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Netflix Suffers
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)
Summary: Netflix suffers through quietly private Oscar for 2 and a half whole seasons of Drive to Survive.
Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂
(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )
FEBRUARY 2022
🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes
SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri
AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)
New talent, F2&F3 champ, Alpine reserve – strong potential for screen time once on the grid. Quiet but smart. Needs camera time to build profile. Likely to debut in 2023.
Approach for low-key content – i.e., “day in the life” while in reserve role. Ideal filming locations: Enstone, coffee shop, sim work, etc. (NO home shoot yet, build trust first.)
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL] Driver Profiles – Oscar Piastri
We should absolutely start tracking Oscar Piastri content.
Even if he’s just the reserve driver this year, the hype around him is ridiculous. Also, Alpine won’t stop talking about “the future.” He’s calm on camera, photogenic, and his stats in F2 were insane. I don’t think he has the ‘media darling’ vibe yet, but maybe that’s the charm?
(Also, if he ever opens up, I think we’ll find something really good there.)
***
MARCH 2022
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Oscar — Filming Availability?
Hi Mark,
Hope you’re well — I wanted to reach out regarding some potential filming time with Oscar in the next few weeks. We’re spotlighting the Alpine Academy as part of a talent pipeline feature for Drive to Survive, and Oscar’s obviously central to that.
We’d love to do something a little more personal, maybe in Australia if he’s home during the race weekend? Just informal stuff — walks along the coast, cooking dinner, time with the family.
Would he be open?
Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Oscar — Filming Availability?
Hey Emily,
Appreciate the ask. Just a heads up: Oscar’s not big on the personal angle. He’ll do talking heads, training shots, maybe some light garage footage, but filming in Aus is a no.
He won’t budge on that.
Cheers, Mark
***
APRIL 2022
🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes
SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri
AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)
Piastri’s still cagey. Got him for like 10 seconds in the Alpine motorhome. Media-trained within an inch of his life. Never says more than necessary. No mention of family, background, anything. I swear he arrives and vanishes like a ghost.
***
MAY 2022
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Filming Opportunity
Hey Mark,
Quick question—do you think Oscar would be open to a short sit-down segment before the summer break? Just a few minutes of reflection on the reserve role, how he’s prepping for the future. We wouldn’t push anything personal.
Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Alpine Segment
Hi Emily, Oscar appreciates the ask but he’s going to pass. Head down for now.
He’s not the “talk it out on camera” type.
Cheers, Mark
***
AUGUST 2022
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: What
Update: Alpine just announced Oscar Piastri as their 2023 driver.
Two hours later… Oscar publicly denied it.
We’re pivoting this entire storyline.
Please prep:
New B-roll
Emergency reaction interviews
A very patient attitude
God help us.
— Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: URGENT: Oscar Piastri Content Opportunity
Hi Mark,
We’re obviously across the Alpine press release and Oscar’s... shall we say... firm rebuttal. I know it’s a delicate situation (understatement), but from a Drive to Survive perspective, this is GOLD.
Would Oscar be willing to do a sit-down? Nothing invasive, just some general footage — his perspective on the announcement, what he can and can’t say, maybe a voiceover? We could shoot it neutral — no team gear, simple setting, even his flat or somewhere casual?
Fans are already going wild. This is the biggest off-track story since Ricciardo to Renault. We don’t need the dirt — just a moment of “this is what it felt like from my side.”
Timing-wise, we’d want to film this week. Please let me know.
All best, Emily ***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: URGENT: Oscar Piastri Content Opportunity
Hi Emily,
Thanks for reaching out.
Understand where you’re coming from — and yeah, it’s certainly been a lively 48 hours.
That said: Oscar’s not going to film anything right now. He’s focusing on keeping his head down and letting the CRB process play out. Legal is involved, as I’m sure you can imagine.
Also, he's not keen on filming at home. Ever.
Will keep you posted if anything changes, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.
Best, Mark
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Quick Touch Base – Re: Statement Footage
Hi Oscar,
Just wanted to reach out personally and say we’re all very impressed by how gracefully you’re handling everything — not an easy situation.
If you’re open to it, we’d love to get a short piece to camera — even something as simple as your thoughts on what it’s been like these past few days. We can keep it high-level. No legal landmines, I promise.
Totally understand if now’s not the time. Just thought I’d ask directly.
Hope you’re well, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Quick Touch Base – Re: Statement Footage
Hi Emily,
Thanks for the kind words.
I’d prefer not to be filmed right now. Nothing personal — just trying to keep things quiet while everything gets sorted.
Appreciate you checking in though.
Best, Oscar
***
INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production
Emily: Okay, so… Oscar very politely said no. Again. Mark also said no. I swear, they are a unified front of chill, lawyered-up silence. Which, okay, fine — but this is the most dramatic moment in F1 driver contract history and we’re filming damn car factories.
Emily: Also, quote of the week from Mark:“He’s not keen on filming at home. Ever.” What does he do at home? Stare at walls? Garden in secret? Marinate in contractual ambiguity?
Jason: I don’t think he even has a home. He might just unplug at the back of the simulator when no one’s looking.
Laura: Honestly, I’d believe that.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Oscar Piastri Situation – Emergency Pivot #2
Oscar has signed with McLaren. Alpine is pissed. The internet is on fire.
We absolutely need to feature this in the next season. Please prepare:
Voiceover drafts for "F1’s biggest contract twist"
New graphics
Backup plans for literally everything
He’s still refusing to be filmed outside of team facilities. I asked for a reaction clip — he said “no comment”.
This is going to be painful.
— E.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Okay, but hear me out
Hi Oscar, Totally respect your privacy—promise! But with everything happening, the contract, the Alpine/McLaren tug-of-war—this could be a defining story moment. Even just five minutes of your thoughts would mean so much.
We can do it on neutral ground. In a field. A parking lot. A hallway. You don’t even have to sit.
Please? Best, Emily
***
[NO REPLY]
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Filming Opportunity
I don’t even know which team to email anymore.
Alpine says he’s theirs.
Oscar says “no.”
I asked for an interview — even off-record. He said “not until everything is settled.” And he meant it.
At this point I’m tempted to just film Mark’s facial expressions and stitch a narrative together from that.
Oscar is cool as a cucumber and somehow still tells me nothing.
***
SEPTEMBER 2022
📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Mark Webber
Emily: Hey — is Oscar open to a small sit-down to talk about his career path? Nothing contract specific.
Mark: He’ll do a brief neutral one, but no questions about Alpine or McLaren. And no “fun behind-the-scenes” stuff. Just racing.
***
DECEMBER 2022
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Oscar Piastri – Summary of 2022 Access
All personal/home/family requests denied.
No on-location filming allowed outside official team appearances.
Only gave us 2 usable soundbites and one very neutral post-contract interview.
Refuses to discuss “loyalty” or “betrayal” — insisted “it’s just contracts.”
