#won't get over drunk max ever

[trashytracktales]

Hey! Please do a lando x ex!reader. They break up after a lot of arguments due to being away from each other so much and then they meet a few months later and hook up. Like angst in the beginning then lots of smut.

If it’s meant to fall apart | LN⁴

💌 REQUESTED by anon ──── I was actually planning to write something similar for so long. Thank you for the request and I hope you like it 🤍

💔 summary ──── Surprisingly, months apart haven’t dulled the connection between them. After a night of passion and honesty on both sides, maybe there is a future where they can make all the right decisions, after all.

💔 pairing ──── Lando Norris x ex!reader

💔 rating ──── explicit

💔 category ──── F/M

💔 warnings ──── +18, mature/sexual content, lots of angst & back-and-forth, fluff & smut, teasing, praising, explicit language, unprotected sex, mention of alcohol and drinking, swearing, not the healthiest relationship I’ve ever written tbh (the toxicity is implicit though), overstimulation, pussy-drunk Lando, Max F. & Ethan aka FEEFA cameo.

💔 word count ──── 10.6k (Thank you to everyone who voted on this poll I posted the other day, I didn’t expect to see so many 🥺).

💔 date ──── Nov. 27, 2024

SHE'S NOT ENTIRELY sure how long they’ve been dancing, but she hasn't finished her drink yet. Time feels like an illusion, blurring the edges of her vision with every new rhythm of the night. For the first time in months, she feels a little lighter, her friends’ energy pulling her out of her own head — and apartment, where she locked herself in after the break-up.

The club is packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a sea of drunken, sweaty chaos. Neon lights bounce off every surface, painting the room in vivid purples, blues, and pinks. It's not usually her style — not anymore — but she figured it won't hurt to let lose for a couple of hours.

It’s only when she steps away from the dance floor, her feet hurting and her head buzzing, that she spots him.

Why tonight, of all nights?

Why here, of all places?

Why him, of all people?

He’s leaning casually against the bar, a glass in hand, chatting with a few familiar faces. Faces that she can't help but miss.

She stopped talking to Max — well, Max stopped talking to her after ending things with Lando, too upset that she toyed with his best friend's heart for ‘no apparent reason’. Their friendship dissolved under pressure, fragile as a cheap plastic cup in the grip of sulfuric acid. But Max wasn't the only one who took it personally. That's why she needed to cut ties with everyone from her past. She needed new friends — her own friends —, she needed a new place and new clothes, and to rebrand herself from scratch. Which she did.

She thought she had made it through, but the past has its twisted ways of coming back when you least expect it.

Now, the sight of him, so vivid and real, makes her chest tighten.

She stops in place, hoping he doesn’t notice her, but then his eyes flick in her direction and, for a brief moment, neither of them blinks, the noise around them fading into a dull murmur.

He straightens slightly, his relaxed posture gone as his brows knit together. There’s something unreadable in his body language — surprise? Excitement? Confusion? Pain? She doesn’t know, but it mirrors the knot twisting in her stomach.

Her friends call out to her, pulling her attention briefly, and when she looks back, he’s still staring. Except now, he’s moving, weaving his way through the crowd toward her.

Oh, hell no.

Her heart starts to race, a mix of adrenaline and something far more complicated than fear, as she rushes to walk away; she's fought for far too long, and now her instinct is to fly as soon as she senses danger.

Unfortunately, she's not quick enough.

“Hey,” says Lando when he gets closer, his voice low but audible over the music.

Hearing him gives her goosebumps, hating the way her body is betraying her. It’s been months since she’s heard his voice, but it still hits her the same way: sharp and unrelenting.

She turns around, forcing a smile, “Hi, Lando,” she manages, her voice steadier than she feels, thinking she should try acting if she makes it out alive from this encounter.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his tone careful, yet extremely suggestive.

It makes her stomach twist again.

He used that line the very first night they met, his boyish grin lit by the dim, flickering lights of another club, in another city. Potentially another life, she's not sure. She remembers the way he had leaned in, so full of confidence and asked the same exact question with a mischievous glint in his eye.

It feels too deliberate now, too heavy with the weight of their past for her to ignore.

“All set,” she finally says, her voice quieter than she intended, as she raises her half-full glass in her hand. “Thanks.”

For a moment, it feels like they’re strangers meeting for the first time. Except they’re not, and their history is hanging heavily in the air between them.

Lando nods, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “How about this, let me join you for that drink?”

She takes a look to where her friends are dancing, then she turns back to him, “I'm here with my friends.”

It's a pathetic excuse, she knows that. But she has no time to think of something else. Not when her brain is suddenly all scrambled and can't form a single coherent thought.

Lando frowns, disappointed, but not willing to give up that easy. “Come on, just a quick catch-up and then you can go back to your friends. Mine won't mind,” he shrugs, pointing at the bar, where the others are following their every move like a bunch of curious minions.

She catches Max lifting his glass in her direction, and Ethan, waving frantically.

Against her better judgment, she nods.

“Okay,” she murmurs, “Let's catch up,” she spits the words, sounding a bit too sarcastic. Still, it makes Lando smile.

His shoulders relax slightly, relief softening the tension in his body. He gestures toward a quieter corner of the club, away from the pounding bass and the sea of bodies. His first instinct was to take her hand in his, but since that's over the line, Lando keeps looking back, making sure she follows him. And she does. Like a naive, lost puppy that hasn't learned a single thing in the past five months, apparently.

The crowd surges around them, chaotic and loud, and before she can react, someone stumbles into her, their elbow catching her arm. As a result, she's thrown off balance, her feet slipping on the slick floor. Gasping, she's bracing for the inevitable fall that… never comes.

Lando’s hand shoots out, catching her waist and pulling her upright. His grip is firm, grounding, and suddenly she’s pressed against him, her chest brushing his.

“Careful,” says Lando, his lips close enough to her ear for the voice to cut through the noise.

The spot where he's touching her is burning her skin. She looks up, speaking with a hesitant smile, “Thanks, I'm good.”

The club around them fades away, and all she can feel is the warmth of his hand on her waist and the familiar scent of his cologne — a smell she used to know so well. It is almost intoxicating, and it makes her mouth water. She realizes that's what she was missing the most.

Lando smiles faintly, his hand slipping away as if he’s reluctant to let go. “Always got you.”

She doesn’t know how to respond to that, sensing the double meaning behind his affirmation. So, she nods and lets him guide her the rest of the way.

They find a small, semi-private booth near the exit, far enough from the main dance floor that the music dulls to a manageable volume. He gestures for her to sit first, then slides in across from her.

She fiddles with the edge of her glass, feeling his eyes on her.

“So,” she starts, leaning back against the booth, “You're here.”

Here, as in back home.

“For a week or so, yeah. Got a bit of a break between Brazil and Vegas.”

She nods, emptying the rest of her drink in one go, “How’ve you been?”

Lando shrugs slowly, “Alright. Busy with work and everything,” he trails off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a brief moment. “It’s not the same,” he continues, his smile fading away. “What about you, what have you been up to?”

She needs superhuman powers to stop herself from scoffing in his pretty face. It’s such a simple question, yet it feels loaded, heavy with all the things they haven’t said to each other in almost half a year.

“It's been… peaceful. I moved to another neighborhood. Kept busy, distracted.”

Lando hums, his expression unreadable for some reason. “Yeah, I get that. You look great, by the way,” he states it as a fact, his voice soft but unwavering.

She hesitates, then looks up at him, really looks at him. His face is the same and yet… not really. The boyishness is still there, but there’s a weariness in his eyes that's somehow new. Plus some facial hair she always begged him to try out. It tugs at something inside her, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face. Because it hurts. Because it annoys her. Because, after everything, she's still not over it.

“Cheers,” she replies, hoping he won't catch the blush in her cheeks. “I kind of hoped you would look like shit when I saw you again,” she admits. “You know, I'm talking no front teeth and severely balding. But, oh well. You too.”

Lando's smile widens, making everything infinitely worse for her.

He wears a black shirt that clings to his frame in a way that highlights the muscles in his arms. His black cap is pulled low, worn backwards in that signature way he always did, giving him that effortlessly cool vibe. His eyes are still the same, though. Dark, piercing, the same ones that could make her heart beat faster even after everything that’s happened.

“I thought about you a lot over these months, you know,” Lando finds himself saying, chewing on his lower lip.

She shoots him a surprised look.

As if, she thinks. His Instagram feed would say otherwise.

“You did?” she ends up asking, curiosity getting the best of her.

A hint of vulnerability creeps into his voice, “Of course. I've missed you.”

She laughs dryly, “But it's been good for us, right? We just established we both look great, no constant fighting, no slamming doors, no smashed phones…” she says, looking at him intently.

He can't sustain that for long, so he looks down at his shoes, slightly ashamed, remembering how bad it used to get when the distance between them felt too much to handle. He remembers the frustration, and the helplessness he felt when he couldn’t reach her, because he couldn’t make things right. He did smash his phone once, in a fit of anger, because he couldn’t get ahold of her for hours — not his proudest moment, that's for sure.

Lando swallows hard, “Yeah, it has been nice to have some distance. I guess it makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“Hmm,” she hums, letting her eyes travel across the room, scanning random faces and wondering how life would be if she were someone else, “I don't know about that.”

She knows, in fact. But the words pause in her throat, too tangled up in memories. When he finally looks up, she's holding his gaze for just a beat longer than she should, and she wonders if he can feel it too — that familiar pull, like gravity, drawing them back together once again.

“I know—” Lando begins, not sure from which angle to approach. “I know it was the right choice at the time, but I can't help but wonder what things could have been if I'd fought harder for you.”

“Come on, Lando,” she laughs, unamused, giving her head a shake, “We would've ended up in another vicious circle, no matter what. It's always like that with us, isn't it?”

A part of him knows she's right. Still, “We'll never know.”

“Well, maybe it's better that way,” she manages, her voice lacking conviction.

“Or maybe it’s not,” he contradicts her, his words carrying a weight that presses on both of them. “You never think about us?”

Another sharp, dry laugh — it's either this, or she'll start crying. “I am actively trying not to,” she admits, her tone tinged with exasperation. “What’s the point, Lan? Thinking about what could’ve been won’t change what happened. You were always gone, and I couldn't spend my life following you around like a headless chicken. We had a good time, but it was never going to last,” she says the last part mostly as a reminder for herself. “Not in those circumstances.”

His jaw tightens. “You think it was easy for me? That it didn’t tear me up knowing I couldn’t be there for you the way you wanted me to?”

“I didn't say that,” her eyes snap to his, “We simply weren't working. We were too good at breaking each other.”

Lando leans back in his chair, frustration visible on his face. He hates that she's right, but it doesn’t stop the ache in his chest.

His jaw clenches, “I just… I don’t want to believe that’s all we were. Breaking each other.”

Her expression softens a little at his words, “Not all. But enough to make us miserable.”

For a while, the air between them feels heavier, the noise fading into the background. He wants to say something, anything, to counter her point, but all he can do is look at her and ask himself if they were, indeed, playing a losing game back then.

“Did you meet someone?” his question flies out of nowhere.

Lando looks at her with anticipation, sensing the hesitation.

“I did,” she replies, nodding slowly.

“And?”

She meets his eyes for a split second before looking away again, fixing her gaze somewhere on the table. “And we're happily married with twins on the way. What do you think? I just. Couldn’t.”

Lando's stomach drops, trying his best to remain calm, his hands clenching into fists. “You couldn’t what? Be with them?”

She shakes her head, her movements slow and deliberate, as if choosing her words carefully. “It was too soon.”

Her answer only leaves him with more questions. “So, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know what it means,” she rushes to say, her tone tinged with irritation. It’s clear she’s as unsure as he is, but that only makes it harder for Lando to process her reaction.

He runs a hand over his face, his exasperation bubbling to the surface. “I’m just trying to understand,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Because I've also tried.”

She looks directly at him now, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And?” she challenges in the same manner, her tone carrying just a hint of defiance.

“They weren't you,” says Lando, the truth of his statement hanging between them like a heavy anchor.

They remain silent after that.

She wants to ask him why — why he still cares, and why it hurts so much to be in the same space again after all they’ve been through. Nothing comes out, though; she already has the answer to that. They didn't break up because they stopped loving each other. They had both been too caught up in their own worlds to find any kind of balance. That broke them up.

He wants her to speak. He needs to hear her speak. To react. But when she says nothing in return, there is a brief second when he feels like giving up for good; he can't do anything if she's already made a decision. He knows how stubborn she is.

Lando nods to himself while getting up and start walking toward the exit, his thoughts all over the place.

The night air greets them with a quiet, cooling embrace as they step out of the club. Of course she follows, and she hates herself for that. But she can't help it — it's instinct. Like a magnetic force he's always had over her.

On the other hand, it's how they always communicated, through gestures and actions rather than words.

The soft click of her heels against the pavement gives Lando hope. He slows down so she can catch up, and then they walk side by side, without talking. The background noise of the city keeps them company, and by the time she decides to break the silence, he stops abruptly.

His voice sounds so small now, like a child asking his parents why can't he eat his chocolate bar before dinner.

“I know it feels so silly looking back,” says Lando, as though afraid to shatter the superficial peace between them. “We did so many things wrong, but I think we also did a lot of things right.”

She hesitates, her eyes dropping to the ground where a patch of light from a distant street light catches the edge of her shoe. Her arms fold tightly across her chest, while trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Yeah, breaking up was one of the right things,” she says thoughtfully, though her voice has a trace of bitterness behind it. “Before that, we tried so hard to make it work that we ended up burning each other alive.”

It's crazy how simple words can cause physical pain so quickly.

“Yet we're still here,” he reminds her. “Knowing what we know now, maybe we wouldn’t burn so fast this time. And isn’t it worth it, even if it only lasts for a little while? We were so happy at the start.”

That’s what he clings to. The laughter, the stolen moments, the way they fit together so effortlessly — she can’t argue with that. Their beginning was a beautiful dream, but it’s the nightmare that followed that keeps her guarded now, even though all she wants is to crack his ribcage open and slip inside him so they will never be apart again.

Her voice shakes as she tries her best to make him see her side, the memories spilling out like water breaking through a dam. “I had to put myself back together, Lando. Piece by piece. And I was all alone.” She forces herself to meet his gaze, finally, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Turns out, our friends were actually your friends, and I had to go through the worst breakup of my life with no one by my side. I had to move, I had to build an entire life from pretty much nothing. And I had to do everything alone, because I didn’t just lose you. I lost everything the moment I made you the center of my universe.”

Her words knock the air out of his lungs, guilt clawing at his insides. “Look, I know I should have been there,” says Lando, his voice barely steady. “Fuck me. I wasn’t supposed to let you go in the first place, alright? I should’ve been a better boyfriend, and I should’ve fought harder to make it work, using what we had then. But you did fuck with my head, and I thought being away would help.”

The first tear spills down her cheek, and she wipes it away hastily, as if she could erase the vulnerability altogether.

“It did help,” she agrees. “I know I can live without it now.”

Lando freezes for a split second, then stepping dangerously closer to her. “So, you’ll be fine if we stay broken up?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper.

She nods, but it’s shaky. And when she takes a step back, trying to put distance between them, Lando decides he gave her enough space. Fuck that. He's not thinking anymore, not with his brain, at least. He closes the distance again, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close in one swift motion.

It’s impulsive, desperate even. But he doesn’t care. The moment he feels her presence in his personal space, the fire he’s tried to smother for months, roars back to life, more powerful than ever. And just like that, everything it's right again. The way her body fits against his, the familiarity of it all, makes his heart race in his chest.

“Stop being so fucking stubborn, baby,” he murmurs into her hair, his voice cracking under the weight of his own desperation. “Why can’t we at least try, hm? You told me it was too soon for someone else. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be me.”

Her breath catches at the sudden closeness, at the rawness of his voice. She's unsure of what to do with her hands, until they hover awkwardly by his shoulders.

“You're not fair,” she whispers, her voice slightly trembling. “You can’t just accidentally waltz back into my life and say things like that.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about being fair,” he says, his voice firm. “I just want us back. Simple as that.”

Her tears blur the edges of Lando's face when she tries to push him away, but his grip won't let her. Not this time.

“It's not that simple, and you know it,” she says. “We’ll only end up hurting each other again.”

“Then we hurt, so what?” he counters, his voice soft but sure. “At least we’ll know we tried until there wasn't anything worth fighting for. I'm not done with you, baby. Are you?”

Her hands finally move, trembling as they brush against his cheeks. They're not as soft as they use to be, his little facial hair scratching slightly at the pads of her fingers. The connection sends a jolt through them both as her touch lingers, trailing up to his hair. She pulls at his cap with both hands, placing it on her own head with a weak smile.

“It’s longer than you used to wear it,” she notices, her tears catching the street lights.

Lando’s heart clenches, managing to shoot a small smile in return, “I thought maybe I’d try growing it out. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she admits as she tries to messily style his hair with her fingers. “It suits you.”

For a little while, they’re trapped in their own bubble. Her touch feels like home, and all Lando can think of is that he can't lose it again.

“I’m not asking you to decide now,” he finally says, his thumbs tracing soft circles on her waist. “I just need to know I’m not the only one still holding on.”

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they're stumbling into her apartment. She knows it's reckless, and she's basically throwing away five months of progress, but it wasn't going to last, anyway.

Addictions are very hard to keep under control, especially when they have curly, dark hair and give you bed eyes.

“This way,” she says, her lips swollen from kissing all the way to her door.

Lando doesn’t have time to adjust, his head already spinning with hundreds of scenarios that fly tirelessly through his mind. However, the only thing that captivates him at the moment is her, and the way her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans. She tugs him closer, her lips crashing onto his once again, their breaths blending in a frantic exchange of need and uncertainty.

He watches her fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, her movements clumsy but determined. His heart reaches his throat, swallowing hard, as his hands move from her waist to his belt, blindly unbuckling it before tossing it carelessly aside. The sound of leather hitting the floor barely registers over the erratic, overlapping rhythm of them kissing.

Then, he sees it. The spark in her eyes she used to have when she looked at him — it catches him off guard, giving him hope. He follows her as she moves slowly, her back toward the bed, her movements precise, like a cat's. She lies down, propping herself up on her elbows, while he takes cautious steps closer, his shirt hanging open to reveal his chest and toned abs.

But just as he leans forward, her high heel presses lightly against his chest, stopping him.

Lando freezes, his hands bracing on either side of her foot, tracing his palm up and down her leg, as his eyes dart up to meet hers.

“You can look,” she says, catching a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. “But for now, no touching.”

He frowns, clenching his jaw at her request. It would make sense for her to bring him to her place only to torture him, but she can't be that heartless. Right? The sight of her, stretched out on the bed with her foot holding him at bay, is almost too much to handle already.

“You're not fair,” he mutters under his breath, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I don't give a flying fuck about being fair,” she repeats his words from earlier, her foot staying firm against his chest.

The power is in her hands, and she's planning on using them properly tonight.

“No touching,” she repeats, determined.

Lando's hands fall at his sides.

Slowly, she slides her foot down, letting it drag across his chest, making a quick stop on his lower abdomen before settling on the bed. Her gaze locks onto his, a daring glint in her eyes as she spreads her legs, revealing the black lace panties. The dress she's wearing lifts up her thighs of its own accord, leaving Lando chocking on air for a brief moment. His lips part as she trails her fingers down her own body, teasing herself the way she’s done countless nights before.

Nights when he wasn’t there.

Nights when she was alone, chasing a high only his touch could give her.

“Wanna see how I got through five months without you?” she asks, her hands traveling way down, hooking her fingers to pull at the soft material.

His breath hitches, the sight of her undressing before him so painfully slowly making his chest ache with longing and guilt.

“I thought of you,” she continues, letting a small whimper out when the soft lace peels off with a little resistance from her already soaked pussy. “Your hands, your mouth… the way you sound when you're turned on,” she discards the panties at the foot of the bed, her breath catching in her throat as she glances at him through her lashes. “Such a delicious combination between your sleepy voice and that low octave you hit when you're drunk.”

Lando’s mouth goes dry, his hands twitching at his sides, itching to lean over and collect the material off the floor to stuff it into his pocket as a souvenir. He’s never felt so powerless and yet so utterly consumed by someone before.

“Will you let me?” she asks, her lips curving into a smile that’s equally wicked and vulnerable, “Show you?”

Her name leaves Lando’s lips in a protest while he takes an instinctive step forward, but she stops him with her foot once again. It’s a punishment, and he knows it. She’s showing him exactly what he missed, and exactly how she wanted him for so long.

Lando's breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling as he watches her. Helpless. His every nerve is tuned to her, eyes following how her fingers slide so easily between her folds, spreading the wetness as she teases her hole. Of course she’s taking her time with it, only to make sure he registers every tiny detail, just in case he forgot.

Her head tilts to the side with a quiet gasp when she pushes slowly inside. The sound of her wet entrance is enough to make his knees weak, still, his body turns to stone.

On the other hand, his heart is a mess of pride and frustration — pride that she still feels comfortable to be this vulnerable and open in front of him, frustration that he has to see her like this, untouchable. That's why he's not even blinking, too afraid he'll miss a thing.

She starts to gently rock her hips against the bed, fucking her fingers in and out, her body trembling as her whimpers fill the room. It's too much for Lando, but luckily, she didn't say anything about moving. His legs finally give out, and he falls to his knees, the sound of his breath ragged and uneven as he gets closer to her.

Yes, she's in charge — for now, at least — but he can't stop his words slipping out. Quiet, yet demanding.

“Slower,” he says, fixing his eyes on the way her fingers slide over her clit. “Don't rush it, please. I want to see all of you.”

Her gaze meets his, and for a moment, neither of them says anything else. She sees the vulnerability etched into his features, the way his body betrays him, shaking with restraint, completely at her mercy.

He looks like a man unmoored, defeated. So beautiful.

“Lando…” she breaths heavily, her back arching against her own hand, that flattered slightly at his words, a blush creeping up her neck and cheeks.

She hates how much he still affects her, obeying him without questioning his ways. Like no time has passed whatsoever.

When they make eye contact again, it's like they silently agree to go with it; whatever tonight will bring.

“That's is,” says Lando with satisfaction as she resumes her movements. “You gorgeous little thing. So beautiful when you listen, yeah?”

She nods, feeling him leaning forward just slightly, close enough that she can feel his warmth on her skin, without him touching her in any way. The air feels electric, her breath stuttering as she keeps fucking up her fingers under Lando's careful guidance. He watches every motion, his jaw tightening, ignoring the ache in his boxers the moment she finds her sweet spot, crying at how good it feels. She tries to muffle the moan, but Lando catches the hesitation, his eyes narrowing in her direction.

“No, let me hear you. Please, let me hear you,” he implores, exhaling sharply. “God, you're perfect. I could watch you forever.”

Lando can't help but notice how receptive she becomes at his words, her body tightening at the way he's praising her. As a result, she presses her fingers harder onto her clit, feeling the pressure building inside.

