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mishappeningss · 15 days ago

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MORE THAN A DRIVER

CHAPTER THREE

more about driver!yn

formula one + female!driver!reader smau + irl

Drive to Survive — Episode 1 🏎️ Featuring: YN LN — From MotoGP to Formula 1

Warnings: covers the theme of misogyny, foul language

“Starting out in MotoGP was… isolating in ways most people don’t understand. Being a woman on the grid was carrying this invisible weight.”

YN sits alone in a quiet room, the dim light casting soft shadows. She looks directly into the camera, her voice steady — but charged with emotion.

“Every move I made was under a microscope. People doubted me even before I took the first corner. Racing wasn’t about fitting in. That crash? It shook me, but it didn’t break me”.

The screen cuts to a harsh black screen and cuts to a new hypnotic crawl as YN’s crash replays in horrifying detail. The bike skids, the crowd gasps and falls into silence, afraid of making a noise. The biker falls hard. The image cuts sharply to the blinding hospital lights, sterile and cold, where YN lies battered and bruised, hooked to monitors, gripping the harsh truth that her riding days might just be over.

Sarah Ryland, MotoGP Crew Chief: DTS Interview

“YN had fire from the start. I remember telling the people around me, ‘Watch this girl — she’s going places.’ But the paddock was brutal."

Sarah’s voice carries a mixture of sadness and pride as she reflects on the days in the past.

“The doubts she faced weren’t just about skill, but about her being a woman. That’s a hard thing to battle when the whole world was against you. When the crash happened, many thought that this would be the end of her career. But I knew better."

Mercedes Media Day

YN steps up onto the podium, the flash of the camera blinding every corner of the room. She stands tall, poised even — but her heartbeat rapid drumbeat that was as fast as her racing car.

“YN, you’ve transitioned from MotoGP to Formula 1, a word many say is different. What made you make this decision?”

YN’s voice clears the whispers around the room, clear and strong.

“They say it’s different, and it really is. I’m not here to be novelty — or to be a headline. I’m here because I’m a racer. Speed doesn’t have a gender, and neither does talent."

The room falls momentarily silent — respect mingled with disbelief — before the cameras snap furiously.

Toto Wolff, Team Principal & CEO of the Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team: DTS Interview

“Signing YN LN was a calculated risk. Some thought we were chasing headlines. But what I saw was a fierce competitor, someone with a mindset of a champion."

Toto sits in the Mercedes hospitality suite, his hands folded.

“She’s not here to play games, she’s here to rewrite the story."

Melbourne, Australia Grand Prix — YN’s first race day

YN sits strapped into her Mercedes, fingers twitching lightly on the steering wheel — enough to be captured by the camera — She lowers her visor, shutting out the noise, the chatter, the doubts.

The light sequence begins. The red lights ignite in sequence.

The loud roar of the engines explode as the lights go out. YN’s car drives forward with purpose. Into Turn 1, the pack compresses; she holds her line, avoiding contact.

Lap after lap, she battles against experienced rivals, every gear change a threat to hours of preparation and raw determination.

YN LN: DTS Interview

“Every lap felt like a test. The whole paddock was watching, some hoping I’d fail. I wasn’t there to play it safe, I was there to prove I belonged."

Side by side with McLaren racer Oscar Piastri, YN pushes harder. Tires scream, but her brakes scream louder. She keeps her composure — eventually settling in for a strong third-place finish.

Lewis Hamilton, Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team: DTS Interview

“She surprised everyone. She came in with fire and kept her composure under pressure. That’s how you can tell she’s a true racer.”

POST-RACE PRESS CONFERENCE — Australian GP

P1. Lando Norris

P2. Max Verstappen

P3. YN LN

Cameras roll from the back of the press hall. Lights hot, sweat still fresh. The crowd is buzzing with excitement.

Three podium finishers enter side by side. Lando is still glowing, almost disbelieving. Max walks with his usual guarded body language. And YN?

She’s calm, maybe too calm for someone who just landed a podium on her debut.

Her suit is still half-zipped, hair clinging to her temples under the lights. Her hands are marked with faint tire grit from the race fought on the edge. She walks to the table like she belongs there — and that’s because she does.

And when she sits, the cameras don’t know where to look.

A moderator gently asks, “Alright… congratulations, gentlemen. And YN — I imagine that word hits different tonight,” He smiles warmly.

“Your first ever Formula One Grand Prix. First ever podium. What’s going through your head right now?”

Leaning forward and exhaling slowly, YN replies,

“It’s loud, but it’s quiet. I… I can’t feel my legs, but I still remember every corner of that race. I just don’t want to forget any of this.”

The press room quiets down, sensing the weight in her words. She laughs softly, hand tapping her bottle cap.

“I used to watch this sport from my garage. I was just a girl with a dirt bike and now I’m here, on this stage. With this team, and I still don’t believe it.”

A couple of questions answered here and there by both Lando and Max, the controversial questions came.

A reporter says smugly, “Some critics say your seat at Mercedes was more of a statement than a strategy. That perhaps, it wasn’t fully earned. Does today silence that?”

YN’s expression goes still. Jaw sharp. Soft smile all gone now.

“You watched the same race I did, right?” Long pause, she lets the silence hang.

“If I have to prove myself after today, then that’s not on me. That’s on the lens people choose to see me through,” YN leans back slightly, then deadpans,

“But if they do want more proof, they can tune in next weekend.”

The room erupts. Even Max lets out a small snort of amusement. Lando was seen visibly mouthing “OOHHH.”