Tried to bribe cameraman with coffee to stop filming.
Did not laugh at any of my jokes.
Conclusion: Oscar Piastri is the single most media-resistant driver we’ve ever had.
Future suggestion: If he ever lets us film at home, there’s either been a major personality change… or he’s hiding something.
(Honestly starting to bet on the second one.)
— Emily
***
FEBRUARY 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>
Subject: Oscar Piastri Filming Access (Clarification)
Hi! Just checking again on the possibility of doing a “rookie spotlight” feature with Oscar. Something simple: breakfast, drive to the track, post-race reflection? We can be as unobtrusive as needed.
Let me know what he’s comfortable with!
Thanks, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Oscar Piastri Filming Access (Clarification)
Hi Emily,
Oscar is happy to participate in behind-the-scenes filming at the track, during media day, or at the McLaren Technology Centre (MTC). He’s not comfortable with at-home or family-based filming at this time.
We’ll loop you in when he’s scheduled for a sim session or debrief we can film.
Best, Sophie
***
🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes
SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri
AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)Production Log – Episode Notes: Oscar Piastri Rookie Year (Draft)
All track footage cleared.
MTC sim session + papaya feature: ✅
Emotional arcs = ??
No family interviews, no at-home footage, no old footage allowed.
Oscar is friendly, professional, and zero drama.
***
MARCH 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: DTS Filming Requests – Oscar Piastri
Hi Oscar,
Thanks again for letting us tag along during media day in Bahrain. Really appreciated your patience with the cameras—and the boom mic guy stepping on your shoelace.
As discussed, we’d love to schedule a small sit-down interview for the Melbourne episode. Maybe something reflective, personal—“Coming Home” kind of vibe?
We’re thinking your old karting track, maybe your parents’ place if they’re comfortable?
Let me know what works!
Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Re: DTS Filming Requests – Oscar Piastri
Hi Emily,
Thanks for the email. Glad the crew got everything they needed.
Appreciate the idea—but I’d prefer not to film anything personal around Melbourne, if that’s okay. I’m happy to do more McLaren-based interviews, behind-the-scenes from the garage, prep footage, etc.
Thanks for understanding.
Best, Oscar
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Request Re: Australia GP Segment
Hi Mark,
We’d really love to get Oscar into a segment for the Melbourne GP this year — something personal, local, that grounds him a bit. Maybe a visit to his childhood kart track? A walk around his hometown? Even just some shots with family, if they’re comfortable? It’d add great context.
Best,
Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Request Re:Australia GP Segment
Hi Emily,
Appreciate the thought. It’s a no for the hometown and the family.
He’s not being difficult. He just values his privacy more than most.
Cheers, Mark
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: DTS Feature Ideas – Oscar Piastri
Hi Mark,
We would love to film some home content with Oscar while he's in Australia. Fans are eager for more of his personality and background, especially given how impressive his rookie season is shaping up to be.
Would he be open to filming in Melbourne with his family? Even just an afternoon BBQ or a sit-down with his parents? We can keep it light and casual.
Let me know! Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Re: DTS Feature Ideas – Oscar Piastri
Hey Emily,
Appreciate the enthusiasm, but that’s still going to be a no from Oscar.
He’s been clear since the beginning: no filming with family, and definitely not at his house.
You can try asking again, but between you and me? Won’t change his mind.
Cheers, Mark
***
📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri
Emily: Hey Oscar! Just wanted to check if you’ve reconsidered filming a short segment in Australia? A lot of the younger guys have had great feedback from showing a bit of their life at home.
Oscar: Appreciate the offer, but that’s a no from me.
Emily: Not even a beach walk? A café? A dog? You don’t even have to speak.
Oscar: Still no.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Oscar Piastri – Personal Storyline Attempts
Notes:
Reached out 3 times for Australia-based filming. All rejected.
Mark Webber confirms this is standard.
Oscar is exceedingly polite but very firm on privacy.
Refuses family involvement. Refuses filming at home. Declined filming with childhood photos or karting footage unless pre-approved.
No girlfriend, parents, or siblings allowed on screen.
“Keeps things boring on purpose” — per one of McLaren’s PR guys.
***
APRIL 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Rookie Coverage – Piastri
Team,
Oscar Piastri is officially the most confusing human being I’ve ever tried to film.
We are four races in. He’s:
Scored points.
Been praised by everyone from Lando Norris to freaking Fernando Alonso.
Referred to as “a robot with a perfect driving line” on Reddit.
And he still won’t film anything outside the paddock. Not even a coffee run. Not even a “walk-and-talk” through the McLaren motorhome.
He said — and I quote — “The racing should be the interesting part.”
I need an aspirin.
— Emily
***
MAY 2023
📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri
Emily: What about a day-in-the-life shoot? Just a few shots at your apartment, packing your helmet, chatting over coffee?
Oscar: I don’t drink coffee.
Emily: Tea?
Oscar: Still no.
Emily: A silent montage of you sitting on the couch?
Oscar: No thanks.
***
JUNE 2023
🗂️ FILE: Netflix DTS SEASON 5 - Notes
SUBJECT: Oscar Piastri
AUTHOR: Emily Kingsley (Producer)
Asked Oscar directly in the paddock. Said (verbatim): “I’m just here to race. I’m not really into the storytelling stuff.”
Said it politely. Somehow made me feel bad for asking.
He’s 22 and already gives media-trained veteran energy.
No public drama. No family content. No home content. Not even a cat. What is he hiding?
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Mid-Season Filming Plans – DTS
Hi Oscar,
Just circling back on upcoming storylines—we’d love to get a personal angle in the Silverstone episode. Maybe something about how the transition to McLaren has affected your day-to-day?
Let me know if there’s any setting or topic you would be comfortable with. Even something low-key, like lunch with friends or your sim setup at home.
Hope the triple-header isn’t wearing you down too much.
Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Mid-Season Filming Plans – DTS
Hi Emily,
Thanks again—really appreciate the thought and planning. I’m good with filming at McLaren, any sim stuff can be done there too. Just no home filming, please.
Best, Oscar
***
JULY 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Zak Brown <[email protected]>
Subject: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request
Hi Zak,
We’re hoping to film some light content with Oscar off-track — nothing invasive, just lifestyle b-roll. Maybe a post-race decompress scene? It’s for his rookie arc.
He’s been polite, but firm: no house, no “at home,” no background info, no family questions. It’s like trying to film a hologram.
Would appreciate your support in encouraging him — he’s a huge part of this season.
Thanks, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Zak Brown <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request
Hey Emily,
Appreciate the hustle, but Oscar’s...let’s say “particular.” Doesn’t like cameras unless he’s in the car or on the grid.
We’ve all tried. Even Lando gave up.
Keep doing your best — and don’t take it personally. That kid keeps his world very locked down.
ZB
***
SEPTEMBER 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Rookie Year – Piastri Workaround
Still no home footage.