“Mhm, Lan…”

“I'm with you, baby. Keep going,” he encourages her, his gaze fixating on the slickness dripping between her legs. “Fucking hell. You're already so close, aren't you?”

It's like every word gets caught in her throat, and the only way she can reply to him is with a pathetic, desperate whimper.

In hindsight, she's never came from her fingers so quickly before, but the wave that’s hitting her from every direction right now is too intense to process right away.

It happens too fast, and the next thing she's aware of is Lando's voice, bringing her back.

“Please,” she hears him beg, managing to give him a slight nod of her head in return.

In that moment, the lights go out. Even so, Lando wants to be patient, as his index finger lightly brushes against her warmth. She exhales, giving up control, her gaze locked on him as if he is the only one that ever knew her. Meticulous, Lando traces his long, rough finger through her wetness, causing a shock to run through her whole body as it moves up and down her clit.

She thought she already crossed her limit, but then he leans down to press his mouth on her — deliberately, unapologetically, thirsty.

Lando lets out a deep, guttural groan that reverberates against her, causing her hips to twitch slightly. His tongue is wet and warm on her pulsating clit, leaving her breathless while he tastes her like it's the last time.

“My sweet, sweet baby,” he whispers, his voice intimate and personal, the words enveloping her in layers and layers of honey.

Feeling his warm breath on her center causes a surge of tension within her, making her walls tighten as his tongue explores within. He can't help but smile just as she leans into him, her body responding naturally, and he grips her thighs, closing the remaining gap between them. At that, she instantly buries her fingers in his curls, her hips mimicking his head movements.

“Oh, fuck,” she exhales abruptly.

The rest is pure bliss — his tongue licking in deep strokes, his muffled moans between her thighs, and the way he can’t seem to let go of her, gripping her tightly because he’s been deprived of her taste for so long.

Just for a brief second, Lando raises his head and, as his gaze remains fixed on her eyes, his mouth sucks gently at her clit. She's never seen him so desperate before, the sight of him owning her like that covering her entire body in chills.

Gradually, his kisses become way too powerful, which forces her to quickly grab his messy curls and pull him closer, unable to control herself anymore.

Without any warning, she screams his name as her climax hits her like a tidal wave for the second time in a row.

His growling makes her thighs quiver in his grasp, the vibrations intensifying her pleasure as her body convulses with each new sensation, while Lando’s tongue continues licking her during every heartbeat and shiver.

Next time she looks at him, his lips shine, his cheeks are red, and his gaze so intense that it causes her heart to skip a beat, creating a connection that seems more profound than any physical sensation she's just experienced.

He didn’t try to give her the best she’s ever had, but attempt to remind her how well he knows her body — to show her she still belongs to him.

“You’re so pretty,” says Lando, keeping his eyes on her, while he presses one finger back inside her cunt to test how thight she is after her second orgasm.

“Lando,” she spits his name at the unexpected touch, still too sensitive, “What… are you doing?” she gasps softly, a mixture between a sigh and a moan, when Lando's finger pulls out and glides across her wet, delicate clit once again.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Lando murmurs against her thigh, his voice low and reverent.

He grins in her direction, while his thumb circles her clit with precise intention, like a wheel gripping the perfect racing line. Sure of himself, Lando continues his movements, realizing how overstimulated she is, as he gets up to hover above her. Her hips buck instinctively into his hand, a jolt of reaction she can’t control.

Seeing Lando on top makes her react on instinct, wrapping one arm around his neck, while the other hand travels down his chest. The heat pooling in her stomach rises fast, an apex she didn’t expect to reach so soon. It’s intoxicating, her body spiraling as her mind blanks out the world beyond him.

“Lan—” she gasps, her back arching as if trying to escape, though every fiber of her betrays that she wants more.

“Come on, baby,” he says, increasing the pace. “You can give me one more. You're doing so well, I know you can,” his voice is a blend of dominance and desire, while his fingers press into her, knowing exactly where to go and how to bend, “Like that, see? So easy for me to read you. I could fuck my fingers into your pretty hole all night long and you'd still come for me every single time, wouldn't you, baby?”

Shaking, she clings to his neck, crying out his name in spasms. He loops his free arm around her, gently kissing her cheek — a gesture so tender and innocent that makes her heart grow ten times in size.

She grips his shoulder with one hand, her eyes closing in pleasure. “I can’t—” she chokes, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.

In an attempt to get her power back, she tries to push at his wrist, but his arm steadies her, determined.

“Of course you can, love,” says Lando, his voice a gentle command, the firmness in his tone like a driver refusing to lift his foot off the pedal, curious to see how far he can take it.

Her hand clenches around his arm as his thumb presses against her clit with ruthless precision. She reacts on instinct, muscles coiling tight as she bucks against his hand, not sure what controls her body anymore, since her brain got disconnected long ago. The slik rhythm of Lando's fingers becomes too much, and she knows she's close when he starts curling them inside at the perfect angle.

“La— Fuck, baby, that feels so good,” her voice is a high-pitched cry now, laced with desperation. “I’m going—”

“I know, baby. So pretty. Look at you, making such a mess for me,” he urges, leaning in to kiss her neck.

Her body tightens as pleasure explodes within her, blinding and all-consumming — a full-throttle sensation, unrelenting in its intensity. She sobs his name as liquid warmth spills from her pussy, coating Lando’s fingers. He doesn’t stop there, though, his hand continuing its pace, coaxing every last wave of her climax as his arm holds her securely against him.

“God, I've missed you.”

When her breathing slows down, he falls down on top of her, burying his head in the crook of her neck. Her legs shake slightly, and her fingers curl weakly into his bare chest as he cradles her close.

Lando presses a tender kiss against her temple, his voice filling the quiet. “It wasn’t acciedntal,” he confesses.

She blinks rapidly, tilting her head to look at him, confused, “What?”

“Earlier,” Lando clarifies, “You said I was accidentally waltzing back into your life — it wasn’t accidental,” he repeats.

“What do you mean?”

Lando places a few more kisses on the heated skin of her neck, sucking in a couple of bruises, the gesture meant to buy himself more time for the storm raging in his head to stop.

“Lando,” she pulls him out of it.

“Been trying to figure out how to do this for a while. I just… couldn’t stay away from you anymore,” he admits, looking up at her, his eyes pleading. “I had Max playing detective while I was away.”

She pushes him off her to sit up on the bed, pulling at the edges of her dress. “Seriously, what?” her tone is not defensive — at least not yet — but there’s a sharpness to it that cuts into him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he rushes to explain, “Look, I didn’t stalk you or anything. Nor Max,” he continues, getting up to stand next to her. “I didn’t even know where you lived until you brought me here. I swear.”

She wraps her arms around her own body, needing something to ground herself, “What did you do, Lando?” the girl asks, her voice quieter now.

He swallows, “I just asked him to check in on you. To see if you were okay.”

“And how did he do that?”

“He saw you tagged in a pic on this girl's account, and then did some research on the people you were with, paid some dudes to find out if their records were clean—” he starts chuckling when her fist hits his shoulder, playfully, but still with intent.

“Don’t be a dick,” she warns, her smile giving away the fact that she’s still amused by his immature sense of humor.

“I just… didn’t want to simply appear out of nowhere if you were happy. If you’d moved on,” Lando continues, his tone more serious now. “But when he told me you seemed like you hadn’t, I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine. I'm really not.”

His honesty was always a breath of fresh air, but now it's suffocating. Hearing him admitting he's not okay, implying that she's the reason why, is simply heartbreaking.

Her arms drop slowly to her sides, her fingers gripping the edge of the bed, “Why now, Lando? And why not text or call?”

He scoffs, “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you would have picked up if I called? Especially given how we left things?”

She cups Lando’s chin in the palm of her hand, forcing him to look at her, “I'll always pick up if it's you.”

The admission makes his chest tighten.

Lando shakes his head, “I promise I’ve tried,” he says, “God, I’ve fucking tried. I threw myself into everything, and nothing worked. Racing, training, sim sessions, going out with the guys — no matter what I did, I was constantly thinking of you. Every night out felt wrong because I wasn’t coming home to you. And I know home is such a vague word for me, because I’m mostly away, but you made every single place feel like home, and that's why it didn't matter where I was at the time. I just needed… need you in ways I can't nor want to explain.”

His confession makes her head spin. The breakup had been difficult for her, but she hadn’t considered how Lando had handled the past five months. All along, she had assumed he wouldn’t miss her — that his life, always on the road and consumed by his own pursuits, was too busy to notice the absence of one small, insignificant detail: her.

She's now realizing how wrong she had been to think that way.

“So…?” she finally asks. “Do you think a few orgasms later can mend what was broken five months ago?”

“What? No, of course not,” he says firmly, leaning forward, his elbows digging into his thighs. “I swear, all I wanted to do tonight was talking to you. I didn’t plan on getting to this point, but I can’t say I’m mad about it,” says Lando, taking her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “You still want me,” she shoots Lando a rapid look, studying his face, “Just like I want you. I see it, I feel it. Baby, I know it.”

Her heart pounds in her chest, the sincerity in his voice cutting through her defenses like a hot knife through butter. She wants to be angry, to accuse him of being selfish, but the truth is, she isn’t. Maybe it’s foolish to believe him, but one thing Lando never did was lie to her. He did worse, yes, but he never lied.

“Lando...” she starts, but her voice trails off, wishing her head would stop spinning so she could think.

“I know I hurt you,” he continues, his voice softer now, “You hurt me. We hurt each other. But we're too good together not to find a way to make it work.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing with memories of their past — the good, especially the bad, and everything else in between. Her fingers toy with the fabric of her dress, her eyes flickering between his face and the floor. The room is heavy with silence and, just for a moment, she lets herself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could find each other again.

Otherwise, if it's meant to fall apart, then let it happen with them gasping for air, tangled together, connected in every way imaginable.

THE MORNING SUN filters shyly through the curtains, soft and golden, spilling across the bed where Lando stirs awake. He’s all alone, the sheets around him rumpled from where she had slept. He blinks up at the ceiling, a little disoriented. Then, he hears the faint sound of running water and realizes she’s in the shower. It makes him feel like everything went back to normal, but he can't be sure of what's going to happen next. He can only speculate and hope, but nothing more than that.

The quiet is interrupted by the persistent buzz of his phone on the nightstand. He reaches for it, still groggy from sleep, scrolling through a handful of texts from last night — banter in the group chat, some Instagram notifications, a few missed calls; nothing too important to catch his eye. He places the phone back on the smooth surface carelessly, and his hand knocks over something solid in the process.

Frowning, he sits up to put it back in its place, and that’s when he sees it — a framed picture of them, taken during a rare quiet weekend in Monaco over a year ago, right at the beginning of their relationship. She looked so happy back then, caught mid-laugh as Lando was gazing at her with an expression so tender that it makes his chest ache now. The weight of the memory hits him harder than he expects, pulling him fully awake.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes him turn, and he puts the frame back quickly. However, it's enough for her to catch his sudden movement, her eyes flicking to the photo and back to him.

Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “I meant to put that away,” she rushes to say, pulling the towel tighter around her body like it might shield her from the embarrassment.

“Carlos took this one,” his voice is soft, as his eyes shift back to the frame. He picks it up again, turning it in his hands. “You asked me why didn't I call, but… why didn't you call?”

She laughs dryly, crossing the space to take the frame from his hand and placing it face down on the nightstand. She sits down next to him, shrugging.

“And tell you what, Lando? That I couldn’t stop thinking about you even though you broke my heart?” she asks, shaking her head, the embarrassment turning into something closer to frustration. “It’s just a stupid picture, anyway. We barely knew each other when it was taken.”

“It’s not stupid,” he contradicts her vehemently. His hand reaches out tentatively, brushing against her soft forearm. “It's nice to know I wasn’t completely crazy for hoping you felt the same.”

Her lips part like she wants to say something, but no words come out. The towel slips slightly, and she clutches it tighter, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his hungry eyes.

“Lando…”

“Leave it there, yeah?” he says, pointing at the picture. “Facing your side of the bed, preferably.”

Seeing her suddenly deep in thought, Lando grabs her wrist and gently pulls her onto his lap, his thumb lightly brushing against her silky skin.

She looks at him, her emotions warring on her face. “If it makes me look less pathetic, it was face down most of the time.”

Lando laughs, his hands finding her waist, then her hips, steadying her on his lap, “I love you,” he says it casually, but it still freezing the blood in her veins.

Her fingers fly towards his mouth to cover his lips, “Don't,” she warns.

“You know I do. I was serious last night. You don't have to decide anything right now, but I'm not going anywhere. It sucks we needed to hurt for a while, we're both at fault, but I never stopped loving you,” he repeats.

“You're so unfair.”

“Don't care, say it back,” he teases, digging his fingers into her skin to tickle her sides.

She starts giggling, “Don't you dare.”

His grin widens, “Or what?” he asks playfully as her hands fly to his, trying to fend him off.

“Lando, I'm serious. Stop it,” her laughter blends with his while he leans in closer, his lips brushing her ear.

“I need to hear it, baby. Please. Just say it back.”

“It back,” she chuckles, feeling his fingers tickling her so mercilessly that tears form in her eyes. Their laughter bubbles over, loud and uninhibited, until she collapses against him. “Okay, fine. Fine,” her breathy voice stops him in place, catching his attention. “I love you, Lando.”

A simple confession; he asked for it. But none of them expected it to hang that heavily between them. It's not a lie — not in the slightest — and Lando knows it.

“Enough to give us a second chance?” he asks.

Her breath catches at the sudden shift in his tone, and before she can reply, his thumb traces her cheek gently.

“I'm so scared,” she admits, leaning into his touch.

Lando sighs, understanding too well where she's coming from, “I know, baby. But I'm even more afraid of losing us again. Losing this…”

His hand slides down her chest, tracing the curve of her breasts. With a gentle movement, he tugs at the corner of her towel, letting it drip smoothly down her body. Patiently, he runs his hands down her waist, moving back up to her chest as they leave goosebumps in their wake. Hungry, his hands rest on her breasts, squeezing them lightly until he feels her nipples in his palms, and she drops her head on his shoulder, whimpering softly.

Memories of last night make her body shudder, feeling the heat between her legs intensifying. Following his lead, her fingers start tugging at the waistband of his boxers, until they slip low on his hips.

Lando moves one hand around her neck, pulling her in for a kiss. He groans against her mouth, his breath hot and ragged, before breaking their connection long enough to kick the boxers aside.

Skin on skin, their bodies align like two puzzle pieces.

She hovers over him, his hands on either side of her, “I wanna take care of you,” he speaks softly, closing his eyes when her forehead rests against his. “Please, let me take care of you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his tone that twists something deep inside her. She's just learned how to be independent again. She can't throw all of it away. She can't let herself slip.

She can't.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Her answer is all that Lando needs to hear. His lips crash back onto hers as he swaps their positions, lowering her onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, warm and solid. And so very real. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word feels like a promise, a vow that he won’t let her slip through his fingers again.

And then, Lando takes control — not the type of dominance he's used to when he steers his car. It's more like devotion; his hands map her body all over again, like a driver learning every twist and turn of a new circuit, his lips following the trail his fingers blaze.

She arches into his touch, responding to him in ways she thought she’d forgotten.

But the body remembers.

And the remembering is, oh, so good.

Last night was just the warm-up, she reckons — an act meant to remind both of them how well they fit together. Lando was gentle, kind, and patient. But now, she sees the shift in him.

His eyes are darker, filled with lust, his touch greedier. She can't help but smile when she realizes that the Lando she knows all too well — the one who’s needy, insatiable, and unrelenting in his desire for her — is still there, and so ready to show off.

Her skin tingles in anticipation as she watches him, knowing exactly what he wants. And for once, she wants it just as much. Maybe even more, considering how her body is acting independently from her brain.

She wants him to give her everything, to burn through her until she’s left gasping and wet and ruined, and she’s ready to meet his hunger with her own.

But before that, “We're not done talking,” she tells him, breathing heavily against his mouth.

“Yeah, we'll talk. Stay with me and we'll talk all you want, baby.”

She wants to protest, but her air gets knocked out of her lungs and her fingernails sink into his shoulders when Lando nudges the head of his cock up and down her slit to collect the wetness. With a gentle kiss on her jaw, she closes her eyes, tracing her fingers down his arms as he pushes inside.

They both exhale, relieved that they're back where they belong.

Talking can wait.

Lando's hands grip her waist just as he pulls out, only to push back in, all the way to the hilt in one slow, but hard thrust. The feeling is almost too much for her, which is ridiculous since he just started moving. But she feels so full, and the sounds he lets out only make her open up for him even more.

“Wait, wait,” she can barely recognize her own voice, stopping Lando when their hips touch together.

She can't explain it, but she needs it.

“What's wrong?”

She looks down between their bodies, confusing Lando even more. “I…,” she begins, but she's not sure how she's supposed to voice her need.

“It's okay, you can tell me,” he assures her, bringing his hand to cup her face in his palm, tracing his thumb over her cheek.

“I—need a second to feel you,” she explains, pushing his hand away only to trace her palms over her face.

Lando chuckles, “Baby, don't hide from me. You're driving me fucking mad when you're blushing.”

“I'm not blushing,” she contradicts him, raising her hips against his, her walls hugging him tighter with every move.

“No?” whispers Lando roughly as if he lost his voice. “God, you're perfect. So good, so fucking sweet and perfect around me, baby.”

Her legs tighten around his waist, keeping him inside, while one hand moves to his lower back to push him against her even more. There is no physical space left between them, but she still wants more. It only makes Lando's cock throb inside her pussy, giving her a few more seconds to adjust to his length before he pulls all the way out and slides back, searching for the perfect pace.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, burying her fingers into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Lando, his eyes flicking over her face. His insides tighten at the sight of her parting her lips in pleasure, her breathing hot and irregular. “You're so beautiful from this angle.”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off, which makes Lando chuckle again.

“Why would I?” he asks, leaning closer to her ear, while thrusting a couple more times before pausing. “You look like a fucking goddess taking my cock so well.”

She squeezes her eyes shut at the sound of his voice, low and raspy, rocking her hips to find that sweet friction against her walls again.

“Keep,” she whines, “Keep going, then. Let me have it.”

Lando presses his lips on hers at the same time he resumes his movements, his hands roaming all over her body.

“You can have my cock, baby,” he groans into her hair. “All yours.”

She nods, wrapping her fingers around his biceps, “Yeah?”

“Promise you,” says Lando.

After that, he picks up pace, both falling into an agonizing rhythm. All this time, she had thought that familiarity might dull the edge of being with Lando, that knowing his moves would make it predictable and boring, maybe even ordinary.

Somehow, it’s the exact opposite.

It’s because she knows him, and he knows her so well, that every touch feels ecstatic, every kiss charged with meaning. He doesn’t need to guess what she likes; he already knows how to unravel her, how to leave her trembling and breathless. And she knows exactly what will make his breath hitch, how to draw out that low, desperate groan that ignites her own fire.

In a way, every time feels like the first, but it's always much better, because they know how to make each other fall apart like no one else can.

“Please,” she gasps, breathing wetly in his shoulder. “Harder.”

One thing about Lando, he's always been good at listening. Without thinking twice, he tightens his grip on her hips, fucking his cock inside her harder and faster than before. In an instant, her ears are blessed with the way his moans sound.

“God, I've missed fucking my pretty girl like this,” says Lando, his hands moving on her thighs to spread her more so he can slide in faster. “It's never like this, baby, fuck.”

Being with Lando is chaos, the kind of beautiful, consuming chaos that leaves everything around them in shambles. They are loud and messy, and everything is sweaty and wet and sticky. He kisses her like he’s starving, touches her like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of her skin, and she matches his fervor, meeting him with the same wild energy that pulls them under. Together.

“Lando,” she spits his name out of her mouth in short spasms. “Lando, Lan… Lando.”

It's almost like a cry for help, but she doesn't need saving. Not when he's fucking her so good, slamming against her over and over again, until the outside world fades away and all she remembers is his name.

“Lando,” she whimpers again.

“Keep me in, love. Like that,” she can barely hear him over the sound of skin slapping on skin. “Fuck. You're taking me so well, I won't stop fucking you, baby. I won't—”

She sucks in a breath of air, her body buzzing with pleasure. Wrapping her arms around his torso, she can feel how hot and sweaty his chest is. She moves with him for a couple more thrusts before she lets go, the sound of Lando fucking in and out of her while she comes so obscene that it makes her eyes roll.

“I'll never get tired of seeing you coming like that,” says Lando, pinning her to the bed, his cock feeling so fucking good inside of her that it makes him see stars. “So fucking hot, baby.”

Her nails scratch the skin of his back as her pussy clenches around his length, forcing another hiss out of Lando's mouth.

“Don't stop,” she manages to say, even though she feels her throat raw.

“Ah, look at you, now. Being so good for me,” says Lando with a smirk, tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Letting me have my way with you when you're sore and spent. And so wet, baby, you're dripping all around my cock. Fucking hell.”

Lando's jaw clenches, a visible battle playing out in his face as his breath hitches. She feels him moving deeper, hitting the sweet spot inside her, sending ripples of pleasure through her body with every thrust.

“Yes—fuck. Don't stop,” she repeats.

His eyes widen as he tries to hold on for as long as he can, but it's hard when he flashes his eyes in her direction and catches her already looking. It doesn't take long for him to realize there's a replica to her first orgasm. He nods, without saying anything else, bringing his hand up to her neck. She places hers on top of his, not to push it away, but to let it rest there as a sign that it's fine to claim her if that's what Lando needs.

And that's enough for him to lose it.

“Baby,” he breaths out, fucking her slopply, any sense of order dissolving under the weight of their eye contact.

She arches into him, her fingers trembling as they rise to cup his face.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she demands, her voice a desperate need.

She pictured that face thousands of times in the past months, but nothing compares to this. Lando groans at the command, his hooded gaze staying on hers. The intensity of his expression nearly undoes her again — his pupils blown wide, lips parted as he lets out s string of cuss words.

“That's it, pretty boy,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over his cheek as he moves inside her, his pace faltering for just a moment before he snaps back into thay sloppy rhythm, chasing his release. “Want to see you when you let go.”

She barely finishes her sentence when his orgasm crashes over him like a tsunami; no one would be able to even tell where she begins and where he ends.

Lando looks so beautiful and wrecked, and she drinks in every second of his surrender.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

When his features soften, she sees how vulnerable he is, and it leaves her breathless.

Satisfied and content, her fingers still trace his face, wanting to remember the exact way he looks in this moment, when he is completely hers.

Unable to support his weight, Lando collapses on top of her, feeling his body as light as a feather, which is so far from the truth. But she doesn't mind; she loves the feeling, actually. She loves the heaviness, and the way he keeps his cock tucked deep inside her, wet and softening slowly, not allowing his cum to leak out of her.

Descending back down from their high, the only sounds in the room are their slowing breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets. It's hard not to notice the weight of reality when it begins to creep in around the edges.

