Max.”

“I want you to come to me because I can do something about it. Quietly.” His tone didn’t waver. “And because you deserve to have someone in your corner.”

She didn’t speak right away. But she gave a small, barely-there nod. “Alright.” Then, a beat later, “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell Max if he does something especially bad.”

Adrian gave a soft laugh under his breath. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

— 

Lando was stretched out sideways across Amelia’s hotel bed, scrolling absently through something on his phone while she stood at the open wardrobe, methodically hanging up the few blouses that needed to be steamed.

“He printed out a photo, by the way,” she mumbled offhandedly, not turning around. “The one from after Silverstone. Max’s win. From the podium.”

Lando didn’t look up from his phone. “Who did?”

“Christian.” She shrugged. 

That got his attention. His head lifted slightly. “What?” He frowned, eyebrows coming together, body tightening. 

She shrugged, still facing the wardrobe and trying to decide whether to line them up in order of colour or sleeve-length. “He came into my office on Tuesday. Told me that I should be mindful of ‘optics’ regarding my proximity to McLaren personnel. You.” 

There was a beat of silence. Then the faint creak of the bed as Lando sat up straighter. “He printed it out?” 

She laughed a little. “Yeah. With the good printer paper too. He was quite unhappy about it.” She finally turned, a faint line forming between her brows. “I don’t really understand why.”

Lando was frowning now, legs swinging off the side of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it happened?”

She blinked at him, a bit taken aback by his seemingly sudden change in mood. “Oh. Because it wasn’t a big deal?”

“It kind of is.” His voice was calm, but his jaw had tightened. “He’s… what? Trying to control your personal life? He doesn’t have the right to do that.”

Amelia tilted her head. “He didn’t tell me to stop being seen with you or anything. Just that it could ‘complicate’ things. But, of course, I reminded him that I’d read my contract and that he has no say in who I can and can’t date. It wasn’t a fight.” She assured him. 

Lando was pacing now, running a hand through his damp, curly hair. “Amelia. He shouldn't be trying to make you feel like you’re doing something wrong by being with me.”

“I don’t feel that way,” she told him plainly. “He hasn’t made me feel that way.” 

Lando looked at her, his brows drawn, still clearly wound up. “But he makes you uncomfortable.”

“No,” she denied. Then, more carefully, “I think that maybe he tried to, but I didn’t let him. And I don’t want you getting all weird and protective about it now, when it didn’t bother me in the first place.”

“I’m not being weird,” he said quickly, defensive. “I just… he shouldn’t be putting you in that position. And if he does it again, I’m saying something, yeah?”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely confused. “I already handled it.”

“Because I care about you,” he snapped, then softened immediately, closing the distance between them. “Because I don’t like knowing someone tried to make you feel bad, even for a second.”

She stared up at him, trying to reconcile the tension in his body with the warmth in his voice. “I didn’t feel bad,” she said, honest. “I just thought he was being mildly ridiculous. I’m not fragile, Lando.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I do. You’re the least fragile person I’ve ever met. I think that’s part of why I’m…” He paused, eyes flicking over her face. “...absolutely gone for you.”

That pulled her up short. Her mouth parted slightly, but no words came.

“I don’t want to fight about this,” he added gently. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t need protecting. But you’re going to have to let me care, even if it gets messy sometimes. I need that.”

Amelia considered him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. “Okay,” she said simply. “But you’re not allowed to talk to Christian, or Max. I don’t want him getting distracted. He has a championship to win.”

Lando let out a soft, if a little bitter, laugh, stepping in closer. “Deal.”

There was a moment of quiet between them; close, but not touching. Then, with an almost imperceptible breath, Amelia leaned in just slightly. Just enough to tip the balance.

Lando closed the gap.

The kiss was careful, at first. Hesitant. Testing. But it deepened in a way that made the air shift between them, like a thread had pulled tight. His hand came up to cradle the side of her face, and she leaned into it without thinking, her fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

By the time they parted, she was a little dazed. “That was… unexpected,” she said.

“Good unexpected?” he asked, still breathless.

She blinked up at him, cheeks slightly pink. “Yeah. I think so.”

He smiled, dimples appearing. “Yeah. Me too, baby.”

— 

The Spanish sun was relentless, pressing down on the paddock in a way that was genuinely suffocating. Amelia stood under the Red Bull canopy, fingers tapping the edge of her tablet as she scrolled through sector analysis. Her eyes were focused, but her brain was running just a fraction slower than usual — the kind of slow that came from sleeping poorly despite Lando’s arms around her all night.

It wasn’t that she was upset. 

She just... couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. About the look on his face after, the softness in his voice when he’d called her baby, like it meant something heavy and good.

GP said something into her earpiece and she responded automatically, voice clipped and clear. She was good at slipping into focus. At pushing things into neat compartments. But the moment she caught sight of orange and black in her periphery, her heartrate jumped.

He hadn’t even done anything. He was just walking, helmet in one hand, race suit half-zipped, hair pushed back out of his face. The second his eyes met hers, her entire nervous system did something it had absolutely no business doing.

Lando gave her a grin. Casual, like nothing had changed. But his eyes lingered, the way they always did. Warm. Familiar. He didn’t stop walking, just brushed his fingers against hers as he passed, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it touch that sent a current straight to her spine.

“Focus, Amelia,” she muttered to herself, shaking it off.

Still. Her mouth tugged into a smile. 

— 

Amelia sat in the back of Alex’s garage, eyes narrowed on his telemetry screens. 

Again, their second driver had lacked pace in qualifying. Lacked power. Just… lacked. It wasn’t on Alex. She’d studied his driving style, his methodology. It should all line up.

It just didn’t.

She glanced down at her phone, blinked, and then felt her breath leave her lungs in one large exhale. 

—

iMessage — 18:09pm

Fernando Alonso Amelia, querida, I wanted you to hear this from me first. Next year, in 2021… I’m coming back. I will be driving again, with Renault. It’s not public yet, so please keep it quiet for now. But I wanted you to know. You were one of the first people I thought of when the decision was made. We will catch up soon, yes?

Amelia Brown That is phone call worthy news, Nando!!! I am very excited for you and very thrilled that you will be in the paddock again. I will call you in six hours, when I’m back at my hotel?

Fernando Alonso I will be waiting. 😊 

— 

The roar of the track echoed through the Red Bull garage, underscored by the cool, clinical click of keyboards and the sharp buzz of pit wall chatter. Max was out on track, deep into his Q1 lap, and Amelia had been glued to the data streaming in from his car; brake bias shifts, throttle maps, tyre wear deltas. Her fingers tapped quickly over her keyboard, cross-checking his live feedback with the simulator baselines.

She was in the zone. 

“Camera three on us,” someone murmured, capturing her attention.

The broadcast screen mounted on the back wall flickered. A sweeping overhead of the Red Bull garage, then a closer angle. The camera panned, through the tyre racks, past the control station, and landed squarely on her.

Amelia blinked up at it. Caught mid-thought, she tilted her head.

Then, casually, she raised one hand and gave the camera the flattest, driest wave imaginable.

On-screen, the title graphic appeared a beat later:

Amelia Brown Red Bull Racing | Engineering Intern

She frowned. It was right, she supposed. A good, clean title. A great indication of her role within the team. But it was missing something.

She leaned to the side, grabbed a spare scrap of printer paper from the adjacent workbench, and calmly reached for the thick black marker taped to the edge of her laptop. With precise strokes, she scrawled her correction.

She waited, glanced up to make sure the camera was still lingering, and held the sign beside her face. 

And Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

A few of the mechanics around her tried (and failed) to stifle their laughter. One of the Sky commentators cracked up live on air.

“And there you have it! Breaking news from the Red Bull garage, Amelia Brown making it very clear where her loyalties lie outside of work hours!”

Amelia dropped the sign flat beside her laptop, unbothered, and turned back to her screen.

Max’s lap time lit up purple in sector two.

She smiled. 

Perfect.

—

It was hours later, once the garage had settled and the media buzz had quieted and she was back at the hotel when Amelia felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

iMessage — 19:12pm

Lando Norris oh, you’re my girlfriend are you? hmm?

She blinked down at the screen, heat crawling up the back of her neck. Then her phone buzzed again.

Lando Norris the whole world knows now. hard launch executed flawlessly. bravo baby x

She didn’t reply right away. When he knocked on her hotel room door ten minutes, she just opened it and raised an eyebrow at him.“I figured I should make it official,” she said, deadpan. “Didn’t want to misrepresent the situation.”

Lando just looked at her, eyes warm and bright and so full of something she couldn’t quite name. Fondness, maybe. Or something deeper. “Oh, you didn’t want to misrepresent the situation,” he repeated, grinning as he stepped inside. “So you wrote it on a piece of paper. During a Grand Prix. In front of, like, two million viewers.”

Amelia shrugged, totally unbothered. “Am I not? Your girlfriend?” She said it casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because to her, it was.

Lando’s grin faltered for half a second, just long enough to turn into something softer. “Yeah, baby,” he said, voice quiet now. “Yeah, you are.”

He stepped closer, hands gentle on her waist, thumbs brushing against the hem of her shirt. Her breath caught as he leaned in. And then he kissed her. Softly, but sure. 

When they pulled apart, Amelia blinked at him once. “Okay,” she said.

Lando laughed. “Just ‘okay’?”

“I liked it,” she clarified, and he kissed her again just to prove a point. 

—

It was late. 

Amelia lay curled against Lando, her fingers lightly tracing across his chest without thinking. Her body was relaxed, comfortable, but her brain; well, it never quite turned off.

“You know you talk in your sleep, right?” Lando said, voice low and full of amusement. His fingers brushed slowly up and down her spine.

Amelia stilled. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, clearly holding back laughter now. “I was up for like an hour just listening to you mutter about downforce deltas and fuel corrections. Very informative.”

She groaned and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, grinning now, clearly delighted. “You said the words ‘wing correction’ at least five times. Very passionate. Also, I think you told someone named Dave that they had the reaction time of a sloth.”

“Ugh.” Her voice was muffled against his skin. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone that.”

“No?” he teased, nudging her cheek with his nose. “Not even Christian?”

She lifted her head, eyes narrow. “Especially not Christian. He already thinks I’m a data risk”

Lando grinned. “So what you’re saying is, if I ever want to sabotage Red Bull, I just have to record your sleep talking, hm?”

Amelia glared at him. “If you do that, I’ll start memorising fake data just to confuse you.”

“Ooooh, now I’m tempted.” He teased. 

“Lando.” She sighed. 

“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in mock surrender, still grinning. “Your sleep secrets are safe with me.”

“Good.” She relaxed again, cheek settling over his heart. “Because if you repeat any of it, I’ll probably lose my job, and then I’d have to become your trophy wife.”

He was silent. 

She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Don’t even think about it. I’d go insane if I wasn’t using my brain every day, Lando. I’d end up snapping and murdering you or something equally as egregious.” She told him seriously. 

Lando leaned down and kissed the top of her head, still smiling as he tucked her closer. “You’re kind of terrifying, you know that?”

She hummed, clearly pleased. “Thank you.”

And for a while, they just laid there, wrapped up in each other and the dim light of the room. Safe. Soft. Close.

— 

WhatsApp Groupchat — 2020 F1 Grid

George R. You lucky bastard @Lando

Sebastian V. What did I miss?

George R. Lando’s missus hard-launched him on live TV 💀💀

Carlos S. What happened? I was in the garage, didn’t see anything.

Charles L. Same. Someone explain please.

George R. Okay so they cut to the Red Bull garage during Max’s Q1 lap Amelia’s just sat there, all focused and official, watching data Then the little graphics bar pops up with “Amelia Brown, Engineering Intern” And she casually holds up a piece of paper that says “And Lando Norris’ Girlfriend” ON LIVE BROADCAST

Lando N. 🤦‍♂️

Pierre G. ICONIC behaviour

Alex A. She really did that?? I love her. No notes.

Sebastian V. Power move of the season. Respect.

Daniel R. Bro, you got HARD launched Like, season finale confession levels of launched

Lando N. She said it was “efficient and contextually appropriate” 💀

George R. That is PEAK Amelia. No fluff. Just facts.

Charles L. Also your face in the media pen when they showed you the clip?? You looked like you’d been hit with a tyre warmer 😂

Lando N. Fuck off

Kimi R. I’m very impressed. No bullshit. Good.

Esteban O. Does this mean she’s officially invited to WAG poker night?

Daniel R. Already added her to the spreadsheet, mate.

George R. @Lando congrats. Try not to fumble it.

Lando N. Yeah yeah. I’ll try my best 🙃

Pierre G. We’ll all be watching. Closely.

Lando N. Was that a threat?

Lewis H. Yes.

Max V. Yes.

— 

Amelia was perched on her usual stool in the strategy room at HQ, reviewing data traces on her laptop when Max walked in, a towel slung around his neck, hair still damp with sweat from his training session.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just dropped onto the stool next to her.

She glanced up from her screen, then tilted it toward him. “Telemetry looks solid.”

He grunted in agreement. “I felt it. The rear’s better.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute. Amelia adjusted a graph. Max cracked his knuckles.

Then, casually, like it was just a passing thought, he said, “So. You and Lando.”

Amelia blinked at him. “Yes?”

Max didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on the floor, like he was commenting on tyre wear. “If he does something stupid,” he said, tone flat, “I’ll put him in the wall.”

There was a beat. Then two.

“…Max,” Amelia said slowly, “are you threatening my boyfriend?”

“Not a threat,” Max replied calmly. “It’s just a fact.”

She huffed. “You’re not putting anyone in the wall.”

“I’d make it look like a racing incident.”

She laughed then, quiet but real. “That’s the most Dutch thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Max shrugged. “You’re important to the team.”

She tilted her head. “And?”

He finally looked over at her, eyes a little softer than usual. “And to me.”

Amelia blinked again. That part she hadn’t expected.

“You’re good at this,” he added, gesturing to the screen. “But you’re also a good person. Not many people get both right. If Lando hurts you, I won’t forgive him.”

It was blunt. Sincere. Very Max.

She didn’t say thank you. He’d hate that. So instead, she nudged his arm with her elbow. “He won’t,” she said simply. “I trust him.”

Max nodded. “Good.”

NEXT CHAPTER

[itsnesss]

𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐩 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | after a painful fight, you tell max not to come back—win or lose. but after the race, he returns, confesses he loves you, and chooses you over everything else

warnings | angst, emotional confrontation, brief mention of emotional breakdown, intense romantic tension, emotional vulnerability

word count | 0.8 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The rain lashes against the Red Bull tent with fury, as if the sky knows exactly what you're feeling.

The race just ended. The roar of the engines has faded, fireworks burst in the sky with colors you can’t see. Everything is noise, but all you hear is a dull buzz. Because he’s not here. Not yet.

Max should be celebrating. Another podium. Another record. Another reason for the world to admire him… but you know something in him broke today. Just like you.

You lean against the wet wall of the paddock, trembling. Not because of the cold. Not because of the rain. It’s because of what you told him before he got into the car.

"Don’t come back. Win or lose, don’t come back."

And he heard you. He looked at you one last time with those intense blue eyes you swore never to see again, and he said nothing. Just nodded.

And you wanted to scream.

You were the one who started this. You were the one who crossed the line. The journalist who was supposed to stay neutral. The professional who fell in love with the man behind the helmet. The one who never wanted to share his life outside the circuits, but who let his guard down with you.

"You're playing with fire," Checo warned once, looking at you with a mix of pity and concern.

"I'm not playing." That’s what you said. And it was true.

This was never a game.

Max isn’t easy. He doesn’t love easily. But when he does, he gives it all. And that makes him more dangerous than any corner at 300 km/h.

The relationship became intense, silent, and desperate. Secrets shared in hotel rooms. Stolen glances during interviews. The nights after races, when the world paused and only his fingers tracing your back existed, his voice whispering your name in the dark.

But you wanted more. Always more.

And he couldn’t give you that.

“I’m not that kind of person. I can’t be. This world… this is all I have,” he once said, hands trembling after a win in Spa. You were sitting on his lap, the trophy still on the table, but his gaze was elsewhere. Empty.

You understood, but you didn’t accept it.

And today… today was the final break.

You pushed him. Demanded he choose. Choose you. Just once.

But Max Verstappen doesn’t choose. He races. Races to escape, races to win. Races not to feel.

You run your hands over your face, trying to smother the pain burning in your chest.

Then you see him.

Walking toward you, suit half undone, soaked from the rain and adrenaline still pulsing through his veins. His eyes find yours and everything inside you freezes.