Rivals respond time--What does YN’s rivals say about her performance this race?

“Max, you were behind YN briefly during pit rotations. Thoughts on her pace today?”

Max nods as he replies, “She didn’t flinch. Some rookies brake early or panic in the mirrors. She didn’t, that says something.”

“Thanks. Though you weren’t exactly subtle trying to pass me,” YN says grinning slightly.

In return, Max shrugs, “Wasn’t trying to be.”

It’s Lando’s turn, leaning toward his mic, still riding the high.

“Look, I won today and that’s amazing. But sharing the podium with YN? That’s gotta be memorable, honestly. Not because it’s historic, but because she earned the hell out of it.”

Smile on her face growing by the second, YN replies quietly, “Congratulations again, Lando. You deserved every second of that champagne.”

��Last question YN, what’s the headline that you want tomorrow?” YN smiles slowly, her eyes lighting up.

“Just my name, no ‘female driver,’ nothing. Just YN LN, Mercedes. P3.”

She wasn’t supposed to land on that podium. She wasn’t supposed to last. But she’s not here to meet expectations.

She’s here to rewrite them.

hi lovessss, i hope u enjoyed this :) more to come in the next chapters — but if you’d like to see more of driver!reader like her radios, interviews, leave me a message in my inbox! likes and reblogs are appreciated. love lots! x

taglist: @omgsuperstarg @hymntostars @dollyvuu @halleest @smh-anon @scentedrosa @ceekokocee15 @melancholicandmessy @heavenbabyg @milkiane @jajouska @stqrgirlies-blog @imdyinghelpplease @iikissagirl @moonlight52moonlight @hollandxstanley @sleutherclaw @deaddumblbumble @iamdedsthingz @scuderiapng @ninass-world @lagrandeourse @kodzuvk @reallifemermaidprincess @enfppuff

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slutforvoldy · 3 months ago

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“ DRIVEN TO YOU. ” ( kimi antonelli ! )

SUMMARY: the reader swore that she will never fall for a driver—but fate has a way of forcing you to break the rules you made to protect your heart.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: enemies to lovers, lots of banter, chaotic timeline, mentions death, mentions crashes

pairing: kimi antonelli x female!reader

FLASHBACK – EIGHT YEARS AGO Abu Dhabi Grand Prix – Final Lap

THE WORLD WAS on its feet.

The sky was painted in orange fire and smoke as the sun set over Yas Marina, casting long shadows across the pit lane. Your fingers curled around the armrest of the VIP paddock seat, knuckles white.

"Dad’s gonna win," You whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible over the roar of engines.

And he was.

He was flying down the straight, purple sectors lighting up the timing screen. His name is in bold gold. Your heart raced as you clutched the little plush your dad gave you before every race.

Then came the scream.

Not yours. The tires. The engine. The crowd. The silence.

The screen flickered and cut to the on-board camera. Then off.

“Red flag! Red flag!”

You stood, too stunned to cry.

The car had flipped—rolled once, then twice, before slamming into the barriers. Sparks. Fire. Smoke.

You didn’t remember how you got to the hospital. Only the cold sterility of the waiting room. Your mother holding you too tight. Reporters outside. The security trying to keep them out.

And the doctor. White coat, clipboard. Words you couldn’t understand until your mom collapsed into sobs.

He didn’t make it.

Your father. The world champion. Your hero.

Gone.

You were only ten. Too young to lose him.

That was the moment you made the promise.

I’ll never love another driver. I won’t love anything that can be taken from me like that ever again.

Never again.

PRESENT DAY — MONACO

“You’re coming,” Ollie insisted, holding the door of the Haas motorhome open like it was a threat.

“I’m not.”

“You owe me. I was there for your university showcase, remember? Now you show up for my FP1 debrief.”

“You’re evil.”

“I’m your best friend.”

“Same thing.”

Reluctantly, you followed him inside. The scent of rubber, adrenaline, and overpriced coffee clung to the air. You tried not to look too long at the cars—especially not at the one with “ANTONELLI” written in bold on the side of the W16.

That was the other problem.

Kimi Antonelli.

Ollie’s best friend. The new golden boy at Mercedes. A name with pressure carved into it and a future brighter than the sun. And a complete pain in your ass.

Both of you had met once. That was all it took to decide you couldn’t stand each other.

FLASHBACK — A FEW MONTHS AGO

Your memory of your first encounter with Kimi still made you cringe. You were just a shadow in the paddock, trying to stay out of the way, when Kimi had walked up to you, all confidence and arrogance wrapped in a Mercedes jacket. His piercing gaze had swept over you in a way that made you feel like you were under a microscope. And, of course, that’s when you opened your mouth.

“Seriously, who are you? Some kind of new poster boy for Mercedes?”

He had laughed, his eyes glinting with mischief. “No. I’m just the guy who’s going to take your precious Ollie down a peg.”

“Right. Like that’s gonna happen.”

You didn't mean to sound so dismissive, but something about him rubbed you the wrong way—his smug attitude, the way he carried himself as if he was already the champion of F1.

“I’m Kimi, by the way,” he said, extending his hand with a sly grin.

“I don’t care.”

He had chuckled and dropped his hand, unbothered. “Well, you’re cute when you’re mad. You should smile more.”

You stared at him, speechless, and muttered, “I hate you.”

The smirk never left his face. “Likewise.”

PRESENT DAY

You didn’t look up when he entered the lounge, but you felt him—like static in the air.