She lies beneath him, her fingers lazily tracing patterns on his back, but her mind is miles away.

“When are you leaving?” she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando tenses for a moment, then shifts to lie beside her, propping his head on his hand to look at her. The vulnerability in her eyes twists something deep inside him.

She swallows hard, suddenly flooded by all the reasons they had fought, all the late nights filled with misunderstandings and misaligned priorities. She remembers all the reasons why they broke up, and thinking how bad of an idea this has been. Because, how can she let go of him again, without feeling like she'll be losing both her head and heart in the process.

“On Tuesday,” says Lando softly. “But not how you think.”

Her brow furrows in confusion as she turns to face him. “What do you mean?”

Lando leans over, his hand caressing her cheek as he gathers his thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking about us for months. Since you left, actually,” he begins, his voice low and deliberate. “I had a lot of time, and I managed to figure out why it didn’t work before, why I couldn’t give you what you deserved. So… I’ve talked to the team.”

She almost stops breathing, her eyes widening in his direction while she waits for him to continue. Months ago, she would've die to have this conversation, and now that it happens, she doesn't know how to behave.

“I'm working on a schedule. To have more time for us,” Lando explains.

Her heart skips a beat. “You’d do that?”

“For us,” he repeats, his voice firm. “I can’t keep pretending I’m okay without you. I don't want to be okay without you, it's stupid. And I don’t want to keep coming back here, hoping for a second chance, only to mess it up again. I want to get it right this time.”

She stares at him, not knowing what to do with that information. This is not the Lando she knows. The recklessness and impulsivity got replaced by caution and planning the steps ahead. It's new, and exciting, and it makes her tear up.

“And what if it still doesn’t work?” she asks, her voice small.

He leans closer, his forehead touching hers. “It will.”

His tone is so definitive that she can't say anything else, letting the silence stretch between them as she searches Lando's face for any sign of hesitation.

There’s none.

“How... did you actually know where to find me last night?”

Lando smirks, studying her face with half-closed eyes, bringing his hand to her jaw. “That friend of yours posted on her story. Honestly, I didn’t know you were going to be there. But I hoped.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Stalker behavior.”

Lando shrugs nonchallantly, “I just happened to be nearby,” he chuckles.

“Lucky me,” she says, tracing the contour of his nose with her finger, stopping on his jaw.

“Lucky us,” he corrects, pulling her in for another kiss.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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© trashy track tales, 2024

[lolapiastri]

happy new year | l. norris

warnings: smut, whole lotta smut, everyone gets head, dirty talk, lando won't shut the fuck up, spitting lol, praise, don’t really know what’s going on half the time

authors note: found this in my drafts from december please enjoy x

31st december 2022, monaco - 11:54pm

“come on mate, get another drink down you,” max fewtrell handed his best friend a jagerbomb, his spare hand resting on landos shoulder, his drunken self unable to stand properly.

lando smiled slightly, before taking the drink and shotting it in one. it had been a few days since him and his girlfriend broke up, and he wasn’t anywhere near over her yet. he didn’t know if he ever would be, judging by how he felt right now. he wanted to be at home, bottle of some 40% spirit in hand and trying to forget.

max wouldn’t let that happen though, forcing him out tonight so he finally left the confinement of his apartment, hoping that the party scene would alleviate some of the stress on landos shoulder.

“come on, there’s so many fit girls here, take your pick,” he slurred, before being pulled away by his girlfriend for the traditional new years kiss.

lando hadn’t realised it was almost midnight, and suddenly he felt his stomach drop at the reminder that last year he was doing this with his ex. he grabbed another drink from the bar and got it down him quickly, planning on sitting at the bar while everyone around him spend the next few minutes with their loved ones.

until he saw you.

his eyes were glued to you the moment he saw you, stuck on how the short red dress you were wearing clung to your curves, stuck on how your hair tumbled over your bare shoulders, stuck on how the sparkly eyeshadow glistened under the neon lights or the club and lit up your whole face.

you made eye contact was you turned towards the bar, and obviously he caught your fancy, with a black button up that pronounced his muscles more than usual, a chain around his neck, and his hair in defined dark curls that contrasted his tanned skin. he looked almost like an angel descended from the heavens, except an angel would never have such a sorrowed look upon their face.

he beckoned you over with a flick of his fingers, eyes never leaving your body, and you may have been upset if you weren’t as gone as you were. you settled yourself in between his legs, taking the half drank glass from his hand and finishing it off for him, leaving a faint red mark on the rim.

he was infatuated at first glance. his hands settled in the dip of your waist, almost engulfing your body with their size. his mouth slowly curved into a smirk as he watched you lean over him to place the now empty glass on the bar, allowing him a small look at your lace bra you were wearing under your dress.

he checked the time on the clock. 11:57.

“what’s your name, gorgeous?” he asked, thumbs drawing lazy circles against the fabric of your dress.

you told him your name, before then asking for his, and his eyes widened with the realisation that you didn’t know who he was, or you were too drunk to realise.

“lando,” he smiled softly, voice deep and husky.

11:58.

“you here with anyone?” he asked, eyes dropping down to your red-stained lips before meeting your eyes again, the actions so quick you could barely recognise it happening.

you shook your head. “well, my friend, but she’s here with her boyfriend so…”

“i’m in the same boat,” he chuckled softly, subconsciously pulling you closer and closer towards him, so your thighs were brushing against his, “my mate max is here but he’s ran off with his girlfriend now.”

“god i hate people in couples,” you laughed, receiving one in return from lando, “they act all in love with no regard for those of us who are single.”

11:59.

“tell me about it,” lando rolled his eyes, his hand slowly climbing up your body so they were now resting against your rib cage.

you looped your arms around him, hands settling in the nape of his neck, a finger wrapping around a loose curl in his hair. he stood up now, looking down on you, and leant down so your faces were mere centimetres apart.

“you know it’s almost midnight,” he whispered in your ear, breath warm against your skin.

you hummed in response, feeling your heart beat doubly as fast against your ribs, the air suddenly feeling so much warmer.

“and i don’t have anyone to kiss.” as the final word left his mouth his lips attached to your neck, soft under ear, leaving a sloppy kiss that made you want more, want so much more.

“i don’t have anyone either,” you almost whispered, scared you had the wrong impression, but of course you didn’t.

chants of people in the background took you out of your little bubble, as the familiar ‘ten, nine, eight,’ sounded through the club.

lando leant right in, so your lips were practically touching already. “can i kiss you?”

you nodded just as the clock struck midnight, and his lips crashed into yours, with a sense of lust that you hadn’t felt in far too long.

the kiss was wet, it was sloppy, but it was desperate and needy and it sent a shiver through your body down to your core. your hands buried themselves in his hair, pulling against his roots and causing him to groan into the kiss, allowing him to stick his tongue in and control the kiss.

your tongues moved in harmony as his hands ran down the lengths of your body, as if he was scared this would be the last time he could touch you, the last time he could feel you under his fingertips. they eventually settled against your ass, cupping it lightly as he pushed your hips against his, so you could feel his semi through his jeans.

you wanted to kiss him forever, wanted all of him all at once. you decided that if the world ended now, you would be happy to die here and now, in landos embrace, his lips pressed against yours.

he pulled away, but only for his lips to find your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses until he found that sweet spot, the spot that made your neck roll back, giving him more access to suck against your skin, undoubtably leaving deep purple marks wherever he went.

your hands detached themselves from his hair and instead you dragged them down his body, fingers spaced out as you passed his pecs, passed his abs (though you were very tempted to linger there), and finished at the waistband of his jeans, dipping an index finger inside to trace the elastic of his boxers.

you felt him groan against your skin, pulling away to give you a look as if to say ‘really? in public?’. deciding to play it innocent, you just beat your eyelashes at him, a confused look on your face, and slowly ventured lower and lower.

lando wasn’t having any of that, however, grabbing your wrists easily in one hand and dragging you over to the door, pulling his phone out to call a taxi. you tried to kiss him again, but he just tutted, with a dangerous glint in his eye that told you you were in for it when you got back to his.

the taxi arrived sooner rather than later, and lando made an effort to sit in the front, leaving you in the back alone. you were confused, wondering where the sudden coldness had come from, wondering if you had pushed it too far. but when he turned around midway through the journey, and mouthed ‘behave now, and i’ll be nice later’, you knew it was going to be a fun night.

you quickly sent your friend a text to let her know you were okay, not that she would read it for another few hours, before deliberating whether or not to behave. on the one hand, behaving means that you wouldn’t piss lando off and that he’ll ‘be nice’ later, whatever that meant. but one the other hand, you kind of wanted to push his buttons, see what you could get him to do. which is why you decided to call your friend and stir up some trouble.

“hey bitch!” you practically sang into the phone, the drunkenness being more apparent than ever. you could see lando in the rear view mirror, and watched as his face seemed confused, but not upset.

“hey!” she slurred back, as drunk as you were, “where the fuck are you?”

“i’m with this guy,” you smirked to yourself as you started your plan, “but i can’t lie, he just doesn’t seem all that you know. like he seems like he’s all talk and he won’t deliver.”

lando raised an eyebrow at that, but still didn’t say or do anything, thought you could tell he was definitely listening in now.

“then why are you going with him?” your friend asked, and you could faintly here the music of the club in the background.

you hummed into the phone, but loud enough for lando to hear as well. “don’t know, maybe i just feel bad for him. he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to fuck, you get what i’m saying?”

lando’s fist clenched at that comment, but he still kept his cool, at least from the outside.

“like, i don’t know, he just doesn’t seem like he knows how to make me cum.”

that particular comment must have hit a nerve because lando leant back and grabbed the phone from your hand. you pouted and lazily attempted to grab it back, but really you were glad you were able to rile him up.

he quickly spoke to your friend, telling her you were okay and where you were going, before hanging up and ignoring your pleas for your phone.

it was only a few more minutes before you were back at lando’s flat, and he still ignored you while he paid the driver and guided you up the stairs, other than a link through your arm to make sure you didn’t fall. you liked the fact that he was still a gentleman, even though it seemed like he was about to not be.

“lando-” you whined as you waited outside his apartment, watching him unlock the door, but he cut you off before you could say anything else.

“what did i tell you?” he asked, voice still and stern, not facing you at all.

you tried to grab his wrist to get him to face you but he resisted. “to behave.”

“and you didn’t behave, did you?” his voice was almost patronising, but it was deep and rough and so fucking sexy that you didn’t care. “so now, i have to show you that what you were saying to your friend isn’t true. unless you’re going to apologise and tell me you didn’t mean it?”

he was giving you a chance to back down, to take the easy route. but it was new year’s day and you were never going to see him again, so you decided to have some fun.

“i don’t know what to tell you, you just don’t seem like you could make a girl cum,” you played it like you didn’t care, when your heart was racing knowing that something good was coming next.

he finally opened the door to his apartment and picked you up, your legs naturally looping around his waist as he pulled you into a rough kiss. it wasn’t like the one earlier, where even though it was rough there was a sweetness behind it, but instead this was pure lust and need in a kiss. his tongue explored every part of your mouth, at a ferocity that you felt like you were on fire, and that no bucket of water could ever pull you out.

his hands settled under your ass, kneading the skin under the silk of your dress. your hands found his shoulders, broad and wide, and you needed them stabilise as your world was spinning around you.

he carried you through his apartment, with you getting a brief look before he threw you onto his bed, leaving you looking up at him with rosy cheeks and lust-hazed eyes.

in the light he looked majestic, with two dimmed lamps either side of you projecting warm orange hues onto his face. fuck, he was gorgeous, chiseled by the gods themselves, and as he undid the buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, your mouth almost started to water at how beautiful he looked.

you pulled yourself up, going to try and finish undoing the buttons to take his top off, but he stopped you, once again capturing your wrists but this time pinning them behind your back.

“you don’t get to touch if you misbehave, baby,” he said, fake-pity written all across his face.

his other hand pulled your dress off your shoulders, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to remove it from the rest of your body. your heels were next, as he undid them slowly and carefully, taking his time to admire you, watching as your patience was running out.

left in just your lacy red lingerie, you watched as he climbed back over you, obvious hard on that he ignored as his lips met yours in another kiss. it wasn’t quite like the other one, slightly softer, as if he was checking that you were okay with all this. and of course you were.

he pulled away. “i can’t make you cum, yeah?”

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” you teased back, tilting your head while trying to catch your breath.

“well, i guess you won’t be coming tonight then,” he almost sighed, before diving into the crook of your neck and leaving harsh, aggressive kisses wherever he could, adding to the deep purple marks he caused earlier on.

he slowly made his way down your neck, before finally making it to the valley of your breasts, where he sucked harder than before, obviously trying to deepen the colour and add to your pleasure. his hands found your breasts, taking one in each and kneading them, a soft massage that felt better than it ever should have done. was it the alcohol? or was it him?

he pulled your right boob out of your bra, eyes widening as his index finger and thumb took your nipple in between them and started to roll it gently. you arched your back in reponse, a weak moan falling from your lips, which pushed your breast into his fingers more. his other hand pulled out your other breast, but instead of his fingers his lips attached to it, and your mouth parted subconsciously as a wave of pleasure washed over you.

god, he was good. and he knew he was good judging by the smirk on his face. you almost regretted not letting him pleasure you how he was planning to.

almost.

“fuck, lando,” you let out a breathy whine as he swapped over, both of your nipples having an overwhelming sense of pleasure, “look so pretty sucking my tits.”

you could tell he liked that, as a vibration shook through your body when he moaned against your skin. he pulled away, much to your dismay, but you stopped minding as he slowly made his way down your body, still leaving the open mouthed kisses as he reached your belly button.

“you know,” he almost panted, hands still fixed on your tits, “i was gonna make you feel so fucking good.”

one hand leaves your nipple, a cool trail down your stomach before it settles at your waistband, mimicking your actions from in the club. your hips buck against his hand, causing him to chuckle slightly, as you crave more and more and more of his touch’s

“i was gonna make you come on my tongue, it would have felt so fucking good,” his sultry voice was working wonders as his fingertips traced the patterns in the lace, “would have had you screaming my name as i sucked your clit, would have felt fucking euphoric.”

even his words made you feel something, made you feel like any moment now you were about to combust. one finger trailed down your panties, feather light over where you needed him the most, but with the lace barrier in the way.

“god, you’ve ruined these, huh?” he chuckled, feeling how your wetness had soaked through your underwear. “so fucking wet and all i’ve touched are your tits. so responsive for me.”

you wanted to talk back, wanted to have some bite to you, spur him on even more, but you couldn’t conjure up anything while he left soft kisses on your inner thighs.

“still want my mouth, baby?” his voice was sickly sweet, but the tone behind it was cruel and teasing, because obviously you still wanted his mouth.

you nodded as best as you could, but he shook his head a response, a ‘tut tut tut’ leaving his mouth.

“need words, darling,” he almost sang, “or else you’re not getting anything from me.”

you mustered up every last drop of energy you had and spoke up. “please, lando. i want you.”

“want what?”

it took every fibre in your body to not tell him to fuck off there and then. you wanted to, you really wanted to, but you also wanted him. and that want won.

“want your mouth on me, please, lando.”

and that was enough for him, as he pulled down your lace panties and finally revealed your pussy to him.

“fuck me, darling,” his finger trailed over your folds, feather light, as he took in the sight of it, “you’re glistening, look, you’re dripping out.”

you would have felt embarrassed, but the dutch courage must have taken over. “not used to seeing a girl so wet, huh?”

his tongue poked his cheek. “easy, pretty girl. let me make you feel good.”

he gently blew over you, making you squirm slightly, before he dived straight in and began sucking your clit. the pleasure was instant, your hips bucking into his face as he chuckled against you, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. everything he had made you feel up to this point was microscopic compared to the pleasure you felt now.

it only grew when he slid two fingers into your pussy, curling them up at hitting that spot inside of you, looking over as your face contorted in pleasure, eyes closed, mouth hung open, he thought you looked like the prettiest girl in the world.

you were already close, no idea how as you hadn’t been going for that long. but the mix of his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit was bringing you to the edge.

“i- i’m close, lando,” you stuttered, speaking hard when so much pleasure was coarsing through your veins.

he tilted his head slightly. “you’re close did you say?”

you nodded, feeling your orgasm approaching faster and faster, you could already feel it happening now. to add to everything, his fingers somehow reached deeper inside of you, contorting in a way where everything was just so fucking good.

“i wait,” he let out a soft, fake laugh, “i forgot. i can’t make you cum.”

and with that he pulled away, leaving you recovering from a high you never even got. you had to take a minute, your body feeling worse than ever as the euphoria slowly went away, and the lack of human touch was getting to you.

“what’s wrong, baby?” he faked pity, reaching down to swipe his thumb across your cheekbone. “you weren’t expecting to finish, not according to what you said in the car.”

you slowly opened your eyes, seeing his gorgeous face looking down on you, and fighting the urge to throw a punch. you subconsciously leaned into his touch, craving it despite the atrocity he just performed, and watched as he undid his belt with his other hand.

“here’s the deal,” he pulled away, leaving you with a whine, before unbuttoning his shirt and taking it all off, allowing you to see his abs for the first time that night. “you’re gonna suck me off, and if you do a good job, then, and only then, do you get to cum. understand, darling?”

you nodded. secretly, you wanted to suck him off anyway, and with this deal you would get to come as well. he took a step back from the bed, tapping his foot against the floor as a gesture for you to come down. you couldn’t understand though, brain slightly fucked from the shortly lived pleasure, and instead looked at him confusedly.

“get on your knees for me, baby,” he cooed, and you did as he said, sinking onto his wooden floor and looking up at him, waiting for his next order. with the promise of an orgasm at the other end, at this point you would do anything to get to the prize.

he started to unzip his jeans, and as you went to help, he instantly took a step back. “hands behind your back, no touching remember?”

you poured, but did as he said, linking for fingers behind your back as you waited for him to get ready. he pulled his boxers down, and jesus christ were you not ready.

he looked big through his hard on in his jeans, but you were not ready for all that. you could tell you were shocking your shock through your face, and he let out a soft chuckle and grabbed your chin with his right hand.

“think you can take it?” he asked, holding it with his other hand as he kept your eyes on it, watching as your mouth suddenly seemed to water.

you nodded. “mhm. just wanna make you feel good, baby. that’s all i want.”

he smiled down at you. “give me a kiss.”

you tried to climb up to kiss his lips, but his hand kept you pressed down, and you understood instantly. you leant forward to press your mouth against his dick, kissing the tip gently and watching as his head fell back. you left open mouthed kisses all down his length, finished at the base before climbing all the way back to the top. you started leaving kitten licks on the tip, watching the veins in his neck pulsate at your actions.

“god, you’re so fucking good,” he grunted, hand moving from your chin round to the back of your head, nestling in your hair as he started to take control. “you gonna take me all in?”

you hummed against his cock, opening your mouth as he guided you down, controlling your movements as he gently fucked your mouth. you tried your hardest not to move or choke, instead trying to focus on his pleasure.

you couldn’t help your eyes watering though, and when he looked down he obviously felt bad, relaxing a little bit as he let you take more charge.

“look so pretty naked on your knees for me,” he cooed, taking in sharp breaths as your tongue swirled around his tip. “who knew that such a sweet looking girl could give head like this? yeah, keep going, fuck, you’re so fucking good.”

you just kept going, knowing that the more you pleasured him the more likely you were to get pleasure yourself. lando didn’t want to seem selfish, however, as his hand wrapped forward to stroke your cheek again.

“fuck, play with your nipples for me,” he ordered, slightly out of breath, but moaning as you started to play with yourself. he let out a groan as you moaned around his cock, head bobbing like this was your last day on earth. “such pretty tits, should be framed in a museum how good you look right now.”

you could tell he was close by how his breaths got shallower and shallower, and his thrusts into your throat got weaker. he pulled away though, leaving a string of saliva from your mouth to his cock, which you licked up instantly. you went back to kissing his cock, waiting as you squeezed your nipples even harder.

“you were so good, huh, baby?” he picked your naked body up, grabbing your hands and wrapping them round his neck, telling you that you could finally touch him again. “listened to everything i told you to do, such a good girl.”

his praise was music to your ears, and his actions matched the tone of his words. he lay you gently down on the bed, climbing over you as his lips met yours in the softest kiss of the night. it was an ‘are you okay?’ kiss, an ‘i hope i didn’t go too far’ kiss, a ‘you look beautiful’ kiss, and it was possibly your favourite of the night.

“gonna fuck that dripping pussy,” he mumbled into your lips before continuing the kiss, lining his cock up against your entrance, tapping it against your clit purely to watch you squirm with elation.

and as he thrusted into you it was like your world had stopped. fuck, he felt so good inside you, filling you up more than you could have imagined and left you choking on air as inch by inch he entered more and more.

lando felt much the same, obsessed with how you felt clenched around him, how tight you were as he continued in. he waited once his whole dick was in, holding back from setting a rhythm until he was positive you could take it.

“feel so good clenched around me,” he muttered out, leaning back so he could check you were alright, check that you were ready for this, “such a tight little pussy needs to be stretched out.”

you nodded at him, a signal to start moving, and he did as he was told, beginning to thrust in and out of you at such a pace that your mouth flew open in shock. his hands dug into your hips, undoubtably causing marks as he fucked you deep and hard.

the moans emitted from your mouth were ungodly, borderline pornographic, and led to you covering your mouth in embarrassment. lando was having none of that, however, stopping his movements to gaze into your eyes.

“don’t you dare not let me hear those pretty sounds,” he thrust at the end of the sentence, as if to solidify his point, and you allowed yourself to moan, “want all the neighbours to hear how good i’m fucking you.”

you were so close to the edge, once again seeing it in the distance, and you clenched around lando trying to let him know. he chuckled and leant into your shoulder, kissing over the deep marks he’d left earlier, just adding to the euphoria you were feeling.

“gonna cum,” you whined, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your clit, needing that final push to make it over the edge.

he understood instantly, rubbing rough circles while sucking against your neck. the pleasure was washing over you in waves, and it wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm rush through your body, every part of you feeling lighter and in a state of happiness you couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

lando kept going, however, chasing his own orgasm, and you decided to help him get thrre, however harsh it was for you. your lips found his neck for the first time, leaving sloppy kisses along his collarbones that were followed by a row of dark purple and red.

“fuck me,” he grunted, thrusts getting sloppier as he got closer and closer to the edge. “gonna pull out, yeah?”

you nodded against his chest, nails tracing over his abs as you rocked your hips in tandem with him, so sensitive that you might even come again.

as he kept thrusting into you, you remembered how much he loved being praised earlier, and thought that might help get him over the edge.

“being so good, fucking me so well lando,” you sighed, whispering into his ear as you kissed up his neck.

you felt his thrusts stutter with your words, obviously having a positive impact as a blush rose to his cheeks. his hands gripped even harder around your hips, and you began to feel another orgasm coming.