Still no family mentions.
Still no idea what this man does outside of racing and eating bananas.
BUT:
He said we can film a sit-down if it’s in a neutral hotel room, lasts no more than 12 minutes, and avoids questions about “loyalty,” “controversy,” or “anything that sounds like a TikTok thirst trap.”
He did blink when I asked about his support system, so... possible crack in the armor?
Still suspicious about why he’s so protective of home life. My bet: secret girlfriend.
Emily
***
📱Text Message – Emily Kingsley -> Oscar Piastri
Emily: Okay, totally off the record — is there a reason you’re so locked down about your personal life?
Oscar: Probably.
Emily: That’s not an answer.
Oscar: Still true.
Emily: Come on, even Lando lets us film his kitchen. Just one little peek into home life?
Oscar: There’s nothing interesting there.
Emily: I don’t believe you.
***
OCTOBER 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Oscar Piastri - Filming Permission Request
Mark.
I will buy you a very nice bottle of wine if you just tell me why Oscar is so secretive. Is he secretly a monk? Is there a bunker full of cats?
I’m not trying to pry. I just want to make good television.
Please.
Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Just Tell Me Why
Ha.
Emily, he’s not hiding scandal, if that’s what you’re worried about. He just keeps things close. Always has. Family, relationships, the whole deal.
You won’t get him to change his mind unless he decides to. Trust me.
Cheers
Mark
***
DECEMBER 2023
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: End-of-Season Wrap – Oscar Piastri
Final access level:
Filmed: 2 interviews, 4 race weekends, 0 personal segments.
Declined: 12 off-track requests.
Quotes of the year: “I don’t think that’s relevant,” “Not today,” and “No thanks.”
Still no footage of:
His apartment
His family
Literally anything that tells us he’s a human being and not a polite race-bot
Final verdict: He’s hiding something. I just have no idea what. Yet.
— Emily
***
JANUARY 2024
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Piastri Segment – “Still Nothing” Update
Team,
We’re heading into Season 6 planning, and in case anyone had delusions of cracking Oscar Piastri this year, here’s a little refresher of how the last few weeks went:
Team McLaren OK’d filming around the garage, factory, even a simulator session.
Oscar OK’d a sit-down interview, as long as the topics were racing, racing, and also racing.
Oscar absolutely, categorically, politely said “no thank you” to anything involving:
His home
His background
His personal life
His off-track activities
Any “day in the life” filming
Every single “soft” question we attempted (ex. “What’s your go-to comfort food?” led to: “Whatever Bees likes—sorry, I mean—whatever I feel like.”)
He nearly had a stroke when someone asked if he had a pet.
We’re still in the dark. I don’t know what’s going on. But I know it’s not nothing.
— Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: DTS Season 6 – Early Shoot Availability Hi Oscar,
Hope you’re doing well and had a restful off-season! We’re lining up some early-season shoots with returning drivers and wanted to check if you’d be available for a quick segment in February.
Nothing invasive — just a casual piece on how you spent the break, training routines, and maybe a few reflections from home. Could be in Monaco, or if you’re back in Australia—
Best, Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Filming Opportunity
Hi Emily,
Thanks for reaching out. Appreciate the offer, but I’ll pass on the home segment.
Happy to do something at the track during pre-season testing though.
Regards, Oscar
***
FEBRUARY 2024
INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production
Emily: Oscar deflected a “What do you like to do in your free time?” with “Tidy the garage.”
Jason: That’s so serial killer coded.
Emily: He said he’s “too boring for Netflix.” With a straight face. I know he’s hiding something.
Owen: Secret girlfriend?
Laura: Or has a dog named after a politician. Or something. No one is this allergic to personal questions unless they’re deeply interesting.
***
MARCH 2024
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Drive to Survive – Post-Race Australia Segment?
Hi Oscar, Congrats on surviving the Melbourne media gauntlet.
We were wondering if you'd be open to filming a short post-race reflection scene in Australia. Could be something casual—coffee with a friend, walk around a local kart track, even something at home if you're comfortable. We’d love to highlight the “local kid comes home” angle.
Let us know. We're flexible on format and timing!
Best, Emily
***
📱Text Message – Oscar Piastri → Mark Webber
Oscar: Did you see Emily’s email? Again with the home filming ask.
Mark: You know the drill. Smile, say thanks, say no.
Oscar: Smiled. Said thanks. Said no.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Drive to Survive – Post-Race Australia Segment?
Hi Emily, Appreciate the note and the kind words.
I’d prefer to keep any filming this season within the McLaren environment or at-track settings. I’m not comfortable including personal locations or relationships in the show at this stage.
Thanks again for understanding.
Best, Oscar
***
INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production
Emily: Oscar Piastri is the politest stone wall I’ve ever met.
Owen: We got nothing personal from his Australia weekend?
Emily: He let us film one (1) shot of him walking into the paddock in the rain. Incredible cheekbones. Zero content.
Jason: I tried asking him about his life outside the sport and he hit me with a “I’m focused on the team and the car this season.” Man’s media-trained like a royal.
Emily: I swear he has an underground bunker where his personality lives.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Just Checking In Again
Hi Mark, I know I sound like a broken record, but we’d really love to get a bit more personal access with Oscar this season—maybe even just a sit-down interview off-track, something with a bit more narrative depth.
We’re not trying to push. But it feels like there’s a story we’re missing.
Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Just Checking In Again
Hey Emily, Appreciate the persistence. But as I said back in '22—if he hasn’t offered it, he won’t. Oscar keeps his circle tight and his cards closer. It’s not a slight. It’s just how he’s built.
Cheers, Mark
***
APRIL 2024
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Quick sanity check
Hi Mark, Sorry to bother you—just wanted to check if there’s any movement on Oscar maybe letting us do a more personal feature. Doesn’t even have to be Australia. A glimpse into his life off-track, maybe a cooking scene or something with friends?
We keep getting polite refusals, and I just want to make sure we’re not missing a scheduling window or an angle he would be comfortable with.
Appreciate the help. Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Quick sanity check
Hi Emily, You’re not missing anything. He’s just not going to do it.
Oscar’s private life is exactly that—private. Always has been. Always will be. Take it from me: if he hasn’t agreed by now, he’s not going to.
Cheers, Mark
P.S. Don’t take it personally.
***
INTERNAL NETFLIX SLACK THREAD: #DTS-production
Laura: I JUST SAW THE CLIP.
Emily: guys
Emily: GUYS
Emily: OSCAR IS MARRIED
Josh: huh?
Josh: LIKE ACTUALLY? was this announced?
Emily: YES. 10 MINUTES AGO. FAN STAGE. LIVE.
Emily: Lando had a SPIRITUAL CRISIS on stage
Josh: pls tell me we have the rights to that footage
Josh: pls
Naomi: I’m already scrubbing the audio
Naomi: it’s Oscar saying “10/10. would always marry her again.” while Lando combusts
Naomi: Oscar dropped a wife reveal like it was lap data
Emily: I HAVE SPENT TWO YEARS TRYING TO FILM THIS MAN’S HOME LIFE
Emily: HE SAID NO. EVERY TIME.