“You’re still here?” His voice is low but clear.

You nod. You can’t speak.

He stops in front of you. Silence. You can almost hear his breathing.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you finally say, unable to meet his gaze.

“And yet, you did.” His tone isn’t harsh. It’s real. Raw.

You feel tears sting, but you don’t let them fall.

“Why did you come back?”

“Because I won.” A pause. “And because I don’t want to win everything… and lose you.”

Your eyes meet his, surprised. His expression hasn’t changed. But his words hit like a punch to the chest.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper. “You said—”

“I said I couldn’t choose.” He takes a step closer. “But you pushed me. And for the first time, I was afraid you’d really leave.”

The rain intensifies. But you’re already drenched. Already broken.

“Max…”

“I love you.” He says it without hesitation. Like he’s known it forever. Like saying it doesn’t tear him apart. “I knew it since the first time you corrected me on camera. Since you weren’t afraid of me. Since you didn’t care who I was.”

Your heart is pounding so hard it hurts.

“And yeah,” he continues. “This won’t be easy. It never will. But I’d rather crash a thousand times on track than watch you walk away again.”

You step closer. He doesn’t move. He just watches you. Soaked, exhausted, vulnerable. Human.

“I love you too,” you murmur. “Even when you break me.”

A small smile touches his lips. “Then we’re even.”

He takes your hand, and for the first time, there’s no rush. No time. No cameras.

Just you. And Max.

And even if the world keeps roaring outside, you know this is the only race that matters.

And you’ve just crossed the finish line with him.

[pinkgibbon]

I'm actually soo embarrassed to post this cause idk the first thing about Starlight Express. But I listened to the cast recordings and the characters sounded fun so I wanted to draw what I think they might look like. I saw a few costume photos while researching the show but other than that I wanted to see what I could come up with on my own before I dive any deeper. The last one is Pearl, hope the others are self explanatory. So sorry if I'm like completely off base on these haha, I've never had to anthropomorphize a train before.

YappingDesign notes under cut:

-I actually can't stand Greaseball and making her a butch woman was the only way I’d get myself interested just barely enough to draw her once. Sadly drawing her has created a positive feedback loop which has made me like her. So that backfired.

-Her outfit is nonsense, I took football padding and stapled train parts (Union Pacific's DDA40X) and Elvis shit onto it. I just wanted to put her in something other than a t-shirt for now.

-For CB I kinda wanted to make him look like a trucker but also very cutesy; still trying to strike the correct balance there. I put his handbrake on his chest bc I think it could potentially be a funny visual. Headset for communication (I think those r actually his ears, I just wanted to make them look like headphones. I really should give him a hat...). (Btw I love CB slang so this guy was an instant favorite also I love how he's insane)

-Pearl is blue bc her name is Pearl which reminds me of the sea :) She has window panels on her top. Idk if she should be so robotic since she's not an engine, but since she's new and shiny I wanted her to look futuristic. Also why I gave her a bit of a retro-futurist vibe. Plus a racing suit just for funsies.

-Wanted to give her a girl-next-door vibe cause she's still trying to figure out who she is, but I think she should have a goth phase or something soon.

Okay yay I can go look at costume photos and fanart now. I will come back more educated soon.

[bunny-jpeg]

cum stained logos

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, the 2024 red bull driving uniform, uniform kink, oral sex

bunny says: reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated! I love feedback!! i am looking (dis)respectfully mr. verstappen, been thinkin about this image.

the driving uniform was a core feature of formula one, it was a showcase of sponsors while also being a protector for the driver. there was a reason why technically the uniform was in two layers.

max was proud to wear red bull, even off the track he wore is quite frequently. you once made a comment asking if he got this stuff for free and that was why there was so much of it in his closet.

"you like it." he responded as he placed his hands on your shoulders and went in for a kiss on your cheek from behind, "i know how you look at me after a race. red bull across my chest."

you looked behind yourself to him and made a face, "i love a man in uniform so." you shrugged.

the idea buried itself in max's brain like a seed. it soon grew into a hefty idea to make you squirm.

for max it wasn't hard to get his driving suit into his bag and back to his home. everyone assumed he was just very dedicated to racing (which was a correct assumption), but max verstappen would never do anything nefarious with it. to ruin the red bull legacy and brand.

so the look on your face when you went into the bathroom and saw him zipping up the dark blue uniform was a nice surprise. he looked over at you and smiled, "like what you see?"

you swallowed, "how did you even-"

he turned around, it was still partially unzipped giving you a clear view that he was not wearing the fire proof protection underneath. he had no reason to really wear it, while sex with you was hot. it was no fire hazard.

you adverted your eyes and swallowed, "max... how?"

he chuckled and went up to you. he placed his hands on his shoulders and leaned in for a kiss. when he pulled away soon after he said, "i want to show the integrity of the red bull brand.

he then laughed, "i'm joking. i wanted you to suck my cock while i wore it. after all, you liked men in uniform."

your eyes went wide for a moment, "every day you surprise me, max." then your hand was taken by your boyfriend and led back to the bedroom.

he looked over his shoulder as he led you and said, "well, you have a whole lifetime of surprises then." he got on the bed, with his back up against the headboard. he patted his thigh and you got between his legs.

"sometimes i forget how hot you are." you admitted.

he raised an eyebrow, "well, i guess i have to remind you then." then gestured for you to unzip the suit. he watched you careful eyes as you slowly unzipped it.

you felt your hand shake from anticipation as you zipped it all the way down, exposed his toned torso to you. you swallowed when you eyes trailed to his cock which was clothed by a pair of briefs. you noticed the bulge in them.

"like it?" he asked.

you looked up at him, "max, the first time i saw it on accident my jaw hit the floor. remember what i asked you?"

he scratched his jaw a little flustered, "you asked me if when i get hard if i lose all the blood in my head."

you nodded and reached for the waistband of his briefs. you pulled his cock out and without thinking licking your lips. you felt a shudder in your heart. you kissed the leaky tip and sighed contently.

this entire situation was hot. he looked good in the driver's suit. he looked good with red bull and the other branding across his body. he was a good racer and got good sponsors. he also had an impressive cock that fit nicely in your throat.

it was hefty and big, but not terrifying. it was a snug fit, but not a painful stretch. it was perfect just like the rest of him. you heard him relax further against the headboard and his large hand found the back of your head.

"ik had dit eerder moeten doen. als ik het had geweten, fuck." he shifted on the bed and let you take all of him in his mouth. as much as you threw around that max was a kinky man, you were almost toe to toe with him.

he knew you tried to act surprised, but he knew that you ate up any chance at exploring aspects of sex. and sometimes that meant him stealing his driving suit and letting you suck him off.

you held onto his thighs for support, the fabric under his fingers grounded you as you sucked him off. your eyes fluttered closed as you bobbed your head up and down.

your mouth felt like a dream. he held onto you and rocked up a little against your mouth.

"you feel so good." he panted as he felt the heat in his body. his heart was a loud thump in his ears as he stroked your hair. you looked so good laid out between his legs with his cock in your throat.

it was so painfully dirty that it lit a fire in max's stomach. he softly met your pace and pushed his cock a little further into your throat. he exhaled deeply as you just took him so well.

"do you like the uniform?" he asked, "maybe next time i'll fuck you while you're wearing it. " he chuckled a little.

you got your mouth off of him and stroked his cock quickly, "don't get cocky." you raised your eyebrows then leaned in to lick the swollen head, "not a good look on you."

he gripped your hair a little tighter and replied, "but you love it." then guided your mouth back onto his cock. he set the pace a little bit as he moved your head up and down his cock.

you got it slick all the way to his balls. his cock felt good on your tongue as you felt the heat curl in your stomach. the heat throbbed in your head.

you two continued to work together. the soft noises and the sounds of your mouth on his cock were in the air. the soft curses and heavy pants. the shifts on the bed.

max was deeply in love with you, not that it was something that you questioned. but when you were sucking the soul of out him, he felt a big swell of pride in his chest that you were his.

"shit, i'm close." he groaned, the sweat caused the suit to stick to his back. it felt good, but he was reaching his peak.

you pulled your mouth away from his cock and hastily jerked him off. you were both panting with an intense head rush. max ran his fingers through his hair once more before he tensed up and climaxed.

ropes of hot cum reached across his chest and splattered onto a few of the logos on the uniform. but he couldn't care in that moment. he did wish that he got to finish all over those cute cheeks of yours.

no time like the present for that dream as he reached down and pulled your mouth up against his still erect cock. between heavy pants he said, "keep it in your mouth next time. clean me up.'

you looked back up at him before you started to lick his cock. your core throbbed, you'd get yours soon enough. but your driver boyfriend wasn't done yet. <3

[supernaturalistthings]

Roadhouse

Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 contains smut

Summary: You have had feelings for Dean Winchester for a while and never thought you guys would be more than friends but on a case Dean's jealousy gets the best of him and the truth comes out.

You set your takeout box on the desk and sigh, putting a hand to your head to rub between your eyebrows looking for some kind of stress relief. Detective Bass eyes you and sets his takeout box on the table separating the two of you and leans in, setting one of his hands on the table. His gaze is intense and it puzzles you further.

“We will figure this out” he finally says

He was partially correct, he just had the wrong “We”. You and Dean would figure this out, you had been on this case for two days now and still hadn't pinpointed what exactly was attacking the women in this town. You were utterly exhausted, this cheap pencil skirt keeps riding up, the fluorescent lighting is giving you a headache, and the autopsy results are starting to blur.

“Hey you want to turn in” he says, reaching around the table to rest his hand on your thigh. Don't get it twisted, Detectives Bass’s sharp features, dark hair, and lean build could make any woman's head turn however you have had a certain hunter on your mind and had for a while now. As if on cue you hear a familiar voice say

“Hope i'm not interrupting” Bass’s hand flinches back as Dean stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. 

He tensely walks forwards and takes a seat on your side of the table. Straightening his suit out as he does. He sends a look laced with daggers into your profile and you tense. You know he's as annoyed about this case as you were and try to let it go.

“You're not, we were just finishing up actually” You reply. You stand up and start to gather the files on the table when you look over. Dean's eyes aren't on you but on the detective across the table, His jaw is locked and his hand is clenched in a fist so hard that his knuckles are turning white. You turn your attention back to the papers and then look up and make direct eye contact with the detective. He was looking directly at you with his hand running over his bottom lip and chin, if you didn't know better you'd say that was lust in his eyes.

“Well it's been a pleasure working with you tonight Agent Seager…” he says referring to you, “... it's just been wonderful” He reaches a hand out intended for you to take, and you do. You shake his hand and he looks so deeply into your eyes, he might be able to see through you.

The silence is interrupted by Dean clearing his throat and standing and reaching his hand out to shake the detective's “Pleasures all mine” their hand meets and the tension is palpable. Dean is intense right now and it makes Bass shift on his feet. Your confusion was probably written on your face. Dean drops his hand but not his gaze and you put your hand on his upper arm to break the match. Dean looks at you annoyed, rolls his eyes and starts making his way towards the door with you following behind. You try to match his pace as you two hastily head toward the exit.

The big exit doors open and as soon as they do Dean turns back and without saying anything grabs your hand and starts literally walking you to the car. You're struggling to keep his pace and your mind is racing at his touch, but also his demeanor and why it is the way it is. You both come upon the car. You open the door and get in and slam it behind you, fueled by Dean's attitude. He does the same and you finally cut the tension as the engine roars to life and he pulls out of the parking lot.

“What is your issue?” You say snarkily

He says nothing and stares at the road ahead, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“Whatever” you say after realizing from the length of his silence that he had no intention of answering your question. You sit and contemplate what you could've done to annoy him so much and anticipate seeing the motel come into vision. But it doesn't. A run down roadhouse does. Probably even the gnarliest bikers wouldn't even touch this place yet, here we are. You snap your head in his direction the second he parks and say

“What in the actual hell are we doing here?” He rolls his eyes and looks over in your direction in one swift motion. He looks down your entire body and back up again to meet your eyes. This isn't unusual. You have caught him doing it before but never so blatantly and certainly not while harboring such annoyance for you, or what you thought was annoyance. You had always wondered if it meant anything to Dean the way you hoped it had.

It was hard to care that he was annoyed with you when he looks as stunning as he does. His tie is now loose, his jaw is sharp, his hair is slightly tousled from running hand through it occasionally on the drive to the roadhouse. It was possible you were also giving him a subconscious once over and he must have noticed. He smirks and his eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes.

“I'll forget you let Detective Bass have the pleasure of undressing you with his eyes if you join me for a drink” he says still smirking and with a bluntness that stirs something inside of you but you're quick to retort 

“I didn-”

“Yes or no..” he says interrupting and without breaking eye contact, still smirking.

Your mind is racing with all the possibilities right now, swimming with all the endless ways this night could unfold. All you can say is

“Yes” with that he grins a jackpot smile and opens his door to get out you're too stunned to move when your door opening breaks you from your thoughts. You turn and see Dean's hand stretched out for you to take. You follow your eyes up and meet his green ones and they're a shade that you've never noticed before with an apparent sparkle. You take his hand and allow him to lift you out of the seat of the impala. He shuts the door behind and you and you take one last glance at each other before you both head hand in hand into the rundown roadhouse.

He opens the door for you and and you're confronted with a loudly playing “Night Moves’ by Bob Seager, rainbow strobe lights and the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes. You look over at Dean with a look that says really? and he says 

“Oh cmon, give it a chance” and with that he takes his hand that was previously holding yours and grabs your waist and pulls you to him. You're tucked firmly into his side and he walks the both of you over to the bar and orders a beer, a shot of whiskey for himself and a tequila cran for you. Your favorite, he noticed.

The first round comes and goes and so does a second and half of the third before you need a bathroom. You wait for Dean to finish a genuinely engaging story, all of them have been you love just talking and getting to know him without the thought of the world's doom on your shoulders. Right now it feels like only you two matter and every word that spills from his beautiful lips fuels this. You say you'll be right back and he smiles as you silently slightly struggle to lift yourself off the seat, It felt like you had been on for way too long.

You make your way to the bathroom and open it up and find it's not as gross as you were expecting. Shocked and pleased, you head to the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is slightly disheveled from running your hands through it while talking with Dean, your dress shirt had opened an extra button and your skirt was becoming a little too short. You looked kinda hot in a messy sort of way but you decided to straighten yourself out and splash some water on your face to hopefully offset the alcohol coursing through your system at the moment.

You rest your hands on either side of the sink and try to compose yourself with use of your reflection when the door you thought you locked behind you opens and shuts. You quickly turn around to face the intruder and are met with Dean. He's staring at you in a way that takes your breath away and urge to curse him out for barging in. He looks at you the way you've always wanted him to look at you. He’s breathless himself when he slowly reaches his hand behind him to turn the lock on the door.

His eyes don't leave yours. He takes a few steps forward until you can feel each other's breath fanning over each other's cheeks. You can't think of anything else other than the hue of his green eyes, the few freckles he has, and how kissable his lips look.

“You drive me crazy… and you have for a while now” he says as he lifts his hand to brush some hair from the sides of your face.

“What-” you say, feeling like you're gasping for air.

“I can't see you with anyone else… ever'' there's a brief silence and then he tilts his head and whispers against your neck  “i adore you… you have no idea what you do to me..” his hands slowly and tenderly grasp your waist and you’re having trouble deciphering if this is actually happening or if that third tequila cran has you hallucinating on the sidewalk somewhere. All you know is his hands feel really real on your waist and his breath on your neck travels all the way down to where you want him most, that also feels very real.

“Say anything..please… I'll take anything right now…” He pulls back without taking his hands away from your waist, thankfully, the feeling is electrifying. His face has a tinge of worry of doubt and you can't stand it.

“I feel the same…” You say taking the sides of his face into your hands. You watch as the doubt is erased from his face and that jackpot Dean Winchester grin creeps its way onto his face once again.

“...I have for a while now” you say with your own grin. Proud of stealing his line and finally admitting your feelings to the man you adore. He leans in, sealing your lips and in this moment it feels fate. His hands move from your waist to the sides of your face as if he can't possibly get enough of you. The kiss is passionate, tender, everything you both ever wanted. Your hands ignite wildfires across each other's bodies as you explore and feel what you had both wanted more than anything for a long time now.

He places his hands on the sink behind you, caging you in and breaks the kiss to look down and steady himself. He feels ravenous right now and it's taking everything in him to not rip your clothes off and take you right here. You're not making it any easier as that is exactly what you want right now, it's exactly what you need. He looks up with his mesmerizing green eyes and says

“You have no idea how bad I want you right now...”