“such a pretty boy, so so pretty, look so good and fuck me so good,” you kept going, your hands leaving him and instead finding your clit. “got the prettiest dick as well, feels so good all wrapped inside me.”

“fuck-” he choked out, before pulling out and finishing all over his chest.

he panted while you got yourself to finish, cumming over your fingers. you threw your head back against the pillow, watching your chest as it rose and fell, trying to catch your breath.

lando joined you, lying across the bed while pulling himself together. you decided you weren’t finished, however, crawling over on top of him and licking his cum off of his abs, making sure to get every last drop off. his hands tangled themselves as you finished, pulling you up to him so he could kiss you again, making out like teenagers as you just enjoyed each others company.

“so,” lando finally broke the silence as he pulled away from the kiss, “i did make you cum.”

you shrugged as you rolled back to the side of him. “was it more fun that i challenged you?”

“definitely. never known someone so responsive to some dirty talk,” he jested, earning a slap on his bicep.

“never known someone love to be praised so much,” you retaliated, shutting him up as he went to grab you a glass of water.

he returned quickly, along with some boxers for him and a baggy t-shirt for you. you noticed the t-shirt it had ‘mclaren’ across it, and you hummed for his attention as you threw it on.

“you like cars then?” you asked, not expecting him to laugh in reponse.

“yeah, you could say that.”

you tilted your head in confusion, but decided you were too tired to understand whatever was going on. “you don’t mind me staying the night?”

“not at all.”

“you gonna tell me why that was so funny in the morning?” you asked, knowing it would be your last question before you drifted off to sleep.

he hummed. “of course. happy new year.”

“happy new year.”

[thatguywrites]

Divers + Wags with Male!Tattoo Artist!Reader

Headcannons

Tattoo artists tend to have a lot of tattoos, so these headcannons operate on that assumption

A/N: Guys I haven't written about Lily Zneimer in a week. I'm in heavy withdrawal.

Oscar + Lily

Oscar isn't very vocal about his love of your tattoos, but rest assured, he never stops thinking about them

Lily also isn't very vocal about your tattoos, but she's always looking at them

When it's just the three of you, they'll both be more vocal about it

They'll pin you down on the bed and just ooh and awe about them as if you aren't even there

Lily is open of get some small tattoos, as long as you are the one who does them

Oscar keeps changing his mind on what he wants

One day he wants a sleeve, another he just wants matching couple tattoos, and another day he wants a tattoo like Fernando's samurai back tattoo

Max + Kelly

Probably ended up accidentally encouraging a drunk max to get tattoos

You never tattoo him while he's drunk, but he ends up with a steadfast determination to get you to tattoo him when he's sober

Kelly can't because of her job, but she'll brainstorm with Max for fun ideas that he won't regret

He ends up getting the Barcelona and Zandvoort tracks, along with a small star for each of his championships

He doesn't tell anyone about these besides you and Kelly, but whenever he thinks of them he smiles

If your tattoos aren't colored, Penelope will color them in with washable markers whenever you are over

Especially when she was younger, but she still does it

Kelly ends up managing to get small tattoos on her hip for you, P, Max, and their new baby

Charles + Alex

Charles finds your tattoos very hot

Alex likes them, but Charles drools over them

When they first saw you, your tattoos were definitely one of the main reasons you caught their eye

When they were flirting with you, they got small couples tattoos to spend more time with you

When you joined their relationship, you got another matching one

Like Alex = moon, Charles = sun, you = stars

Every time you get new tattoos done, they make sure you take perfect care of them

Even though you're literally an expert, they just enjoy pampering you with skin care

And maybe keeping you shirtless whenever you get back/chest tattoos

Alex + Lily

They, unlike Oscar and Lily, are very Vocal about their love of your tattoos

They first say you at one of Lily's golf tournaments, and seeing your tattooed arms in a polo shirt made them instantly fall head over heels

Witnessing them attempt to flirt with who they perceived to be the hottest man they had ever seen in their lives was truly a treat

You had also fallen for their antics instantly, but hadn't given in so soon, just so they would keep being so cute and flirting

After just five dates they instantly demanded that you tattoo them

They got matching tattoos with each other first, Lily and F1 car, and Alex a golf club, but they got you to tattoo something relevant to you onto them as well soon enough, and you ended up with a golf club and F1 car yourself

Valtteri + Tiffany

Valtteri always tries to goad you into taking more clothes off by saying he wants to look at your tattoos

You did his What's Next tattoo

You and Tiffany have matching ones

Valtteri loves tracing your tattoos with his fingers when he's half asleep

He claims it helps him sleep

You're pretty sure he's just obsessed with you

Tiffany calls you rabbits but you catch her staring at your tattoos just as much at Valtteri traces them

Valtteri is extremely tempted to just get full sleeves of tattoos, says it would match his brand, but has to wait to retire for that many tattoos

He is now pretty exited for retirement

Taglist: (comment or DM to be added)

Or at least the next winter break

@koalapastries @justaf1girl

[httpsserene]

Gosh please please please can you write something daniel x reader maybe inspired by too sweet by hozier when he thinks(some internal turmoil cuz he can't stay away from her) she's too sweet/innocent for him or something like but it turns out to be further from the truth?? I love love love your writing, i think about please's and thank you's at least three times a day since i read it. You're so immensely talented!!!

I'd really really appreciate it.

(i don't mind age gap(like up to 10years), some kinky smut or even a bit of morally grey characters as long as there are no explicit mentions of past relationships or cheating and etc., happy ending plss, and I won't mind if you add a pinch of "who did this to you")

Ly ly ly

httpsserene's 2k Special | T.D.R.E.

synopsis: she’s too pure for him. she hasn’t been damaged by life like he has and he hopes you never will be. that’s why Daniel can never allow himself to be with her. he knows she’s convinced herself that she can fix him, but he knows that the longer he sticks around, the more he’s ruining her. he finds it cynical: their relationship (or lack of a relationship) reads like one of the books she’s obsessed with: right person wrong time or forbidden love. Daniel learns that it might be a little darker of a trope—like one of her books that she never allows him to see a page of.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. hoping that the tumblr queue doesn’t do me dirty! this should be posted on thursday, because i won’t be able to manually post it on my own as i’ll be hiking in san diego the whole day :p

read the rest of the 2k special uploads here.

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TSA — 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑 daniel ricciardo x fem!reader 2.7k words. implied sexual content. mild!yandere!reader. stalking. sabotage. angst with a happy ending. lando and max are here. not edited at all. mentioned alcoholism. pov switch. physical fight (daniel gets his ass beat, sorry). possessive!reader. inspo from too sweet by hozier.

Daniel meets you in the elevator. At first, he thought you were a Formula One fan who snuck into the condo trying to get a glimpse of your favorite driver (himself, obviously) but, he learned that you’re his new next-door neighbor. It was awkward; he accused you of following him to his room and felt like the world’s worst person when you—dressed in the cutest pink dress and matching flowy bow tied in your hair—stared at him terrified, before you unlocked the door to your flat and slammed the door behind you quickly without a word.

He sent you a bouquet of pink orchids the next morning, along with a hand written card apologizing for his rude behavior and that he hoped the two of you could become good neighbors and friends. It seemed all was fixed, as the next time he ran into you, you greeted him softly, like nothing had happened. It was 5 A.M: you were starting your day and Daniel was ending his night.

Daniel was on his third drunken attempt of shoving his key vaguely in the direction of his lock on the door, when you exited your flat with a yoga mat over your shoulder and a water bottle that was comically large. With a hushed ‘good morning,’ you kindly helped Daniel into his apartment, telling him to drink a big glass of water and have pain killers ready when he wakes up; there was no judgment in your wide brown eyes, only tenderness, and a slight hint of worry. He woke up after twelve at the sound of a knock, his head pulsing with pressure and his sight slightly blurry from not quite sleeping all the drunk away.

He eventually made it to his front door and found that you ordered him lunch: a chicken wrap and sweet potato chips, from one of his favorite brunch cafés—Daniel figured you have good taste, as he doesn’t recall ever telling you about this meal in either of the two interactions you’ve had. So, he ate, drank plenty of water, freshened up, and debated if he should go over and express his gratitude, or whatever. He decided he will, and found himself putting on a nice watch and a few too many sprays of his expensive smelling cologne. Daniel didn’t let any thoughts of why he was prettying himself up cross his mind; he’s simply thanking you; a girl far too young, and probably far too sweet for his tastes.

You brushed off his thanks shyly, hidden behind your door with a blush strong enough Daniel saw it paint your dimpled cheeks and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Thinking quick enough to rival his reflexes, he offered to exchange phone numbers so the two of you could meet up and he could buy you a coffee. You entered your name in his phone with a yellow heart next to it.

The coffee meet-up had to wait due to Daniel’s hectic schedule, yet the texting flourished. He initiated the beginning of your text thread the next day, mindlessly texting you about how he overheard Emilio (another neighbor) arguing with his wife on the phone; Daniel said she’s probably going to mail him divorce papers within the next week. You replied that it was mean to eavesdrop and gossip. Daniel followed up saying it’s not eavesdropping if said person was screaming into his phone in the hallway, and he wasn’t gossiping, he’s merely keeping you informed.

Daniel laughed in the middle of his motorhome listening to the voice message you sent four days later, eagerly telling him about how you saw Emilio in the lobby with a couple boxes and without a wedding ring on his finger.

It was a warm morning, when you and Daniel finally managed to meet for coffee. You scrunched your nose in distaste when he ordered plain black coffee; Daniel did the same when you ordered a drink that was mainly milk and sugar. Daniel chuckled when you claimed the amount of coffee in your drink had you wired for the rest of the day. He decided to let you believe that, and not inform you that it was most likely the sugar content that had you crashing hours later.

Daniel invited you over for burgers one night and you comment that his home looks like a mix of a “mojo dojo casa house” and a “minimalistic hell.” You gifted him a throw blanket and a potted plant the next day, and continued to text him reminders about watering it.

Around 10 P.M. on another night, he’s yelling at Max for cheating at fifa. Max laughed around the lip of his beer bottle before the two of them paused at the sound of a knock. Daniel checked the door and opened it to see you: fuzzy slippers, eye-mask on your forehead, bonnet, matching pajama set, and pout on your lips with a sleepy tilt to your eyebrows. He apologized for the noise and promised to quiet down. Daniel threatened to kick the Dutchman out when he teased him for having a “crush.” He doesn’t get crushes, he’s a grown man.

Daniel spends less time in night clubs and more time with you. You took him to sip and paint nights, pottery classes, hiking, even bookstores. You order him to not open any of the books he’s holding for you; Daniel tries to take a peek when you scan through one and you slam the book shut, saying it’s too dark for your liking. He doesn’t comment when you end up getting it (Daniel paid).

He kissed you in your apartment, halfway through Howl’s Moving Castle. He proceeded to tell you it was a mistake. You teared up when he said you were too pure for him, arguing back that you weren’t a child. The tears fell when Daniel claimed he’s too old for you, that he’d only hurt you. He returned to his apartment, figurative tail tucked between his legs, and heard you crying through the wall. He fell asleep hating himself.

Daniel distanced himself from you; he misses your shared adventures and condo gossip, but he never forgets to water your potted plant, even without your texts. He fell back into the clubs, bringing home various women but never manages to get them in bed due to various things going wrong. He gets stuck in the elevator with Stephanie who happened to be claustrophobic for hours, locked in the stairwell with Sofia who sprains her ankle in five-inch heels, the fire-alarm interrupts him and Kiana just as he unlocks the door, and his kitchen sink burst when he lifted Laura on the counter.

He tries to console Laura, who runs from his flat in drenched clothes, and sees you staring at her in confusion from your doorway as she rushes past. Daniel apologizes for waking you again, and you shrug, ignoring his words, murmuring that he should call maintenance before he floods the entire floor and shutting your door in his face.

Your potted plant starts to wilt, no matter if Daniel moves it in or out of direct sunlight, if he waters it less or more, or if he changes the soil, or adds fertilizer. The universe has it out for Daniel.

He finds himself in an ultra-private lounge, dim-lighting, sultry piano, and dark decor enhancing his dramatics as he reveals how he ruined his life to Max, Lando, and the bartender who will be tipped handsomely for pretending to care. The piano fades to the end of the piece just as Daniel wraps up his lament.

“It sounds like you deserve it, honestly,” Max stated bluntly, Lando nodding agreeably at his side.

Daniel groans into his hands, lifting his head to say that he’s already aware of that, but freezes when he sees you rise from the seat of the piano. Your figure is snug within a floor length, backless, black dress, complemented with gold jewelry, and makeup that opposes your angelic nature. You bow your head slightly in the direction of the tables clapping at your performance, stumbling briefly when your eyes meet Daniel’s. You smile softly and begin to make your way over to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel shrinks into his seat, as the other two drivers stare at him in confusion.

“Hi, neighbor,” you start airily, before turning to smile at Lando and Max, “Hello.”

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” Daniel mentions.

“You never asked,” you narrow your eyes at him, before relaxing, “I also don’t work here—this is my brother’s bar. The pianist suddenly fell sick and I offered to fill in.”

“Oh,” Daniel hums, “This doesn’t seem like your type of scene.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You should know better than to tell me where, what, or who I do or do not belong with.”

“Okay!” Lando claps, kicking Daniel’s shin under the table, everyone ignores his muffled groan of pain, “Sit with us for a minute, if you can take a break. Danny is seriously obsessed with you.”

You take the offered chair next to Max and sigh, “Really? I couldn’t tell,” all three men wince at your dig, but you continue, “Did he tell you that he almost flooded the entire floor last week?”

Daniel watches as you charm his friends, the three of you chattering happily over his demise, and ignoring him as you do so. He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed, only thankful, as this is the first time in weeks that you’ve been in his presence for more than five minutes. You smell so good. Is that weird of Daniel to think?

Unfortunately, the four of you are interrupted far too soon. Your brother calls you over from behind the bar; his expression is less than pleased, jaw tensed with irritation, and Daniel thinks the look in his eyes has a hint of crazy. He wonders if you told your brother about him. Hopefully not—the man looks like he could fold Daniel like a lawn chair without breaking a sweat. The three men watch as you argue with your brother; it doesn’t seem like it’s going in your favor.

Lando calls Daniel’s name, “Mate—she’s good for you.”

“Nah, mate. I’ll only ruin her.”

“Daniel,” Max scolds, “The few months you were ditching us for her were the happiest I’ve seen you. I wasn’t worried that you would be passed out in a random club or yacht after giving yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“She’s sweet, Danny. I think she’s exactly what you need,” Lando adds, “You've convinced yourself that you don’t deserve anything good. She’s trying to prove you wrong and you need to let her.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, he chooses to shake his head and remain silent. You make your way over to the table again and stand in front of them with a pout.

“It’s past my bedtime, apparently,” you huff, turning your head to glare at your brother, “Don’t worry about paying tonight, it’s on the house.” You exchange polite goodbyes with Lando and Max, Daniel gets a soft smile. He watches you leave the bar with a sad tilt to his lips, then orders a shot of whiskey.

You’re sat on your couch, freshly showered and ready for bed. It’s 1 A.M. and Daniel usually doesn’t end his nights out for another hour. So, it makes sense for you to be worried when you see his location nearing your shared condo building an hour early. Did you sneakily (his phone password is his birthday, it wasn’t that hard) use his phone and share his own location with you? Yes. But, you did it with good intentions. You worry about him when he’s not with you.

You decide to go down to the lobby and pretend to ask if you received any packages in hopes of intercepting Daniel when he walks in. You don’t manage to step out of the elevator when you suddenly have an armful of a bruised-up Australian. His lip is busted and you can see a bruise blooming high on his right cheekbone. You start to shake with anger.

Furiously pressing the button of your floor and slamming the ‘close door’ button, you frantically question Daniel, “What the hell? I left you not even two hours ago, and you look like a mess. Did you get into a fight, did you get mugged, did you—“

“Did your brother beat my ass for hurting you?” Daniel groans, not fighting your motions as you tug him out of the elevator and into your flat, “Yes, he did.”

You pause and grumble angrily, forcing Daniel to take a seat on your couch. You rush into your kitchen for ice, then to the bathroom for a first aid kit. He doesn’t fight when you order him to ice his cheek, and lets you hold his face to tilt his head at every angle possible, as if it’ll expose any more damage. Eventually, you end up looking into his eyes, pretending that you have the knowledge to know what a possible concussion looks like, even though you really just wanted an excuse to look at him.

Unconsciously, your thumb rubs soothingly along his temple, Daniel leans further into your hand. His tongue flicks out for a brief second, and he flinches when it disturbs the cut on his bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, you clear the haze from your eyes and frown as you turn to rifle through the first aid kit.

“I can’t believe he put his hands on you,” you bite out angrily, finding a disinfectant cloth to clean his lip, “I don’t know why I tell him anything anymore.”

Daniel winces at the sting of alcohol, remaining quiet as he watches the focus that covers your expression.

“I apologize for him,” you mumble, “He doesn’t think clearly when it comes to me, he thinks he’s like my guard dog or something,” you dispose of the wipe and grab an ointment, “I promise you I told him that the only thing you did was waste my time and hurt my feelings,” Daniel deflates under your hands, “It’s not like you physically hurt me…or anything. He’s just an idiot. I’ll kill him.”

At that, Daniel laughs quietly, dropping the ice from his cheek so you can clean that too, “Don’t say that. You’re such a sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt your own brother. Also—I’m not sure if he hoped this would make me stay away from you, because if you keep rubbing my face like that, I might fall in love.”

You hum, pleased you have him eating out of the palm of your hand, “Have some decorum, Daniel. You sound desperate. Also, he knows that I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Oh? You’re possessive,” Daniel teases, “Is it bad if I kinda like that?”

Your heart flutters, he’s really the best for you. He doesn’t need to know about the lengths you went to ensure any of the girls he tried to bring home didn't make it into his bed. It's a shame Sofia sprained her ankle; that was not intentional on your part.

You shrug lightly, “No, it’s not bad. I think it makes you perfect for me. As long as you don’t mind a little crazy. And—don’t think you’re off the hook. You still have to apologize for making me cry.”

Daniel nods seriously, “I’ll fall to my knees and beg right now, if that’s what it takes.”

Sticking a plaster over his cheek, you stand and gesture for him to do so too, “Okay. Kneel.”

“Huh,” he chokes, eyes wide with disbelief, “You’re serious?”

“If you beg well enough, I’ll let you eat me out.”

The sound of his knees hitting the floor echoes.

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[applecherryandpears]

BBC Radio 1 - 1997: The love edition

Can't believe that so many seminal Noel & Liam quotes are from the very same interview, either Noel's life + music crisis poured it all out of him, or the good moments are just indeed that good BTS.

Naturally, they were (allegedly) drunk. Liam wasn't supposed to show up but he changed his mind last minute, my headcanon is that he missed Noel judging from how well they got along that day.

I'm very friendly to my bed, I love my bed, and my bed loves me.

(Interviewer says Liam only gets better, Noel complains Liam doesn't show up for B sides recordings, Liam says he had a sore throat, and somehow, this comes to this.)

Love-love-love. Liam twists exhibition (oasis photo thing) into expedition and Noel's bullying turns into a live fantasy of marching down the south pole wastelands together to build heart shaped igloos, also Liam's shy. And fighting for his life.

There we have it, a recorded (half) confession.

Okay so here I find the "as long as ... for a couple of quids" holds some meaning as Noel goes a little rigid saying no. Can't ever meant this. but I can't for the life of me understand Liam.

Also Liam clears out that inspiration entails for him listening and understanding him without rushing into ill-made judgments and it's palpable he's at his limits with the media. Coincidentally the day after this interview he was tracked down by journalists, asking him if he had regrets over what he said, because apparently he swore too much and had people clutch on their pearls all over the UK.

Supersonic quote but in full. Mad for it, Noel says.

I'll be a really good uncle to Liam's child.

I could sum this one up with Pardon? but -- "that man is a bigger man than I am, why, it has nothing to do with you, but he has to deal with life and with somebody like me on top of everything else" yet by the end of that year it had all gone to flames. Also audio proof they did give each other birthday presents, not lost on me this one.

Noel truly cares about Liam's opinion but won't show it (nothing new ik) However that giggle at the end has my wonders.

Bonus:

In the honour of a 2024 magazine article deeply regretting Liam's menacing aura and rock n roll attitude from 1997

And, if anyone can possibly make out what Liam says Noel is pointing his way, this one maxed out my comprehension skills:

[magicalrocketships]

Rivers of Light || Max/Daniel || part 13 ||

(reminder that this in its entirety contains mpreg, reference to giving birth, Max Verstappen's bad dad, past abuse, and on-track accidents.) Continue suspending that disbelief.

All previous parts can be found in the masterpost here. This chapter is on AO3 here.

He hadn't thought past the birth. He'd assumed it would be bad then and fine afterwards. Sometimes he thinks it's worse now.

It's a long drive home.

Bastiaan never picks the same times to cry for both a wet nappy and a feed, and Daniel has to keep on stopping so Max can comfort his pitifully sobbing baby. Max's dad would have been furious with all the breaks, but Daniel doesn't complain. He buys them sandwiches and drinks around lunchtime, and when they have to pull over for a nappy change mid-afternoon, he holds the changing bag and passes things over when there aren't baby changing facilities and Bastiaan has to put up with the indignity of being changed on the back seat of the car with Max kneeling painfully in the gravel.

Max tries not to think about how there are only two nappies left in his bag, and only a handful at home. Before Bastiaan had arrived, Max had assumed babies peed a normal amount, but then Bastiaan had gone through 12 nappies in a single day and Max had to start buying bigger boxes of them. Max needs money, and he's going to need it soon. It's no longer a matter of Max wanting to go back to the only thing he's ever wanted to do with his life, it's a fucking necessity. Max is drowning.

Bastiaan doesn't enjoy the backseat change. He cries throughout. Max tries to be quick, but he's tired too, and his fingers feel thick and clumsy. He normally uses little disposable bags to put the used nappies in when he's done, but he can't get this one to open so Daniel has to take over and help.

"We will be home soon, Bastiaan," Max tells his baby, depositing the nappy and wipes into the bag Daniel's holding open for him. He wipes his hands clean on a fresh wipe, then busies himself pulling up Bastiaan's little leggings and adjusting his cardigan. "That'll be nice, won't it? Home and safe." He gathers Bastiaan into his arms, standing up and cradling a distressed little boy to his chest in the corner of a car park. "I know you're very put out. It wasn't nice waiting for a change, was it? Waking up wet and then having to wait for Daniel to stop." He kisses Bastiaan's hair, rocking him. Bastiaan likes being comforted. Daniel's tying the nappy bag closed then jogging to throw it away in an overflowing bin. Max kisses Bastiaan again. "Home soon." He doesn't know if he's comforting himself or his baby. Maybe both.

Daniel walks back. "All done," he says, brushing his hands on his jeans. He leans into the car and comes back out with a half drunk bottle of Coke. He drinks some of it and holds it out for Max to have a drink. "You okay?"