Emily: AND HE WAS MARRIED THE WHOLE TIME
Emily: MARRIED.
Emily: WITH A WHOLE ASS WIFE.
Laura: He said "at home. On the bed." That man is accidentally romantic. Is he okay?? Are we okay??
Tom: Compiling top fan tweets now. Lando screaming "YOU HAVE A WIFE?!" is our new episode cold open.
Owen: Also, is it true Nicole Piastri only found out after the wedding? Because that’s... incredible.
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: URGENT: PIASTRI MARRIAGE REVEAL - DAMAGE CONTROL & CONTENT PITCH
Team,
Hi. I am going to scream into the sun.
Apparently, Oscar Piastri has been married since he was eighteen. He announced it casually at a live fan stage during a game of "Would You Rather."
I’m attaching the clip. Please note the moment where Lando nearly dies. That is not an exaggeration.
Key Details:
Oscar is married. Legally. Since age 18.
No one on our team knew. No one in the paddock seems to have known.
His wife is still unnamed. No photos. No social media. She’s basically an encrypted file.
Lando screamed “I’M YOUR FRIEND” and the internet is now in full nuclear meltdown.
I AM GOING TO LOSE MY MIND. This is the best story we never got. Five seasons of silence and he was SITTING ON A SECRET WIFE.
We had NO IDEA.
Immediate action items:
Get the footage — we need every angle of this meltdown. Lando spitting out his drink is already trending.
Contact McLaren PR — and offer our eternal sympathy. Also ask if Oscar is open to filming with his wife. (I'm laughing. But also crying. But mostly laughing.)
New season pitch update — working title: "The Mysterious Mrs. Piastri"
Figure out what else he’s hiding — goats? underground bunker? A baby??
I will personally be contacting Oscar. I have already made peace with the fact that he will say "no."
Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: James Landon (Post-Production)<[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Oscar Segment - Recut Suggestions
Can we go back through the Season 5 footage and check for:
Any signs of a ring
Vague mentions of "someone"
Literally ANY CLUE
We might have to go full "true crime" voiceover: "The clues were there all along..."
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Legal <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Request for Contact - Mrs. Piastri
We will need:
Name
Signed release form
Any footage/photos if she's ever appeared accidentally
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Can We Get Her On Camera?
Mark,
Any shot Oscar’s wife would be willing to do a sit-down? Even just audio? Silhouette? Shadow puppet reenactment?
Emily
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Can We Get Her On Camera?
Emily,
Felicity Piastri is as scary with power tools as she is with spreadsheets.
Your odds are low.
But hey, miracles happen.
Mark
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Hannah Gray <[email protected]>
To: Production Team DTS
Subject: Emergency Title Brainstorm - Oscar Episode
Options so far:
"The Mysterious Mrs. Piastri"
"The Quiet One"
"Marriage? I Hardly Knew Him!"
"Oscar and the Secret Life"
"How To Hide A Wife"
Open to pitches. (Also therapy.)
***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]> , Zak Brown <[email protected]>, Andrea Stella <[email protected]>,
Subject: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal
Hi Sophie, Zak, Andrea —
Hope you’re surviving the media spike after the fan stage.
We’d love to coordinate on messaging around Oscar’s marriage announcement. It seems to have caught the internet (and... Lando) by surprise, and obviously we'd like to be sensitive but thorough in our approach moving forward.
Can we please set up a time tomorrow to discuss:
Whether you’ve worked with Oscar’s wife in any media/brand capacities
Any upcoming content opportunities that include her
Name/pronunciation/bio for our internal briefings
Preferred narrative tone from McLaren’s side
Thanks in advance, Emily ***
📩 EMAIL
From: Sophie Ogg <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]> , Zak Brown <[email protected]>, Andrea Stella <[email protected]>,
Subject: Netflix Inquiry — Episode Rights: Oscar Piastri Reveal
Hi Emily,
Thanks for reaching out.
To be entirely transparent with you… We didn’t know either.
Zak may have been aware, but the wider team (including PR) was very much in the same position as Lando: confused, betrayed, and on the verge of cardiac arrest.
We don’t have a name, a bio, or a backstory. We don’t even have a wedding date. There is apparently a whole wife who has been around for years. Since Oscar was in high school. We are still... adjusting.
So at this stage, we unfortunately can’t provide any of the materials you're requesting. We also do not currently have any brand involvement or photo access.
As of now, we have no official statement prepared. PR is regrouping. I cried.
Please give us a moment to breathe.
We’ll reach out to Oscar once he’s finished his debrief (and Lando stops yelling), and update you as soon as we can.
Best, Sophie ***
📩 EMAIL
From: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
To: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: Just Following Up (About The Whole Secret Marriage Thing)
Hi Oscar,
I hope you’re well and had time to breathe after what was… arguably the most internet-breaking moment of the entire season.
To be direct: First, congratulations. Second, WHAT THE HELL. Third, would you be open to a quick follow-up filming session or even a private sit-down interview to elaborate a little more on today’s revelation? Just… anything, really.
It’s safe to say you’ve just ignited the most unexpected story arc of Drive to Survive Season 7, and we’d love to give it the justice it deserves. We can keep it tasteful. We can blur the wedding photos. We can film in shadows like a crime doc if you want.
Let me know your thoughts — or have your mystery wife get in touch if she wants to.
Warm regards (and mild panic), Emily
📩 EMAIL
From: Oscar Piastri <[email protected]>
To: Emily Kingsley <[email protected]>
CC: Mark Webber <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Filming Opportunity
Hi Emily,
Thanks for the congratulations. And sorry, I didn’t mean to cause… whatever that was.
To clarify:
Yes, I’ve been married since 2019.
No, we’re not filming anything at home.
No, we’re not filming my wife.
Happy to talk about racing, contracts, simulator work, car setup, or tire degradation. Private life is private, as always.
Best, Oscar
#formula 1#f1 fanfiction#formula 1 fanfiction#f1 smau#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 grid x reader#f1 grid fanfiction#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri#Oscar Piastri fic#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri imagine#op81 fic#op81 imagine
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What’s for dinner?
Full Masterlist Lando Norris Masterlist
Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!reader
Summary: lando does the “what’s for dinner bitch?” Prank on you
Warnings: swearing, bad language, yelling!!! (Please tell me if I missed any?!!!)
Lando had seen a new trending prank on tiktok and he never really liked pranking you but he wanted to see your reaction for this prank. The bf would go up to his gf and ask “what’s for dinner bitch?” And he wanted to see how you’d react, he was a little scared since you never really got mad or angry but he has seen a couple times and when you do get mad you get mad.