“I know that glare,” he said, grabbing a water bottle. “Who pissed you off this time?”

“You, probably.”

��I haven’t said a word yet.”

“Exactly.”

He sat across from you, stretching like a cat who knew he was being watched.

“Take a shower, Antonelli. I can smell you from here.”

He smirked. “Care to join me?”

“In your dreams.”

“You’re not denying it’s your dream too.”

“I’m denying everything about you.”

“You always do.”

You groaned. “I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why everyone fawns over you. You’re not that good looking, alright?”

“So you admit I’m good looking?”

“What? N-no. Never.”

“Too late. Already heard it.”

“You’re impossible...” You started. “It’s impossible not to hate you.”

“It’s impossible not to hate you,” he mocked in a voice that made you throw a cushion at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to murder me but also like… you want me.”

He paused, just for a second, eyes flickering over your face. “That’s oddly specific.”

You stood abruptly. “I need air.”

“Running again?”

“No. Leaving, because you’re unbearable.”

“You sure it’s not because you like me?”

You froze in the hallway, heart lurching. “I don’t like you.”

He stared at you, gaze unreadable. “You sure?”

“You piss me off.”

“You intrigue me.”

“Go to hell, Antonelli.”

“I’ll save you a seat.”

BARCELONA — A FEW DAYS LATER

At Barcelona, the media pen was buzzing with post-race chatter, and you were standing impatiently, waiting for Ollie to finish his interviews. But before you could zone out, a familiar voice broke through the crowd.

Kimi, leaning against a nearby wall, smirked as he crossed his arms. “Didn’t know the devil followed races now.”

You didn’t even glance at him, eyes still fixed on the chaos around you. “Didn’t know children were allowed in the paddock.”

He took a step closer, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “You’re cute when you’re mean.”

Your patience snapped. “Yeah, well, I’m cute when I punch people, too.” Without waiting for his response, you spun on your heel and stormed off, your heart racing. You didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his smirk following you.

MONTREAL – A FEW WEEKS LATER

A few weeks later, while you were both waiting for their drivers’ meeting in the paddock, Kimi leaned casually against the wall, watching the bustle of activity around them. You stood nearby, focused on your phone, trying to ignore him.

Kimi’s voice cut through her concentration. “You know, if you ever want any advice on how to look less miserable, I’m your guy.”

You shot him a sideways glance. “Oh, right, you’re the expert on looking happy while being an arrogant prick.”

He grinned. “It’s an art, really.”

“Yeah,” You said with a sharp exhale. “A sad, sorry art.”

Kimi’s smile only widened. “Maybe I like making you mad. Makes you more fun.”

You glared at him. "I’m not here to entertain you, Antonelli."

He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “Too bad. You’re way more entertaining when you’re pissed off.”

You crossed your arms, trying to look unaffected. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice teasing. “But you still don’t hate me enough to leave.”

SPIELBERG – A FEW DAYS LATER

During Free Practice, you and Kimi were both standing near the track, watching the cars zoom by. Kimi, ever the teasing presence, couldn’t resist.

“You know, you look better when you’re focused on something other than me,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I wasn’t aware I was ever focused on you.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” he replied, a mocking tone in his voice. “But I’m pretty sure your mind just doesn’t shut up about me.”

“Oh please,” You shot back, “My mind’s too busy thinking about more important things than your annoying face.”

Kimi chuckled, leaning closer, his voice lowering slightly. “Well, I don’t mind being the thing you think about, even if it’s only in passing.”

You groaned, knowing he was trying to get under your skin. But as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t help but notice how distracting he was at that moment.

That night, after another grueling FP3 session, you found yourself standing outside the garages, the chill of the night air cutting through your jacket. You were exhausted, but you needed a few moments to breathe before heading back to your hotel.

But you hadn’t expected to see him.

But there he was, leaning casually against the wall, his Mercedes jacket unzipped, his arms folded.

“Thought you’d run off already,” he said, his voice carrying the same playful tone as always.

“I’m not running. I’m staying away from you,” you replied, your voice sharp.

He raised an eyebrow. “Still mad I beat Ollie in qualifying?”

You couldn’t hold back the frustration anymore. “God, it’s not about that,” you snapped. “You always think it’s about you.”

Kimi straightened, stepping closer. “What is it really, [L/N]? Why do you hate me so much?”

“I hate Formula 1. I hate you.”

There was a pause—a heavy silence that lingered like a storm cloud. He couldn’t have expected your words to cut so deep.

“Why?” he asked, his voice quieter this time. “Did your ex used to race or something?” He chuckled

You froze. His words hit too close to home. Your body trembled as the memories came rushing back.

“My dad was a driver,” You said in a raw whisper, barely able to contain the emotion. “He died in a crash. I watched it happen. That’s why I hate this world. And you—” You shook your head, blinking furiously to hold back the tears. “I swore I’d never love anything that could be taken from me like that.”

For a moment, there was no sound. Just the rush of blood in your ears.

Kimi took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “I didn’t know.”

“You wouldn’t have known,” you whispered back.

“I’m sorry,” Kimi said, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It doesn’t change anything,” You said, wiping your face.

And then, as if to put distance between the two of you, you crossed your arms and said, “By the way, nothing is gonna change between us because of this, okay?”

His gaze softened, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because they both knew everything had changed.

They hadn’t spoken about that night.

Not in Silverstone, not in the messages Kimi never sent, and certainly not now—walking past each other in the paddock like nothing had changed. But it had.

You felt it every time he looked at you.