“Nothings stopping you...” you say in a whisper hovered against his lips while you regather the sides of his face into your hands. He kisses you again but this time with no sign of an end or hesitation. You pull his tie with both hands until it's undone and throw it to the floor. The kiss is feverish and intense. You love the feeling of him and he feels the same.

You start to undo the many buttons on his dress shirt and he starts to do the same to you almost as if in a race. You fling it off his shoulders and pull it down his strong arms. You help him slide yours down your shoulders and sneak a quick glance as it falls to the floor. You're both panting, desperate for air but even more desperate for each other. He carefully moves his hand over your breasts through your bra and just like that you're a moaning mess. 

“I want to see you… all of you” he says as he puts his hands back to your waist and turns you so you're facing the mirror. He unclasps your bra while standing behind you and slides the straps off your shoulders and as you watch as it falls off your frame onto the floor. He's kissing your neck and has his hand on the other side. His free hand is trailing its way from your nipple, to your stomach, to the ends of your now very ridden up pencil skirt.

He pulls it up all the way to your stomach and starts rubbing you through your panties. Soft circles to match the soft wet kisses all over your neck, the other hand moves down your chest and cups your breast and massages. His touch is euphoric and all you want is him. You can feel that all he wants is you from his hardness pressed onto your backside.

“You'll never want another man after what I'm going to do to you… I can promise you that sweetheart…” he whispers against your neck, while continuing to place soft hypnotic kisses, and rub circles over your clothed clit. You can see yourself unraveling through what glimpses you can catch in the mirror. You're rested against his toned chest with your head thrown back and eyes screwed shut moaning and gasping out Dean's name. He has just found his new favorite song.

When he pulls away, you snap your head to look in the mirror just to catch his devious eyes before he turns you once again to face him. He leans down and simultaneously reconnects your lips and lifts you so you're resting on the edge of the sink. His hands are on your thighs and he's standing between them. You guys are kissing all over each other. It's heavenly. You're both grinding against each other and you start to undo his pants and tug them down. He helps and pulls them the rest of the way down.

He's already hard and he's big. Bigger than you'd ever had. You take him into your hands and start pumping him eliciting a string of moans and grunts that only fuels you more. He’s wanted this for so long and it was about to happen. He takes himself from you and looks at you with a question, are you sure? You nod wanting nothing more. He smiles and kisses you again. He hooks a single finger around your panties and moves them to the side. He slides himself along your slick folds, relishing the feeling.

He slightly pushes the tip in and moves in and out slowly giving you time to adjust. He's panting and gasping at the tightness. You're grasping at his shoulders and loving the sensation. He pushes in further and you're singing his name in praise. He starts to move and then moves feverishly. You both have wanted this for so long you can't get enough. Youre hand are running everywhere over eachothers bodies and hes holding you in his strong arms as he fucks you. You can feel yourself unraveling and judging by the slight sloppiness of his thrusts, he's almost there as well. You tighten around him and cum which seems to set him over the edge and the next thing you feel is him spilling out of you. 

You're both a mess and simultaneously rest your heads on each other's shoulders trying to catch your breath.

“That was-”

“Amazing” he cuts you off and picks himself off your shoulder still breathless and gives you a quick kiss. Neither of you move, unsure if you ever wanted to leave this bathroom, this moment. You just stay in eachothers eyes for a bit.

“We should get going” you say with a smile crossing your arms around his neck

“So eager for round two?” he replies with that signature smirk grabbing your waist and pulling you off the sink to stand. He holds you there.

“If that's what it takes to get us out of this place faster than absolutely” you say with a laugh and it earns one from him as well. You both redress yourselves, helping each other along the way. You’re both smiling and giddy and it's just comfortable.

You both go to walk hand and hand out of the roadhouse bathroom and as soon as the door opens you're both greeted with an embarrassingly long line of skeevy bar patrons, all shooting daggered stares you and Dean's way. 

“Worth it” he says while looking at you, dare you say lovingly.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Haymitch Abernathy & The Dead Donner Girl (Part 2)

Summary: Haymitch is forced to mentor the niece of his former ally, aka the prequel to all things Moves & Countermoves. (Warning: Sunrise on the Reaping spoilers.)

Part 1

Haymitch knows it is bad when he’s summoned by letter to the Capitol, the week before Y/N’s victory tour. He knows it is worse when Snow wants to recap her interview following the games.

“Well I didn’t win because I was the smartest, or the strongest, or even because I deserved it the most.”

“Then how did you do it, Y/N?” Caesar leans in, “we’re all dying to know.”

“I won because someone loved me.”

“Aww.” The audience coos.

“Tyson was more than my ally, he was my friend. He protected me. He deserves to be here today, not me.”

“I don’t know how true that is,” Caesar says.

“I think if we all loved each other; everyone in the districts and everyone in the Capitol, maybe we wouldn’t need the games to remind us of the rebellion. If we all love each other, why would anyone rebel?”

“How sweet,” Caesar holds a hand to his heart. “What a sweet girl.”

The audience roars with applause.

“I have no idea what the future holds, for any of us. But I would very much like to be your friend.” Caesar tells her.

Y/N smiles and nods, extending her hand to him. “Of course.”

“She wants to end the games.” Snow tuts, “didn’t you warn her what a careless mouth could do?”

“I haven’t spoken to her,” Haymitch admits. “I’ll get her under control before the tour.”

The man hums. “I’m not sure you can.”

“All I’m asking for is a chance.”

At this the older man smirks. “If I grant you the opportunity to correct her behavior, what are you willing to give me in return?”

“Anything.” Haymitch decides.

“Does loyalty to your former ally run so deep that you would do anything to save a girl you can’t even bear the sight of, simply because she is her kin?” President Snow cocks his head to the side.

“I guess it does.” It’s all for you, sis.

Coriolanus steeples his hands on the desk before him. “A car will be sent for you this evening, I have something special in mind for your retribution. Be sure to wear something nice.”

“Nice?” You want me to dress up to be tortured?

“Suit and tie,” Snow nods.

“Fine, alright.” Haymitch agrees.

“And moving forward, do keep her contained. I know you’d hate for her to join you.”

Haymitch purses his lips, where the hell are you sending me?

————————————————————————

“Man, I wish you had to do this instead of me.” Y/N laments, arranging flowers against Tyson’s headstone.

“Little girl, there’s a train rollin’ in for you.” Tyson’s mother, Cherry reminds her.

“I’m aware.” Y/N sighs, turning to face the woman.

“You be good now, ya hear? Remember who you are.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cherry.”

“That’s Ma to you.” The woman taps her chin, affectionately. Tears welling up in her eyes.

“Yes, Ma.” Y/N forces a smile. She can’t cry now or she’ll never stop.

“Wish we coulda met you different, but I’m glad to know you all the same.”

Y/N allows herself to be pulled in for a chaste hug. “Me too.”

“Make us proud.” Make our boy proud.

“I will.” Y/N takes off, out the side gate. Purposely skirting Tyson’s father, Tucker, and his siblings, in an attempt to keep her composure. Racing home to her house in Victor’s Village.

Haymitch is back. The lights in his house are on next door.

She wonders where he ran off to, but Haymitch never tells her anything. Still she pushes through the open door of his house. “Knock, knock.”

No answer. She finds her mentor passed out on the dining room table. “Haymitch, it’s tour day.” Again nothing, he doesn’t even stir. Hesitantly, she reaches for his shoulder, giving it a jostle.

“AHHHHHHH!” The man springs to his feet, knife at the ready.

“Haymitch,” Y/N holds up her hands, “it’s just me.”

“Why are you here?” He blinks rapidly, attempting to settle his nerves. He’s not in the arena, not in that house in the Capitol where he had to-

“It’s tour day.” She reminds him, before turning on her heel to leave.

“Wait.” Haymitch calls after her, “wait.”

“Yeah?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Careful how?” Y/N asks, “I’m not kissing Snow’s ass in front of the people whose kids he just killed.”

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do.”

“You want me to sell out?”

Haymitch slams his fist against the table. “People are going to die. If you say the wrong thing, people are going to die.”

“Haymitch, they believe in what I’m saying about the games. They-”

“Aren’t going to stand between you and Snow if it comes to that. Nobody is gonna do that but me!” That’s never been more clear.

“I never asked you to!” Y/N shouts back, “I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to you.”

“And you think it was my dream to become responsible for you? Whether you live or die? You think I want that on me?”

“Then let the peacekeepers take me off your hands. A public execution ought to be enough to stop whatever I’ve started.”

“I made a promise!” Haymitch snaps. “I promised Maysilee that I would take care of her family. Bang up job I’m doing, already lost Merrilee.”

A promise like that is something Y/N understands very well. “That wasn’t your fault, what happened to her.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was.” Haymitch digs the soles of his hands into his tired eyes.

The silence hangs heavy between them.

“Look, I won’t say anything reckless.” Y/N whispers, “just stop blaming yourself. You tried your best to keep your promise, Maysilee would understand.”

————————————————————————

Vanity arrives, zipping her victor into a lime green dress with feathers around the neckline and wrists. When she is deemed camera ready, Y/N is escorted to the stage in front of the justice building. Y/N bounces into view, clutching what appears to be cards in her hand.

President Snow shifts in his seat, waiting for a proper performance.

The victor finds the cameras, waving them closer with a smile.

What’s your play? Coriolanus leans toward the projection.

The shot tightens to the words scrawled on her index card. ‘I’m sorry! I lost my voice.’

Y/N taps her throat for emphasis.

You

little

shit.

———————————————————————-

President Snow sends a doctor to assess Y/N in district eleven.

“Her throat is raw and her vocal cords are inflamed, other than that she appears healthy. It’ll be at least a week before she can speak again.”

What have you done?

The tour must go on. Without a voice booming from the microphone, the fallen tributes from each district are able to speak for themselves. With no sweet words to sugarcoat and glorify their crimes, the Capitol is forced to own what they’ve done. After all, how can she say the wrong thing if she says nothing at all?

Y/N grins and waves, blowing kisses to the crowd and paying special attention to the cameras.

Haymitch says nothing about her antics, all he can do is sell the lie. But in this lie, there is some truth. Y/N cannot speak. Not in any meaningful way, not in the only way she would.

Punishment for this act will surely come, but for now she is free.

Miraculously, Y/N’s voice returns just in time for her tour to end, in the heart of the Capitol. The audience for Caesar Flickerman’s show is packed full, practically overflowing into the aisles.

“It is such a pity that you didn’t get to speak in any of the districts. I, for one, was eager to hear your speeches.”

Y/N makes a show of unwrapping her cough drop and popping it into her mouth. “Well Caesar, laryngitis is no joke. If I could have spoken, you know I would have.”

“Of course, of course.” Caesar smiles, “we are so happy that your voice has returned in time to see us all here tonight.”

“No place I’d rather be,” Y/N tells him.

————————————————————————

Two years pass and Haymitch does not speak to her, the girl whose noose hangs around his neck, in lieu of her own. Mercifully she leaves him alone.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

The pounding on his door alerts Haymitch to the fact that the dead Donner girl is back with a vengeance. Only she would dare to visit him on his birthday. His eyes remain cast downward, looking anywhere but at her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping you can.”

She sounds different. Older.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he looks at her, for the very first time. Because she has outgrown her nickname, too old and too alive to be the ‘dead Donner girl.’

This is the girl the Capitol can’t wait to get their hands on? This is the girl men fall to their knees for? Who he’s spent the past three years in servitude to? This is Y/N? “I imagined you’d be different.”

Y/N crosses both arms over her chest, “that’s what eyes are for.”

Pain in my ass. “What do you want?”

“You, actually.” Y/N informs him, “come mentor with me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Haymitch can’t help but laugh.

“Because I need you.”

“Laying it on thick there.”

“And,” Y/N raises her brows, “because you’re one of the few people I can trust.”

Haymitch shifts between feet, uncomfortably.

“Allies?” The girl offers, holding out her hand.

Haymitch sighs, looking up towards the sky. For you, sis. “Don’t make me regret this.”

[willowsnook]

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

—---------------------------------------------------

Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it. 

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you. 

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table. 

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?” 

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around. 

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them. 

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. 

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely. 

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle. 

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.” 

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you. 

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.” 

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before? 

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him. 

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort. 

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up. 

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head. 

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger. 

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.” 

“You’re insane,” Lando said. 

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off. 

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up. 

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him. 

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained. 

“Not that far,” he said amused. 

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled. 

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact. 

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in. 

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out. 

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer. 

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat. 

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate. 

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused. 

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible. 

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?” 

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.” 

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”  

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game. 

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track. 

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking. 

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted. 

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied. 

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face. 

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.” 

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.” 

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.” 

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing. 

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy. 

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed. 

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed. 

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment. 

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward. 

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you. 

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers. 

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track. 

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.  

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you. 

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.” 

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators. 

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?” 

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked. 

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed. 

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around. 

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on. 

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on. 

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.” 

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?” 

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos. 

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed. 

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that. 

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.” 

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.” 

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded. 

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.” 

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep. 

[uramakimochi]

LIFE OF A WAG

Lando Norris x Reader

Warnings: nothing just fluff, use of Y/n, fem!R, this is a story made to represent all of us when we're feeling delulu lol, because i think almost all of us F1 fans are just normal people with a normal life and poor af so we think we'll never have a chance with any of the drivers bc we are not hot and rich supermodels and we think we are not suited for this lifestyle. But i say hope is the last to die so don't give up girls😭

No because Alex (Charles gf) is my age, 21 (i'm not complaining abt the age gap, it's not even that big), and i'm not gonna lie i'm jealous, but just because i look nothing like her, like how can i compete with her beauty, it's not fair😭

Translated english because it's not my first language so feel free to correct me.

///

You never believed that the day you would become a wag would have come. Seriously, this was something you really didn't expect. I mean, you had always been used to the photos of the drivers together with their beautiful super model girlfriends with amazing bodies and you, who were a simple normal girl, never believed that one day you would find yourself thrown into the spotlight for suddenly becoming Lando Norris's new girlfriend. But it had happened. And you couldn't be happier about it.

And here are some of the most memorable moments of your wag life.

///

"Ready?" Lando asked you, turning to look at you.

You nodded, feeling your heart pounding in your chest with anxiety. For what you would have seen and for all the people who would have seen you.

Lando got out of his car and then went around and opened the door for you, even before you could do it and you thanked him with red cheeks, not used to all that gallantry.

And when you and Lando entered the paddocks, your eyes widened as you looked around.

Lando flashed you a smile, taking your hand and starting to walk towards the McLaren garage.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asked you and you nodded, turning to look at him.

"I've never seen this live. It's amazing, there are so many things to see" you replied.

And it was true. You had never gone to see a Formula One race live, simply because yours wasn't a rich family and you honestly didn't believe it was worth spending so much money on the ticket when it was enough for you to watch it from your home, without the risk of being crushed by all the people who went to watch the race.

“If you want i can show you around” he said and you smiled with bright eyes.

"I would love to"

After a couple of minutes of walking though, you noticed a small group of photographers getting closer and closer and you stopped in your tracks. Lando immediately turned to look at you when he noticed you had stopped and you nodded towards the photographers.

"Sorry," he murmured with a smile. "It's part of the job, unfortunately. I'll sign a couple of things and then i'll come back to you, okay?"

You nodded understandingly, so while he walked away towards the photographers you tried to pass behind them, waiting for him on the other side. After about five minutes Lando was finished and quickly walked away to come back towards you, while the photographers and fans continued to call him and take photos even from afar. He took your hand again and quickly walked in the direction of the McLaren garage.

"Lando! Y/n! Look here!"

You barely had time to turn towards the person who had just called you when you heard the unmistakable 'click' of a camera and you turned to look at the single photographer with a surprised expression.

"You are a beautiful couple" she said.

“Thank you” you murmured with a shy smile.

You weren't used at all to being photographed as if you were a famous person.

Lando looked at you tenderly, starting to walk again, while you waved goodbye to the photographer and just before passing her, she took another photo of you two, one of the many that would have ended up on social media.

///

F1WAGS

f1wags New wag incoming, Y/n is the new girlfriend of Lando Norris🧡

view comments

user this one is the new wag...?

user nah what did he see in her💀

user you don't have to be a famous model to date one of the drivers yk

user she's pretty❤️

user she doesn't look like a model tho'

user so what, u don't even know her

///

"Oh. My. God. Oh my God, oh my God!"