Lando set up the camera and his it behind a pan on the kitchen side, you hadn’t noticed him walk in yet but he could see you cooking dinner and cutting up vegetables.
The smell of whatever you was making was heavenly, lando took a breath and gave a cheeky smile to the camera.
Lando built up the courage and said it “what’s for dinner bitch?” He said quite harshly and you lifted your head slowly not looking over to him, you set down the knife in your hand and tilted your head at him.
Max who was sat on the sofa on his phone also looked over at lando confused and looks over to you awkwardly until he remembered the trending prank on tiktok.
“What did you just call me?” You asked raising an eyebrow and he gulped fidgeting with his hand.
“I said you’re a bitch” lando said rudely again still trying his hardest not to break character and apologise to you and kiss you all over there and then.
You looked at him with furrowed brows and he rolled his eyes at you “where’s my fucking dinner? I’m hungry!” Lando yelled at you and you scoffed.
“Don’t fucking talk to me like that!” You yelled back and threw the tea towel in your hand at him before walking out the room angrily and slamming your bedroom door.
“Dude…your in deep shit” max said as he leaned over the sofa looking over at your now locked bedroom door, lando bit back a laugh as he quickly turned off his phone. Max took a photo of lando who gave him a cheeky grin and posted it onto his insta story.
maxfewtrell added to his story
User1: what happened why’s he a bad bf?!
User2: WHATD I MISS?!
User3: check landos tiktok
Maxverstappen1: what did you do…
Maxverstappen1: you’re in trouble.
User4: LMAO
oscarpiatri: I could feel her glare through the screen.
Lewishamilton: this is why I get scared to race her…
User5: NOT THE WHOLE ASS GRID BEING SCARED OF HER
User6: LANDO UR SO MEAN
User7: I CANT BELIEVE HE DID THE PRANK
User8: HE BETTER NOT HAVE CHEATED ON OUR Y/N
“Baby? Babe…open the door!” Lando said with a teasing smirk as he pulled on the door handle.
“Baby..?” Lando said more serious and not with a playful and teasing grin.
“Y/n? Open the door.” He said again as he knocked on the door loudly all whilst max watched from leaning on the sofa.
“Y/n. Baby? Please open the door! It was a prank! I didn’t mean it! I swear- it was just for a tiktok-“ Lando was cut off by the door unlocking and your arm sticking out with a pillow.
“What’s that for?” Lando asked confused
“It’s for you. You’re sleeping on the sofa.” You said sternly as you pushed the pillow into his arms before shutting and locking the door again.
Max pursed his lips with a ‘ooh your in trouble’ look and lando sighed throwing his head back.
Lando walked over to max with his head hung low and max couldn’t help his laughs.
“It’s not funny.” Lando glared with a pout as he threw his pillow on the sofa and laid down, “your in the doghouse man” max teased and lando rolled his eyes.
“I regret making doing that stupid tiktok.” Lando pouted and max smirked at his small pout.
“At least you know she wouldn’t let you call her a bitch?” Max said poking fun and lando glared at him.
maxfewtrell added to his story
User1: Lando what did you do?!
User2: omg I just saw his TikTok-
User3: she’s scary when she’s mad.
User4: you deserve it tbh
Maxverstappen1: you deserve it man
Georgerussel: it was too much for little lando Norris
User5: LMAOOO
User6: NJSIWHSJAKK
Lando shuffled on the sofa the whole night, max had left to go into his bed and lando glared at him jealously.
Lando has fallen asleep for abt two minutes before waking up again, he couldn’t fall asleep without you in his arms or next to him. He missed feeling your feet touching his or hearing your breathing or feeling your hair touch his chest.
He huffed as he got up walking tiredly towards your door with his pillow in his arms. He knocked but the door opened from his touch…it was unlocked?
He walked in quietly and smiled when he saw you passed out on your bed hugging your pillow, lando carefully climbed in next to you but unfortunately for him it woke you up “mh…” you groaned and stirred “sh..sh baby..go back to sleep” Lando said as he pulled the pillow from your grip and put it under your head and instead snuggled you into his arms.
Placing kisses on your head and you sighed in relief “I love you…” you mumbled making him smile “I love you too” he whispered back as he pressed a long kiss to your temple.
“I’m still mad at you…” you mumbled again and he smirked at you, you was half awake but still held a grudge.
“I know. I deserve it” lando grinned as he rested his head in your neck breathing in contently.
“You know I would never call you a bitch for real though right?” Lando asked you in a serious tone and you nodded into his chest “I know lan” you smiled as he stroked his fingers up and down your back.
“Good.”
#max fewtrell#landonorris#lando norris x you#lando norris x oc#lando norris x y/n#lando x you#lando x reader#lando imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#lando norris#landoscar#lando norizz#lando x y/n#f1#f1 x reader#formula one#ln4 x you#ln4#ln4 x y/n#ln4 x reader#ln4 one shot#ln4 fluff#ln4 imagine#ln4 fic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#beahf1
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downtime | logan howlett x reader
summary: logan had been meaning to show you the wooden cabin he'd visit when given the time— he didn't anticipate how enraptured he'd be with the the absence of chaos in his life
cw: slightly suggestive
domesticity looked good on logan in your eyes.
chopping wood for the fire you two would burn at night, making sure the weeds didn't interfere with the tomatoes you had been growing, and sometimes even fishing despite his lack of patience for it. his jeans hung low around his waist, hair speckled across his chest through his open-collared shirt—you had to admit, you liked this side of him. you two had decided you wanted to get away for a while since logan wasn't particularly needed at the moment. he had been wanting to show you the cabin he frequented when he wasn’t busy, daydreaming to himself with the thought of what your reaction would be to it. you weren't surprised at the nature of the wooden cabin. it was secluded and neatly tucked away in a corner of a vast forest that no one would dare to enter unless they were in for a rude awakening. maybe you were kidding yourself with the idea that you two might be able to go off-grid for a while, but it was a thought you both were willing to entertain.
you smiled to yourself as your eyes tore away from the much-welcomed sight of your boyfriend leaning back on the couch, hulking thighs spread as his head lolled back. your attention trailed back to the deer he had caught earlier in hopes you could do something with it. "should i slow-cook it? maybe even make it into a pot roast?" you suddenly spoke up from the kitchen, your lips pursed in thought as a lighthearted scoff left him, his eyebrow quirking up for a moment. "askin' the wrong person. never been known to be much of a chef, sweetheart." he gruffed out, too tired to allow his eyes to roll into the back of his head at the thought of even picking up on anything remotely related to cooking. "mm, you're right," you said through a small chuckle, your eyes still examining the raw meat, "could always just set up the grill out back. chop it up, make 'em into kebabs… but we don't have any skewers. if only there was something that we could use…" you playfully trailed off as you pressed your index finger to your lower lip as if conjuring a thought. logan quickly caught onto the fact that you were talking about using his claws as kebab skewers to which he shook his head in response, shooting you an amused glance.