It wasn’t hatred anymore. It wasn’t even annoyance.

It was knowing.

Knowing your grief. Knowing the promise you made. Knowing how close he was to breaking it.

And worse? You were letting him.

That terrified you more than the memory of the crash.

Ollie had finished P5. Kimi took P2. You found yourself in the back of the paddock, waiting for Ollie, when you saw Kimi approach—sweaty, still in his fireproofs, a towel around his neck.

“You came,” he said, not smug for once. Just surprised.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I came for Ollie.”

“Right,” he said, stepping closer. “You always hang around where I am, for Ollie.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. “I’m not here for you, Antonelli.”

“Sure you’re not,” he said softly, and for once, there was no edge.

Just something warm. Dangerous.

You looked away. “You still drive like a maniac.”

“You still look at me like you want to throw something.”

“I usually do.”

But the banter had lost its bite.

SPA – A FEW WEEKS LATER

After the red flag incident at Spa, you found yourself back in the garage, trying to shake off the trembling feeling you got from seeing the crash footage. Your hands were still shaking, and you kept your head low, hoping no one would notice. But Kimi noticed. He always noticed.

As you turned to leave the garage, Kimi followed you, his footsteps purposeful and steady. He caught up with you just outside, where the noise of the race seemed to fade, and there was only the sound of breathing.

"You good?" His voice was low, almost careful.

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure of how to explain the way the sight of the crash rattled you. He waited, not pushing, but not walking away either. It was a rare moment for Kimi—showing concern without making a joke.

“I’m fine,” you finally muttered, but the words felt weak.

“You’re lying.” His bluntness was almost comforting. Kimi wasn’t one for small talk or pity. He was straightforward, and there was something about that honesty that made you want to open up.

“I don’t... I don’t like seeing crashes,” you admitted quietly, almost as if you hadn’t intended to say it out loud. “It reminds me of... something.”

Kimi didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, he stepped a little closer, his expression unreadable.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked simply. No teasing, no sarcasm—just a genuine offer to listen.

For a split second, you almost said yes, but you swallowed the words. "No," you whispered, shaking your head. "I just need some air."

Without another word, Kimi simply nodded, respecting your space. But there was a subtle softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. A quiet understanding made your chest tighten.

Kimi found you again in the paddock the next week. And the next. Every time, a little softer, a little less like a contest.

He’d offer you a water bottle after a tough session, like he cared but didn’t know how to show it. He’d pass you a jacket when you stayed too long in the cold, only to have you stare at it with suspicion before you wrapped it around your shoulders.

None of these moments were confessions. But they were becoming something.

One evening, after another sweaty FP3 session, he handed you a bottle of water. “You look like you’re gonna faint.”

You stared at him, not blinking. “And I suppose that’s a you problem?”

“You sure?” Kimi smirked. “’Cause I’m concerned.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And I suppose you think I’ll just melt into your arms now?”

“Maybe.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes. “Get lost.”

In another night, when Ollie left to debrief with his team, Kimi found you lingering in the garage. Alone.

“Stay in here too long, and you’ll freeze to death,” he said, throwing a jacket over your shoulders.

“You’ve been watching me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kimi shot back, eyes avoiding yours. “Just—take the jacket.”

You didn’t respond, but for the first time, you didn’t push it away.

Eventually, the boundaries between hate and something else got thinner.

You would never admit it but truth be told, you liked him in ways you couldn’t explain—especially when you remembered the promise you made to yourself. So you hated him instead.

Sometimes, you pass each other in the paddock tunnels, and Kimi would mutter something under his breath — usually sarcastic, occasionally sincere — and you’d snap back with something equally sharp, but neither walked away fast enough.

There was the time he stood behind you in the coffee queue and, without asking, added an extra sugar to your cup before handing it over like it was no big deal. “You always forget,” he said, without looking you in the eye. You didn’t remember ever telling him how you liked your coffee.

Another time, you tripped over a cable while backing up from a chaotic post-race moment, and Kimi instinctively caught you by the waist, steadying you. His hand stayed there longer than it needed to. Long enough that when he finally let go, her skin still felt warm.

There were more moments like that. Subtle, unspoken exchanges chipped away at the distance between them. Like when he unexpectedly stood next to you, post-race. Neither of you spoke, but just having him there—his quiet presence beside you as both of you pretended to ignore the world around you—was enough. It was different than before. More comfortable. More... real.

You tried to ignore the growing feelings that you couldn’t quite shake off. It was stupid. You hated him. You had to. He was an F1 driver. He lived a life that was dangerous and unpredictable. He reminded you too much of what you had lost, what you had sworn to never let back into your life. And yet, with every passing day, it became harder to deny the pull between the two of you.

You still hated him. But there was something else, too.

Something you couldn’t name yet, something you weren’t ready to confront.

After a tense week of press events and interviews, you and Kimi found yourselves in an unusual situation: standing on the roof of the Mercedes garage. It was late, the stars bright against the clear sky, and the bustling noise of the paddock below felt far away.

Kimi was leaning on the railing, his eyes on the horizon. You stood next to him, still trying to figure out why you didn’t feel like pushing him away.

"What's your deal?" you asked, your voice breaking the silence.

He didn’t look at you, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "What do you mean?"

"You’re not the same," you said, unsure if you even meant to say it aloud. "After that day, you're... different."

Kimi let out a slow breath, then finally glanced at you. “I didn’t expect you to break down in front of me, you know. But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t notice things.”

You shrugged, feeling the familiar guard come up. “I don't need your pity.”