Your eyes widened, while starting to jump on the spot and Lando looked at you worried about your sudden behavior.

"What is it?" he asked you and you pointed with a finger at the group of people up ahead.

"That's Charles Leclerc!" you exclaimed, then covered your mouth with your hands, hoping with all your heart that he hadn't heard you.

Lando chuckled, also turning to look at his friend, who was busy talking to some of the other drivers.

"It's him indeed"

"And Carlos is there too! And George! And Max Verstappen! Oh my god, Lewis Hamilton is coming too!"

"Yes love, i know who they are, i see them practically every week" Lando replied with an amused smile. "If you want i'll introduce them to you"

You almost got whiplash from how quickly you turned to look at him.

"You're kidding right? Nope, absolutely not, that's not possible!" you replied nervously.

"Why not?" Lando shrugged. “Haven't you always wanted an autograph from Charles?”

"Y-Yes, but what if i make a fool of myself in front of everyone?! What if they take me for an obsessed fan?? Or what if they find me boring?? Oh God, what if Charles doesn't want to give me his autograph??"

“There's only one way to find out, right?” Lando asked, then took your hand and dragged you towards the small group of drivers.

The closer you got to them, the more your face felt on fire. Were you dressed well? Did you even look presentable? What would they have thought of you as Lando Norris' new girlfriend?

"Sorry to bother you guys, can i introduce you to someone?" Lando asked out loud, intruding on the group.

Everyone fell silent, turning to look at you and Lando and you just wanted to grab a shovel and dig a hole to bury yourself in.

“This is Y/n, my girlfriend” Lando said simply, introducing you with a proud smile and you felt your legs tremble as the men's eyes focused on you.

They were even more intimidating in person.

“H-Hello guys” you murmured, holding up a hand.

You didn't expect that the first to make a move would have been the one and only Lewis Hamilton.

“Hi Y/n, it's nice to finally meet Lando's girlfriend” he said with a warm smile holding out a hand to you and you hesitantly shook it, praying yours wasn't sweaty. "I think you already know who we are. Or you don't follow Formula One?"

“N-No no, i know all of you” you said hastily and when you heard them giggling you wanted to slap yourself. "I mean, yes, i follow Formula One"

After you had introduced yourself to everyone, you found the courage to look Charles in the eyes.

"C-Charles, sorry, can i ask you something?" you asked him and when his green eyes met yours you felt like dying.

"Sure"

“Well, can you…” you murmured, starting to play with your fingers. "Can you give me an autograph? Please?"

Charles smiled, showing off his iconic dimples.

"Absolutely. What do you want me to sign?" he asked and you smiled wide with excitement, then started rummaging through your bag.

“Could you sign my hat?” you asked him and Charles without hesitation took it from your hands, taking the marker out of his jeans pocket, since he had fans who wanted his autograph around every corner, and writing his signature on the side of your hat.

"Won't Lando get jealous?" Carlos asked looking at Lando, who playfully rolled his eyes and you looked at him with a shy smile.

“I hope not” you replied, making those present giggle.

Charles handed you the hat and you thanked him, admiring the signature on it.

“Um… can i ask you guys one last favor?” You asked, seeing them nod without hesitation. "Can i take a photo with all of you?"

"Of course you can" Max replied with a sweet smile, then turned to Lando. "Lando, take a group photo"

"Why do i have to do it? Am i not included?" he retorted with a fake pout.

“I already have a lot of photos with you” you replied. "But i don't have a single photo with them in my gallery, okay?"

The drivers laughed, including Lando and he took his phone out of his pocket, then took a couple of steps back and pointed the camera at you, snapping a couple of photos.

"Thank you so much!" you exclaimed, turning to look at them. "It was very nice to meet you guys"

“It was nice to meet you too, Y/n” George said, looking at you with one of his perfect smiles.

“I hope to see you in the paddocks more often” Charles then said and you nodded.

"I hope too"

Lando took your hand and after you said goodbye, you walked away from them and as soon as you were far enough away to not be heard, you immediately demanded that Lando sent you the group photo he had taken of you.

///

YOURINSTAGRAM

tagged charles_leclerc

yourinstagram guess who signed my fucking hat i'm still screaming

view comments

yourfriend nO FUCKING WAY IM SO JEALOUS I'LL GIVE YOU MINE SO CARLOS CAN SIGN IT

yourinstagram 🤭 (it's not that easy actually😔)

yourfriend not you dating Lando Norris but asking an autograph from Charles Leclerc

yourinstagram i'm a Ferrari fan too what can i say🥰🤷‍♀️

landonorris the fact that you tagged him and not me smh

yourinstagram it's Charles Leclerc we're talking about here🙄

user so this girl is really dating Lando🤨

user she seems fun lol

user so she's actually a f1 fan? just like us poor people?

user right? and she looks like an absolutely normal person, like idk how to say it

user if she made it then i can have a chance too🤞

///

"The next grand prix is in Singapore right?" you asked Lando, who nodded.

You let out a small sigh, while Lando raised his eyes from the plate he was eating from to look at you.

"It must be nice to be able to travel the world like you do, i admit it, i'm jealous"

"Come with me" he said nonchalantly.

"Where?"

"In Singapore"

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Pff, yeah of course” you retorted and Lando looked at you with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm serious. Why don't you come with me to Singapore? Or even Japan, or Qatar. So we can have a holiday between one grand prix and another"

“Lando” you called him seriously. "I don't have money. I'm not rich, i can't afford these things"

“Then i'll pay for it” he replied without hesitation and you shook your head.

"No, absolutely not, you will not pay for me for a trip abroad. I am not dating you for the money and i don't want to be seen as the girl who makes her rich and famous boyfriend pay for everything"

“But you're not asking me to pay. I'm the one who wants to do it. That's different” he replied, covering you hand with one of his and looking into your eyes. "It's something i want to do for you. Because i want you to have a good experience"

You sighed.

“I have to think about it” you murmured. "I'm not used to this"

“Then you better get used to it, because i'm not going to do it just once” he said and you looked at him with a knowing smile.

///

At first it was difficult for you to get into the wag life, but as time went by you got used to it and you became more confident. In yourself, in Lando, in the other drivers and their girlfriends and on social media. So much so that you no longer cared about anything.

///

“Are you really coming with those?” Lando asked you, chuckling, pointing a finger at your feet.

You looked at him, placing your hands on your hips.

"Is there a problem?" you retorted and he raised his hands.

"Absolutely not. Just... Aren't you worried about what others might say?" he said, looking at you with eyes covered in a veil of concern. "I'm not saying this to make fun of you, really. But you know what the people who follow this sport are like"

You shrugged.

"I appreciate your concern, but i honestly don't give a shit what anyone else might think. Just because i'm Lando Norris' girlfriend doesn't mean i have to be a model, act like a model and dress like a model" you said and Lando looked at you with a smile proud of your words.

"Therefore!" you then exclaimed, lifting one foot. "If i want to show up at the paddocks wearing my beloved cow slippers then i'll do that, because i really like them and i want to show them to our fans!"

Lando chuckled and you did too as he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple.

"And i'm sure Daniel will like them" you said then, looking at him.

"I don't doubt it, darling"

“Oh and be ready, i will definitely be wearing a sombrero for the Mexican grand prix” you continued, making him laugh again.

///

Not to mention how much fans loved you on social media.

///

Y/NLOVER

y/nlover so you're saying that Y/n came to the paddocks wearing these slippers?? i love them??? she's an icon???

user i met her and she's so funny istg, she's just like us i mean i love Kika, Alex, Lily ecc i swear, but i feel like Y/n can understand all of us fans better than anyone else

user yeesss like since she's not a model and she's not famous she makes us feel like we can all have a chance when it seems impossible

user i love the fact that she dgaf about her wag image like she's just being herself with her genz humor

user yourusername i want these too where did you get them??😩

yourusername shein🥰

LANDOY/N

landoy/n find yourself someone that looks at you the way y/n looks at Lando

user they're so cute please

user my turn when???

yourusername y'all it seems like i'm the simp of the couple here but i swear it's Lando

user Y/n please💀

user honey there's nothing bad in being a simp for Lando we all are🥰

yourusername i aM NOT

LANDONORRISFANPAGE

landonorrisfanpage Singapore Grand Prix Lando P2🥈

yourusername excuse me why do i NOT have this in my gallery??😃 sigh... i knew i should have gone to Singapore...

user why didn't u go lol

yourusername busy with uni🫠 (also bc i'm poor:D)

user lmao she's so me

user no bc how did he end up with someone like her?💀

user uhh because she's nice? and lovely? and super funny? and everyone loves her? like have you ever seen a wag like her?

LITTLELANDONORRIS

littlelandonorris i've always wanted to be a F1 wag because i want to know what it's like to ride in the same luxurious car as them

yourusername ngl it's a wonderful feeling and he drives very well, i didn't think i would've ever experienced this👀

user mY FUCKING TURN WHEN???🫠😩

LANDONORIZZ

landonorizz yourusername this is your man?💀

yourusername ... yes...

user why does she sound ashamed lmao

user Y/n😭

user i love her sm

yourusername he was still cute leave me alone -Liked by landonorris

///

Hope you guys like this, i didn't mean to be offensive or something like that, i just wanted to let my imagination run lol

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 27: afternoon stroll

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Warnings: moral dilemmas, age gap (r is 25 and Spencer is 40) a cocktail of feelings, relationship between ex-teacher and ex-student, and I think that's it!

Going grocery shopping was one of the most ordinary things you could do. There wasn’t much to it, so it wasn’t exactly an activity that brought you much excitement.

However, that day, it wasn't just a routine. You knew it when, at the end of the line in one of the checkout lanes, you recognized a tall man in a suit. It had been three years since you last saw your professor, and, to be honest, just the sight of him made your heart race just like it used to. I'd dare to say it was even more intense now.

You tried to keep your composure, and for a second, you wondered what you should do. You glanced down at yourself, grateful you’d decided to wear something decent that day: straight-cut black pants, a long-sleeved, lightweight white shirt over a black bra, intentionally chosen to show through a bit.

You hesitated, wondering if you should walk up and get in the same line he was in, or maybe choose the one next to his just to wave hello, or if it would be inappropriate to go up and hug him, or if…

Oh, no. He’d seen you. You couldn’t help feeling a rush of excitement at the way his face lit up when he saw you or at the smile that spread across his lips, but there it was. He was just as handsome as before, maybe even more with the passing years. He looked gorgeous.

"Hey! It’s been so long!"

Your feet practically moved on their own toward him, still reeling from the whirlwind of feelings and passions you’d once harbored for your professor. You knew it was wrong, ethically and morally inappropriate, but you couldn’t help feeling what you felt.

"It really has been, Professor," you managed to respond.

You moved as if to initiate a hug, which he returned without hesitation, holding you around your waist with his free hand and pressing a gentlemanly kiss to your cheek. You felt like you could die from how red your face must’ve been.

"Please, don’t call me 'Professor.' It feels strange now," he smiled, amused. "I’m just Spencer."

"Alright then, Pro– Spencer," you corrected yourself. You savored his name on your lips and realized it felt just right.

"So, what have you been up to? Come, I’ll let you take my place in line," he offered.

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just get in line behind you.”

“I insist,” he said cordially. You could never say no to him; you never could.

You ended up giving in, feeling oddly cared for when he offered to help with what you were carrying. He was still every bit the gentleman, the kind you rarely encountered anymore.

“I’ve been well,” you replied, remembering he’d asked you a question. You were standing completely in front of him, not wanting to miss a second of looking at him. “I’m working at an accounting firm now. It’s not my dream job, but at least it’s stable and pays the bills. What about you? Are you still teaching, or did you go back to the Behavioral Analysis Unit?”

“I went back to the unit,” he said, in that gentle voice you’d always adored hearing. “But I retired just a month ago.”

“Why?”

“A lot of things happened, and… I don’t know. I just felt it was time to take a break. They said the doors are always open for me, but I’m trying to live as peacefully as I can.”

“Well, that makes sense,” you encouraged him. “I’m glad to hear that; your health is the most important thing.”

There was something in Spencer’s expression you couldn’t quite read. Maybe it was just your love-struck mind imagining that he was looking at you with a mix of nostalgia, affection, and pride. His brown eyes shone in the sunlight, and it was enough to make you feel dizzy.

"Yes, but honestly, I’ve started feeling a bit restless with the inactivity. Next month, I might either pursue another PhD or find a job in my field that’s less demanding."

"Sometimes I forget you’re a genius," you murmured without thinking, your voice laced with pure admiration. "It’s so normal for you to take on a PhD as a hobby."

"Knowledge always opens doors. The more you know, the closer you get to finding the truth of who you are."

For a moment, you felt like you were back in one of his lectures and smiled shyly. He was such a mature man, with such a wealth of wisdom, that you could listen to him talk for hours about anything and never get bored.

Your gaze stayed locked on his for a few seconds, almost hypnotized, until the cashier called your attention to start ringing up your items.

Spencer studied your purchases carefully: a loaf of bread, a pack of cranberries, yogurt, some shampoo, and men’s deodorant. He thought about that last product. He had no doubt a woman could use such things, but it didn’t quite seem like your style. You smelled like something he identified as peonies and roses, so it didn’t make sense for you to choose a pine-scented deodorant.

It must be for a man. A man you were in a relationship with.

You paid. Then it was Spencer’s turn: a bag of coffee, honey, a package of walnuts, almonds, and dried fruit, a few pens, a notebook on sale, a jar of pain relievers, and a bottle of vitamins. Finally, there was a package of diapers for a newborn and a bib with the phrase: Snack now, think later.

Just as he had done with you, you analyzed the items, and, of course, that last one caught your attention.

He wasn’t buying those baby items just for fun, was he?

Your heart sank a bit as you understood what it implied: he’d just become a father.

“Thank you, miss. Have a nice day,” Spencer said, as polite as ever.

You stayed out of courtesy, watching him put his items in a plastic bag. Then he started to walk, and you followed.

"I guess this is where we say goodbye, huh?" you said. You didn’t want to sound hurt, but it came through. “It was nice seeing you, Spencer.”

"Do you want me to walk you home?"

That question left you in a dilemma. You looked at his left hand for a wedding ring, but there wasn’t one. The thought that your professor, whom you admired so much and had fallen in love with, might be the kind of man who took off his wedding ring to seduce young women disgusted you.

The sound of a phone interrupted the moment; it was his ringing.

“Hello?” he murmured. You hadn’t said goodbye, so you stayed in place. “I got Pampers, yes. I read that’s the best brand for newborns; they’re super absorbent and have a wetness indicator. And I found a really cute bib. Uh-huh, I’ll be there soon. Did you invite everyone? Great, I can’t wait to see them. See you, take care.”

Hearing his warm, affectionate tone made you feel envious; you wished you were the woman on the other end of the line.

“Your wife?” you asked.

“Wife? No, not at all,” he shook his head, almost offended. “That was my former unit chief; she just had a baby, and we agreed to meet up today with some friends.”

“Oh! For a… for a moment, I thought that was for your baby.”

“No,” he chuckled softly. “I haven’t had that good fortune yet.”

You’d never really wanted children, but at that moment, your insides turned completely at just the thought of him speaking to you with the same warmth he had with his coworker.

“Do you really need to hurry to that get-together? I mean, if you’re still planning to walk me home?”

“Not at all.”

“I take the metro from Station 17 to get there.”

“That’s funny! I’m going to the same station. We could walk there together and then go our separate ways.”

You eagerly agreed to the idea, and the two of you left the store. In the first block, you talked about general things. He noticed you’d dyed your hair, and you complimented his, which looked really good.

The tension between you two was palpable, and all you wanted to do was let out the feelings you’d kept hidden all this time. At first, you’d thought it was just a silly crush, mere admiration. But as time went on, it became harder to deny the obvious. You wanted to be his favorite; you wanted him to focus on you, so you’d done everything to be his best student.

Five years after meeting him, you knew for sure that what you felt was love. He was a bright light, and you were just a moth, desperate to get closer.

"It feels like it was just yesterday when I was running around campus, worried about exams, essays… but I never forgot your classes. You were always a different kind of professor. You didn’t just care about us understanding the material; you cared about how we thought. I’d never felt so listened to," you whispered, watching the leaves fall from the now-orange trees.

You were walking through an incredibly quiet neighborhood; it was almost just you and him.

"Well, you were a brilliant student. You always asked questions that made me think, and that doesn’t happen often."