he rose to his feet, floorboards groaning under his weight with each movement. "ha-ha, you're hilarious. damn near a comedian." he retorted as he made his way to you, placing his empty beer bottle on the counter before his arms wrapped around you, giving you a small squeeze. his front pressed to your back, your heart fluttering at the sudden contact. the contours of his muscles molded into your frame nicely, warmth emanating from him as his breath fanned against the nape of your neck. "well… i was thinking about signing up for the local comedy club. could be my big breakthrough, y'know?" you sighed in faux contemplation as you felt the softness of his lips pepper kisses from your nape to your pulse-point, his hands lingering on your waist. his thumbs found the belt loops in your jeans, tugging on them absentmindedly. "y'right, bet the squirrels and mornin' birds would love to hear the material you been practicin' on me." he murmured into your skin, eyes fluttering shut as he deeply inhaled your scent. seeing as how sensitive he was to scents, there were lots of scents he couldn't stand. hated the smell of gasoline, hated any kind of gaudy perfume— if he thought about it for too long, his nose would probably scrunch up out of disgust. yet he was particularly fond of your scent, fresh linen and cotton. your scent was as pleasing as your personality. you were good for logan. kind, compassionate— you smoothed out his rough edges. god knew he had too many.
domesticity looked good on you in logan's eyes. the wood you'd carry to the fire pit for your late-night chats recounting the events of the day, the tomatoes you'd complain about that wouldn't ripen and sometimes even fall off too early from local wildlife taking their swipes at it, and your insistence on him learning some proper patience for fishing since you still had a taste for wild-caught salmon. his hands found the hem of your flannel, sliding under the fabric as his fingertips grazed the softness of your skin, traveling down past your navel. warmth flooded your cheeks as a sheepish smile played at the corners of your lips, your hands on the counter to brace yourself. "logan— logan! i still have to marinate the meat." you hastily whispered before a breathy moan escaped you as his tongue rolled over your skin, teeth nipping at the crook of your neck. "mmm, don't worry 'bout it." he spoke into your neck before gently lifting you onto the counter, his eyes filled with affection. he didn't know how it happened, honestly. couldn't pinpoint it even if he tried to recall what you did that caused him to be so smitten with you. he quietly admired you for a few moments, taking in how hues of orange from the sun setting filtered through the window and cascaded onto the side of your face, his hand raising to cup the swell of your cheek. you didn't know it, but logan had made a quiet vow to himself to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe, in this life and the next.
he'd show you tonight how much he adored you, in more ways than just one.
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett#wolverine x reader#wolverine#james logan howlett#james logan howlett x reader#xmen x reader#logan howlett x you#x men#wolverine x you#wolverine xmen
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gardening
you did something stupid and now you're here in your itchy twice-a-year dress uniform in this bright busy room in the regimental HQ trying to figure out if you're going to be yelled at, shot, or promoted. the room's full of folding chairs. apparently not enough furniture in here normally to contain all the suits and all the brass.
your "ops coordinator" ("we don't say 'handler', grunt, it gives the civilians weird ideas") got pulled off for a side conversation two minutes after you got here and you haven't seen her since. you're looking anywhere for a familiar face. you're coming up empty. at least the woman next to you looks equally stressed. she must be civvie, some consultant or other; soft face, masses of curly hair. she's wearing a blazer and slacks with big round dataframes.
"hey," you elbow her. "what are you in for?"
"gods above and below." she sighs. "everything. but today mostly Neryx-9."
"the ag research station. you were there?"
"hardly," she says. "just came up on my huge list of problems."
"creepy shit. i was front and center for it…"
she cocks her head to listen. you explain.
Neryx-9 had been a cluster of greenhouses on the surface. supposed to be vacant, powered down — actually they'd said "mothballed", then looked at you like you were stupid when you asked what a moth was and what they did with their balls. but not vacant. far from it. you went in with a miniframe. first thing you found was the bodies of the grid authority techs that had called it in. purple mold already growing over them.
"it was wrong," you tell her. "not like that white stuff you get when an open nutripak sits in the fridge too long. i mean, i don't know if that would have been better. i just, i don't know, i didn't want to get any of that stuff on me. frame or no. maybe there was some already on me, but didn't want to get it on anyone else. so i backed out, sat in the airlock, thought about calling for extraction. thought better. backed to the wall, cycled my flight jets until it was starting to get warm even inside the frame, thought maybe i'd cook it off me. my ha– ops coordinator asked me what the fuck i was doing. snapped me out of it, i told her, i need fire. incendiaries."
they'd found them, somewhere. support rigged another airlock outside of the main airlock after you'd yelled at them to keep that shit inside. a miniframe-scale plasma cutter for outside construction work, and some purpose-built low-velocity liquid pyrophoric agent rockets.
the woman in the blazer made a face. "we just have those sitting around?"
"starship boarding actions. when we don't want to breach the hull but we do want to use all the oxygen. splashes around, gets everywhere, but nowhere near hot enough to melt anything structural. only used 'em in sims, of course, not like we get a lot of star traffic. horrorshow shit. or i thought it was, before this."
the outside airlock door opened and you'd taken up what they'd brought you.
you stepped over the bodies of the grid techs into hell. purple and orange jungle everywhere. insane external humidity and particle count. dome after hallway after dome of the shit, growing over the grow lights, growing up the walls, into the vents. you could feel it through your frame, through your suit. it was hungry. it wanted in.
"ma'am, compared to that feeling, that pressure, the first giant critter trying to eat my frame was a relief."
six thick legs, triangular jaws, scales and plates all over, massive paddle tail. it had reared out of a pond and tried to drag you back in with it. it wasn't as heavy as you, maybe, but it was mad as hell and a fast mover, and fuck, what right had anything like that to exist in an abandoned greenhouse? you knew you didn't want to be in that filthy water. who knew how deep it was? it'd clog your exhaust, choke your radiators. you twisted around as best you could in its grip, armed your wrist weapon, and blasted a thousand flechettes directly into its face.
"and that stopped it?"
"well, wasn't much left to be stopped, but yeah. and that's when i found it that it had friends and they could smell blood in the water."
she wrinkled her nose in a way that was either a dataframe input gesture or genuine surprise.
"why not just depressurize the domes, at this point?"
"thought about it. i had breaching charges. but… like i said, this stuff felt like it shouldn't get out. there's not much out there, yeah, but i just couldn't. and i had the cutter, and the rockets. so i decided to make it too hot on the shore for them to get me so easy."
you'd turned the artificial jungle into curtains of flame. the big creatures dove back into the water, giving you a narrow path to keep going. in the burning canopy, smaller things flared and dropped; you hadn't seen them moving until they died.
your handler had been screaming at you to get clear, get back to the airlock, but the flames made that a losing proposition. so you kept going in. Neryx-9 was roughly linear. there was another lock on the far side.