"Of course, Daniel," Max says, taking a sip and handing it back. Bastiaan is settling, but it's clear he's almost done with being in a car all day. Max feels the same. He stretches his legs, doing a couple of side lunges, one to the front, then another. It's different being cooped up as a passenger than out on the track or on the sim. It's hard when he's this tired. When he's still so fucking uncomfortable from giving birth. He's running out of pads for his underwear too and he didn't know he'd still be bleeding now. He hadn't had anyone to ask. He hadn't thought past the birth. He'd assumed it would be bad then and fine afterwards. Sometimes he thinks it's worse now, because it's been going on so long. He's been using an antiseptic cream he'd found in the bottom of one of his bags from his dad's, probably left over from when he was still racing. It's pretty much run out.

Daniel leans in and touches his finger to Bastiaan's pink cheek. Bastiaan promptly hiccups and looks very surprised. "You've had a very long couple of days, haven't you, Bastiaan? Bet you'll be glad to be home." He looks up at Max. "You too."

"Yeah," Max says. "I think it will be nice to be at home."

Daniel doesn't look away.

Max ducks his head to kiss Bastiaan's hair. Not long now.

&&&

Max dozes for the final bit of the journey. He opens his eyes when Daniel says, "Max, I think we're almost there." He's indicating off the main road, slowing down to turn right.

They're not there yet. Max had put the farmhouse address in the GPS, which isn't where he lives. It's close, but it's not where he lives.

"Is this right?" Daniel asks. He's pointing at the sign.

"Yes," Max says. "We are almost there."

They drive down the road. It's a minute or so before the farmhouse comes into view, and the robot voice starts to tell them that their destination is on the left. Daniel starts to slow down.

"No," Max says. "Drive on. That is the farm."

They drive on a little further. There are signs saying welcome to the holiday park. It's neatly manicured. There's a no guest access exit on the left; a farm track leading between trees.

"Down there," Max says.

"It says no entry," Daniel says.

"That doesn't mean us."

The wide track leads down beyond the pine trees and into a farmyard. There's an old tractor in the corner. The ground is caked dusty mud and gravel. There are three static caravans in the yard. One is brand new; it was only delivered last week. It's not going to be moved on to the site until next month, when one of the vans is due for an upgrade and is being swapped out. One is old and is waiting to be picked up. It's going to be used as a cheap clubhouse somewhere. The other is Max's. It's also old, but its British owner died a year ago, and the family has been arguing over ownership and waiting until the will has stopped being contested before they can sell it.

Max pays minimal rent to cover the pitch fees for the duration. He doesn't pay enough to keep it on the main holiday park site. Celine did him a favour by letting him live here, on the farm lands.

Bastiaan starts to cry.

"Baby, can you see where we are?" Max says. "We're home. And it's going to be nice to be home, isn't it? Where it's quiet and familiar." He looks up at Daniel, points out the window. "You can park there. Just by the door."

"Max," Daniel says.

"By the door," Max says, and he doesn't bother undoing the little harness keeping Bastiaan in the seat. He clicks open the belt securing the seat instead, sliding it over to him as he climbs out the car. His key is in his pocket. There's a little metal step stool by the caravan door, rubber footed and topped for extra grip. He puts the car seat down on it while he's unlocking the door, then brings Bastiaan inside with him.

It's just how he left it. The washing up hasn't done itself since he's been gone. His soup bowl is still half-submerged in water. He puts Bastiaan's car seat on the floor by his blanket, and undoes the buckle to get Bastiaan out. He sits on the floor with his back up against the sofa, and hugs his baby to his chest.

"Shush, little baby," Max says. "There's nothing to be scared or upset about now. We're at home now. There's your blanket, and in the bedroom there's your bed and my bed, and you don't have to be in a car any longer." Bastiaan has spent every night of his life since they came out of hospital in this caravan. Every night but last night. Everything must have been very scary and unfamiliar. He kisses Bastiaan's forehead. Then his nose. His cheek. Bastiaan fusses, but when Max tries out laying him down on the blanket with Max next to him, Bastiaan voices his displeasure. He likes being as close to Max as possible, and he's had to spend all day in a car and not in his daddy's arms.

It's okay. Max has missed hugging him too. He sits back up with him.

Daniel brings in Max's backpack and Bastiaan's changing bag and his suitcase. He puts them on the floor in the kitchen area because there's no space on Max's cluttered table. He goes back out and comes back with the carrycot and all the associated pram things. They go on the floor in front of the gas fire. Out again, and then he's back with his bag, and the remains of the snacks from the car.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

Max looks up at him. Daniel's expression looks funny. Max doesn't understand it. Maybe Daniel's as tired as Max is.

"The sofa's fine," Daniel says. "I won't be any trouble."

There is a second bedroom with twin beds, but Max uses one as Bastiaan's changing station and the other for all of Bastiaan's clothes. In his bedroom, he has one half of the bed and Bastiaan's Moses basket has the other half. Max doesn't want Daniel to go. He doesn't want him to leave Max here alone. He thinks the sofa pulls out but he hasn't ever tried it. He has a sleeping bag from when he first left his dad's.

"Yes," Max says. "You can stay."

"Great," Daniel says. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Where's your toilet?"

"There," Max says, pointing towards the door at the other side of the kitchen, next to the door they've just come in through. "Through there and on the right."

Daniel comes back a moment later. "Have you got any toilet roll anywhere?"

Max shrugs. "Try the bathroom in my bedroom. At the end. I don't use this one much."

While he's gone, Max rocks his baby. "You're good," he tells Bastiaan, because he's going to tell him so much that Bastiaan will never, ever forget it and will never know what it feels like to be a disappointment. "You're the best little boy in the world."

Bastiaan's losing his little sock again. Max pulls it back up. Rearranges Bastiaan's cardigan so he's warm.

"It's going to be okay," Max tells him. He's not sure if he's telling Bastiaan or if he's telling himself. Bastiaan looks at him. He's not fussing any more. He's smiling. At Max. At his daddy. "I promise you. It's going to be okay."

Max just doesn't know how.

[bonbonly]

I told myself I wouldn't but that wedgie annon for max awakened something in me and I can't stop thinking about it.

you know who else would be into giving you wedgies and making you cum like that? college!bff!danny!

not only is he doing it, he's doing it in public settings too since we know he's not shy. imagine stepping out of a party to catch your breath and he's behind you, grabbing the elastic of the thong peaking out of your lowrise jeans and pulling, there's nothing you can do beside moan and brace yourself against the nearest tree, hoping none of the drunk frat boys stumble upon you.

or he's doing it in public library, in between dusty old shelves and he's dragging and pulling on your panties, painfully stimulating your clit. laughing when you whine how he ruined all your underwear and telling you that you'll just have to go bare in that case and he'll find another way to pleasure (tease) you in the outside world.

wedgie anon look at the service you've done for all of us !!! and you are so real i was literally thinking about collegeau!danny while writing it!!!

bon's thoughts (18+)

i love the idea of him in a public library. you're trying to look through the shelves to find a book needed for this research paper you're writing and from the corner of your eye, you see your best friend danny walking over with a smug smile on his face. you're wearing that miniskirt he loves to talk about so much, so how could he resist when he sees you on your tippy toes to grab a book, giving him a clear view of your underwear?

you're smacking the back of his head with the book in your hands, but he grabs it and tosses it to the side, a hand on your throat as he spins you around to your ass against his crotch, and he's chuckling about how his best friend's nothing more than a filthy slut.

"danny, not now, what if we get caught?" you ask, and he rolls his eyes,

"ok, that didn't stop us last time when we fucked in the lecture hall 5 minutes before the professor arrived"

fair point. and you really hated him for that.

"if we get kicked out of the library-"

"that's on you, sweetheart, no one asked you to wear this skirt," he grins, pulling your skirt up to reveal your panties and he's tugging on it hard. he's snickering at the way your legs kick out, a strangled cry escaping your lips as he presses a bit harder on your throat, "shh, you gotta be quiet, you don't wanna get kicked out of the library do you?" he whispers in a mocking tone.

he's keeping you on edge for the next 5 minutes, loving the way you're squirming and begging for him to keep going and when you finally do cum after an arduous battle with him, he's giggling hysterically, he's thriving for this. he crouches down to face your cunt and carefully rips your panties in half. you can't even yell at him because there's a student on the other aisle, blissfully unaware of the filth happening and you don't want to bring attention to the matter. you glare at danny on the ground, who's stuffing your panties in his pocket before smacking your cute ass,

"good luck finding that book, try reaching for the top shelves now," he laughs and you're about to kill him when he vanishes from your sight. he pokes his head back in just for a split second with a smirk on his face, "i do hope you won't ask that boy on the other aisle to help you right?"

"and what if i do, danny?" you snort, rolling your eyes.

"i'll burn your entire set of panties in your dorm, and make sure everyone sees your sweet cunt," and he walks off as if he didn't just say the dirtiest thing ever. you scoff at his words, but deep down you knew he was being dead serious.

that's why you asked the sweet boy on the other aisle to come help you, knowing daniel was in earshot and he's laughing to himself as he's checking out a book.

that little slut.

[auggieblogs]

"I'm not even drunk" | OP81

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of being drunk?

Author's note: Hiiii, beautiful people. I hope everyone is doing good. This one shot is inspired by a tiktok I watched recently. It was very cute and I hated it so much (I was jealous). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. Happy reading:))

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

It was your 21st birthday, and Las Vegas was the chosen destination for the celebration. Oscar, your boyfriend, planned the entire trip, determined to make it the most memorable birthday you'd ever experience. Initially hesitant about the idea, it took a considerable amount of persuasion, involving nearly the entire Formula 1 grid, especially Max, to get you on board. The Formula 1 drivers were on a break, and they were ready to party.

The night kicked off with Lando popping champagne during the cake-cutting ceremony. You were handed a glass, and with a cheeky grin, Lando said, "Cheers to being legal everywhere now! Except maybe on Mars." You felt the bubbles tickling your nose as you laughed with joy.

But then came the tequila shots with Max and Checo, and suddenly, sophistication was replaced with the burning sensation of regret and lime wedges.

By the end of the night, you were on a first-name basis with every type of alcohol, and Oscar gave you that "we're going to need a mop later" look.

Oscar, being the responsible partner he was, barely had a drink. He watched over you, wanting you to enjoy the night to the fullest.

As the night ramped up, you were on the verge of climbing onto the pool table, ready to deliver a speech that probably would've made Shakespeare question his career choices. Oscar intervened just in time, gently pulling you down with a, "Let's get back to the room, baby. I think you've had enough." You, however, were convinced the party had just begun. "No, Oscar, the night is still young," you slurred.

"But love, you'll be exhausted tomorrow, and the hangover won't be fun," Oscar reasoned, successfully convincing you to return to the hotel room.

Eventually, Oscar managed to coax you into a cab, where you continued to babble about how you weren't even drunk and thanking him for the incredible night. Your words were a bit of a jumble, but Oscar simply smiled, appreciating your genuine happiness. He sat next to you, nodding along with a patient smile, occasionally muttering an "Oh, really?" or a "That's amazing" to keep you going.

Upon reaching the hotel, you clung to Oscar like a drunken sloth. In the elevator, you gave him a squinty-eyed grin, saying, "I'm not even drunk, Oscar!"

He shot back, "Really? What's with the wobbly legs then?"

"You, baby," you replied with a wink, your laughter echoing off the elevator walls. Oscar just chuckled, probably wondering if he should get you a helmet.

Exiting the elevator, Oscar tried reasoning with you, "You're wasted, love." You straightened up with all the dignity of a penguin trying to impersonate a giraffe. "I'm as sober as a cat in a cucumber garden!"

Back in front of your hotel room, Oscar, in full dad mode, hands on hips, challenged you, "Prove it! Show me you're not drunk."

"Oh, I'll prove it," you announced, pulling out your phone to make a phone call to Lando. "He'll tell you I'm as sober as a... a really sober thing!"

When Lando answered, you shouted into the phone, "Lando, tell Oscar I'm not drunk!" Lando's laughter erupted from the speaker, "Yeah, you're definitely drunk, you muppet."

You rolled your eyes and handed the phone to Oscar, pouting, "He's the drunk one, not me!"

Determined to seal the deal, you declared, "I can tap dance to prove I'm not drunk!" And without waiting for a response, you started a wobbly tap dance routine in the hallway ( which was more like a human interpretation of a malfunctioning robot than a dance).

Oscar doubled over with laughter catching you just as you lost your balance. "Alright, alright, you've made your point!"

As you both stumbled into the hotel room, still giggling, you managed to blurt out, "Best birthday ever," before collapsing onto the bed. Oscar, smiling like a lovestruck puppy, joined you on the bed, engulfing you in the biggest bear hug and said "Happy birthday, love. You're never drinking again."

[junedenim]

catch some z's

he's lovedrunk.

warnings: smut, blowie, angst, fluff, ambiguity, you get the picture

word count: 4.6k

He’s bored. It's not a major affliction, it just sort of happens at these kinds of things. Parties fall into two categories boring and too drunk to remember. He doesn't want to get drunk so he's bored. Everyone else seems drunk. He knew he had come to this party too early. It's only 10 o'clock and he's been here for 2 hours and he's ready to go home. But everyone else is just getting started. In fact, half the people planning to attend this party have yet to arrive. So, he guesses that's why he's staying. Within that half, there's you. That kind of thing just happens too.

Your relationship has been a fuzzy one. Alex used to date your best friend but now they are just friends. He's also friends with your friend's wife. Everyone just kind of knows each other. It's all very incestuous. But you've always been friends. You're witty, sharp like a whip, and have a laugh so contagious he's gotten stomach aches from it. He also might be in love with you but that part is a little fuzzy too.

He sits and waits at the bar, still nursing just one drink. He knows not to go too heavy on the alcohol like last time. He's been too sloppy with his liquor lately. Somehow, you're never drunk. He's seen you down enough liquor to make a person fall over but you stand the same: hand-on-hip with a slight curve of your spine. It's enough to get him to break a sweat.

He's been stuck daydreaming for too long he thinks he might have fallen asleep. He leans against the bar and debates whether it's worth staying. He knows you'll come here with someone else because you always do. He wonders if you're ever alone. There's also someone on your arm and someone in your bed.

Sometimes, it's him. He's okay with the "sometimes" part of things. It works for people like him, the comers-and-goers of the world. But within that "sometimes" you're together, you like to play these games. Bring another man along, show up late to the party, pretend he doesn't exist. He knows you do all this to get a rise out of him, in more ways than one, but his impatience is at the max. Alcohol would make it more tolerable but he wants to be fully aware tonight.

A warmth spreads across the back of his neck and there you are with your hand on your hip, that curve in your spine, and Michael on your arm. Michael is fine. He's a horrible drunk but one of the more manageable men in your life. He'll pass out on the bar soon enough and you can pawn him off to one of your other friends to take home.

He knows all this because of the glint in your eye. He's only turned around, his vision not even properly focusing on taking everything in, but that spark shines through. You're smiling and it's both conniving and lustful. He wants to take a bite out of you sometimes, to have you lodged in his throat.

"Hiya, sailor!" You salute him, having a big joke out of you. That'll make it tougher. When you're in this joking mood, you have him play court jester for you, mock him all night, tease and toy with him before you finally give in. He doesn't know if he can work for all that tonight. He feels tired and there's a pounding in his head. It's light but he won't make it past midnight. He can tell by your smirk that you're in it for the long haul and you're ready to drag him through it.

Alex finds it best to just play along. The quicker he gives, the quicker you'll give. He bows his head. "How are you doing, ma'am?"

You play your swooning act, a soft gasp, and give him your hand. He places a soft kiss on the back of it, giving it the featherlight touch that he knows leaves you aching for more. He wants you to ache. "We had a long journey from Rex."

His head lifts slowly, trying to keep track of all your slight movements like the way your eyebrow quirks as you wait for a response from him. You know how to handle your prey. You're a master of it. "You've been out already?" He raises himself up completely, leaning back against the bar.

He's thankful for the way Michael sways, already lost in the sauce. Any sober person would question these slow movements, this dance you do with one another, every position calculated. Each of your response times inch on for years. There's an extended period of time—one long enough to be classified as an eternity—before you give a slight nod of your head. "Rex Club, Bridge—enough for Michael to be drunk."

"Michael's drunk," Alex notes like this is new information. Michael looks like he might need a chair but you kept him pinned at your side like your puppy. Alex takes a sip from his drink to wash you down.

He waits for your quip, the one that will make him feel foolish. But your eyes begin to wander and he's panicked he's lost your interest. You tug at Michael's hand like you're trying to keep him awake. "Can I have that?" You point to his half-empty glass, sitting in his hand. Zig-zag.

"Yeah." The glass looks better in your hands, somehow turned into fine china. The liquor slips easily down your throat and the glass is suddenly empty, sitting on the bar beside him. Your head roams around the room like you're looking for someone else to prey on. At one point, he would have begged for you to stay but he's too tired to make a fool of himself. Another drink doesn't sound bad so he orders another of his and one for you. That makes you stay. Alcohol is always key to getting your attention.

"You didn't ask me what I want?" You play coy, biting your lip, letting go of Michael's hand to place your hands on your hips. He's got you, he knows it now. You've let go of Michael, now you just need to rid of him, pawn him off to Matt or something.

He shrugs. "I know what you like." You'll take anything, you're flexible that way, and you're a dipsomaniac, at least in practice.

You hum and tilt your head like you don't quite believe this but he knows this to be the truth. He knows that you know this. Your hair flows down with the movement of your head, your neck is exposed and just like that, you've knocked him back. You know each other so clearly, so knowledgable in the movements that'll make the other snap. His control has broken and he's been reduced to a puddle just by the sight of the slope of your neck. How sweet it is.

"Should we get Michael a seat?" He asks. The man's eyes are half-shut and he hasn't said a single thing this whole time. Alex wonders if he's hooked on anything else but at least he isn't doing his drunken rambling routine yet.

You look over Michael with an admiring gaze. Alex doesn't understand Michael. He's a normal guy who can sometimes make you laugh and sometimes make you want to kill him. He's not exciting and he can be rather tiresome. Alex knows, in some sense, Michael is a project for you. He's a toy for you to play around with for this month. But shouldn't these projects be more interesting than Michael? There's nothing admirable about Michael. He's miserable to look at. (He's handsome but Alex is steadfast in the belief no one is worthy of you, not even himself, not that he wants to be. He's content with whatever this is because this is fun. Michael is not fun).

"Michael and I will grab us a table. You'll bring over the drinks?" You're playful and, to him, it's hurtful. He thinks you should know he's tired, that this was a long week and he can't do this hours-long dance with you. Now, you're just being cruel. You walk away, swaying in your hips and his eyes are on your ass. He waits and waits and waits for those drinks.

He sets them down at the small table, the one up against one of the walls. Michael has gained an awareness of his surroundings and spots the two glasses sitting before him. "Where's mine?"

Alex chuckles at the man's slurring. Michael is a punching bag to him. But then you're looking at him and with a smirk you say, "Al, go get Michael a drink."

He swears to himself this is it. He'll grab Michael a drink and grab your hand and go home and fuck you because this is all tiring. You once said you like a man in charge so he's going to do that and he does do that and you yelped and yelled at him to sit down. So, he sits down. "You can be so extreme," you say with an eye roll.

He's baffled by this. "I'm extreme?" He doesn't understand how you aren't aware of the extreme torture he is suffering from. "What about you?"

You scoff and sip your drink, smiling into the glass. "You like to make scenes."

Alex laughs. It's a falsehood of a story to consider him to be capable of making scenes. He has always been the quiet mouse sitting in the corner. He's been known to occasionally come out of his shell but compared to you. There's no competition. "You don't know me very well."

You bite your lip and lean back in your chair. Michael is chugging his drink. "I know you perfectly."

He concedes, "Yeah." It's the truth. You've always had this irregular responsive relationship. One look and each of you knows, like the stare you give one another as Michael burps. Hidden peals of laughter slipped under the "pleasantries" you exchange.

You cross your legs. His eyes travel down the exposed skin. A thigh to kiss, a knee to caress, shoes to scatter across the halls of his house. During one of the first go-arounds you two had, you kicked his shin. He swears the bruise is still there.

"You make me laugh, Al," you randomly say. He considers this to be a calculated move. Your right leg, the one crossed over the left, swings back and forth, knocking against the leg of the table and his leg. His view of you is obstructed by the glass sitting in front of your lips like you could kiss it at any point. He's always wanted to be a cold liquor-filled glass.

He'll play with the cat. "Why's that?" He leans back in his chair, wraps his hands around his glass, sitting his arm on the table. He crosses his leg—right over the left—knocking his boot-covered foot against your strappy heels. If he could smoke in here, he'd lit a cigarette now. He knows how that gets you going.

You shake your head at him. And then, you're blushing. It shocks him how much he's overtaken you. It shoots pleasure through him and puts a feather in his cap. He'll boast about this to whoever cares to listen. You lift your head back up and push your hair back, uncovering those rosy cheeks. "You really know how to do a girl in."

"Do a girl?" It's his way of prompting Let's get the fuck away for Michael and fuck. But it's cheesy and sloppy and has you turning your face away, looking around the room again. Not a good sign.

"Is anyone else here?" The question makes him wince. Why should you give a fuck about anyone else when he's here? He's here, exposed, and he made you blush just a minute, who else here has made you blush? Certainly not Michael.

He shrugs and downs most of his drink. Michael's glass is empty and he's rising out of his chair to go get another. "You get the next one, Mike?"

Michael, with no awareness of time, money, words, or you, nods his head. "Yeah. I got you. I got all of you." He leaves and it's a relief.

Alex inches closer to you while you're looking away. He thinks about reaching out but that isn't part of the game. "When are we leaving?" It could be too much, too quick. Sometimes you like it hot and cold but that's not important to Alex right now. He's tired. And horny. Really fucking horny.

You cock your head back like you're trying to evaluate him. "We? Leaving?" You click your tongue. "No. Not now." He'll take his time. Alex knows he sometimes has to wine and dine you. Another drink will lighten things up and maybe induce Michael into alcohol poisoning so he can leave for good.

Michael comes back with more drinks. You all sit in a silent circle. Your eyes are off looking at the rest of the party, looking for someone better to devour. Alex is looking at you, trying to will your eyes toward him through his stare or magical powers or whatever. Michael is looking at his drink. Michael likes his drink very much.

"When are you going to look at me?" Alex finally asks. Wizardry wasn't doing much so maybe words will work.

Your head turns back. You look at him, really look at him, dissecting him for your science fair project. Your gaze is puzzling at first, trapped in a landmine. You brush your hair behind your ear twice and lean back in your chair again. A smirk reemerges across your face. "I'm looking at you now aren't I? Do I need to watch you all the time?"

Alex nods. "I'd like you to."

You adjust yourself. He's made you frazzled. How pleased he is. "Okay." It's like you've accepted your fate, surrendered yourself, not to him, never to him, but to wherever the night leads. For him, this is preferably his house and preferably right now.