Oh, that validation. It felt like an elixir running through your veins.

“Was it just my imagination, or was I your favorite student?”

“It wouldn’t be ethical to say.”

“I’m not your student anymore, so you can be completely honest with me.”

Spencer shifted slightly, as if mulling over your words. You were right; you weren’t his student anymore, and he needed to stop seeing you as such.

“I wouldn’t say there was favoritism, but I particularly enjoyed working with you. You were very dedicated, your work was always flawless, and you always asked how you could improve. I think it was just that you were the kind of student every professor dreams of having.”

“Oh, Doctor Reid, I’m blushing,” you joked, though you couldn’t help the flirty tone that slipped in. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met under different circumstances. If I hadn’t been in college, as your student.”

It was a subtle but significant statement.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just… you’re such an interesting person, and sometimes I wish I’d met you in a less formal setting. Maybe we could’ve been friends.”

Spencer looked at you for a moment, as if weighing your words. His lips curved into a faint smile before his gaze turned more serious, as if allowing himself to be vulnerable, if only for a second.

“You know, I’m not sure we could’ve been just friends,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost a whisper that the wind could’ve carried away at any moment. “You were always more than just an outstanding student. You made me question things I thought I had all figured out.”

Your heart skipped a beat at those words. It was like he was finally opening that door both of you had kept closed for so long. The world around you seemed to fall silent, wrapping you in a bubble where only your gazes and the sound of your shallow breaths existed.

"Really?" you smiled, trying not to let on just how deeply his words affected you. “I always thought I was just another student to you, but… you always felt like someone special to me. Like… like everything I did only made sense because you were there, listening.”

Spencer laughed softly, a laugh that almost sounded nervous, as if he himself were processing his feelings.

"Maybe you see me as someone who has all the answers, but if you knew how many times I tried to avoid… what I was feeling."

He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, as if afraid to expose too much. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest, and everything around you spun.

“Sometimes I wondered if I was just imagining it.”

“No, you weren’t imagining it. It wasn’t easy for me. I knew I was crossing an emotional boundary, even though I never let it go further. There was an attraction, of course. But it was my responsibility to stay professional. I couldn’t fail you in that.”

The tension between you grew with every step you took. The street seemed to stretch endlessly as both of you searched for the right words to express what you really felt. Minutes passed, but the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, each second you shared without speaking seemed to fill the air with emotions that didn’t need explaining. And yet, deep down, you knew that time was running out. In the distance, you could already see the entrance to the metro station.

“You know, I never thought seeing you again after so long would affect me this much,” you said finally, not daring to look at him, as if admitting it in a low voice made you feel safer. He watched you with a mixture of tenderness and uncertainty.

“To be honest, I didn’t think I’d feel this way, either. I’d convinced myself that… that what I felt was simply admiration.”

His words made you stop, looking into his eyes with a surprised expression. It was a gesture that denoted an unusual transparency in him, as if he felt more vulnerable than he was willing to admit.

“Admiration?” you smiled, though you felt a pressure in your chest you could hardly bear. “And now? What do you feel now, Spencer?”

Spencer. He was no longer your professor; he was simply Spencer.

He lowered his gaze, searching for words he’d likely been repressing for years. The sound of his unsteady breathing was all you heard before he spoke again, in a voice low but clear.

“What I feel now… I don’t think there’s an easy word for it. But it’s something I thought I’d never have to confront.”

You were taken aback by that confession, but it filled you with such a wave of relief that it almost made you dizzy. You felt vulnerable, exposed, but also free. You decided it was time to stop measuring your words, to stop being afraid.

“Spencer, I… I fell in love with you when I was still in college. I always told myself it was just a crush, that it would pass. But I carried you in my mind, in my memories. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I graduated. And now I can’t deny that, even after all these years, I still love you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if processing everything you had just said. When he looked at you again, his eyes were like a deep ocean of emotions, and you couldn’t help but feel as if the entire world had stopped around you.

“What about your boyfriend?”

You didn’t want to ask how he’d picked up on that. But in the end, denying it would’ve been useless.

“My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected. I’m in a relationship that doesn’t fulfill me, and when I compare it to what I felt with you, even though nothing happened, I realize how empty it feels now. It’s like… I don’t know, like I’m just settling.”

You were still standing on the sidewalk. The wind brushed softly against your ears.

“It’s hard when you realize what you have isn’t what you thought it would be. Comfort isn’t enough; you want something deeper, something meaningful. And sometimes, I feel just as lost. My career has been my life for so long that, even though I’m successful, there are moments when I wonder if I’ve missed out on something important. Something I may never have. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s too late.”

You felt like you were going to throw up. All you wanted was for it to end, for him to lean in and kiss you.

You took a step forward.

“There’s nothing between us now. I’m no longer your student.”

"I’ve thought about that. But it wasn’t just the fact that you were my student. The age gap also complicated things. I mean, I’m fifteen years older than you. I couldn’t ignore how inappropriate that would’ve been."

“Fifteen years… yeah, that’s quite a bit. But I don’t think that would’ve mattered so much if we hadn’t been in the situation we were in.”

“It’s not just that, sweetheart,” sweetheart. “You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you, full of possibilities. I couldn’t allow myself… to interfere with that. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“You’re talking as if you’re condemning me to a life sentence. And it’s not like that.”

Spencer took a deep breath, holding eye contact for a moment before speaking honestly.

“Still, the age difference will always be there.”

“What are you worried about? What people might think?”

“It’s not just that, but how it would affect you in the long term. A fifteen-year age gap can be a chasm.”

“Maybe. But connections don’t always follow set rules. What I felt then was real. What I feel now is real, too. And I don’t think age changes that.”

Were you seriously confessing your love to this man on that street? After seeing him again for less than an hour? Were you really that desperate for him?

In theory, he had already confessed to you. And that was only proof of how much you both had longed for each other, despite the years that had passed.

In a bold move, you took another step toward him. Your hands reached up to his cheeks, and he felt like he was out of breath.

“You’re an extraordinary man, Spencer. You’re gentle, intelligent, you’re a gentleman, you’re… you’re like a dream. And any woman would be lucky to have you. But if you don’t want me to be that woman, I respect that.”

“Don’t do that,” he groaned. Your fingers felt like fire burning his skin. “Don’t make me say something that isn’t true.”

“Sometimes you meet the right person at the wrong time. You want that family, you want to experience everything you missed out on. I want security, attention… I want you.”

He closed his eyes, defeated. A storm of emotions swirled within him.

“We need to take this slow; it’s… it’s a lot to process.”

You nodded and stepped back. For a moment, he thought he’d made a mistake, especially when he was met with the coldness of his skin now that you weren’t touching him. But a second later, you handed him your phone.

“Give me your number. After we’ve both had time to think about this, you’ll call me, and we’ll go out to dinner. If you’re not sure, we’ll just go our separate ways. If you are… we’ll decide what to do.”

It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command. There was no room for argument.

He typed in the digits, almost trembling with nerves, and felt ridiculous for showing himself so vulnerable in front of you. But you were breaking down every ethical boundary he believed he had; dating a former student… what kind of person did that make him?

However, as he returned your phone and looked at you, he realized that you were no longer a child. He was not taking advantage of you at all; you were an adult capable of making your own decisions. And you were choosing him. Above everyone else, he was the one you wanted.

You called, and Reid's barely modern phone vibrated in his pocket, signaling that he now had your number too. Spencer watched you with a mix of nostalgia and resolve, as if this were the last second before the world began to spin again and forced them back into their lives.

Finally, he sighed, lowering his gaze slightly, as if he wanted to hide a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"I don’t want to hurt you," he said quietly, with a sincerity that broke your heart. "I don’t know if it’s fair that, after so long, we reopen this door just to risk things not working out."

"We’ll never know if we don’t try," you whispered, trying to stay calm.

He nodded slowly, processing your words, and then, very slowly, took a step toward you, getting close enough for the murmur of his voice to be almost a whisper next to your ear.

"Okay," was all he managed to say. His eyes reflected the same longing and uncertainty that you felt inside.

You walked in silence to the station, and once there, there was no verbal goodbye. You simply moved closer to him, wrapped him in a hug, and he responded with a deep kiss on the cheek.

He went to the right. You went to the left.

Once you were seated on the subway, you felt your phone vibrate with a message.

Hi. I’m Spencer. Please keep in touch. I don’t want to miss you.

And all the way home, you smiled.

[vettelsvee]

DON'T BELIEVE WHAT THEY SAY | Oscar Piastri

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary: reader is quite insecure about herself due to fans and paps comments, and oscar tries to comfort her

word count: 1206

warning: wait till the end and tell me if you'd like a part 2 *kiss kiss*. reader feeling insecure about herself and thinking she's not good enough (remember: you are good enough, don't hear what others say!). use of y/n. corrected the translation at almost 1am so i apologize if there are mistakes

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback as well as comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! <3

After a long day in the paddock, and after a race that was supposed to be the highlight of the season but ended in a DNF for Oscar, your boyfriend decided to cheer both of you up by inviting you to have dinner in a fancy restaurant. You have been in a relationship for several years since you both were high school sweethearts, so sometimes the romance wore thin. Today, he wanted to give his best after a day worth to forget.

Lately, he had noticed that your behavior was a bit strange. You seemed uncomfortable with yourself, and your self-esteem was at an all-time low, judging by the unpleasant comments you had been making lately about herself. Moreover, the media and "fans" criticism didn't help either, as paparazzi and journalists had been harassing and spreading rumors about Oscar cheating on you, or that you have been gaining too much weight for Piastri’s liking. All of them, among others, were damaging your relationship slowly. 

For those two reasons, and because he felt like changing the scenery after the weekly training stress, Oscar told you that you would go out to enjoy a peaceful dinner. He was conscious of all of those criticism, and he was going to remind you how special you were to him and most of it, how perfect you were for him. Also, that you shouldn’t give a damn shit about others opinions, specially when Oscar was the one dating and loving you.

Although you initially resisted to go because you didn’t want to be the center of attention once again, you finally accepted because you knew it hadn’t been an easy day for your boyfriend. You dressed in a beautiful electric blue dress he had gifted you for you birthday las year, and decided not to wear makeup and jewelry. However, you still felt nervous. It was the presence of paparazzi, who followed you wherever you went, made you feel increasingly insecure about yourself and your relationship once again.

In those moments, you thought that Oscar deserved a girl better than you.

"Love," you addressed you boyfriend, a bit hesitant. "Do I look fine like this?"

"My God, Y/N… You're perfect. You always are."

You looked at yourself in the mirror once again. You tried to fake a smile, but you didn't like what you saw in front of you.

"I don't know… I feel a bit ridiculous in this dress," you explained. "Do I look too fat? I don’t think this color suits me very well either..."

"Don't say that," Oscar scolded, approaching you. "It looks amazing on you. Do you remember when I gave it to you? You loved it! You have been wanting it, for months actually, and even though you didn't say it, your face said it all."

"Yes, I remember perfectly, but the problem is that I don't feel comfortable with myself," you continued. "I'm tired of everything that's being said about us and the opinions people seem to have about us. To be honest with you, every day I feel more like… well, that I don’t deserve to be in your life. At least, not as your girlfriend.”  

Oscar sighed. He knew you were right. He was pretty conscious about the media and obsessive fans’ behaviour towards you, and he didn’t like that part of fame either, especially when it was for no reason, and because they had no right to comment on your relationship, which was definitely private, but not secret.

You started to cry shily. He did nothing but hesitate to hug you and make your head rest on his chest. He immediately starting to stroke your hair while gently rocking you from side to side, trying his best to calm you down.

"That shouldn't worry you because you're the most important person to me," he assured you. "I love you just the way you are, for the worst and the better, and I’ll keep doing so every day for the rest of my life, ok?."

"Yeah, I know," you said, pulling away from him quite angrily, "The thing here is that I don't care about what you think, but what other people think. I hate that there are people who are spending their free time, or not so free, making theories about us as if we were a Marvel movie!t”

"Darling..."

"Don’t," you exclaimed, interrupting him, "I understand, and I respect, that you're a public figure, but that doesn't mean I can't be tired of the treatment I receive from girls that are in love with you! Aren't they such big fans of yours, and do they admire and love you so much, that they can't have a minimum of respect for the person you share your life with?"

Oscar knew you were right.

"Don't let that worry you," he explained. "What matters is that you and I love each other, and it's not a fake relationship like many out there, so don't let the negative comments affect you. Remember: those people don't deserve even a second of your thoughts."

"Well..." you replied simply. "It's difficult, Osc… I feel like people are analyzing and judging me all the time, no matter what I do."

Your boyfriend sighed again. He didn't know what to do to calm you down. Seeing you hurt made him feel really bad. Although he was familiar with the daily attention and hate comments, it didn't mean you, his girlfriend, had to get used to them. He felt frustrated and worried for you because, even though he knew you were aware that negative attention was part of the deal you signed when you started dating back in high school, it didn't mean you weren't bothered by seeing the love of your life being constantly mocked.

Oscar started thinking what to do. He wanted to make you happy, but if going out to have dinner isn’t what you desired that night… 

"What do you think if, instead of going out, we stay here, at the hotel?" he proposed to you. Immediately, you seemed a bit cheered up by the suggestion. "We can order something and have dinner in bed while watching a movie or a series you fancy."

"Really? You don't mind? I'm sure you already had the reservation made, and I really feel so bad..."

"Of course I don't mind," he explained, giving you a kiss on the forehead. "You are the most important thing in my life, so I will do whatever it takes to make you feel better."

Your eyes were still red, but you tried to feel better and fake you were ok. You hugged Oscar and thanked him again for what he just did.

Immediately, you both snuggled up in bed while watching a movie you chose, while Oscar phoned to the hotel’s reception so you could have room service for dinner. Pizza, most specifically, as you wanted it and told your boyfriend.

You didn’t know, but that moment made Oscar the happiest man on earth. He made you smile, even amidst the sadness. However, it was time to start thinking how he could propose to you in a different way because your insecurity, sadly, ruined his plans to kneel and pull the question.

[arrrion]

Stranger Nearby

Stanley Snyder x GN reader

Synopsis: The American Colony's site has gotten bigger and corn fields grew. But they were only few people and lately someone was roaming around. It was Stanley's mission to find them.

Disclaimers: Mention of killing somebody (he wont though, didn't even thought about it)

I love this man, help me...

There might be mistakes, I'm too tired to correct myself...

Enjoy!

It's been three week already since the first time they saw footprints of a stranger around the forest of there base. At first Xeno wasn't even bothered by that. Yeah someone was here in the forest and? If it was one of the statue he gave a panel then they would've already come to him. Which means they don't know if they can come. He'll just wait for them to be in danger and run to them and he will gladly oblige them in his group of slav-

But then a month passed and no signs of them coming? Were the animal in that forest your friends? Were you Snow White? Or are you that strong to defend yourself without his elegant science? Like, for real? Were you also a scientist and survived with it? Were you a warrior? A soldier? Whatever profession that gives you the power to defeat danger ? Now he was really curious. Days after days he would think of the possibility that you could be really usefull to him. Man is really eager to have you, like, calm down?

Anyway, It's still early on the American colony history so, he doesn't trust the reliability of others except Stanley. His best man ever could never disappoint him. If Stan says he can, then he can.

Here he is, in a manhunt. First, he pinpointed all the marks you left before going for you first. By knowing how you kind of work he could corner you better. Thus, he searched everywhere around their base. He find out that you don't stay at the same spot more than two days, you left firecamps here and there. By how little they are for a month in the wild, either you camped several times in the same place and you alternated, or you spend some nights without a fire. In all cases, you know how to light a fire, you probably knows the basics of surviving in the woods.

He also saw some marks on different trees. You probably tried to climb but failed. Now he knows you have a weapon, the marks on trees were made with a blade. So you know how to light a fire and how to make a dagger?

So to sum up everything, you don't stay in the same place for too long which means you probably know that his group is nearby. You might get scared when he catch you then.

You could be a pain in the ass for him actually. If you manage to survive this long without help it means you'll try to defend yourself, and he knows well that someone that knows they are close to death (even though he doesn't want to kill you, nor hurt you) is the most difficult thing to fight.

He kept that in mind and actually started to go after you.

And he found you pretty easily?

I mean it's been more than a month and nobody from the castle you saw came attacking you ? You knew better to be careful but at some point your defense was to be downed. But you were really aware of what was around you. Like really. It's not like you had good earing like Ukyo, rather you had a sixth sense or something. You immediately felt Stanley.