"past the labs, it turned out. and maybe some of those corpses in there had been growing these things, but it looked like the shit got away from them and was growing on them. there were these ribbons of orange moss, growing everywhere, out of containers, branching into foam and fabric and dead flesh — i tried to pull it off someone, before i realized they were all dead, and their skin came off in sheets, brown-black and full of tiny holes. charred, but not. think it was acid."
"something like a lichen."
"yeah, maybe? i learned about those in school. you can see 'em out the windows in a lot of places. they grow on rock, right?"
"they do," she says. "useful. so what did you do then?"
"i set the cutter to max spread and i torched a path through to the far airlock. and i don't mind saying, when i noticed the cutter battery and gas cylinder were doing okay, i started spreading it around a lot more. i just. i had to burn it."
"happens that was the right move," she said. "good instinct."
"please tell me someone did something about that shit."
"well," she smiled, "there's you. you know, you're refreshingly simple. like a cat that somehow had the sense to eat an invasive lizard. and since you didn't drag the bits all over, i tasked a solarsat to finish the job. can't beat a pass with an X-ray cloudpiercer beam for that kind of cleanup."
she wrinkles her nose again, and the general murmuring of a dozen conversations in the room changes as people look to the main wall display, which now shows a collection of greenhouse domes sagging as if collapsed by an invisible weight. the rock under them begins to glow.
"what's a cat?" you blurt out, before the words "i tasked a solarsat" have a chance to sink in. like, her, personally?
"an animal. a dumb little predator that associates with humans. from Terra, way before the Catastrophe. we're not ready for them just yet, but maybe someday."
a door opens to your side, and you both turn to see your handler, looking about at the end of her rope, and next to her, her boss, the major, who reports directly to the colonel.
"shit, there you are. look. you're gonna have to answer some questions. and it's not guaranteed you're going down for this, not yet, so just be honest, but for fuck's sake be brief, don't try to understand or interpret—"
both of their faces blanch. like, almost completely bloodless. eyes wide.
the curly-haired woman in the blazer smiles widely. "don't worry," she tells them, "she already did. she's been very helpful. in fact, i think i might like to keep her." she puts a hand on your knee.
"i'm not sure i understand, ma'am?"
"pilot," the major says, "is there a reason you've been occupying the time of the Director of Planetary Ecology? the woman who keeps this entire planet breathing oxygen and eating something other than rocks?"
and now your face must be bloodless too. the DPE? even you know that position. but you can't remember ever seeing a photo.
"oh, she was just telling me how she improvised containment protocols to prevent someone's experiment with Araukan imports from getting out of hand. clever girl. or lucky, at least."
you risk a glance to your side. she's still smiling. the woman who can steer any bioscience research on this planet, cut off power and water and air to anything she deems anathema to the coming ecosystem, commandeer keystone orbital infrastructure and burn habitats like you burned trees.
"i don't think we can possibly say no, Director," your handler says, carefully.
"no," the Director agrees. "you can't." □
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How about Lando baby sister came to a GP but all the other drivers hogged her?
Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!
- xoxo 🧡
Stealing her attention
The paddock was bustling as the weekend’s Grand Prix was well underway. Amongst the excitement and chaos, a certain little girl was stealing the show: Yn, Lando’s six-year-old sister. Dressed in a miniature McLaren team shirt and a sparkly skirt that fluttered when she twirled, Yn had quickly become the darling of the grid. While Lando had initially brought her to the GP for some sibling bonding time, it became apparent that the rest of the drivers were equally, if not more, excited to have her around.
---
“Yn!” Lewis called out from the Mercedes garage as the little girl skipped by, her bright eyes lighting up the room. “Come here for a second. I need help with something.”
“What do you need help with?” Yn asked, her tiny hands on her hips, her expression mimicking Lando’s ‘serious face.’
“Well, you see, Barbie here doesn’t know which dress to wear to her party,” Lewis explained, holding up two Barbie dolls. “Can you help her decide?”
Yn giggled and took the dolls from Lewis, inspecting the options with the utmost concentration. “This one,” she said decisively, pointing at a sparkly pink gown. “Because it matches her shoes. Duh.”
Lewis laughed and nodded. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. Thank you, Miss Stylist.”
---
Meanwhile, in the Ferrari hospitality suite, Charles was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Yn in front of him, her hair falling in soft waves.
“Stay still, mon petit,” Charles murmured as he worked on braiding her hair. His tongue poked out slightly in concentration, his fingers surprisingly deft.
“Are you making me look like Elsa?” Yn asked eagerly, turning her head slightly.
“Oui,” Charles said, gently turning her head back. “But better. You will be the queen of the paddock when I am done.”
“Queen Yn,” she mused, giggling. “I like that!”
---
Not far away, Carlos was in the kitchen area, carefully dishing up a small portion of the soup he had made. Yn sat perched on a chair, swinging her legs and watching him with wide eyes.
“Okay, Yn,” Carlos said, crouching down to her level as he offered her a spoonful of the soup. “Try this and tell me what you think. Careful—it’s hot.”
Yn blew on the spoon dramatically before taking a taste. Her eyes widened. “Yummy!” she exclaimed.
Carlos grinned, holding a hand under the spoon to catch any drips as Yn eagerly took another bite. “Good, right? I knew you’d like it.”
As she finished, Carlos dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “We can’t have you walking around with soup on your face, princesa.”
---
Oscar was sitting on a low stool nearby, nodding seriously as Yn whispered to him. She looked around conspiratorially before leaning in closer.
“And then,” she whispered, “Lando told me I couldn’t eat two ice creams because I’d get a tummy ache. But I didn’t! I had three!” She giggled mischievously.
Oscar gasped dramatically. “Three ice creams? Yn, you’re living on the edge!”
She nodded proudly. “Don’t tell him, okay?”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Oscar assured her, miming a zipping motion across his lips.
---
Over at Red Bull, Max was leaning down to Yn’s level, holding up a small notebook. “Okay, repeat after me,” he said with a grin. “Hoi.”
“Hoy,” Yn repeated, her pronunciation adorable.
“Goedemorgen.”
“Goo-dem-morgen.”
Max laughed. “Close enough. That means ‘good morning.’”
Yn clapped her hands. “I’m learning Dutch! Can I say something else?”
“Sure,” Max said. “Let’s try ‘Ik ben de beste.’”
“What does that mean?” Yn asked, tilting her head.
Max smirked. “It means ‘I’m the best.’”
---
George was sitting in the Mercedes lounge with Yn curled up beside him, watching The Princess and the Frog on his tablet. Yn was completely engrossed, clutching a stuffed frog that George had given her earlier.
“Do you like Tiana?” George asked softly.
Yn nodded enthusiastically. “She’s so pretty! And she’s really good at cooking, just like Carlos.”
George chuckled. “That’s true. Maybe you’ll open a restaurant one day too.”
“Maybe,” Yn mused before snuggling closer to him.