"Go?" He points his thumb behind him to the exit. You look sold with the smirk burying itself deeper on your face and your feet both firmly placed on the ground. It excites him to an extreme degree.

You tilt your head to the side and he's ready to stand and sweep you away for the rest of the night. Your smile grows wider. "Michael, we're going to Al's." His smile fades and his head drops back with a groan. You stand and grab Michael as you're unsure if he can stand on his own two feet.

Alex grunts as he stands and doesn't bother helping with Michael. "You hate me," he says, sipping the rest of his drink. He puts his suit jacket back on and waits for you and Michael, who is leaning against your back, slumped in sleep how Alex wishes to be.

You pinch Alex's side, the first touch all night. He squirms away from it but he's desperate for your hand on him again. You possess a touch that makes a man unfold. "You're very cute when I work you up."

"Why don't you let me work you up?" Code for Please let me into your panties right now.

You begin to walk toward the exit. You sigh and pull Michael to your side, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and his head slightly perked up as he relearns how to walk. "I have to take care of Michael," you say. Michael can take care of himself. Michael has a hundred other people at the party who would have taken care of him. But you enjoy working Alex up, you told him this. When his hair gets all messy from his hands running through it so much, that's your favourite part of him. The unraveling and the unraveled.

The air feels late as you walk toward Alex's place. He chases the alleviation of a cigarette, placing it between his lips and dangling it there. Michael is saying something about Canada but his ears feel too muffled to listen. You stand between Alex and Michael, your arm around the latter and the side of your hip knocking into the former. You're testing him, he knows this.

"Michael, would you like to go home?" Alex asks at a red traffic light. A taxi rounds the corner and Alex hopes to shove him into it.

Michael babbles something on your shoulder before looking at Alex. He chuckles. "No, we're going to your place, remember? Silly guy."

You cackle with Michael, making fun of Alex, who puts up with all this because his house is just a block away but these cars keep getting in the way of crossing the street. Michael stands up straight, brushing off his shoulders like there's dust there or something. He starts trying to touch his toes. The traffic light is still red. "Are you having a good time?" You ask.

He thinks about spitting to show his disgust. He turns his head to you and smiles with such a falsehood that it gets you giggling again. You tap his shoulder and leave your hand there, commanding attention. "When are you going to kiss me?" You ask.

Alex laughs. "If this traffic light ever turns green." That and Michael getting hit by a car. Alex truly does like Michael.

You giggle. "You have many rules." Your body seems closer.

"I do?" He questions, a smirk appearing as your face draws closer. "I think you're projecting."

"Mhmm," you agree but words are so far away and your lips are so close to his. Kissing passes the time quickly. He is looped into you and refuses to take his hands off of you. You pull away but Alex's hand remains in contact with your arm. You look behind you. "Michael, the light's green." And then, you're crossing the street and Alex has to remember what walking is. Your skin's touch burned into the palm of his hand and he finds himself having to catch up.

Michael races into the house the second Alex opens the door. He lets you enter first and locks the door after himself. Michael is sitting at the kitchen table and you’re moving through his cabinets. His boots stop clicking at the archway into the kitchen. You turn your head toward him, your hair spilling down your back. “Where’s your alcohol?”

“You finished it off.” He rubs his right eye. He’s getting a headache. Maybe this is a prolonged hangover. He wants to sit down but he can’t sit at the same table as Michael, he might have a stroke if he does that. He takes his suit jacket off and folds it over his arm. He unbuttons the top two ones of his shirt. It feels so fucking hot.

You turn around with a frown. Your hands go to your hips. Your head tilts to the left. “Michael needs his bottle.” Like he's a baby or something and not a grown man. This would be more fun if Alex was drunker. He's just tired.

Alex rubs his hand over his face, trying to scrub away his headache, the exhaustion, and this sweat. "There's some stuff in the fridge. I'm gonna go change." He turns his back and hears you mutter, "Okay," before he moves into the bedroom. He can hear you snap open a bottle and Michael is doing some shouting but it's largely muffled to him.

Alex takes his shoes off. He pushes his trousers off and pulls his button-up over and ends up facedown on his bed. His head aches and his back feels sharp. He debates going to sleep. He knows you can manage to let yourself out, you've done it before. 

The door creaks open and you come in and sit on the bed. Your hands make their way through his hair and for a moment he thinks he's imagining this pleasure. He feels a gentle release of his tension as your healing hand sweeps through his hair, their cold touch on his scalp. "My poor old baby."

Alex muffles a chuckle into his pillow and turns his head to look up at you. "I'm not that bad."

You openly giggle. "I don't know. You're suffocating yourself in your pillow."

Your hand continues to move its way through and his eyes flutter momentarily, almost eroding his exhaustion. "Where'd Michael go?" He's either dead on the couch or you let him out because not a peep can be heard. That whining has finally gone away, maybe that's why he feels better.

You sigh. You remove your hand from his head, using them to remove your shoes. "He's getting more alcohol."

"Ah," Alex says. Michael is like a fly Alex is simply unable to get rid of. It's rather frustrating but he's pretty sure that's the reason why you keep him around. Because he bugs the hell out of Alex. But Alex actually does like Michael.

His eyes have been closed for too long. You're somehow in your bra and underwear, sitting on the side of the bed with your arms crossed. Your returning touch snaps him out of it. Your hand skims through his hair. "Go to sleep," you whisper.

"You're almost naked and you want me to sleep." For people who have slept together so much, Alex can only think of two times you've actually slept together (one was his birthday, and the other was that blizzard last December). That's where the chink in your relationship lies but we won't concern ourselves with that today.

"Why? You want head to relieve your head." You're playful and wonderful and he's pathetic and weird and he loves you so fucking much and you know this and you love this and maybe even part of you loves him but he can't be sure of anything just that you feel good and he makes you feel good and maybe that's all it has to be (but wouldn't it be great for it to be more).

He flips onto his back. "If you insist." And he insists. He insists so much. He'd beg at this point but he's just so tired. He hates feeling this way like he'd give up parts of himself just to please you. But your hands are playing with the waistband of his underwear and all of that feels pointless.

"Oh, how you flatter me," you gush. You bring your legs up onto the bed and sit on your knees. You overpower him, hovering above. One hand moves up and grazes over his stomach, the other deepens into his underwear. He better flatter you, fully erect with all of him—his heart, his soul, his dick—sitting in your hands.

Tingles overtake him. Your mouth covers him and your tongue washes over the head like windshield wipers. He's jelly in your hands, complete mush. You take him deeper. He hits the back of you, unable to go any further. It's all too much but he can't turn this feeling away. The moaning, groaning, grunting, and whimpering that escapes his lips. 

You take your lips off of him and sit up so your eyes meet his. Your hand continues to move up and down. You smile, just slightly, no words. In there, he sees the love. He sticks his tongue out and you giggle and stick yours out. He puts his away while you leave yours out and return to his cock. He's back to feeling overwhelmed and you're quick, wanting to get this done before Michael is back. That doesn't ruin the feeling. It's actually kind of exciting like when you're a teenager and you're scared your parents are going to catch you. It's this newfound excitement, the kind he seems to find on every corner he passes with you.

He thinks about being brutal with you. It's something you've done before in these vignettes of quickies. The fast, rough nature of forcefully moving himself into your mouth. But he doesn't want this soft nature to leave. The one that you set the tone with when you walked into his bedroom and combed your hands through his hair. The kind that makes him feel warm inside, not from the sweat or liquor, but a much rarer feeling.

Instead, he reaches down and pushes the shadow of your hair back, just so it's out of your way. You laugh with him in your mouth. He's not sure why but it has him tensing his muscles, a desperation in the vibrations. You move him further and quicker and his heart is beating in his ears. 

Then, you sit up, rubbing him with your hand, finishing him off onto his stomach. He's left with his toes curling and his eyes closing. It's all too much. He wants to take you in handfuls. A moment passes. You stand and return with a tissue, rubbing him off of himself. You tuck him away back into his underwear.

You're still in your bra and panties. He reaches up and fixes a strap sliding off your shoulder. You reach your hand behind yourself, approaching the snap. He shakes his head. "Stay like that. I just like to look at you sometimes."

You're blushing again. Your hands fall onto his thighs. "Your head better?" Deflection. For someone who commands such a spotlight, you shrug away any attention, at least that is mixed with affection.

He reaches out and places his hand on your thigh—his right, your left. "Yeah." It'd be nice to stay like this for a while.

"What will we do when Michael gets back?" Oh, right. Him.

Alex says, "Lock the door."

You laugh and you tell him so, "You make me laugh." You lay down and tuck your head onto him. "Was that okay? Me moving?" You don't usually ask for permission, especially from him, especially when you're like this—next to naked and alone together. His arm curls around you, keeping you close because that's when everything feels good.

He feels sleepy. "Yeah." Everything is okay with him, everything that involves you like this is okay. His eyelids flutter and he feels bad for not doing anything for you but he's tired and he's taken care of you plenty of times before.

The front door shuts. Alex groans. You laugh. Michael whistles. "I'll make him leave."

Alex shakes his head. "You're going to make a drunk Michael leave?” A drunk Michael is the worst human being on Earth. Alex seriously does like Michael.

You stand up. Your hand finds his and tugs on it. He sleepily sits up but you've already left the room, moving out into the living room, still, only in your bra and panties. Alex thinks about putting his clothes back on but it's Michael and he doesn't care if Michael knows you've just given him head. Actually, it feels him with glee for Michael to know that. Besides, Michael is too drunk to recall anything anyway.

Michael has poured three glasses of brandy. "It'll help you digest dinner!" He exclaims. Alex doesn't think any of you had dinner unless you count all this liquor. Alex joins you and Michael on the couch and sips on his glass of brandy.

You put your hand on Alex's thigh. Michael leaves about an hour later. You and Alex are very drunk by the time he leaves. He doesn't remember the rest of the night. But you're in his bed when he wakes up. You're both hungover. He shouldn't drink so much.

*

a/n: i had fun writing this. i think it's written a little differently than my other stuff but maybe that's just me thinking i sound like hemingway. (currently reading the sun also rises). thanks!

[lovingperfectionsblog]

For What It's Worth - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: But does she hate me?

Max Verstappen x Reader. 

Chapter Summary: Daniel does damage control over the mess Max made and finds out some interesting information. 

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, a shitty Max. 

Word Count: 1686.

Author's Note: This is a short chapter, the next one will have a it more information! I can’t wait to hear what you guys think! <3 

If you enjoyed this post, please consider supporting my work with a small donation! 

Donate: https://ko-fi.com/littlemisstoomuch

Please do not ever feel obligated to donate! Just the thought of you reading, liking, commenting or reposting my work is the best support I could ever ask for!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

_______

Max was surprised when it wasn’t you who opened the door. Where he expected to see your beautiful face, hopefully not as upset with him as you were previously, he instead saw Daniel. A furious looking Daniel at that. Before Max could even react he felt himself being pushed back further away from the door and Daniel stepping out. He only began to feel nervous when he heard the unmistakable click of the door closing. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Daniel was seething. 

“My fucking problem is I’m an idiot who hurt her.” He attempted to point towards your door, arms too heavy to lift them properly. “All I seem to do is hurt her.” The self loathing oozed from every word that left his mouth. 

“You’re not the victim here, stop the pity party.” Max was drunk, Daniel could smell it off of him and he wasn’t about to let him derail the attention from you to him. 

“But I am.” The scoff from Daniel prompted Max to further explain, “I am and it’s all my fault! I could be in there with her, not you, me, but I'm not, I’m out here and you won't let me see her.” Suddenly Max got quiet, “Are you in love with her?” 

Daniel wasn’t sure why, out of everything, this had upset him the most, but it had and to Max’s shock, after a moment of silence, Daniel did nothing other than turn around and begin opening your hotel room door again, preparing to leave a drunk, pitiful Max all alone in an empty hotel hallway while he got to be inside with you. 

Max’s hand wrapped around Daniels arm, pleading him not to leave, pleading him to answer, did he love you too? 

“No, Max, Jesus, I’m not in love with her,” A sigh of relief had left Max, one he knows he should be ashamed of, “doesn’t mean I don’t know what's right for her and currently, you are not right for her. Go to bed Max, she doesn’t want to see you.” Daniel's arm slipped out of his grasp and Max heard the door click closed. 

You didn’t want to see him. 

______

“Is he okay?” Of course, even in all of this, you were checking that Max was okay. 

“He was so mean to you and you’re still worrying about him?” You stood in front of him, hands wringing the shirt that lay against your stomach, eyes cast down. Everything made sense to Daniel now, “God, you really are in love with him aren’t you?” 

“Daniel, I’m not in love with my boss.” The look he gave you clearly indicated that he did not believe you for a second. 

“Okay, and just Max? Not your boss Max, but your best friend Max? Are you in love with him?” The silence seemed to stretch for hours as Daniel sat waiting for an answer. 

“He didn’t get me the flowers Daniel.” He was pretty sure he heard the disappointment somewhere in your voice. You flopped down next to him on the couch. You avoided Daniel's eyes and he took this as the closest admission he would get from you. 

“How do you know he didn’t get you the flowers?” He was walking on very thin ice here, but maybe he could get you to make the move if Max was scared of the power dynamic. 

There was no way Max could have gotten you the flowers. There was absolutely no way. There were suddenly a thousand thoughts running through your brain and not a single one of them made a lick of sense to you. Could it have been Max that got you your favorite flowers? Daniel watched as you tried to put the pieces together that were so obvious to everyone else. And when he realized that there was no way you were going to admit that you had to have known by now, he opted for a different route to get you to what was the ultimate ending in all of this. 

“Did you want the flowers to come from him?” Daniel watched your eyes drop to your lap, no doubt debating on whether to admit it to him or not, but Daniel now knew and suddenly this entire game shifted and he realized that the person they all thought held the power suddenly held none. You and Max were both on even footing. Quite frankly, you and Max technically weren’t even players in this entire game, you were the pawns, but the rest of the grid now was and it was about to get a lot more fun. 

The grid vs you and Max. The race was on.

“Let me go, it’s getting late, I should get Max back to his room because lord knows he's probably still passed out by your door.” Daniel indicated for you to stay seated and instead shuffled around the room, grabbing his things, conveniently leaving before all the food he ordered had arrived. 

Before he had the opportunity to twist the door handle, he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist, no part of him expected to see you look as distraught as you did when he turned to look at you. 

“Please, don’t tell him.” It broke his heart, the fact that you thought he didn’t feel the same, but he also knew that this was something that you need to tell him yourself, if Max doesn’t ruin it all before you get the chance to. 

“I would never.” He couldn’t miss the sigh of what he assumed was relief, leave you, eyes trained on his own, “but, for what it’s worth, I think you should tell him.” He could see you gearing up to protest and hoping to avoid the argument, he swung the door open, ready to leave, not even remotely surprised by what he saw waiting for him on the other side. 

Max lifted his head up, momentarily forgetting why he was there until he saw you looking down at him, completely ignoring Daniel moving towards him. He tried to get up, but his entire body felt heavy and he refused to take his eyes off of you. He briefly registered you and Daniel speaking to each other and you closed the door before Daniel was hosting him and mumbling something as he did. 

“Does she hate me?” Daniel was busy wrapping Max’s arm to hobble him towards his room when Max asked the question. The wholly innocent question. The question that was filled with fear. It was seeping off of him. Max had truly thought you now officially hated him and truthfully, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had. He had absolutely put you through the ringer the last couple of days and any anger, or god forbid, please, god forbid, any hatred you had towards him would be completely and entirely justified. 

“She sure as hell deserves to,”  Max dropped his head, allowing the information to sink in, “and truthfully, I wish she did, but,” But? There was a but? How could there be a but? “She definitely doesn’t.” 

Max stopped the slow drag of his feet to his room, halting Daniel in the process, “What do you mean she definitely doesn’t hate me?” 

“I’m saying she doesn’t hate you?” Daniel tried to get them moving again, but it was almost like Max was anchored to the spot. 

“And you’re sure she doesn’t hate me? What did she say?” Max needed answers. How you didn’t hate him was beyond any comprehension. 

“It was a private discussion between me and her, so that’s none of your business, but she doesn’t hate you.” A grin spread across Max’s face, nestled neatly between flushed, apple cheeks. 

“You think she’ll still work for me?” Fuck, so Max was still a dick. 

Daniel let go and watched Max drop to the floor with a thud and a curse. Daniel hadn’t even bothered to respond to him, leaving him to fend for himself as he made his way into his room. If Max wanted to be a dick, then he could sort himself out. Daniel didn’t even bother to look back as Max struggled to his feet, unsure of what just happened and where he went wrong. 

The beep of the keycard and the click of the door shutting was the last thing he heard from Daniel that evening. 

And once again, Max was alone, in an empty hotel hallway with no one because all he could do was push everyone away. 

He laughed bitterly and he slowly made his way to his room, needing to rest before the race. 

The flowers were a mistake. 

_____

BigRicc: New development.

NoRizz: Jesus, now what? 

Chili: Another new group? Seriously?

BigRicc: It’s a big new development. 

NoRizz: Did she quit?? 

Chili: You know what, good for her. She kind of deserves it. 

NoRizz: I agree. She can be my PA? 

Chili: She could be a lot more than my PA. 

BigRicc: She’s in love with him. 

NoRizz: WITH CARLOS??

BigRicc: Jesus. 

Chili: Why was she wasting her time with Max then? I’ve been wanting to take her on a date!

NoRizz: Since when? 

Chili: Since I met her. 

NoRizz: Why didn’t you tell me?? 

Chili: You want to be the man that admits you find Max’s girl hot and wanna fuck? 

NoRizz: Oh yeah, no, bad idea. 

NoRizz: Don’t do that. 

NoRizz: Do you think I could ask her on a date? 

BigRicc: You boys done? 

Chili: How should I ask her out? Where should we go? You think she’ll wear that sundress again? 

BigRicc: No, because she’s in love with Max. 

NoRizz: You just said she was in love with Carlos?

BigRicc: Jesus. 

BigRicc: I’m ignoring this. 

BigRicc: We need a new plan. 

Chili: Why? I thought the plan was to get Max to confess? 

BigRicc: yes, that was the plan, but since she is in love with him too, why not use that to our advantage? 

NoRizz: Great idea!

NoRizz: How?

BigRicc: Easy, someones gotta make her believe they sent the flowers. 

___________

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Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[doctorgirlsblog]

Merz Prinzessin vs. Dutch Lion (series)

Part 8: Baby daddy and something blue

Kelly kept pacing around her apartment, waiting for Max to pick her up for the doctor's appointment. She knew what the possible outcome was; one drunk night hazily swam through her memories. Her phone lit up with a new message, pulling her from her thoughts.

Max: "I'm outside."

He didn't bother with formalities and drove off as soon as Kelly got in. The silence in the car was deafening, and Kelly tried to place her hand on his as she softly spoke. "Max..."

"Not a word," he spoke, not glancing at her before pulling his hand away.

The appointment didn't take long, and before they knew it, Max was holding an envelope with the results. Kelly kept eyeing him from the passenger seat, as he still hadn't opened it.

"Aren't you going to look at the results?" she asked nervously.

"Not yet. I want to hear it from you first," he said. He said nothing more the whole ride to her place. As they got inside, he sat at the end of the sofa and motioned for her to join him. "Start talking."

Indeed, she did. She confessed everything, explaining her uncertainty about the results and telling him that her actions stemmed from her love for him. He remained impassive throughout, opening the envelope, reading the results, and then tossing the papers towards her before getting up.

As he was already at the door, she spoke again.

"Max, please. She wants Lando. Can't you see that she chose him over you? Please, we can still fix this. I love you."

"You love the attention that comes with me. I never want to see your lying face again."

As he stepped out into the hall, his phone rang. He smiled as he read the caller's name.

"Finally."

It seems his awaited delivery arrived in Munich.

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

As Kelly went to open the door and try to talk him out of leaving, she heard his voice on the other side. She smiled to herself before unlocking her phone and texting Lando quickly.

Kelly: "We need to meet today. It's urgent."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

"Cha, I promise I won't do anything funny. I really need my phone to check my schedule." Aria tried snatching her phone from her, but to no avail.

"Nope, I've already done it for you. You're free for the next two days, so you'll be okay with some more free time without your phone."

Aria groaned, sipping her coffee and scrolling through Netflix. At that moment, the doorbell rang, making both girls squeak at the sudden noise.

"Expecting anyone?" Charlotte asked, confused, as no one knew where the girls were at the moment, except Aria's dad and Elena, both surely not telling anyone.

Aria padded over to the door, finding no one outside except for the big bouquet of blue roses wrapped neatly in white paper, lying on her doorstep. She picked them up, closing the door behind her. The roses were huge and smelled divine, shining brightly in the daylight. She put them on the table; Charlotte stared open-mouthed at her.

"Who gave you those? They're beautiful." She asked the girl, who was still staring at the beautiful flowers.

"There was no one at the door, just roses."

"Well is there a note? There must be one."

Aria looked inside the bouquet, barely spotting the small silver piece of paper stuck inside. She pulled it out, her eyes scanning the written note, her hand trembling slightly.

"Well? Who is it?" Aria said nothing as she handed her the note, her eyes fixed on the blue before her. Charlotte turned the note over in her hand, then gasped lightly.

Hope they'll make you smile again. M.

"How?" Aria whispered shakily.

"Isn't it obvious already? He is nuts for you, A." Charlotte smiled at her softly.

"No...Cha, you don't get it. They're blue. I only ever got a blue rose once. Once in my whole life. It was left for me, with a note, "blue like your kart". I was 7. I never found out who left it for me, never found out who could possibly know that it was my favorite color. That day when I got it, I was crying. My kart was damaged in the race. Dad promised to get it fixed the same day, but to me it seemed like the end of the world. And that rose, it made me smile. I never threw it away. It's probably still somewhere in my old room." Aria finished shakily, wiping away the tears that fell.

"A, are you saying that Max...? All these years?" Charlotte was more than confused, but Aria was no better herself.

"I don't get it either, Cha. All these years, he never said anything; I never even thought... But why now?" A sob broke out from her as she took the roses in her hands again.

"You need to call him, A. Now or never." Charlotte was determined as she handed her the phone before leaving the room to give her some privacy. Aria let out a shaky breath, looking at all the missed calls and unread messages. She opened the last one Max sent, her eyes widening slightly at the text.

Max: "I asked for a paternity test."

Her fingers worked on their own, pressing the dial button, and before she could even register what she had done, Max was saying her name from the other side, in complete disbelief that she had actually called him.

"Aria."

-"Why have you never told me it was you?" she asked, her voice still shaky.

"Aria, I.."

-"All these years. Fighting, hating, bickering... I never knew."

"You were sad, just like you were that day. And there was never really any hate between us. You know that, schat."

-"Max.."