But Kimi shook his head. “You don’t have to act tough all the time. It’s alright to let people help.”

The words hung in the air between them, and for the first time in a long time, the walls you'd built up felt a little thinner. He didn’t need to say anything more. Kimi was never one for comforting words, but somehow, his presence was more than enough.

“I don’t need your help,” you muttered, but the way you said it was different this time—softer.

Kimi raised an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you need it?”

You didn’t answer, but for a brief second, you allowed yourself to lean closer, just a fraction. He didn’t pull away.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, the admission more vulnerable than you ever intended it to be.

MONZA – A FEW WEEKS LATER

You were in the Haas hospitality lounge when it happened. Watching from the screen.

Lap 27. Wet track. Cold tires.

Kimi was fighting for P3. Fast, aggressive, typical Kimi. Then—

The slide.

The barrier.

The silence.

Yellow flag. No movement from Car 12.

“No,” you whispered.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as the screen cut to the crash angle. His car crumpled against the wall. Debris was scattered across the track.

“No,” you said louder, this time running.

Ollie shouted after you. People turned. Cameras clicked, but you didn’t care.

You were already sprinting toward the medical center, soaked by rain, panic building with every step.

Not again.

Not him.

Please, not him.

You burst through the doors of the medical center, breathing heavily. You almost stumbled when you saw him sitting there, his helmet off and looking slightly dazed but not seriously hurt. Relief flooded through you, and you rushed to his side.

He looked up, eyes unfocused for a moment, before he smirked. "You came to see me?"

"Don't get used to it," you muttered, your voice betraying how shaken you were. "I just—"

"Yeah," Kimi interrupted with a teasing grin, "You care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone."

“I thought—” your voice broke, tears spilling. “God, I thought you were gone.”

He stood, pain shooting through him, but he moved anyway. “Hey, hey, I’m okay.”

You clutched his arm, sobbing, forehead against his chest.

You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were. “I just... I couldn’t lose someone else,” you whispered, barely audible.

Kimi's smirk softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your arm. "You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere."

For once, the teasing was gone. He wasn’t making light of the situation, but instead, offering something far more genuine: reassurance.

The quiet tension between them melted, and in that moment, for the first time, you let yourself relax.

“I should’ve stayed away from all this,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I told myself I would.”

“I know.”

“I swore I’d never fall for a driver. Never again.”

Kimi fully turned to you, his gaze steady. “But you did.”

Silence.

Then, barely audible: “Yeah.”

A breath. His thumb brushed against your face.

“I was scared of you,” you admitted. “You reminded me of everything I lost.”

“You still scare me,” he said. “You made me feel things I wasn’t ready for.”

“I don’t want to lose you like I lost him.”

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “You won’t. But even if—if that day comes—I’d rather have you now than regret never letting you in.”

A tear slid down your cheek. You didn’t wipe it away.

“You make it really hard to hate you.”

“I’ll take that as progress,” he said with a small smile.

You sniffed. “By the way, nothing’s changed. I still hate you.”

He laughed softly. “Of course you do.”

But they both knew.

Everything had changed.

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carionto · 3 months ago

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The terrifying sound of silence

"Where is the Human?"

A question that incites dread across the Galaxy. And no greater when the Human in question is an engineer.

For weeks after her arrival aboard the Coalition joint exploration vessel Ulmanar's Resilience, the Human Jenna had been pestering everyone about the technical specifications, tolerances, build schematics, design philosophy, power outputs, and countless other microscopic details.

At first everything seemed normal, Humans are known to be curios, especially the technically minded ones, and her job would entail managing parts of the vessel's systems, so everyone was as helpful as they could.

Then Jenna started tinkering.

'Optimizing' is how she described it.

Admittedly, most of her modifications resulted in marginal improvements to energy distribution and mechanical motion efficiency. Although the fact the power reactors started to make audible noise was... unusual, but the readings said everything was fine, and the fact a day passed without explosions put everyone at ease - this was partly why a Human engineer was brought along in the first place.

During a short stop at a supply station before our first descent onto an uncharted planet, Jenna was the first to rush off with several cargo drones in the direction of the shipyard district. She was the last to return mere minutes before the scheduled departure, all covered in dust and oil, and the drones straining under the weight of everything she had procured.

"Don't worry, it's gonna be awesome." she declared.

It had been a while since our training and none of us had encountered other Humans in the meantime, so all of us had forgotten to immediately be alarmed by those words and question everything she was doing.

The following weeks of transit to our destination were marked by a severe lack of Jenna interactions or even sightings. The shuttle bay was a mess of disassembled craft, loose parts flung about, and sparks and rattling noises coming from the bowels of whatever was going on.

Unbeknownst to us, for the idea itself was ludicrous, Jenna was only within the vessel half of the time during this period. The other half she was in her spacesuit tinkering with the exterior of the vessel. Laser cutters and cold welding, not to mention the vacuum of space, make for a very silent work environment.

Perhaps it was instinct for most of us to avoid the confusing actions of a predator species descendant, as once we arrived to the designated planet, we learned we only had two surface shuttles left. Out of sixteen.

"This baby can land now!" Jenna happily said.

Confused beyond measure, we asked: "What do you mean 'this baby?"

"The ship, you know, Ulmanar's Resilience. We can land the whole thing now instead of doing this boring shuttling down thing. Plus the terraforming bot wouldn't fit in a shuttle anyway."

"The what?" our confusion continued.

"Yeah, we're gonna terraform this planet, right? That's what I got from the briefing back before joining you guys." she explained with innocence in her eyes.