And he didn't even tried to hide himself. Man has the biggest confidence. He knows very well that whatever you sort out, he will catch you. There's nothing you can do about it. Therefore, when he saw you quickly pack you belongings (that actually was like 2-3 things?) he wasn't a little bit worried. You ran for your life, the person behind you had hidden his face, it could only mean you were in danger ? And you couldn't be more closer to the truth. If this man catches you, your done for. You will live the hell of being under Xeno's orders you know?

You weren't really accustomed with fleeing, he could tell. Your race was not at all suited to last long, against him in addition. But you were enduring like crazy. He several times was close to catch you but somehow you manage to dodge everytime. He knew you were conducting him somewhere, you had a plan for this moment. He knew he had to catch you or it would be annoying to deal with whatever you thought could save you from him.

But, luckily for you, you manage to arrive at a cliff and you stopped right at the edge. Stanley wasn't dumb. He knew you weren't cornered. No, he was your prey for now. And maybe you and him had overrated your capabilities. Because the trap you had prepared had closed on you. The ground under your feet disappeared ans you were falling down.

Stanley reacted as fast as light and soon you find yourself in his arms. That's when you understood he wasn't there to get rid of you. It clicked, it all made sense now. Since the beginning he didn't do anything but following you. He had a gun but didn't use it. He only had to shoot you, even if you had sensed him, you can't dodge a bullet. Now you felt so guilty.

As you both fell from that cliff, Stanley placed you on him. But you wouldn't actually kill a man so this was not a deadly fall. The cliff wasn't that high but it really hurt Stanley.

It was actually enough to knock him out, for a little while at least.

When his eyes oppened again, the first thing he saw was the night sky. It was already sunset when he was after you earlier, he was out for a couple of hours. He looked around him and saw you, sleeping next to him. You were actually nuzzled against him. Well, that was a turn of event-

He stayed like this a little while. You really were peacefully sleeping against him like he didn't tried to kidnap you. He looked on his other side and saw his helmet thing. All his stuff was actually neatly put away. Like he could actually grab his riffle? And you were taking his arm for a pillow? Man sleeping really help...

He looked again at your figure. Xeno wouldn't mind if he bring you tomorrow, right? Right?

I swear it was more epic in my head! It's actually way more shorter than I thought but I hope you liked it.

This man gives me crazy ideas I can't help but want to write more??

Well then, see you soon-

[separatetheyolk]

Breathe | Charles Leclerc X Trans!British!DriverReader

ʚɞ featuring: Charles Leclerc

ʚɞ you (the first trans driver to ever step foot into F1) are still dealing with the pain of unsafe binding years later.

ʚɞ warnings: fluff, mentions of unsafe binding but I ain’t going into detail because I don’t want anyone actually doing it, swearing, transphobia, didn’t proofread lol sorry, y/n used

ʚɞ word count: 1830

ʚɞ note: FtM or trans masc in mind. He/him pronouns used for reader. I beg please bind safely. It really fucks you over if you don’t

mclaren

liked by youruser, f1, landonorris, and 15,876 others

mclaren We are beyond proud that Y/N has felt comfortable to come out to not only us, the grid, but to the rest of the world.

Y/N is the first transgender driver in F1 history! To be part of such a large step forward in this industry is a huge honour and we are all immensely proud of you! 🏳️‍⚧️

@/f1 @/yourusername

comments

user1 Did they just out Y/N as trans???

user2 They better not have omg

user3 Nono! Y/N has actually just came out on his own social media about an hour prior. And I’m sure that McLaren wouldn’t post this without his permission.. right?

yourusername @/user2 i fear you may have missed my own social media post. @/user3 is correct! and admin did double check with me before posting aha <3

liked by mclaren, user3 and 315 others

landonorris proud of you, man!

lewishamilton 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

user4 women don’t belong in this sport!

user5 Spoiler! He’s not a woman!

liked by yourusername

user6 F1 really has gone downhill. This is absolutely ridiculous. I refuse to watch this sport anymore.

yourusername up your arse mate no one gives a shite 🏳️‍⚧️

liked by charles_leclerc and 215 others

user7 Not Y/N being a pr nightmare before the season even starts 🤣

liked by yourusername

user8 As a trans person this makes me so happy omg 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

f1

liked by carlossainz55, maxverstappen1 and 13,238 others

f1 AND IT’S Y/N WHO TAKES POLE IN BAHRAIN!

What a result for Y/N! It’s certainly a way to kickstart your season! All eyes are on Y/N to see what tricks he pulls out for the race on Saturday.

@/yourusername @/f1

comments

user1 DAAAMN look at this kid go!

user2 well, at least he had a better start than Stroll did

user3 Not exactly a hard feat to beat but at least Stroll actually made it to the finish line.

user4 THIS ISN’T A WOMENS SPORT!!!

user5 oh here we go

yourusername have a feeling there’ll be a lot of this 🙄❄️

user6 uno reverse used in the best way possible

user7 WHO IS THIS ICON

yourusername 💅💅

“I don’t understand why they have to be such dicks..” Charles mumbled, looking down to you with a frown on his face. A frown that you decided he definitely didn’t suit. “You’re a driver. Just like us. A guy. Just like us. You’re no different.”

You sigh softly, shutting off your phone and set it down on your chest. Reaching up with one hand you smoothed the creases forming on your boyfriends forehead. Your second carefully taking the phone from Charles’ hands. He really needed to stop reading these comments.

“But I’m not to some..” you whispered. “As much as I want to be, I’ll never truly be the same to everyone. I’m an icon to some, another driver to others, a complete stranger to most and a vile freak of nature to the remainder.”

Charles didn’t like that. He didn’t like that last part one bit. He ran his hand gently through his boyfriends hair, letting his fingers comb through tangles, shaking his head. “Mon amour, you are far from a freak..” he spoke softly. Voice holding such love it felt like your heart could burst. You watched the man above you grow confused as you let out a huff of laughter, shaking your head.

“Baby, I know I’m not a freak. I’m just stating there are some that think I am. And while they’re wrong.. so very wrong. I can’t change everyone’s minds.” You sigh softly, hand now moving to the back of your boyfriend’s head. Thumb running against the freshly cut hair.

You soon sit up with a groan, stretching out. Toes pointed, arms pushed to the air, back arching and popping. “But-” you started off, sounding strained until your body slowly relaxed. Stealing a kiss from your boyfriend as you stood. “I’ve got you.. so everything’s all good in my corner.” You smile to the other, grabbing your coffee cup and heading to the kitchen to fix yourself another.

“You really shouldn’t have anymore of that! The race is tomorrow!”

f1

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 12,204 others

f1 Five races in and Y/N has already secured his first win with the Chinese Grand Prix! 🏎️🏁

But can he keep up the pace?

user1 Absofuckinglutely he can!

user2 No. He can’t. He’s only in his second year. He’ll mess up somewhere along the line.

user3 found the vestappen fan

georgeeussell63 Some clean driving there, mate. Enjoy your celebrations!

yourusername knew there was a reason your my favourite

liked by georgerussell63

landonorris drinks on me then, I take it?

yourusername ah, well. @/georgerussell63 sorry but your title has been taken

georgerussell63 traitor

yourusername <33

user4 Y/N AND GEORGE??

yourusername 🏳️‍🌈 but not for him

georgerussell63 ouch

yourusername oh hush

It turned out that Mr. Know-It-All in the comments was correct. You did indeed screw up. And you screwed up big time. Ninth race in for specifics. The Canadian Grand Prix. It wasn’t a particularly bad crash. Or at least, not by F1 standards. You didn’t split your car in half at least. No. Instead, you got a bit too close to your beloved boyfriend, went up and over his car. And somehow in what you’re sure would be in spectacular fashion on the replay flipped your car upside down.

Once you did eventually manage to get out of your car, you were waving medical professionals away. You felt fine. Nothing felt broken. A bit banged up and sure, there’d probably be bruised knees and a bruised ego. But you were fine. Of course, that didn’t stop Charles from hounding you with questions once you got back to your drivers room.

“Baby- babe-“ you held your hands up, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You move to set your hands on either side of his face, which seemed to stop the questions well enough. You rose your eyebrows allowing the smile to settle on your face as your thumbs gently brushed against his cheeks. “I’m fine..” you whispered quietly, pressing a kiss to the man’s forehead and sighed softly. “Bruised knees probably. But nothin’ that’s broken.”

“You’re absolutely sure.” Charles demanded an answer.. yet again, his hands moving to cup your own, pressing a kiss to the palm of each. “Chérie if you’re hurt we need to know.” You loved Charles, you really did. You loved the attentiveness. The caring side. The way he looked to you like you were his whole world. Hung the stars in the sky just for him. But you were fine.

“I’m fine my love-” the ‘love’ came out strained as your body jerked. Face twisted in pain as a sharpness radiated from your chest suddenly from a deep breath you’d took. The suddenness of which it impossible to hide from Charles. And instantly, the man was back on your case.

“Baby? Hey- hey what is it? What’s wrong.” He asked rather quickly. Brows furrowing, face twisting into concern as his hands moved to your side.

“My ribs-” you tried to get out.

“Ribs? From the crash?”

“No-”

“Are they broken?”

“No Charles-“

“Baby did the crash hurt them?”

“Jesus Christ on a bike will you stop.” You manage to get out, hands gripping his arms. “It’s from when I used to bind.” Each inhale brought that same sharp pain back. Like someone was jabbing a large needle inbetween two of your ribs. You hissed as another hit, trying to shallow your breathing some.

“Okay.. okay.” Charles thought for a moment. He read this somewhere.. no not read. It had came up on TikTok. At this point, your feed was bleeding into his own. Merging together into some fucked up culmination of shared humour. “Okay..”

You watched in confusion as Charles moved to the floor. Back firmly pressed to the wall. One hand waving as a silent gesture to join him, the other tapping the floor between his legs to tell you where to sit. Hesitantly you made your way over, keeping your breathing short to not cause anymore unnecessary pain. Charles pivoted you before you sat down so your back was facing him. Then, gently began to tug at your fireproof suit.

You followed his lead, moving to sit in between those legs, feeling him pull you close and legs stretched out. In this position, he practically forced you to sit up straight. Giving your lungs the most room you possibly could to breathe without any hindrance. “Deep breaths..” you heard from behind, feeling Charles press his face into your neck. One hand on your hip, another resting on your stomach.

“Charles, I can’t.” You spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It hurts. It’s fine. It’ll go away on its own in a few seconds.” Or well, that used to be the case. Now it took a few minutes to thirty. Or at least you think that’s what the record was.

“I know mon amour.. but it’ll go away quicker like this. Please?” He tried to encourage, pressing loving kisses to your neck, behind your ear. Anywhere his lips could reach skin there were kisses in it’s path.

Reluctantly, you begin to do as he asked, taking a deep breath which again, caused that same pain to erupt in your side. Inhaling sharper as a result. And, again, more pain. “I know..” Charles whispered against your ear, lifting his head up to rest against the side of yours. Beginning to take deep breaths himself. Deep enough so you could feel it and copy. “I know baby.. come on.” He encouraged again, pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

Again, you took another deep breath. Charles continuing to talk you through that pain too. Slowly, the gaps in between became shorter. Until you were consistently taking them. And two or so minutes after, the pain was gone.

Charles however, was still whispering to you. He hated seeing you in pain. However cliche it sounded. The idea his Y/N, his boyfriend, was in pain hurt him too. Moving now to spin you round. Pulling you onto his lap so your shoulder was resting against his sturdy chest. He removed the cap from your head, directing said head to his shoulder and you didn’t need to be told twice. Finding your home in the crook where it met his neck. Nuzzling into it and let out a sigh.

There was silence for a moment. Letting reality sink in before you spoke. “M’ sorry..” it was timid. Quiet. Not fearful but.. it didn’t ooze that same confidence your voice seemingly always held.

“What for, chérie?” Charles asked in response, hand moving now to rub small circles onto your back. Pressing kisses to the top of your head.

“Crashin’ into you..” you muttered, eyes fixed to your hands set in the orange lap of your suit. Picking at skin around your nails. “Scaring you.. worrying you..”

Charles couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Light and warm. You watched as he separated your hands with one of his own, intertwining together fingers on your left hand with those on his right. “Baby.. I’m always gonna worry. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” God you loved a sappy Charles

<3

First post doooone

[kasagia]

Let me follow II

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!soulmate! reader Summary: Na-Baron tirelessly pursues and tracks you across Arrakis. You hide in the sands of Dune as best you can, but will it be enough to escape your soulmate with whom you want nothing to do with? Warning: violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; soulmate au!; Taglist: @avidreader73 @wo-ming-bai @shara-ne @alana4610 Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Part I ~•♤♤♤•~ Part III ~•♤♤♤•~

You close your eyes and hide your face in the brown scarf around your head. You listen to the sounds of the desert, the gentle sound of sand blowing in the wind, and the gerbils around you, trying to find some shade from the Arrakis' sun.

You breathe evenly and calmly, hearing the blood pulsing in the veins of the animals around you. You freeze, feeling heartbeats that are too loud and rare to belong to any of the creatures of Dune.

Your fingertips brush the sand beneath you, drawing patterns in it. You're manipulating the thick blood in their veins, and by the way you're having a hard time controlling it, you realise who your sudden guests are.

The Harkonnens.

"Did you sense something?" Your father asks while kneeling beside you. You sweep the sand with your hand, making your drawings and patterns disappear from view.

"The Harkonnens. In the southeast. At least 10 of them." You reply, poking your head out of your hiding place. You can't see anything in your line of sight, but you can clearly feel several heartbeats, unlike anything that lived on Arrakis.

"I'll tell the rest. Stay back. We need to make sure we don't have anyone following us if we want to get back to our sietch."

"He won't give up." You answer him, still staring at the desert. "Na-Baron. He will chase after me until he gets me." You don't have to tell him about it. He knows as well as you do that the Harkonnen's patrols have become more frequent and that you have had to escape from them faster than usual.

Na-Baron was looking for you. He made no secret of it. You know from your scouts that he himself commanded one of the units, moving through your territory like a snake, avoiding your ambushes, and entering your sietchs, leaving behind only ashes, ruins, and a sea of blood.

"He will never..."

"Are you so sure?" You interrupt him, scolding him for still clinging to false hope.

One day he will finally get you; the only question was how long it would take you to run away from him again after he catches you. And how long will you be able to enjoy freedom again in the sands of Dune.

"I… really would like to believe that I am." Your father admits it with sadness. You both turn towards the vast sands before you.

The sun burns down on you, making your body sweat more and more. The droplets flow into the tank in the suit. This is your only consolation. At least you're not wasting your water on your run.

"You don't have to protect me. I know Arrakis; I have my power. I can run away as long as I want." You say, glancing briefly at your father.

Now that the threat from the Harkonnens is even more real, you'd rather keep him away from it all. You wouldn't want them to capture him and use him as leverage against you. You didn't want him to get hurt because of you. Or anyone.

"You can run as lons as you are able to." He corrects you and pushes you back towards the rest of the group. You sigh, obediently following him. "And I want to make sure that you... are ready for what is waiting for you at the end of this race."

"Race with fate or time?" You ask him skeptically. You reach for your powers and try to refocus on the location of the Harkonnen group. Their hearts beat faster. You unconsciously wonder if Na-Baron is with them this time...

"You should try to get some sleep." Your father helps you to get on the sandworm you had previously put into a coma. You wait patiently until the entire group gets on the creature and wakes it up. Sand hits your face as the animals start to move and cross the desert.

"I... I have to be aware of our surroundings." You answer evasively, sensing Harkonnens. They were far behind you. For now.

"You can't be like that all the time. Go to sleep. I will take care of everything." Your father assures you and places a kiss on your temple.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You hadn't slept soundly for several nights, too afraid that you would meet Na-Baron in your dreams. If you did nap, it was only during the day and only for a few hours—at times when he couldn't contact you through dreams. You wonder if Reverend Mother could help you block this… connection between you two. But before you travel north, you must first hide out for a few weeks in the safe corridors of your sietch.

Maybe you'll manage to lose the Na-Baron who chased you so tirelessly. You were curious if the stars would show you such a great blessing.

"Thank you, father." You reply with a small smile, deciding to follow your father's wishes and try to take a nap.

So you snuggle up in an unfolded blanket and place yourself on the sandworm's back, allowing the walls of your makeshift shelter to keep you on the back of the rushing creature. The sound of the sand blowing through the air and the heartbeat of other people on it lulls you to sleep.