"I didn't want to do this over the phone, but I can't wait any longer. Not now that everything has finally been cleared up. That baby isn't mine; she lied. She did it hoping I'd stay with her and not go to you. She confessed everything; it's over. This time, for good, Ari. I only want you. Since we were seven, since I saw you smile after you found that rose. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. If that happiness is truly with Lando, then I'll accept it. But if it's with me, if there's even a slight chance you still want me, then I'm not letting you go. I'll wait for you tomorrow at the docks in Monaco. 6 p.m. If you come, then it will be just us from that moment on. No more excuses. If you don't come, I swear I will leave you alone and you won't be bothered again. I promise." Aria didn't even have a chance to answer before he hung up, but there was no need to overthink it, as she had already made her mind up.

"Cha! Pack your bags. We're going back to Monaco."

It was time.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Lando agreed to meet up with her, but listening to her made him question his decision.

"Are you telling me I should get her back? After all that shit you told me about her and Max?"

Kelly smirked at him. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you. I overheard him on the phone. He is meeting with her tomorrow at the docks at 6. He said that if she doesn't come, he'll leave her alone, so she can be with you."

"You can't be serious."

"But I can Lando. Because you do still want her, don't you? You love her."

"What's in it for you anyways? As I understood, Max left you."

"He did. Because she took him away from me. We were happy before she came. I just don't want them to be together. Ever again."

"I..I'll think about it. I have to go, take care." Lando stood up, leaving money on the table. He kept thinking about Aria on his way home, about last couple of months they spent together, and he smiled. All that time can't possibly go in vain.

"I'll get you back, Ari. I promise I'll fix this," he muttered softly to himself before going inside.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

the next day

From all possible times, Monaco's traffic had to fuck with Max right now. He kept glancing at his watch and then to big bouquet of blue roses lying on the passenger seat. He had 10 more minutes to get to the docks.

Aria, on the other side, was already there, pacing along the sidewalk, nervously glancing at her phone. "It's okay, he'll come. You're just early," she kept muttering to herself. She continued pacing, responding to Charlotte's text, when she heard him.

"Hello Aria."

Tag list:

@m4xgirlie @amz824 @samriddhisingh

[disneyprincemuke]

everything at 18, but nothing at 22

alternatively: times she finished in the points while he dnfs

in which the drastic difference in their performance in their career seems to finally be catching up to them

(series masterlist)

-> australia, 2023

she simply cannot wipe the permanent smile on her face. she runs into her garage, straight from weigh-in, immediately greeted by blythe and ciara who are quick to take her in for a hug.

"oh, i made the points!" she laughs, jumping in a circle with her sisters. "can you believe it? i made history just by finishing in the top 10 today!"

"i told you you'll be amazing!" ciara puts her hands on her older sister's cheeks, before quickly pulling her in for another tight hug. "you did so well on the track amidst all the chaos!"

"history in the making with you just being here!" blythe shrieks, grabbing her shoulder. "you were amazing on the track. half the grid retired - did seb tell you?"

"he did," she laughs, slowly settling down as she stands on her feet. "speaking of that, i've got to speak to logan."

"no need to look around, i've got him here with me," oscar's accent fills her garage. "good job finishing above me, mate."

another shrill shriek escapes her mouth as she hops over to the two boys still in their race suits. she is received by oscar first, whispering neverending praises into her ear as they sway in their spot. she rubs circles on his back as they exchange compliments, both proud at their feat of achieving points in arguably one of the more chaotic races they've found themselves in.

as she pulls away, she meets a forced smile and sad green eyes as she is pulled into a hug by logan. "i'm so proud of you today. i stayed and watched the race just for you."

"baby, i'm sorry for the dnf," she whispers, her smile faltering slightly as she wraps her arms around his neck. she's lifted off the ground slightly, the height difference making their public hug slightly awkward. "this is only the third race - i swear it won't stay like this all season."

"no, don't worry about me," logan grins, pulling away from her. with a tender hand on her cheek, he quickly pulls it away when a flash goes off at the corner of his eye. instead, he settles for a hand on her shoulder and shakes her slightly. "today is all about you, ms. record breaker."

"for what it's worth, the fia is under fire for the chaos of today's race," she frowns, rubbing his sleeves up and down to offer a sense of familiarity.

their dream of getting into f1 together has finally come true. it's just a shame that they've got to keep their romantic gestures on the down low, or kept under wraps in fear of the backlash she might get.

"stop trying to justify my race," logan smiles, squeezing a cheek. he takes a step back and huffs, tilting his head as he looks at her. "look at you - i could have sworn you were just that lonely girl oscar decided to befriend at karting. now you're in f1 making history."

her smile carves into something softer, and looks up at him with a glimmer in his eyes that he couldn't ever get tired of. "i wouldn't be here without either of you."

logan squeezes her arm. "sneak into my hotel room later? let's watch a movie."

"oh, max invited me for drinks at some bar tonight. celebrate my first points or something like that," she frowns. "come with us, please? oscar will be there."

"i'll be okay," he smiles. "then sneak in after the drinks. you're funny when you're drunk, anyway."

"i'll sneak some cocktails in your room so we can watch a disney movie together and cuddle," she giggles. at the call of her name by sebastian, mentioning something about an interview she has to go do now. "i'll see you later?"

"i'll see you later." logan bends down, closing an eye when he feels her lips pressed against his cheek. "love you."

she turns around, already being pulled away by an impatient sebastian. she twists her body back to look at him. she mouths, "love you."

-> hungary, 2023

she presses her lips together, rocking back and forth on her feet as she awaits the door to open. when it does, it reveals a clearly dishevelled logan with a towel hung around his shoulders.

he's already in his sweatpants, while she stood out in the hallway in a romper, ready to head out for the evening. she scans her boyfriend head to toe and slumps her shoulders. "baby, you're not going out with us tonight?"

he pokes his head past the door, looking left and right before he lets her walk into his hotel room. she sighs softly, following him further into the room.

he drops himself onto the bed and shakes his head. "i don't deserve to be out and about celebrating after the race today. you go ahead and enjoy yourself, babe."

"my love," she hums, climbing onto the bed with a hand finding his neck to massage the muscle. "just because the race didn't go your way today doesn't mean you should lock yourself up here and be by yourself."

he leans into her touch, turning to lie on his side. he slings an arm around her waist while she comfortably sits on his bed. "i just don't think i should be outside. i'm an embarrassment." he nuzzles his face into the side of her thigh. "good call to keep the relationship behind closed doors - you'll be ridiculed for being with me."

"what?" she says softly, never really getting used to logan's harsh words against himself. she hangs her head low, trying to meet his eyes. "please, don't say that. i'm very proud of you. dnf or not."

"you and oscar have gotten your first points this year. i still have not," he sighs, turning to lie on his back again. "trust me, you don't want people to know you're dating me."

"i do want people to know i'm dating you," she coos, running her fingertip down the side of his face. she moves down and props herself up on her elbow to look over him. "it's just complicated right now - you know that."

"but you get what i'm saying, right?"

"i do," she lays on her stomach, pressing a kiss on his bare shoulder. "okay, let me tell max i'm not feeling great to head out tonight for drinks. do you want to go and eat somewhere just the two of us?"

"what? (y/n), please. you don't have to do any of this. i'm fine being by myself tonight."

"i want to be with you tonight," she grins. "let's go shopping? it's our first time in hungary."

-> zandvoort, 2023

"mate, have you seen logan?" she asks, approaching oscar with a frown. with a pepsi can in hand, she sips on the straw as her bright eyes scan the paddocks for her missing boyfriend. "usually, he'd be right by my garage after a race, but i've yet to find him."

"i can't say i've seen him since before the race," oscar frowns, realising that it's been a while since he's seen logan. he also scans the crowd, hoping that it's just her height that's hindering her chances of finding logan. to no avail, he doesn't find logan either. "is everything okay?"

she shrugs. "i don't know. he retired from the race again, did you hear?"

"i heard. do you know why?"

"no," she shrugs. "seb's got no idea either. can you let me know if you find him, please? i've got an interview i need to go and do."

-> singapore, 2023

"seriously?" she cries, tears rushing into her eyes. she takes the bouquet of loud colours and holds it against her chest. "this is the sweetest thing ever!"

"you like them?" logan grins down at the flowers that clash against the dark motif of her race suit tailor-made for tonight. "i saw them in the mall the other day when oscar and i were out. i was banking on the fact that you'd make it into the points today.

"even luckier that you made podium."

"this is the cutest thing ever," she smiles, sniffling as she drops her head to smell the flowers. "thank you so much, logan."

"you deserve it."

"but i'm sorry for where you finished today," she frowns, dropping an arm and moving to his side. she puts an arm around his waist and squeezes him slightly. "was the car not good today?"

"i think it's the street circuits not being very kind to me," logan sighs, shaking his head. "but, please, enjoy your podium celebrations. i'll join you for drinks tonight?"

"oh, really? you're joining tonight?"

"of course! my girlfriend just made history again," logan says softly into her ear. he squeezes her shoulder. "i have to be there to celebrate with her, right?"

-> qatar, 2023

"fuck!"

"logan, please. just sit down - you're really dehydrated."

"no, god. i'm such a fuck up!"

"hey, don't say that!"

"i retired again because i couldn't take the fucking heat!" he tugs at the roots of his hair, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes.

meanwhile, his girlfriend sits in the corner on a plastic chair with her lips pressed together as he paces around the room against the medical advice of every personnel who's attended to him.

still in her fireproofs, the younger girl nurses her helmet in her lap as she tries to calm logan down. "it's okay, baby. you weren't feeling well. you couldn't have done anything else."

"i could have just sucked it up and raced like everybody else!" logan frowns. "even you finished the race despite your period! what's that say about me?"

she scoffs, eyebrows furrowed as his statement manages to hit her the wrong way. "what are you trying to say? that between you and me, you deserved to finish more because i was hindered by the fact that i've got my period?"

regret strikes logan immediately, and she can see it in the way his look softens and his shoulders slump. "no, that's not what i meant. i mean, like-"

"it sounds like the way it sounds," she says softly, hurt lacing her every word. she shakes her head as she gets up to her feet, helmet hanging off her fingers by the strap. "i'll call you tomorrow, logan."

"(y/n), please wait. i'm sorry."

"i just need to be alone," she frowns, turning her back on him as she heads for the door. "feel better and stay put until the nurse comes back with an iv for you. but i've got to go - i just can't believe you'd say that to me."

-> mexico, 2023

"god, i'm no better at 22 than i was at 18." logan holds his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his knees as he finds comfort in the beanbag in her driver's room after their media commitments. "i don't understand."

it's another race where he's forcibly retired and she's managed to climb her way into the points. despite starting in the back of the grid that afternoon, she managed to challenge lando climbing up the positions on the track.

while she lost out to the more experienced driver, starting 16th and eventually climbing to 8th is no easy task. with sebastian in her ear, it was a slightly easier task that had a lot of people confused and shocked at where she suddenly finished the race.

realistically, it helped that the car was just feeling much better with the upgrades that the team brought in for her this weekend.

but logan unexpectedly had to retire towards the end of the race. which, was disheartening after the point that he got just last week in austin.

"am i just not made to be in f1? i don't get it," he says softly. "something's not right."

all she can do is sigh. nothing about their predicament now is easy: she can't fully relate to the low he's feeling because- well, she's doing fine in her rookie season compared to him.

she knows that and so does he. they try not to talk about it, but it's something that looms over their head whenever they're on social media or are attending interviews together. it doesn't make it any easier that fans are easily gawking at her presence when they chance upon them together in public.

while logan loves being her boyfriend, the past couple of years being the best times he's ever experienced, it's easier said than done to be proud of your girlfriend's achievements when you're always in the trenches week after week.

"i don't even know if i'll still have a seat next year," he sighs, throwing his head back to rest on the wall behind him. "god. i don't know what to do."

"i don't even know what to say," she whispers, crawling over to where he is. she places a hand on his knee and rests her chin on her hand. "i'm sorry you're feeling like this, lo."

"i know you don't get it."

"i know i don't. but i'm your girlfriend."

"you being by my side means more than you think it does." he breathes out with a sigh passing his lips, a hand resting on her shoulder as they sit in silence. "you can boast about your achievements to me, you know?"

"i know." she turns her head to look up at him. logan forces another smile, her worried stare igniting something in him to make sure that she knows he's okay. "but i'm with you even in your darkest hours."

"i'm extremely proud of how far you've come this season."

"i'm proud of how eloquently you're trying to hold yourself around me," she frowns, tracing circles on the material of his jeans. "but you don't have to pretend around me. we celebrate my achievements when you're feeling better."

"we can do both." logan sits up, a hand cupping her cheek to lift it up to meet his gaze. "your achievements shouldn't be tucked away in some box just because i had a bad weekend. i'm happy enough seeing you make history."

"logan..."

"let's head out to dinner with oscar tonight. it's a celebration - you guys have done so well."

"we can just stay in if you want."

"no more of that!" he cheers, his lips meeting the tip of her nose. "we're celebrating tonight. let's dress up, let's go out and take pictures, and then we can post about them on instagram while people speculate about how too close we seem to be. i don't care.

"you've done so much for the sport, you should be celebrated, babe. if you don't want to, i will celebrate you."

she sighs, rolling her eyes. "you're an idiot."

"but an idiot you love, yes?"

"an idiot i love, correct."

[unamused-boss]

Good energy

Okay. This is my first ever fic on here, so I do appreciate polite criticism pls! Plus I've read almost everything for every character I am unhealthy obsessed with... sooo here we go!

Billy Hargrove x Fem Reader

(Billy might be a bit OC in this)

Warnings: strong language, under age drinking

Summary: When Billy moved to Hawkins Indiana he expected rednecks, hicks, and cows. Which he did see and was very much disappointed with. But that was until he sees some color pop out of no where one night in Hawkins.

.......................................................................................................................

Billy was spending his time in Hawkins as patiently as he could, which was close to none. The people were bland, the school was bland, and the weed was bland. 'God I want out of here' was a common thought that crossed his mind through out his day. Between having to deal with his shit-bird of a step-sister Max and with the ass kissing wannabes that do nothing but stick to his ass. All Billy wanted to do was go back to California. The sunsets, the beaches, the waves, the girls, all of it he wanted it all back. The only slight enjoyment he got was when he took the title as 'King' from 'King Steve'.

Currently Billy is walking out to his camaro, wait on his bitch of a sister, drive as fast he can home, hopefully avoid everyone in his house, then go out and get drunk in someone else's backyard. But the universe had other ideas... those idea's being Tommy fucking Hagan. He saw him running up to him from a mile away.

"You gotta be shitting me." Billy muttered irritatedly leaning against his car. Billy to a long drag of his cigarette, hoping for some relief.

"Hey Billy!" Tommy slightly shouted, he seemed somewhat winded from his short run. " You got plans tonight?"

"No, what's it to you?" Billy replied, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"Well there is gonna be a party down by the quarry tonight." Tommy said with a grin on his face.

"Okay? So what's that gotta do with me?" He was getting irritated now. Not only was Max running late but Tommy was still here.

"Harrington's got some girl coming with him, probably his rebound from Princess Wheeler..." That perked Billy's interest, making Steve miserable is his favorite thing to do. "So, what do ya say Hargrove?"

Billy stood still for a minute. No expression on his face only throwing his cigarette on the ground and snubbing it out.

"Count me in... Can't wait to steal Harrington's new girl." Billy laughed as he moved to the driver's seat of his car.

'little shit can skate home' He thought as his car roared out of the parking lot.

On the other side of town at the Chadwick (that will be your last name... sorry not sorry) residence...

Steve was pacing a hole into the floor as his childhood best friend went through her clothes.

"Do you seriously want to go with me tonight? I mean you moved away when you were in sixth grade now you're back... and I mean NOTHING has changed!" Steve was stressing way to much about one party, that being your first party back in Hawkins.

"Steve I'll be fine, the energy that you are putting off right now is not good." You smiled to him. "Good energy will come to you if you let it, you love parties what's got you so worked up plus you've changed for the better."

"That right there! This hippie shit is what is wrong!"

"Steve. If you're gonna worry about me like some mom don't come with me then okay." You didn't want to hurt his feelings but you wanted to have fun. "I get they are all judgy and whatever other adjective you used on the car ride over here, but I don't care. I like who I've become, so "this hippie shit" is trying to decide on the flowing warm skirt or the flowing purple pants!"

"I just don't want you to get mixed into the wrong people." Steve retorted.

"And I won't. I get the you broke things off with all of your old friends and who ever this Billy guy is but you don't have to protect me." You reassured.

"Fine." Steve sighed. "And go with the skirt it will look better with the top."

You smiled to him. "Thank you Steve... now get out I gotta change."

Steve made his way to get out of your room for you to get ready. "Yeah Yeah whatever."

. . .

The time was currently 12:39 am. While the party in the quarry has been going on for quit some time now. Many of the familiar faces of the so called popular crowd made their way in, those faces being Tommy, Billy, Tina, Carol, and among a few others. Billy was buzzed. It may not be a back yard but at least he'd get drunk at the end of the night. Music was blasting from some dude's portable speakers. There was a bonfire lighting the night away. Everyone was either dancing or talking, a few were some were throwing up in the bush. Billy was about to down another drink when Tommy came hurdling right into his back.

"What the hell Hagan." Billy shouted not only for him to hear him but also out of anger.

"Harrington's here with his new girl." He laughed. "You gotta see her, Carol come over here!" Tommy ran and in quick follow so did Carol. Billy sauntered his way over, with what little drink he had left, to where the two love birds perched themselves. And that is when Billy Hargrove saw a burst of color. There she was. She didn't dress like anyone else in Hawkins (Think Stevie Nicks Style). 'She couldn't be from this shit hole. Her hair was frizzy and a but unruly. Her skin glowed with the warm light. The clothes held to each curve of her body but flowed so elegantly as she walked. Who is this babe, not chic she's to pretty to be called a chic, and why was she with Harrington.' All these thoughts pondered Billy's mind.

"Holy shit." Carol said. Tommy and Billy can bot clearly see the shock on her face.

"What?" Tommy questioned, "Do you know her?"

"That's Y/N Chadwick! She moved in the sixth grade!" Slapping Tommy's arm. He gave no response only to be in more shock than Carol.

"Ain't no way... she looks great." That comment got a direct and aggressive response from Tommy. To which he responded with a vocal "Ow!?".

With you and Steve, you guys were just strolling by the bonfire. A cup of jungle juice in your hand with Steve was cupless due to being the driver of the night.

"So first party back in Hawkins, how does it feel?" Steve asked.

"Pretty far out, kinda better than any party from the city." You answered joyfully. To be honest you were happy to be back in Hawkins. City life was fun but it was getting to be to much for you.

"STevE!" An uneven voice yelled out across the rocky yard from us. You saw a girl with bangs and a bob cut calling over to Steve. Clearly she has had her fair share of alcohol.

"Hey Robin!" Steve responded. " You don't mind if I go talk to her do you?"

"No, go have fun!" You cheered. " Go flow, relax!"

"Good energy." Steve gritted through his teeth with a smile as he made his way over to this Robin girl. While you stayed right by the fire with your drink.

Billy saw his opportunity, you were alone and he could talk to you with Steve out of the way. Billy made his way over to you by the bonfire. You look to the guy that has just appeared beside you in the moment.

"Hey." He said it very smoothly.

"Hello." You respond with a sweet smile. Billy could just stare at you smiling. 'Come on man... you just met her get it together.' Billy thought.

"I've never seen you around before, I'm Billy." As Billy introduced himself, he took a step forward to close some space between the both of you. You ,however, stayed where you stood just smiling to the guy Steve was telling you about.

"So you're Billy." You grinned to him. 'God why do the jerks have to be so pretty'. "Steve mentioned you a few times but he didn't tell me how handsome you were."

"Well at least you get the in person experience." Billy answered, " So from what I've heard you have returned to Hawkins."

"Yes I have, what's it to you?" You questioned with a grin.

"Well sweetheart I wanna get to know you, I get you moved back but I am no longer the new kid on the block."

"Well what do you wanna know?" He is trying to be sly. You wanna see were this plays into. His eyes glance behind you.

"If you're gonna ask me if I'm dating Steve you would be wrong." You stated. "He was my best friend as a kid that I kept in contact with, plus he has a lot of stressed energy."

"So you're a hippie girl?" Billy said it as if he was fascinated by you. " Could you tell me what my energy is?"

"You're very hostile." You answered. "You are very tense, you have not relaxed since you have started talking with me. If this is some front you're putting on... I don't dig it." Billy was stunned.

"I'm not putting up any front." He retorted.

"Billy you seem like you have a lot of inner conflict with yourself, and don't try to say other wise." You said. "I already know about the stuff you've done around here and to Steve."

"What?" Billy is confused. "I thought you were into me but now you're giving me this psychoanalysis shit." Billy was clearly getting frustrated with you. So much so it was able to catch Steve's attention.

"Listen, I get some of the stuff I say is weird but I'm not wrong and you know it..." You said. "And I am into you but not if this front you're putting is what I'm getting."

Billy could not believe it. He was getting rejected, rejected by a beautiful girl. ' What the hell'...

"Billy." She cuts him out of his thoughts. "I would love you get to know you if you let me." She stepped closer this time, gently placing her fingers into his. She looked to him, he wants to answer but words aren't coming out of his mouth. 'Say something stupid... anything.'

"How about next Saturday, at 6... good for you?" He said this more gently this time. His frustration and building agitation was gone now.

"I would like that Billy." You answered with a smile, a smile that caused Billy to return. It was like a moment was set in place for you both. Billy could no longer hear the laughing or music, all he was looking at was you. There was something different about you, in a good way. Billy wants to know what that is. Your somewhat romantic moment was busted when a certain head of hair popped up next to you.

"Do we have a problem, Hargrove?" Steve asked. Not only did he get too distracted that Billy walked up to you but he seemed to have been in a sort of deep conversation with you. If you can call it that.

"No. No Harrington we're all good here, right sweetheart." Billy answered, he grinned.

"Yeah, we're fine Steve... I'll see you later Billy." You walked away with Steve. Well more like Steve dragging you to his car to leave after the interaction. You gave a small wave to Billy as you were dragged away.

"What was that all about?" Tommy asked drunk and confused.

"I think I got a date." Billy answered still looking off to were you left. In that moment Billy Hargrove had a thought he never thought he would have... 'I hope this works out.'

When you and Steve reached his car, he instantly went to mom mode.

"What was that about!" Steve shouted, frazzled at the look and thought of the two of you interacting.

"I think I have a date." You giggled. Steve paused...

"WhAT!"

............................................................................................................................

Okay so I'm gonna end it right there. Please tell me what you think, I would love to hear feed back. As well as what to do to improve myself.

Thank you so much for reading!

[winnietheshit]

Snatching snitches (prologue)

Remus x reader

I'd like to thank @unconventional-lawnchair for helping me when things weren't coming along as hoped. I guess you could consider it a collaboration

Series summary: When Y/N, the world famous pro seeker makes a dumb decision, she has no choice but to do anything to clear her name. Even if that means becoming a teacher at hogwarts.