There must have been some miscommunication, but the work had been done, and as far as our own technicians (who were scolded harshly for not keeping track of such grand changes to the entire vessel) did confirm that, as far as their understanding of mechanics and physics went, Ulmanar's Resilience can now indeed endure descent and commence takeoff from up to a 6G world.

So I guess that's what we're doing now. Preliminary surveys from past unmanned missions had suggested this world was once in the past and potentially now habitable again, and we suppose the Humans had decided to just set that in motion before more detailed analysis had occurred.

"Oh yeah," Jenna interjected, "if it turns out this place is, like, super dangerous and a threat to the Galaxy if we accidentally wake something up, I modified one of the scanning dishes to be a deep drill laser. Two hours of firing it at the core of the planet and it'll go boom."

...

"The planet, not the laser dish. That will explode if left on for more than three hours."

...

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are space australians #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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foone · 6 months ago

Text

Robot girl, finally back online after a year and a half, looking at the newly outfitted soldering station. There's a lot more tools on it than there were when she last closed her eyes: Inspection microscopes, hot air reflow, EEPROM programmers, logic analyzers, thermal cameras and regulated power supplies. She starts to tear up when she sees the video history of her partner (and repairperson): months and months of electronic tutorials, starting simple ("what is a circuit?") and towards the end there's PCB design classes and CCC videos about reverse engineering secure processor firmware.

"You did all this, for me?" she asks, her voice sounding different from how she remembers it, lacking the stutterglitch and 8-bit audio harshness. Her partner smiles. "I thought I'd lost you... I couldn't live with that. I had to!"

She hugs them in a pile of spare parts, servos moving smoothly for the first time in decades, pressure sensors finally accurate enough to hold them without risk of crushing them.

Sometimes, love is stored in the soldering iron.

#robotgirls #robot girls

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mindmelter · 4 months ago

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Turn A Bully Into A Drone

The moment Ethan stepped into the empty locker room, he knew his plan had worked. The shower was running and there he was—Jace, his high school tormentor, standing under the water, his white dress shirt completely drenched and clinging to his muscular body while wearing black speedos. His chiseled abs and big, perky pecs were fully visible through the soaked fabric, and his face... Blank. Emotionless. Obedient.

Ethan's hands reached out and unbuttoned Jace's shirt, revealing his big pecs.

Ethan’s heart raced as he took in the sight. It had all led up to this. The months of planning, the late nights spent perfecting the nanorobots, the careful engineering to ensure they would only activate upon contact with Jace’s skin. He had spent years enduring Jace’s cruel pranks, his cocky smirks, and the way he strutted around the school like he owned it. Jace was feared by everyone, and this granted him the title of the leader of the most arrogant group of jocks.

But now he was standing motionless, allowing the nerd he used to bully to enjoy the sight of his muscular body.

It had been easy for Ethan. Despite being a troublemaker, Jace was the golden boy of the swim team and would spend hours in the pool every day. All Ethan had to do was introduce the microscopic machines into the water supply and let them do their work. The moment Jace dove in, the nanorobots detected their target and swarmed toward him, slipping through his pores, traveling through his bloodstream, and finally settling in his brain. They rewrote his brain cells, stripped away his arrogance, his free will, and molded him into exactly what Ethan wanted.—His personal drone.

And the proof was right there. A small tattoo of a triangle behind Jace’s ear—a mark left by the nanorobots once their work was complete. Ethan had spotted it this morning when Jace took a swim, when he stepped out of the pool, his usual swagger was gone, his movements just a little too stiffy, his eyes just a little too empty.

Ethan watched as the swimmers all went to the locker room, and went home after getting dressed. Jace was the only one who stayed behind.

And now, here he was, standing under the shower, waiting for Ethan just like the nanorobots were programmed to do.

Ethan stepped forward and reached out, slowly pressing his palm against Jace’s broad, wet chest, feeling the firm warmth beneath the wet skin. Jace had always been built, his swimmer’s body honed to perfection. He would have never allowed a guy like Ethan to touch him, but now there was no resistance, no cocky smirk, no taunting insult. Just stillness.

Ethan let his fingers roam lower, finding one of Jace’s nipples. He gave it a testing pinch, rolling it between his fingers. Jace shuddered. A small, involuntary gasp slipped from his lips, but he didn’t move away.

“You like that? You arrogant prick,” Ethan murmured, squeezing his pecs harder. “From now on, these are mine. You understand?”

Jace’s lips parted. “Yes… Master. These pecs are yours.” His voice was distant, dreamy, like a zombie.

The triangle mark on his neck glowed with blue light for a few seconds, indicating that a new command had been installed in Jace's brain.

Ethan grinned. “You’re gonna be my obedient toy now, Jace. No more bullying, no more acting like you’re better than me. From now on, you’re gonna crave my touch.” His hands moved with purpose, pinching both of Jace’s nipples and twisting. Hard. Jace let out a strangled moan, his legs trembling. Ethan felt a rush of power, of pure satisfaction. This was what he deserved.

Before, Jace would have punched Ethan just for looking at his pecs. Now, all Jace could think about was how those slabs of muscles on his chest weren't his anymore, but now belonged to Ethan.

“My touch makes you so horny,” Ethan cooed, rubbing slow circles around Jace’s hardened buds. “Your pecs are so sensitive now. So sensitive that from now on, you can only cum when I play with them.”

The triangle mark glowed again, Jace gasped, his entire body quivering under the shower’s stream. “Please…”

Ethan smirked. “Please what?”