But as Na-Baron promised, you will soon find that there is no escape from him.

Even during the day.

There is blood around you. A lot of blood. It's pouring through holes in one of your hiding places' corridors. You cover your nose with your elbow and walk forward, your shoes soaked in the crimson liquid as you walk forward towards the exit. The blood reaches your knees when HE stands in your way.

"What is this?" You ask him, letting a drop of blood fall from the ceiling onto your lips as you move your elbow away from your face. The smell of blood fills your nostrils. But you can't hear any other heartbeats than yours and Na-Baron's.

"The future—if you keep running away. I must admit that each time it takes me a while to track you, but eventually you will make a mistake. And I will patiently wait for that to happen." You shiver, hearing his low growl close to you.

He acted so casually, as if there wasn't crimson blood dripping from the ceiling on you. He was too sure that his plan would come true. You wanted to tear away this overconfidence from him.

"And how can you be so sure of that? After all, you didn't even get a chance to take a few glimpses at me these past few days. How is your leg, by the way? I hope it hurts just as much as you hurt my people in your… prison." You scoff, not considering this small, cramped cell in the Harkonnen's stronghold as a real prison. It was a place of carnage, filled with death, the stench of blood, fear, and the helplessness of your people. And behind it all was your own soulmate…

"I'm very glad you are concerned about my well-being, darling. Especially since you were the one to stick a dagger into my knee. Fortunately, I have excellent healers. You'll find out about it yourself after our wedding night." You laugh mockingly at his words, shaking your head in disbelief.

How delusional he must have been to even assume that you would rather marry him than gut yourself before he even had the slightest chance to lay his little finger on you again?

"I would rather be eaten by a sandworm." You reply and push past him to leave. Feyd lets you in, inhaling your delicate scent as you walk past him. He grabs the scarf covering your head and untangles you from it. The material stays in his hands as you run away from him as far as possible.

Feyd takes a second to bury his nose in the scarf and inhale its delicate scent. He promises himself that next time he will inhale your scent directly from you—and definitely not in his dream.

He comes back to you, silently walks up to you, and hugs you from behind. He catches you by surprise and pulls you into his chest. You fight against him, struggling in his grip, but he just puts his chin on your shoulder and nuzzles his nose into your neck, not caring about your attempts to fight him.

"Are you enjoying the view?" He whispers into your ear and runs his tongue over your lobe. You shiver in his arms, and Feyd relishes every moment of how you feel in his strong grip. Like a small, trembling kitten that needs to be taken care of—taken care of by him and only him.

You acted so differently. In his dreams, you were a perfect little mouse that he could play with as he pleased, but in reality, you showed that you had a lot of rebellion in yourself to use. And while he was amazed by your cunning, thoughtfulness, and courage, it became irritating as he chased you halfway across the desert without making much progress. The itch in his pants was equally irritating.

"I'll never let you do that." You snap at him, pained to see the sight of a colonised Arrakis.

The Harkonnen's machines worked to extract the spice, and the bald men themselves... cleaned up the bodies of your men, feeding them to the sandworms. You felt sick just looking at it. And it was just a dream. You're afraid and wonder: What would be your reaction if it all happened for real?

"I'm afraid there's not much you can do. Especially from your little hiding place." He wraps his hand around your throat and squeezes it tight. You gasp in shock, struggling for air. You grab his hand and try to pull it away from your neck, but he's not strong enough for you to even make him move an inch. "Either you leave your little hiding place willingly, or I will chase you out with smoke, fire, and the blood of your people."

“Possibly…” You breathed out, wrapping your hand around the hilt of his sword. "But first you have to find me." You gasp and pull his blade from its sheath.

You swing, aiming for his exposed neck, but he anticipates your attack. He pushes you, disturbing your balance. You fall to your knees on the sands of Arrakis, breathing heavily as air finally flows freely into your throat.

However, this small moment of bliss does not last long. You roll onto your back and block his attack. Your blades clang as they meet, sweat dripping down your forehead and your heart racing, pumping adrenaline further through your system.

Na-Baron is on one knee, pressing his black steel sword at you. You shiver, feeling your muscles slowly give out, tiring as you try to push him away.

You gasp, pushing both of your blades out of each other's hands. You squeeze his neck in a tight grip, at which he does the most astounding, shocking thing—a thing that you didn't expect anyone to do in this situation.

He takes advantage of your surprise and disarms you. You growl, digging your nails into his neck and squeezing as hard as you can, cutting off any air he can get, but that seems to do no serious harm to him. You gasp as he collapses on top of you, pinning you to the sand with his full weight, and captures your lips in a passionate kiss.

There is nothing gentle about this kiss—and you don't expect it to be. You've learnt that the Harkonnens are rough, brutal, and sadistic. Their leader must therefore be far worse than they are, representative of the thoroughly disgusting nature of his people.

And though you fight and squirm, trying to break free from his grip, you can't say you don't like the way his mouth takes control of yours. You find it strange that even though you hate his insides and everything he stands for, somehow his touch, kisses, and scent still numb you in a… pleasant way.

This must be another spell of his, another trick he uses to draw you into him. You're still not sure exactly how he created this... connection between you, but you know it's definitely not natural. He may have been your soulmate, but centuries ago someone made sure you didn't feel any connection to the person you were supposed to be with.

You shiver as he caresses the skin of your wrist, where a centuries-old scar with the initials of your soulmate is visible. His initials, as it turned out.

"Tell me your name." He demands, pressing wet kisses along your jawline. You hiss at the feel of his cold, black saliva on your skin, the way it soaks into you... you can't waste any water...

You shake your head, trying to pull away from his small kisses, but that only gives him more room to manoeuvre on your skin. You can only sigh and bite your lip as he caresses you through the layers of your clothes, searching like a snake for a place he can crawl into to feel the softness of your skin.

"Your. Name. My. Desert. Rose." He growls with each press of his lips to your skin, fighting against your grip on his neck as you try to strangle him. Which proves to be a difficult task since you’re distracted by sensations he is giving you. Sensations you are ashamed of feeling. But your body can’t recognise an enemy like your mind can.

“Fuck off,” you say, glad for the little bit of control you still have over your body. Your lower half inevitably responds to his demands, growing wet and desperate for his touch. It takes all of your control not to join in his fun and grind against his thigh in time with the way he rubs the growing bulge in his pants against you.

"Oh, I will. As soon as I get my hands on you, I will." He growls against your neck with every last bit of air he has.

You shudder as his teeth sink into your flesh; he groans as if he's just tasted the finest, blood-red wine. The fingers of his hand dig painfully into your hips as he grinds against your core. You bite your lip, barely holding back a moan as you feel his hard length.

"I will find you. I will find you and fuck you until you forget you hate me. You will cry with pleasure, scream, and beg for more. I will turn you into my perfect, obedient whore, my desert rose. I will claim you as I claim Arrakis and your people. You will be a beautiful embodiment of my power—my pretty little prize." He growls against your skin, slowly removing your top layer of clothing. Your body shivers; goosebumps rise on your skin with each gentle brush of his fingertips.

You move your hand to the back of his head, digging your nails into the pale skin. He hisses, sucking a hickey on your neck, unaware that you've stolen his dagger…

You feel him freeze as you drive the dagger straight through his neck. Black blood drips down onto you, running along your collarbone and soaking into the fabric of your bra.

"You… will be mine…" He growls with his last strength, spitting blood at you as the connection between you closes. And you fall into the black void of dreamless sleep. A void where you deeply ponder what you've seen.

~•♤♤♤•~ A month later... ~•♤♤♤•~

You stroll through the marketplace, your nose buried in your black scarf. You discreetly observe the Harkonnen soldiers patrolling the area as you push through the sea of people to get to the waterskin stand.

Some women give you a sympathetic look, seeing your "mourning" attire; others try to look away. You mentally praise yourself for choosing your cover. It wasn't so easy to get a widow's black outfit, but it was worth the effort. The Harkonnens, despite their reputation for great brutality, didn't touch widows and didn't talk to them; they weren't the object of any interest or suspicion. It was strange that in all their brutality, lack of morality, and so on, they respected the period of mourning, especially for women.

You had been on the run from Feyd for a month now. During that time, you had separated yourself from your father and your group so that you could at least protect them from the wrath of the furious Harkonnen who was searching for you.

Although you must admit that the chase after you has slowed considerably in the last few days. You suspect that this had something to do with the baron's arrival on Arrakis. And his... unexpected death.

Yes. Feyd-Rautha became the new baron. You suspected that was why his men had been searching for you so intensely. However, to your great disappointment, he did not leave to Giedi Prime but remained on Arrakis.

You had thought long and hard about the reason, Na-Baron... Baron had decided he had to have you. Sure, you were his soulmate, but why had he decided now that he wanted you on his side? What did you have to offer him that made him willing to slaughter all of your men, destroy Dune, and devote practically all of his soldiers to finding you? There had to be something to it.

Your soulmate mark was the same enigma. There must have been a reason someone decided to cut out your skin with Harkonnen's initials tattooed on it, leaving you with only a faint scar.

You buy water, straining your ears to listen to the rumours carried by the Fremen whispering around you. Everyone was talking about only one thing.

A possible attack by Muad'Dib on the Emperor, his daughter, and the new Baron. These three had gathered recently on Arrrakis to discuss some of their business. Perhaps the main topic of their conversations was the new messiah of your people—the one they had spoken of for centuries, the one who would bring heaven to the sons and daughters of the desert.

You had only seen Muad'Dib once. And you preferred to keep it that way. You didn't read his eyes well. Instead of the expected messiah, you saw a coldly calculating man hungry for power, willing to do anything to avenge those who had brought ruin to his house. Paulk Atreides might have been less of a threat to your people than the Harkonnens, but he was still a threat. Especially his Bene Gesserit mother, who had become the reverend mother. And even more so the child in her womb.

The Harkonnens brought destruction and death. But in your visions (on those nights when you didn't dream of your soulmate/nemesis), you saw Paul Atreides pouring a sea of blood onto Arrakis, which seeped into every tiny sand of Dune.

Neither of them were good choices for your people.

You flinch as a hand lands on your shoulder. You peek out from behind your veil and meet Stilgar's stern gaze.

"What you are doing right now is a profanation." He snorts at you, leading you through the crowd of people and away from the watchful eyes of the Harkonnen soldiers.

"At least I don't attract as much attention as I would without this outfit."

"Let's get out of here. Muad'dib will arrive soon. You'll see, he'll do everything right." He assures you as he leads you out of the market. You shiver as you feel the eyes of passersby on you.

You stumbled upon Stilgar a week ago by accident while travelling to the main city. Your original (crazy) plan was to sneak into the landing site and grab one of the less guarded ships. And a pilot of some sort. It's not like you've had a chance to learn how to fly those weird metal contraptions.

However, your plans changed after your conversation with him. He planned a coup with Muad'dib to get rid of the Harkonnens from the lands of Arrakis once and for all. And your... extraordinary abilities were not unknown to him. You were to help in overpowering the troops so that their messiah could get to the council chamber with his men.

It was supposed to be a quick and short action.

So of course it wasn't like that at all...

You manipulate the blood of the guards, quickly and silently stopping the Harkonnen hearts. Stilgar and Muad'dib and their men follow you through the fortress corridors. You stop only in the council chamber, where the Emperor and the new Baron of Giedi Prime were supposed to be.

But there is no one in the room.

A moment later, Harkonnen troops surround you. You reach out to use your powers, but the moment you try to manipulate the blood in the Harkonnen veins, an unimaginable wave of pain passes through you. You kneel, clutching your stomach, and take a few quick breaths, looking around the room. Your gaze falls on an old Bene Geserit, who is whispering something under her breath, playing with a stone in her hand—a moonstone.

As you writhe in pain on the floor, you are oblivious to everything around you. You feel like every fibre of your body has been burned by the sun, but there is nothing you can do to end your agony.

"One more move, and I will kill her!" Muad'dib screams, pulling you roughly by the hair and pressing his blade to your throat.

Bloody tears begin to flow from your eyes. All you can see is red, your lungs burn, and your breathing becomes too ragged for you to make any kind of threat. Besides, in this state, you have a pretty low level of intimidation.

"Put it down, Atreides... before you do something you will regret." You shiver as you recognise the voice of your soulmate.

"Then let us pass, and maybe I'll spare your bloody witch."

You knew that if they didn't come to an agreement, there would be a real massacre here. And maybe the Fremen seemed to be in a weaker position now, but everyone knew perfectly well that one of their warriors was worth six Harkonnens. But neither side could be sure of victory. After all, it happened more than once that the outcome of the battle was unexpected by both sides.

"You know this is non-negotiable. You're in no position to make demands on me… and she's not worth this much trouble."

"Is that why you chased her across half of Arrakis with your men?"

"It was while we were conquering more territories. I never said that this expedition was specifically dedicated to finding her. As far as I'm concerned, you can cut her sweet throat. My only regret will be that I wasn't the one holding the blade that would inflict her final wound." The man behind you tenses, his grip on your hair tightening in anger and the dagger at your throat twitching dangerously, causing a trickle of blood to leak from the small wound he’d inflicted on you.

"One word from me, and the Atreides' explosives around the spice mines will be destroyed. Including those around the stronghold. I may not get out of this unscathed, but I will drag you all with me to my grave."

"You're bluffing." The Emperor replies coldly, but you can sense the underlying fear in his tone. You didn't know Paul Atreides, but from the rumours about Muad'dib, you could tell he was unpredictable. He could lie just as easily as he could tell the truth. You don't know which was worse.

"Let her go and face me if you want to accomplish anything. As you said earlier: Enough blood has been spilt."

"Since when do you dislike bloodshed?" You can actually see the mocking smile on Muad'dib's face without even having to turn to face him.

"Since I'm not the one who's having the most fun with it." The silence and tension in the room become more noticeable to you than the searing pain in your insides. The tears have stopped falling from your eyes, but it still hurts to breathe. However, you've gotten used to the pain enough that your vision returns, and the blurs in front of you become real people. "Let's finally put an end to this. One-on-one. Winner takes all." The growl of your soulmate sends a cold shiver down your spine.

You weren't quite ready for what was to come, and though you saw flashes of visions of this duel, the outcome never presented itself to you. However, you felt that after this, nothing would ever be the same.

"Rautha..." The Emperor begins with a warning, but before he can finish his sentence and express his concerns, Atreides speaks first:

"I accept."

These two face each other, just like in your dream. Both prepare for battle and present their blades to the other with a mocking "May your knife chip and shatter." The fight begins; both of them deal equal blows to each other, but after a while you realise that it is not Harkonnen who emerges victorious.

The visions you had start to replay before your eyes. You know perfectly well that if you don't react, Feyd will die. And while you liked the idea before, now the thought makes you feel sick, and the pain in your chest only increases.

Suddenly, the sounds around you stop reaching you; all you can hear are the whispers of the Reverend Mother. And suddenly, before you know it, your soulmate scar opens up and begins to bleed. Only your blood isn't red—it's black. You bite your lip to hold back a scream and feel SOMEONE reach for your powers. You are forced to direct the blood in Harkonnen's body and stop the bleeding from the Atreides blade.

This gives Harkonnen enough time to launch a counterattack and deal the final blow to the Atreides.

You gasp in shock, unable to explain why your powers went out of control. Or why blood suddenly began to gush from your wrist. But before you lose consciousness and slump to the floor, you see the dead body of Muad'dib fall to the floor next to you.

As you expected, you wake up chained to a bed with a muzzle in your mouth. You try to break free from your bonds, but it's futile. All you manage to do is shake your chains and make a noise that attracts the attention of the bald Harkonnen's servants.

Five women surround you, trying to keep you in place. You scream and struggle, trying to push their hands away from you as the door swings open with a loud bang.

They freeze the moment Baron Feyd-Rautha enters the room.

He barks a few words at them in their language and waits for them to move away from you. You shiver as you are left alone in the room with him, completely at his mercy and whims. He takes a few slow steps towards you, watching you closely.

"I knew you'd look beautiful chained to the bed." He says teasingly and strokes your cheek with his ring finger.

You tremble under his watchful gaze, your heart beating like crazy, but when you reach for your powers to use them, you feel blocked. You hold your breath in shock as he continues to draw patterns on your cheek, moving lazily to your neck.

"Surprised? I'm a patient man. Very patient. As soon as I heard about your little special ability, I had to find out the source of it… and learn exactly how to control it so you wouldn't rip my heart out of my chest the moment we will be finally alone."