Chapter summary: Y/N is playing the deciding match against Spain in the quidditch world cup, her cocky attitude and poor decision-making might make for some problems.

warnings: cursing? descriptions of bones breaking, use of alcohol.

The crowd outside was growing impatient, only a few minutes and the two finalist teams of the quidditch world championship would come flying onto the pitch. The fans tried their best to keep their drinks cool under the blaring sun, the tribunes filled with witches and wizards dressed in their favored team's colors. On one side there were the Spanish fans, dressed in red and yellow. On the other side the Irish fans, sporting green and orange outfits.

As Maxwell scanned the crowd his worry grew deeper, only a few minutes before the game and their star player was still missing. Rowan Maxwell, Ireland's national team's captain was used to his players running off before games to converse with fans. But today he wasn't having it, he turned a corner in the hopes of finding (Y/ln). And there she was, not a care in the world sitting on a rock with a firewhiskey in hand.

'What the hell do you think you're doing? Drinking before a game, have you gone mad?!'

Maxwell tried to grab the half-empty bottle from her but her reflexes were sharp as ever.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist Maxie.'

(Y/n) smirked, Maxwell was always on edge before the big games. (Y/n) would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy getting on his nerves. Max however wasn't smiling, his eyebrows knit together in worry. He was trying to figure out if she was drunk or just an ass... as usual.

'(Y/n) we have to play in less than five minutes, I cannot afford to lose this game because you' he gestured to the bottle 'have a problem.' He took a deep breath, his face becoming more serious, cold even. He pointed a gloved finger at her, towering over her in an attempt to intimidate her into complying. 'If you don't catch that damn snitch, you're off the team, you hear me?'

(Y/n) grimaced, before returning to her previous smug look. 'Maxie I'm not drunk, I'm gonna catch your dumb snitch and I'm gonna give the fans a spectacle, just like I always do. Honestly, if I didn't know any better I'd say you don't believe in me.' She took another swing of fire whiskey before continuing. 'If you really think I'm too intoxicated you can always swap me out for Kelly, I'm sure he'll catch the snitch eventually... What am I saying, you won't replace me, I'm the best fucking seeker in the world!'

Maxwell sighed, he knew it was true of course. Ever since (Y/n Y/ln) joined the team they've won three world championships in a row. Still, Max couldn't shake the feeling that her arrogance would end up being their downfall. Without speaking another word he took the nearly empty bottle of firewhiskey and walked towards the stadium, too busy worrying about the competition to give (Y/n) the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

................................................................................................................

The whistle blows and in the blink of an eye, all fourteen players were in the air, seven players in red and yellow uniforms and seven players in green and orange uniforms. Maxwell leaves no time for the Spanish team to react before sending the quaffle through the smallest goal. Meanwhile (Y/ln) soars above the two teams, scanning the pitch for the tiniest speck of gold. (Y/n)'s vision blurs for a moment but she brushes the feeling of dizziness off. 'Just nerves' she tells herself.

For a split second, the blaring sun reflected in the corner of her eye, the snitch was hovering right below the Spanish tribunes. Without giving it any thought she dove after the little gold-winged ball, behind her the opposing seeker followed in quick pursuit. Before (Y/ln) could reach the snitch, it disappeared from her line of vision. But instead of stopping the steep dive into the tribune's infrastructure, she picked up the speed. Only moments before flying headfirst into the wooden beams she pulled up the handle of her broom, spinning around mid-air. She watched the other guy ram his broom into the red cloth and disappear with a startled scream.

'I don't do freebies Torrez, you should've known that by now' (Y/n) mocked the now groaning seeker. Torrez wasn't the brightest wizard but despite his ''shortcomings'' he was strong competition, not only was he much faster than (Y/n) thanks to his brand new firebolt. He was also known to play dirty, often keeping tabs on the other seeker in the hopes of snatching the snitch before them. The way he played was a gamble, but when you have the fastest broom on the pitch... well you get the idea.

The next three minutes were stressful, waiting for the snitch to show up again. And hoping she would see it before that Spanish wanker Torrez. While listening to the commentator her head became heavier and the bright colors in the crowd started to blend together. Still (Y/ln) couldn't admit to herself she was drunk, 'only one bottle' could not have such a grand impact. Surely not, even though the hot weather made her even more dehydrated, even though she downed the bottle much quicker than she should've.

'AND MADDEN GETS THE QUAFFLE AND HE SCORES! THAT'S 50 - 70 FOR THE IRISH' The game announcer's voice echoed in her head, temporarily drowning out the sound of her own heartbeat.

No, she wasn't drunk at all. She was sweating buckets and her eyes were burning from the bright sun but there she saw it. The snitch, now hovering next to the base of the goalpost on the other side of the pitch. (Y/n) glanced at Torrez, who was flying laps around the field. He obviously hadn't seen the snitch yet, how could he have?

Torrez was much closer to the snitch than she was, if he'd look down no doubt he'd see it. Waiting till he passes it isn't an option either, he'd see her flying towards himself.

(Y/n) had two options in this situation, only one of them would result in flawless victory and win them the Quidditch World Cup. Her options consisted of another Feigned dive, hoping Torrez would follow, or just dashing toward the snitch and hope she gets there first. Normally this would've been an easy decision. But today her head was spinning and her hands were clammy, making it hard to grip the handle of her broom properly and ah fuck it.

While the Spanish seeker's back was turned, (Y/n) leaned forward and picked up the speed. Only a few seconds and she'd catch the snitch and the match would be over with a hundred-and-thirty point difference. Her hand stretches out in front of her, the little golden nuisance is trying to outfly her. She chases it around the goal and follows it to the middle of the pitch. There she sees him, Torrez flying toward her at full speed, with no intention of stopping. If he collides with her it will be a foul sure, but the wanker is broad and muscular and the absolute opposite of a seeker build. She'll never recover in time to catch it if he knocks her off her broom.

A whistling sound faintly accompanies the cacophony of gloom and doom playing inside her head. Dread filled her stomach like a thirty-pound weight, she was sure that wasn't helping her intended speed. It was like everything was going in slow motion, including Torrez. The mountain of a man had this determined look on his face, he wasn't planning on stopping.

(Y/n) was faced with another choice, charge the Snitch or fall back and preserve her pretty face. If she gets dropped off the team, at least she'll have that. Her drunken mind didn't even have time to revel in self-deprecation before a heavy snapping sound filled her ears. Then, a heavy impact came to her stomach. She was thrown forward, hands outstretched as if she was diving for safety. You know, only 50 feet from the ground with no safety net.

Torrez dove after her, surprisingly. It wouldn't be until later that she would realize he wasn't diving after "her".

"Her eyes locked into Torrez and a shock of bitterness rocked through her. Even as her vision blurred and her robes rippled in the air, she could only focus on the golden glint that flashed between her folds of clothes. Then everything stopped.

She heard a loud snapping sound, her body bouncing. (Y/n) could barely comprehend the sensation. There was a loud, sickening crack as her body collided with something- maybe the earth, maybe just the harsh wind mocking her for even thinking she could fly like this. She bounced off whatever surface she'd hit, her limbs like a rag doll, her mind barely able to catch up.

The world spun around her, a kaleidoscope of blurred colors- greens, golds, and deep reds. She tried to breathe, but the air had left her lungs, leaving her gasping, wheezing. It felt like her chest had collapsed inward. Terrifyingly, she couldn't feel pain. Just panic, as her vision tumbled until she could hardly see the flickering lights. Something hard poked her back, it moved a little, vibrating like a bug trapped between a window and a curtain. A face came into view but it wasn't one she could make out before she wheezed out what little air she managed to collect.

Between the fading screams and rushed footsteps she could hear a voice, barely. "(Y/ln)..." And it all went black.

[change-your-car]

valentine’s day!au // lestappen

Max is used to spending the infamous Valentine's Day in the company of Lando and video games. When Norris snaps for some date, Verstappen has to step out of his comfort zone, only to get hit by the wheels of fate.

Warnings: a little bit of drinking and curse words

Word count: 1,446k

February thickened into a dirty grey palette and settled on the canvas of Foggy Albion with dank, lonely evenings, leaving muddy streaks of longing and fatigue. The shortest, month seemed like an unfinished essay with ink smudges, a ragged story with no confinement, a muted question hanging in the air. Inevitable.

Max often laid on the bed, too spacious for one, and stared at the grey ceiling with unfocused gaze. The exam period had passed, leaving behind circles under his eyes and a scattering of cans of energy drink on his computer desk — lousy reminders.

As luck would have it, the equator of February was Valentine's Day —a cheap vanity fair and a spectacle of relentless hearts tirelessly proving the strength of their feelings. It's not that Verstappen didn't like this masquerade, rather he didn't pay attention to it or looked at it from above sceptically. According to the good old tradition Max spent this day in the company of Norris: an ancient PlayStation, beer, sometimes even board games for two. This year, however…

"Max, I completely forgot to tell you…" Norris crumples awkwardly on the doorstep before leaving. "About tomorrow… I'm kind of going on a date. You don't mind, do you?" The intonation, the look, and the jump in her eyebrows are so naive and disarming that the only thing to do is to shrug.

Actually, he does mind. He minds a lot. And yet he's best mate, and so he smiles awkwardly — it comes out more like an embarrassed grimace — and gives a shrug. It's obvious that Lando is confused, but his legs spring down the stairs with such fervour that Max smirks, this time genuinely. His friend is filled with a stomach-tickling anticipation of romance. One can even leave out the fact that nothing ever works out and Lando is crying on Verstappen's lap afterwards, complaining about another asshole.

//

His feet took him to The Black Dog near the Thames. From the street the pub seemed a nice, quiet harbour where he could spend this stupid evening. Though Max, of course, favoured cats. Some song from the late eighties, oil glints on the lacquered counter, narrow waists of bottles. Better the hum of voices, the sticky smell of whiskey poured into glasses, and the indifferent stares of random people than the walls of his room.

He didn't often drink anything stronger than beer, but now a glass seemed the surest funnel for blood from the blunt knife of loneliness. Max wasn't looking for anyone in particular. Probably subconsciously he wanted someone to find him on his own. His gaze slid over faces — tired, drunk, lean, absent — and found nothing remarkable. The woman in the red dress is obviously overreacting, trying to get anyone's attention… yet Max doesn't judge her in the slightest. A strained smile with lipstick past the edge of her lips is the cry of a circus jester.

The night air is inexplicably lighter than its daytime sibling, and Max wanders slowly along the night's noisy highway in an unzipped sports jacket, hoping to cool his head and sober up a little. The city spills over with wet tarmac, stringy streetlights, the shadows of people he didn't know and didn't want to know.

Verstappen decides to turn down Cardigan Street, so he won't hear the increasing drumbeat of cars, and carry the body home in greater peace, since….

Flash. The roar of the engine. The scrape of rubber on tar.

A sore wrist. Leg aching. Temples throbbing. Heart is about to jump out of chest.

He's on the pavement, almost down, almost touching the puddle with the back of his head.

"What the…" Max wheezes, rising up on his elbows; the realisation of the situation brings a sharp attack of nausea and a prick in his chest. He almost got run over, dang! Nausea is quickly replaced by anger.

Max almost growls without even looking at the culprit, but stops talking when the motorcyclist is close by and deftly pulls off his impressive helmet, jiggling his head to shake off his silky hair.

"Mon Dieu," the driver nervously takes steps towards him. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you in that black… You ran out into the road like a cat," he said, a silent chuckle, a carefree juxtaposition of self-assurance and guilt, a barely audible emotion mixed with a warm, scratchy accent. Oh, shit. "Everything all right?"

"I'm fine," Verstappen mumbles, slamming his eyes shut twice and rejecting the helping hand. He almost falls on the young man, however, hissing at the pain in his foot. "Shit…"

"Wow," the motorcyclist picks Max up with his strong arms and catches his balance. "Well, well, I guess you're not that fine," he grins again, as if it's not about a possible injury, but about the ice-cream flavour.

"What's your name, black cat?" The stranger helps the Dutchman to lean on the motorbike.

"Max."

"Bene, Max. I'm Charles. Charles Leclerc," the driver introduces, putting his hand on his chest for clarity.

"Char Liquor," Verstappen mumbles in a slurred tongue.

"Well, that will do for now," warm enveloping laughter, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, dimples on cheeks. Max seems to be drifting off somewhere. "You don't seem to be getting there on your own. I'll give you a lift home as an apology. You good?"

Max is in absolutely no position to object, and is generally not opposed to the idea of being home as soon as possible. Leclerc winks and gives the passenger a separate helmet, putting back on the helmet he'd recently taken off — Max manages to spot the tiny silver horse badge.

//

The road back blurred like a film shot on a cheap camera. Max remembered the warmth of someone else's hands, which he clutched almost desperately, afraid of falling, the lights of the night city, the sound of wind and engine, the feeling of something unexpectedly right.

"You live alone?" Charles asks, swinging open the door and helping Max in.

"With cats," Verstappen corrects, and Leclerc smiles silently, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

It's hard to trace the moment they were on the bed — Max remembers only that he wanted to sleep. It's nothing like that, both of them in their clothes. Just talking. Just looking at the ceiling. And yet Charles' smile is insanely close, and the bed is suddenly small. And God, how that's been lacking.

"Yeah, on my way back from a bad date," the motorcyclist admits and rubs his face to hide his embarrassment.

"I can't imagine that you ever had a bad date," Max shakes his head and bends his arm at the elbow, making himself comfortable on the palm of his hand, repeating the pose of his interlocutor, getting a little closer.

"Imagine that! It happens even to the best of us," Leclerc smiles conspiratorially, hiding the whiteness of his teeth.

"I'm glad it did. Otherwise you would not have hit me," without filtering his thoughts, Verstappen gives out, than causes genuine surprise and bright overflow of laughter.

"How's your leg?" softly asks Charles, glancing down to where their knees are barely touching. Where the buckle of someone else's belt glistens in the night-light...

"Moaning. I demand to pat her as compensation for moral and physical damage," Verstappen says in all seriousness, forcing Leclerc to hide his face behind a tanned palm with a bunch of rings. Quietly he adds: "You're beautiful."

"Max, you're still drunk."

"Tomorrow I'll be sober. And you'll still be beautiful," Verstappen exhales, admitting defeat and straining to keep his eyes open and not to pass out.

"Well, today is Valentine's Day", Max almost whispers, with a slight resentment and despair.

"Ha, indeed. Valentine's Day," Leclerc agrees, a little embarrassed and thoughtful, and leans closer. "Close your eyes. Sleep well."

It burns. A sip of the strong drink. Spills under the skin. Goosebumps crawl up the back of your neck and the back of the neck. Softly numb, like a lavender haze in the evening. Soft. Delicious. Tea and sugar. Smudgy. Thick. A cloud of candyfloss. Warm. Sunset on the azure coast.

Darkness.

//

In the morning, his hands can't find the warmth that escaped. The ceiling is the same white, the bed is the same empty.

Was it a dream? Fingertips run slowly over my lips, clinging to the ephemeral presence.

Max rises in bed, thievingly, excitedly darting his gaze around the room, trying to pick up on other traces. It doesn't take long to find one.

A black motorbike helmet lies proudly on the computer desk. The badge of a horse quietly silvers in the midday sun.

[formula1fanfiction]

Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Title: What's going on?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Pierre Gasly

Characters: Charles Leclerc, Pierre Gasly, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, George Russell, Alex Albon, Esteban Ocon.

Prompt: Could you write Pierre, who becomes a kisser when drunk? Bottom Pierre.

A/N: Pierre's a little meance in this and poor Charles is the one who has to deal with all the shit.

If Charles had one thing to say about is best friend, it's that he's not a very classy drunk. "I'm not going to drink, I promise." Pierre tells Charles as he walks through the door. "I've heard that before." Charles replies before following him through the doors.

They are already late to the party, most over drivers seem drunk already. "Come on Pierre, it's wine it won't kill you." Charles watches as Max pratically shoves the drink into Pierre, most of it sloshes out of the side and stains Max's white shirt red. "Whoops."

"I'm good, i'm not drinking tonight." Pierre smiles at the Dutchmen politely, then walks away.

"You drank last time and nothing bad happened." Carlos tells Pierre, Charles stares daggers at his teammate behind Pierre's head, because yes something bad did happened last time. Pierre vomited into a potted plant and then tried to make out with Sebastian Vettel, Charles had never been more embarrassed, especially when Seb had told him to control his best friend.

"He's good." Charles steps in. "Because last time he vomited into a potted plant." He decides to leave out the kissing Seb part. Carlos laughs so hard, he has to clench down on his stomach.  

Pierre likes kissing people when he's drunk and that's a problem.

"Stop being boring, it's my party, now drink." Lando presses a vodka into Pierre's hand, who gives a little shrug. "I guess, one can't hurt." Oh, here we go. Charles mentally rolls his eyes, watching him tip back the drink.   

One quickly turns into several, Charles hates that he can't enjoy himself because he's got to take care of Pierre. Hopefully he doesn't try and kiss anyone tonight.

"Oh hello, Estie bestie. Why do we hate each other?" Esteban, who never drinks looks repulsed as Pierre closes the gap between them with puckered lips. "Pull yourself together." Charles hisses, quickly pulling Pierre away, giving Esteban a small smile in apology. "You would only hate yourself in the morning for going there."

"Drink this." Oscar presses a glass of water into Pierre's hand. "It will help you sober up." Charles is too busy watching Alex and George shamelessly making out, Alex has George pressed up against the wall, a hand up his shirt. A small part of him wishes that was him and Pierre.

"Yeah, they need to get a room." Oscar laughs, following Charles eyes. "I would tell them to get one, but i'm scared they will end up fucking in Lando and I's bedroom." Charles forgot for a moment that Lando and Oscar are together, it seems everyone is in an established relationship but him.

"Get away from him." Charles glances over and sees Pierre, now has George pressed up against the wall. Luckily the Brit, doesn't seem that angry about it, his boyfriend on the other hand roughly pushes Pierre away. "Kiss your own boyfriend."

"You took my seat, so I thought i'd take your man." Pierre is smirking, Charles doesn't think he's ever seen Alex that angry, he quickly pulls him away. "Sorry Alex, he's drunk." Alex places his hands on his hips. "Why don't you kiss him instead, we all know you want to." Charles narrows his eyes and pulls Pierre away.

"What was that all about?" Pierre asks staring into Charles' soul, like wasn't the one who tried to kiss George and piss off Alex. "You tried to kiss George, while Alex was standing right next to him." Pierre giggles. "I wasn't talking about that."

"Then what, Pierre?" Charles just wants to home, parties are no fun when you a babysitting an actual idiot. "When Alex said, why don't you kiss him, we all know you want to." Charles shrugs.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Charles?" He wants to say, but that would be lying, so he doesn't say anything, just glares at Pierre. His personal space is suddenly crowded by Pierre then their lips meet. The kiss isn't a good one, Pierre's drunk and it's full of tongue and teeth but Charles' heart does a happy dance finally getting what he wants.

"Shall we go back to the hotel?" Pierre smirks as he pulls away. How can Charles say no to that. They don't bother saying goodbye, Pierre's pissed off way too many people.

"Are we going to fuck, Charles?" It's the first thing Pierre asks when they enter the bedroom. "No, you're too drunk for that." Pierre laughs. "I'm not drunk, tipsy maybe but not drunk."

"Still no, because i've never, you know with man." Charles gestures with his hand, embarrassed that he's even admitting to this. "You can fuck me, it's no different than doing it with a women, I know you've done that." Pierre shrugs. "Well yes, okay."

"Great." Pierre tears off his clothes, like he's some kind of animal and spreads himself out in the middle of Pierre's bed. "There's lube in my pocket." Charles fishes it out of Pierre's jeans while slowly taking off his own clothing.

"Are you sure about this? I feel like i'm taking advantage of you." Charles climbs up onto the bed and settles himself between Pierre's spread legs. "I've wanted to fuck you for years Charles, just get on with it, i'm horny."

"Ok, Mr bossy." Charles pours a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, probably too much he makes a bit of a mess and it runs down his fingers. "Not the whole bottle, Cha." Pierre giggles placing his hands behind his head, lifting his legs slightly giving Charles better access to his hole.

"Actually, maybe my hands and knees will make it easier." Pierre rolls over and soon Charles is presented with that nice ass. Charles is a little nervous sinking the first finger inside, he's fucked girls, this isn't too different. He twists and turns the digit, fucking him with them, then adding another one. He works his way up to four fingers, just because he's scared to death of hurting Pierre.

"Today Charles, I am not a virgin, I bet I could get your fist inside me at this point." Charles lets his fingers slip out. "You are so bossy for someone who is about to have a dick in their ass."  

"I just know what I want, now stop fucking around and get inside of me." Charles resists the urge to spank the pale pass and pours lube on his cock, hissing in pleasure at finally giving himself some pleasure.

Charles lines himself up with Pierre's hole and slowly sinks inside. "Charles." Pierre snaps again and Charles gives up taking it steady and slams inside of him with one swift thrust. "Fuck yes, you feel so good." Charles stalls for a few seconds but soon starts to move, because Pierre is annoying as fuck and keeps complaining, drilling Pierre with rough but shallow thrusts.

"Wow Charles, you really know what you're doing." Charles has had it with Pierre's mouth now and decides it time to shut Pierre up once and for all and slams inside even harder, getting deeper and deeper with each thrust. The headboard slams against the wall. Pierre's bossy sounds are now replaced with loud moans, which are slightly better to handle.

Charles sinks to the deepest parts of him and angles his thrusts until he slams into Pierre's prostate. "Fucking hell." Pierre throws his head back, taking his own leaking cock into his hand are furiously strokes himself to the same pace as Charles' thrusts.  It doesn't take long for him to fall apart and he's screaming Charles' name as he paints his own hand with his milky white seed, collapsing down onto the bed in the process, leaving him face down ass up.

"I'm close." Charles digs his fingers into Pierre's hips and thrusts into him with all his might. Pierre is still moaning loudly, even though he must be feeling sore and oversensitive by now. Three more hard thrusts and Charles is following suit, screaming out Pierre's name as he spills inside of him. Charles pulls out instantly and collapses down onto the bed, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry Pierre, I feel like I took advantage of you." Pierre makes a sound and pulls Charles in for a cuddle, until his head rests on Pierre's chest. "I was bossing you around the entire time, you can't think I didn't want it."

"I think you wanted it, but you are drunk..." Pierre giggles. "I'm not drunk Charles, i've always wanted you, I always kissed the guys to make you jealous." Charles can't believe what he's hearing. "You kissed George, in front of Alex." A shit eating grin appears on Pierre's face. "No harm in pissing of Alex in the process."

"So you wanted to fuck then?" Pierre nods. "I've wanted to fuck you forever Charles, I had always thought that you would be the bottom." Charles shrugs. "Maybe next time?"

"I hope that's a promise."