"Please make me cum, Master!" Jace let out a desperate whimper, but Ethan wasn’t feeling generous. He pinched harder, twisting cruelly, and Jace let out a deep, shuddering moan. His whole body tensed, and his cock thobbed inside his tight speedos—then he came, his face contorted in helpless pleasure.

Ethan chuckled, stepping back to admire his work. Jace stood there, panting, his dick printed in his speedos, still leaking cum. The triangle mark behind his ear was a permanent reminder of who he belonged to now.

“You're such a pervert, Jace. Now kneel and suck me off. Play with your nipples as you do it.” Ethan ordered.

The triangle was glowing again, Jace’s blank eyes slowly focused on him, and for the first time in his life, there was no arrogance, no cruelty—just need. Desperation.

And from that day on, Jace changed. He stopped shoving Ethan in the hallways, stopped laughing at him with his friends. Instead, he was always walking beside Ethan, his eyes pleading, wanting him to play with his pecs all the time. And Ethan would whenever he wanted.

Ethan would use Jace's pecs to jerk off, suck, or simply to torture the once-arrogant jock. One time, Ethan used a waterproof marker to write 'Owned by Ethan' on Jace's chest just before his turn in a swimming competition. It became the school's only talk for a whole week. It was all anyone at school talked about for a whole week.

Ethan even made Jace kneel in front of him in the hallway and beg him to play with his "tits" right in front of his jock friends... let's say he wasn't their leader anymore after that day, but Jace couldn't care less, all he cared about was Ethan using his pecs for his pleasure.

______________________

Seven years had passed since high school, and Ethan had long since moved on from his past with Jace. The nanorobots, however, had not. They remained nestled deep in Jace’s brain, an unseen force that still bound him to the programming Ethan had left behind. Ethan wasn’t cruel—he had allowed Jace to live his life normally. He could date, he could have sex, he could go about his days as if nothing had changed. But there was one thing he could never escape: he could only orgasm when playing with his pecs and thinking of Ethan.

It had been a failsafe. A final act of control that ensured, no matter where life took Jace, he would always belong to Ethan in some way.

Ethan had thrived since high school. College had been a playground for him—his intelligence, his experiments, and his confidence had expanded. In just a few months of college, the hottest jocks also displayed a triangle mark on their necks. Ethan had built an empire of control. A harem of jock drones, each under his influence in one way or another, devoted to him in mind and body. Ethan was living his fantasy.

And then, one afternoon at the beach, he saw him.

Jace was out in the ocean, carving through the waves on a surfboard with practiced ease. He had become a surfing instructor, and the years had only made him more impressive—He wore a tight surfing fit: a tight-sleeved compression shirt unzipped just enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of his pecs and compression pants that clung to every sculpted muscle, outlining the power he carried between his legs. Ethan smirked. Jace was still as hot as he was in High School.

Ethan watched from the shore as Jace finished his lesson and walked up the beach, shaking out his wet hair. When their eyes met, recognition dawned in Jace’s face, followed by a wide, genuine grin.

“Ethan! Damn, it’s been forever, man!”

Jace’s voice was warm and genuine. He gave Ethan a tight hug, burying his face between his pecs... whether intentional or not, Ethan wasn't complaining.

If Ethan didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the years had erased the past. But he knew. He knew because Jace’s eyes lingered on him just a second too long, because the way Jace's pecs flexed with his face buried between them, told Ethan that deep down, the nanorobots were still just as strong in his brain as seven years go.

“Jace,” Ethan greeted, pulling his face away from Jace's pecs, pretending at camaraderie. “You look good.”

Jace laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Thanks. You too, though. You look... different.”

Ethan smirked. “Yeah, life’s been good to me.”

They caught up for a bit. Jace seemed completely normal. He had a job now, a life, a routine. In High School, Ethan always thought Jace would end up in a gang or having a shitty life, but thanks to the work the nanorobots did to his brain, Jace had a second chance in life... even if he was a mindless drone now.

But Ethan knew better, as normal Jace looked now, he was just a ticking time bomb waiting for the right command. And then, casually, as if he were simply making an observation, Ethan said.

“Activate Standby Mode.”

Jace stopped mid-sentence and the mark on his neck glowed. His muscles stiffened, and then—nothing. His arms hung loosely at his sides, his chest rising and falling in slow breaths. His face, once animated with conversation, went blank. Emotionless. His eyes stared ahead, unfocused, waiting.

Ethan took a step forward, tilting his head as he observed his former bully, now reduced to a mere puppet again, after seven years. He ran a finger along Jace’s chest, watching for any sign of resistance. There was none.

He reached for Jace's bulge and gave it a slight squeeze. “I missed playing with you, Jace,” Ethan murmured. Jace remained still, completely at his mercy. Ethan’s smirk widened. After all these years, Jace was still his. "You see Jace... I turned into a drone almost every hot jock at my school, yet, none of them had such perfect pecs like you."

And now, it was time to remind him of that fact. "Follow me."

Ethan led Jace away from the beach, guiding him toward the rocky outcrop where Ethan would have the privacy he needed. Jace followed obediently, moving without hesitation, his gaze vacant. He was still deep in standby mode, awaiting only Ethan’s next command.

When they reached the secluded area behind some rocks, Ethan pushed Jace down against the stone, positioning him just as he wanted. Ethan unzipped the tight, long-sleeved compression shirt, peeling it open to fully reveal Jace’s sculpted pecs that he missed so much, then he pulled down Jace's compression pants, revealing his tight black speedos.