His hand slides down to your chest. You sigh as he cups your breast in his hand, massaging it slowly, digging his fingers into it. You hiss, but no sound comes through the gag. Harkonnen hums, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning closer to you as he continues to abuse your breast through the material of the new clothes you don’t recognise and the blanket you’re covered in.

"Hmm… I think I'd rather hear those little sounds of yours." He says thoughtfully and leans towards you. His nose brushes against yours as you lie frozen beneath him. "And kiss those sinful, irritating lips."

Before you can react, he presses the dagger to your cheek. You shiver as the cold steel grazes your heated skin. Harkonnen takes his time. He plays with you, drawing patterns into your skin, drinking in every hitch in your breath, the quickening movement of your chest, and the look in your eyes as you give him one of your furious ones.

"It's amazing how even after having all your fangs pulled out, you don't lose your ferocity, my little, wild, dessert rose." He cuts your muzzle and removes it from you. You grunt and cough, feeling your throat become terribly dry, almost as dry as it was on Arrakis during the worst sandstorms.

He places a few pillows behind your back, moves you into a sitting position, and holds a glass of water to your lips. You have no choice but to drink, hoping that he doesn't intend to poison you since he went through so much time and effort to find and trap you.

His intense gaze pierces through you, and you wonder what is more uncomfortable—the chains around your wrists and ankles or his blue irises focused entirely on you.

As he places his glass on the table, you finally decide to speak to him.

"I see that I should have stabbed you harder." You growl, looking with distaste at how well he moves. His knee is practically healed.

"I see I should have tied you up tighter." He responds to your attack with equal venom.

"What did you do to me? What did your old hag do? Why don't I feel…"

"Take it easy, little warrior. You don't expect me to tell you my tricks before we get home, do you?" The blood is boiling in your veins. You have an irresistible urge to slow down his heartbeat and make him faint and hit his head on the floor, or better yet, some metal rod, but you don't feel anything. You can't manipulate the blood; you can't feel the hearts beating around you. And you feel so damn defenceless because of it.

"I am at home." You growl angrily, trying your best to fight back the tears that were dangerously starting to form in your eyes.

"No, you're not. Your home is where I am. Which is currently Giedi Prime. We'll land there in two days." You stiffen when you hear this. The knowledge that you're leaving Arrakis and that you'll likely never see your friends and father again hits you like a slap in the face.

"What do you think gives you the fucking right to…"

"As your husband and soulmate, I have the right to certain things." Now you freeze completely at his words. Husband? What the hell? What husband?

"What the fuck?"

"Language." He hisses at you and sits down next to you. He gently smooths your hair, and you catch the glint of a black wedding band on his finger. He smiles when he notices you see his newest piece of jewelry. "We'll have to work on that. Since you're a Baroness, a certain degree of… courtesy and manners is expected of you. But don't worry. I'll make sure you learn the skills you need quickly."

"I'm not your damn wife. Or your soulmate."

"Look at your left hand, my darling."

You reluctantly do as he tells you. You gasp in shock when you see that instead of the familiar scar, you have a black tattoo of his initials. And a huge ring on your ring finger. A matching ring to the one Harkonnen wore now.

"How..."

"A Bene Gesserit sister restored the link between our souls that you so brazenly severed. As a child, I believe. Tell me, were you that afraid of me, my love? Did you never even think for a moment that maybe you should get to know me before you try to destroy such a sacred connection?"

"You will pay for this... I swear you will." You vow to yourself and to him furiously, now only reassuring yourself that you were right about him all along.

"Two years with me, and I'll make sure you don't even think about hurting me, let alone running away from me. Besides, it'll be quite a task to run away with a baby on your breast, don't you think?" He whispers, leaning into you. You move to bite his nose, but unfortunately he pulls away before your teeth can even lightly graze his skin and chuckles darkly.

"Once I get my powers back, I'll make sure you die a long, slow death. You'll beg me to kill you." You growl through your teeth, giving him a hateful look.

He just smiles and strokes your jaw gently, treating you like you were a child who has a tantrum. You want so badly to break free from these chains and hurt him...

"Don't worry, honey. We have plenty of time to get to know each other. But let's get started, what do you think?" Before you can react, he straddles you and crushes his lips against yours.

You buck, trying to somehow throw him off balance and push him off of you, but he only tightens his grip on your arms and presses himself closer to you. His hips grind against yours, showing you all too well how lustfully he reacted to your little struggle with him.

He tangles his hand in your hair and pulls your head back, giving himself better access to your neck. He trails kisses from your lips, along your jaw, and down the column of your neck as he settles his attention on your collarbone. You bite your lip as he bites into you with a growl, much like a wolf gnawing at its prey.

"No lip-biting. I want to hear all the little sounds you make."

"Fuck off, psycho." You growl, struggling beneath him and trying to get away from him. He clicks his tongue at you and runs it along your neck, up to your ear, leaving a wet trail of saliva.

"Is that how you address your dear husband? Haven't these wild rats taught you anything?" He mocks you and pulls out his dagger. To your protests, he cuts your dress in half one swift movement, exposing your bare chest to him. You gasp, surprised when he immediately sucks onto your breast, nipping and teasing your nipple.

Your hands grip the sheets beneath you, and even though you hate him with all your heart, the sensations he's giving you are… more than pleasant. You blush as he slides between your legs and moves his mouth lower and lower.

"My beautiful soulmate and wife, I have waited for you for so long." He mumbles against your skin, brushing his plush soft lips against your breast. You clench your thighs, wanting to block his access to you, but it only stops him for a moment.

In one powerful movement, he spreads your legs and buries his head between your thighs. You cry out as he brutally sinks his teeth into your thigh, marking you and drawing your blood. He licks his lips with a groan, as if it were the sweetest nectar he'd ever tasted, and runs a finger over that new, sensitive wound, spreading your blood up your thigh and all the way up to where you were shamefully wet for him.

These sensations are even more intense than when you were dreaming. You don't know if it's because you now realise that this isn't just a dream and that he poses a real threat to you. You also feel... overwhelmed by emotions. Your desire is much greater, and for a moment it seems to you that your emotions are no longer really just yours...

You sigh as his tongue teases your soaked folds. You try to crush his head between your thighs, but that only seems to encourage him more. You moan as you feel his tongue reach parts of you that you didn’t think he could explore in this position.

Suddenly your hands are free. You pretend not to notice as he undoes the handcuffs on your hands. Your brain works at an incredible speed as you think about what you should do in this situation. Without your powers and weapons, you could do very little, chained to the bed.

He clearly wanted you to give yourself to him, to feel what he felt for you. You could play that game for a while—just until you got your powers back. Then maybe you could somehow escape from him again...

So instead of trying to strangle him, you dig your nails into the back of his head, pulling him closer to you with a soft moan.

He groans at the feeling of your hands on his head. He strokes your hips with his thumbs, drawing meaningless patterns. At least for you. Feyd unconsciously 'writes' various words in his language on your skin. Mainly: mine, wife, baroness, darling, etc.

He mumbles words against your cunt that you can't make out, but from the way he takes ragged breaths and grinds against the mattress beneath him, he's probably whispering hoarse curses in his native language.

You are so close to the edge that you no longer care who is between your legs. Well, at least as long as you are about to reach your blissful pleasure.

His fingers caress your aching core, teasing you as he gently slides the pad of his finger into your very empty pussy. But just as you’re about to reach your release, he pulls away from you, a wicked smirk on his lips as he does so.

"Delicious. Perhaps if you learn to respect your new husband, we can both enjoy this, my darling." He gets up from the bed. He licks his fingers, groaning in appreciation as he watches you closely.

You gasp, sweat dripping down your face as you try to understand why the hell you feel, in addition to immense frustration and anger, also... satisfaction and pride. You blink a few times, catching your breath as you look at him suspiciously.

"You'll see, I'll turn you into my beloved little wife…" He speaks in his native language, gently stroking your cheek and playing with your hair. You frown, unable to understand what he's saying.

You gasp as he suddenly turns and walks towards the entrance.

"Wait! You can't just leave me here like that!"

"Rethink your behaviour, honey. A good wife doesn't call her husband a psychopath. I'll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Y/N." You scream after him, throwing a pillow at him, but instead of hitting him, it bounces off the closed door behind him.

You groan in frustration, both at the loss of your orgasm and the fact that your ankles are still chained to the bed and you can't even go and grab a blanket to cover yourself with.

As you lie there, you wonder how you ended up here. He admitted to researching you, but how on earth did he manage to block your power? And why did your soulmate mark become a black tattoo again? What gave him the right to marry you when you were unconscious? And how the hell did he find out your name?

You realise you've grossly underestimated him. And now you have to pay the price. You sigh, closing your eyes and listening to your surroundings. The ring on your finger is a stark reminder of your defeat. Luckily, the war has only just begun. And this time, you'll play your cards a lot better.

[bunny-jpeg]

I did the last request the vanilla cheesecake with a side of champagne and root beer and I forgot to add my person can it be max verstappen sorry!

bakery menu

thank you for the submission!! also i saw that this was your first time requesting a fic so THANK YOU! if you want to submit an order of your own, hit up the menu for all the information! i write for more than just formula one so go crazy! thank you and enjoy!!

vanilla cheesecake ("where are your manners?") + champagne (sugar daddy au) + root beer (filming/recording) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, filming/recording, collars, degrading language, mean!max, dom/sub dynamics, bondage, sex toys, orgasm denial/control, jealousy

max thought that you were sweet like honey, something to drag his tongue along as he had your ankles at your ears, his cock buried inside of you.

you didn't mind being the play thing of one of the best drivers in the world. you didn't mind that you'd be in your apartment one day and the next day you're in the back of his car heading to his jet to go anywhere in the world.

money wasn't an object to someone who made close to sixty-million dollars a year. even the time he was off racing, you'd still get a pretty deposit in your banking account.

it was a charmed life, but being the sugar baby to a man like max meant indulging in the needs of his. you were a paid service, company as you were once told it was.

and max had some sick little kinks. nothing that bordered on illegal (thank god), but the flying dutchman liked his girls behaving and begging. and you were the prettiest beggar of them all.

"head. forward." he said. he was seated on the couch and you were on your stomach with your arms tied behind your back with a belt and a toy stuck in your slick pussy. you had dropped your head up against the floor for a moment before max corrected you.

you looked up at him and whined a little, "please, sir. please, i promised i'd be good! i didn't realize what i was doing." and tensed up when max turned up the intensity of the vibrator via the remote in his pocket.

max currently looked fairly sleek, in slacks and a white button up. the suit jacket was draped over the arm of the couch and his sleeves were rolled up. those strong forearms were exposed. he was leaned back against the leather couch with his hand in his pocket with the remote in his hand.

he sighed through his nose before he said, "i don't think that's the case, treasure. you know what you did tonight, i'm surprised that you didn't whore yourself at that party."

you tensed up when he lowered the vibrations of the toy. he shifted in his seat a little and kept a stern eye on you. his gaze felt oppressive and it made you squirmed on your stomach. you felt like a worm, weak and vulnerable. prey.

"please, max. please, please, please! i'm sorry! it won't happen again." you arched your back a little and squirmed in your binds.

he made a face, that he wasn't convinced of your apology. he turned off the vibrator and got up from the couch. you could see the painful erection in his slacks more clearly. he walked over to you and held you by the back of the head to look at him. he said, "you are very dumb, treasure." his words were biting, "a dumb little thing." he shook his head a little, "oh max gives me money, so i can act like a slut. norris' hands were up your skirt. i don't like when people touch what is mine, especially another driver."

you flinched a little, but your core swam with want. he was domineering like this. scary in a way that left a thrill of excitement through you. you licked your lips and said, "it wasn't what it looked like."

he nudged you with his shoe and then stepped on the center of your back, right under where your hands were bound. he made a small noise before he turned the vibrator back on to full intensity. you tensed up and threw your head back, but you weren't going far. not bound and under max's shoe.

"i'm not too sure, treasure. i told you when we started this little agreement that you were going to be exclusively mine. i didn't want to share you with other men. i pay you enough to keep you mine." he pressed a little bit on your back and you arched it.

you felt the heat in your cheeks and the wetness between your legs. you panted a little bit, "i promise, i promise i will never let another man touch me." the lust in your body was short circuiting any logical thinking.

he chuckled, a little more convinced now. he took out his phone out of his other pocket and filmed your quivering body. he played with the remote in his other hand as he continued to film you. he took a good shot of your pussy as he watched your wither and moan.

"please, max. please, i'm sorry. i won't let lando touch me again. i thought he was just being friendly!" you moaned as you tried to shift your hips in a way to get the pleasure you need.

he put the camera in your face and your head in his other hand. he chuckled and got the camera close to you, "say that to lando right now, treasure. tell him you're off limits." he could feel the heat in his body grow, you were so painfully pathetic in front of him withering on a toy.

you looked up to the camera, your lips in a pout and your eyes were wet. you sniffed a little bit as you said, "lando. never touch me again. i belong only to max." then arched your back further as he lowered then intensity, only to put it to the max once more.

max rubbed your head and chuckled, "that's it, that's a good little slut. you actually know how to behave. i guess i haven't fucked all of your brains out."

you whimpered when you realized that max had full control over your orgasm. he was edging you when he finished filming you. you wondered if the video would actually be sent to lando at the end of this. the prospect of it excited you, maybe you liked the way max treated you like an object when he was upset.

he eventually had enough of the teasing he was doing to you. he got behind your naked, bound form. his phone on the floor beside him. he was still clothed with his cock out of his pants.

he loved the sight of you naked under him when he clothed. you shuddered at his oppressive gaze and winced when he took the toy out and replaced it with his cock. you squirmed under his touch and bucked against him. but a swift slap across the ass calmed you.

"you're so pretty like this." he said, "you're so painfully pretty on your shoulders and knees, letting me fuck the daylights out of you. you look good under me. it's where you belong."

you gasped against the hardwood floor under your. your cheek pressed against it as he started to rub against you. his large hands on your hips, keeping you pinned to him as he thrusted into you quickly,

there was no time for romantic pleasantries, he needed you at that moment. he needed to feel that sweet cunt around his cock as he fucked you. his possessiveness for you grew with each thrusts of his cock.

"please, max." you panted, "shit, please." you gasped as you moved against your binds. you felt the knot in your stomach as he fucked you without much abandon.

"see, you can be good." max groaned. he was obsessed with you, that was why he was luring you in with heavy stacks of cash. he could bruise your insides with his cock if it meant that you'd get something shiny out of it. it was almost cute, too easy for him to trap you.

the rabbit between the lion's jaw.

"max, i'm sorry. please, i want to be your good girl." you panted heavily.

he held onto the meat of your hips tighter and bullied that impressive cock of his deep into your sweet pussy. he wanted to make sure that he marked you inside and out.

pretty thing like you need to be owned. kept next to him, not running off with the likes of lando. things sparked in the back of his mind as he thrusted in and out of you.

he'd make sure next time that you knew who you belonged to before you both went out partying. maybe a collar next time, a nice piece of sturdy leather with a lock that only he could open.

so even if lando got his hands on you, max's name around your neck would be a reminder to him and anyone else that you were claimed territory.

"i know you can be my good girl." he said, "just lie there and let me fuck you. you're mine, got it?"

you swallowed, "yes, max!" you felt the heat curl in your gut the more that he fucked you. your head swam with pleasure, the aggressiveness to his movements were all getting too much.

he shuddered and pushed his cock as deep as it would go. he felt his pace stagger when you clenched around him and finally came. it was all too much for you. usually he'd make you beg to climax, but he had done enough damage tonight. your poor pussy was probably nice and bruised.

max would make it all up in the morning with something expensive. he'd wave a stack of euros in your face and all would be forgiven. he thrusted heavily a few more times before he pushed it in all the way to the base and finished inside of you.

he prayed the birth control he paid for worked like it did every other time. but a sick part of his brain hoped that it failed. he hoped that you got pregnant and stuck carrying his kid. then at least lando wouldn't touch you, hard to get his hand up your skirt when you're nice and pregnant with a verstappen brat.

he grit his teeth and grumbled, "that's it, that's a good girl." he landed a smack across your ass as he finished. his pace slowed and he panted heavily. he leaned back on his heels and admired the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor pussy.

you've learned your lesson. you were going to be max's good girl. you were simply his expensive play thing, but the more max sank his cock into the gummy soft pussy of yours. the more the addiction came over him, max was getting greedy with your time.

and soon he'd want to devour your whole <3