The sight made Ethan hard—Jace’s blank face, his perfect, meaty chest and the massive bulge in his speedos... Suddenly, all the memories of the fun he had with Jace in high school started to flood back.

Ethan climbed onto Jace’s lap, his legs straddling the thick thighs beneath him. He gently pressed his palms against Jace’s pecs, kneading the firm flesh before lowering his mouth to one of the stiff nipples. He licked at it first, tasting the salt on Jace’s skin before closing his lips around the nub, sucking hungrily.

Jace remained motionless, his breath deep and steady. Ethan soon felt the twitch beneath him, the involuntary jerk of Jace’s cock pressing harder against his ass through the tight speedos. Smirking, Ethan bit down on Jace’s nipple, twisting the other between his fingers as he felt the cock beneath him throb in response.

“I see my command is still holding strong,” Ethan murmured against Jace’s chest before moving to the other nipple, sucking, biting, and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Each movement sent an electric pulse down to Jace’s cock, making it strain harder against its confines.

Ethan reached down, tugging down the waistband of Jace’s speedos. His thick, heavy cock sprang free, standing rigid and leaking.

Jace was too big—9 Inches hard. Ethan would need lube to take him fully. That's when Ethan remembered about a special command he would often use during High School. Would that still work? He asked himself. There was only one way to find out.

"Activate lube production mode," Ethan said. He waited a few seconds, a wicked grin formed on his face when he started to see a transparent sticky liquid oozing out of Jace's nipples.

During High School, Ethan would often pull Jace to a secluded room and fuck himself on Jace's big cock. To make it easier, Ethan gave the nanorobots a trigger word to produce a cum-enhanced lube that would be produced by Jace's pecs.

Ethan had completely forgotten about this trick until now, and he began to wonder what else he might be forgetting...

Ethan gave Jace's pecs a squeeze, making the transparent slippery liquid ooze faster. He then put some on his hand and coated Jace's dick with the natural lube.

Ethan’s own arousal was unbearable now, his own cock aching as he positioned his ass over Jace’s slippery shaft. With one slow movement, he sank down onto it, letting Jace's cock stretch him open.

A moan tore from Ethan’s lips as he adjusted, his hands bracing against Jace’s chest. The thick cock inside him pulsed, but Jace’s face remained blank, obediently waiting for direction. That only made Ethan hotter. He rocked his hips, setting a slow, deep rhythm, his fingers never leaving Jace’s pecs, smearing the slippery lube all over his chest making it glisten. Each time Ethan twisted or pinched a nipple, the cock inside him throbbed, reacting as if the sensations were directly wired together... Ethan knew they were.

Ethan rode him harder, his moans turning into gasps. He ground his hips, his fingers working Jace’s pecs mercilessly, alternating between soft caresses and sharp twists that made Jace’s cock throb uncontrollably inside him.

Ethan was close. His own cock twitched between them, untouched but fully ready to explode. He bit down on Jace’s left nipple and moaned as his orgasm hit him like a shockwave. His cum spilled in thick ropes over Jace’s chest, painting those perfect pecs in his release.

As his orgasm ceased, he grinned wickedly as Jace’s body jerked beneath him, his cock throbbing before spilling deep inside Ethan, his load pumping out in response to Ethan's command written into his very being.

Ethan sat there for a moment, still impaled on Jace’s cock, watching the way the cum dripped down his pecs and mindless face. He dragged his fingers through it and inserted one finger inside Jace's mouth with satisfaction.

“I'm never letting you go again,” Ethan whispered, pressing a final kiss to Jace’s agape mouth.

______________________

Ethan made his way to his personal gym, a massive space inside his mansion filled with state-of-the-art equipment and his favorite drone.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes fell on Jace, standing frozen with his eyes open in the middle of the gym. Every night, before heading to bed, Ethan would shut down the nanorobots inside Jace, leaving him stuck like statue all night.

Ethan approached with a smirk, trailing his fingers along Jace’s broad back before stepping in front of him and gripping the bottom of his tight gym shirt and lifting it, revealing Jace's thick, heavy slabs of muscle that Ethan had grown obsessed with. His pecs, round and full, just waiting for inspection.

“Good morning, Jace,” Ethan said. His hands roamed over the meaty curves, squeezing them, testing their softness. The warmth of Jace’s body and the scent of sweat were pure addiction to Ethan. He leaned in, tracing his tongue around the stiff nub of Jace’s nipple before pulling it into his mouth, sucking greedily. Jace remained in sleep mode, his face blank, his body completely still except for the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

Ethan gave the soft flesh a few gentle bites, just enough to leave teeth marks for a few days. He then flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud, his fingers teasing and twisting the other, eliciting a soft, involuntary grunt from Jace. The connection was undeniable—every pinch, every squeeze sent a pulse straight to Jace’s cock, hardening him instantly. Ethan smirked against his pec—Jace's body still responded to the command even when his brain was turned off.

“They're getting bigger, you're doing a good job at working out your pecs,” he praised, dragging his teeth lightly against Jace’s nipples before switching to the other side, giving it equal worship. Jace’s body responded even without conscious thought, his muscles twitching under Ethan’s control. This was his pec drone now—his to touch, to taste, to use. And Ethan had no intention of ever letting him go again.

"Turn off sleeping mode. Activate loving boyfriend mode."

The triangle mark on Jace's neck started glowing.

#mind control #brainwash #brainwashing #male puppet

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