---
Lando, on the other hand, was not amused. He wandered through the paddock, muttering under his breath. “Where is she now?”
Finally spotting Yn surrounded by nearly all the drivers, he stormed over. “Okay, guys, I think you’ve hogged her enough for today. Yn’s supposed to be here with me.”
“But we’re having so much fun!” Lewis protested, holding up Barbie for emphasis.
“She was helping me with my Dutch!” Max added.
“And I braided her hair,” Charles said, gesturing to Yn’s perfectly styled locks.
“Guys, she’s my sister,” Lando groaned, gently pulling Yn into his arms. “Can I have her back now?”
Yn pouted. “But Lando, I like playing with everyone.”
Lando softened immediately, ruffling her hair. “I know, bug. But I barely got to hang out with you.”
“Okay,” she relented before turning to the other drivers. “Bye, everyone! I’ll play with you later!”
As Lando carried her away, the drivers watched wistfully.
“Next race,” Charles said, crossing his arms. “She’s sitting with Ferrari.”
“Not a chance,” Lewis countered, smirking.
And so, Yn continued to be the paddock’s princess—much to her big brother’s chagrin.
#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris x sister!reader#lewis hamilton x reader#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#george russell x reader#max verstappen x reader#oscar piastri x norris!reader#oscar piastri x reader#norris!reader#xoxo babygirl 💋
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Hideaway
Label Mature 18+
Summary After a long press tour and back to back filming schedule Austin goes completely off grid. He takes you with him to a secluded mountain town where he temporarily recharges in solitude away from the spot light.
💝Romantic Smut💝 Austin sweet • calm • affectionate • overworked • hiding away • at peace • couples dynamics• passionate p in v • cream pie • aftercare
Inspo Based on his last sighting in Colorado-written in a few hours bc he’s officially Missing 😭
Hideaway
It’s quiet in Colorado.
The kind of quiet that fills your lungs with crisp mountain air, where the only sounds are the rustling of trees and the distant rush of a river somewhere down the valley.
Austin wanted this, a break from the flashing cameras, from premieres and press tours, away from always having to be “Austin Butler” instead of just… being Austin.
A secluded mountain town in Colorado is where he decided to temporarily slip out of the spotlight of fame.
Here, he’s just your boyfriend.
The two of you have fallen into an easy rhythm, waking up slow, cooking breakfast in the rental villa’s cozy kitchen, running errands like any normal couple.
He pulls on an old hoodie and a well worn pair of jeans, his trucker hat perched low over his blue eyes as he blends in with the locals.
No one recognizes him when you stop at the little general store or have a fresh pressed juice from the small town café.
It isn’t until you’re at a major grocery store, wandering the aisles hand in hand, that someone finally clocks who he is.
A fan stops mid-aisle, her eyes going wide.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, looking between the two of you. “You’re Austin Butler.”
Austin, ever the gentleman, grins warmly, tilting his head slightly. “I am,” he admits, his voice as soft and easy as ever. “Nice to meet you.”
She fumbles for her phone, nearly dropping it in her excitement. “I—um—can I get a picture? I’m such a huge fan.”
“Of course,” he says without hesitation. —He always obliges, he always makes time.
He takes the photo with her and even asks if she wants to check it to make sure she likes it before flashing her another easy grin.
“Thank you so much.” she says clutching her phone looking up at him star struck.
As she leaves practically beaming you shake your head, watching him with fond amusement. “You really are the nicest person ever aren’t you,” you tease.
Austin grins slinging an arm around your shoulder as you head for the checkout. “I figure, if I can leave someone feeling better than before they met me, I must be doing something right.” He says giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Back at the secluded rental villa, nestled against the mountains, you finish putting the groceries away while Austin stretches with a sigh, rolling his shoulders before plopping down to lay on the oversized couch.
“You look so comfortable,” you tease, as you sit beside him, tucking your legs under you.
He hums, tilting his head back against the cushions, his blue eyes half-lidded in pure contentment. “That’s because I am,” he says, his voice low and lazy.
You slowly lay on top of him, running your fingers through his hair, the shaved cut from his last role finally growing back, thick and soft.
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch, a low, satisfied hum sounding from his chest.
“How does it feel having a little hideaway?” you ask quietly.
Austin exhales slowly, like he’s actually taking in the question, considering it.
Then he opens his eyes, looking at you with that wise, thoughtful expression of his.
“Like I can breathe easier,” he says. “Like I don’t have to be anything but here with you.”
His words melt something inside you, and you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips. He kisses you back, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to do nothing but give you his affection.
Later at night, the two of you make drinks—whiskey for him, something a little sweeter for you—and you slip into the hot tub outside.
The villa sits at the base of the San Juan Mountains, the jagged peaks stretching into the endless star scattered sky, the dark silhouettes vast against the deep blue.
Austin leans back, stretching his arms along the edge of the tub, his head tilted up as he takes in the view. The steam rises around you both and he sighs, glancing over at you with a lazy smile.
You lean toward him, your legs brushing his under the water. “You glad we came here?” you ask.
He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “I’d go anywhere as long as I’ve got you,” he grins, squeezing your hand gently. “But yeah… I love it here— I love being with you.“
Your heart swells at the sincerity in his words. “I love being here with you too,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again.
This kiss is longer, deeper, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck as he tilts his head, drawing you in closer.
The warmth of the water, the crisp night air, the way he kisses you, it all becomes intoxicating.
You pull back slightly breathless. “You want go inside?” you ask.
He smirks slow and teasing “Yeah” he says his eyes heavy with desire for you.
You head to the master bedroom, the glow of starlight spilling through the windows, casting soft shadows across the room.
Your wet swimwear is discarded and forgotten on the floor as Austin lays on top of you, his body warm and solid against yours.
His lips move over yours, deep and unhurried, his hands cradling the back of your neck as he presses closer, kissing you like he never wants to stop.
His breaths grow heavier, his chest rising and falling against yours as he nudges your legs apart, making space.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to look down at you as he lines himself up. “Look at me,” he whispers, his voice low and thick.
You do, and the moment your eyes meet his, he pushes in slow, filling you inch by inch. His lips return to yours as a soft needy moan escapes you, captured by his kiss.
His hands trail down your sides, fingers gliding over your soft skin before cupping your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples in slow, gentle circles.
He lifts slightly, watching your face as he pushes in deeper, his hips angling just right.
The sensation makes you moan, your hands clutching at his arms, the pleasure building with every slow, measured thrust.
His blue eyes darken, the heat in them making you even hotter, and your moans turn into soft, desperate whimpers as the pleasure inside you reaches its peak.
He feels it, the way your body tightens around him as you come, the way your legs pull him in even closer as you moan his name.
His hand braces against the bed while the other slides under your back, pulling you flush against him with every thrust.
His abs flex as he drives deeper, his rhythm faltering as he nears his own release.
His breaths turn ragged, little moans slipping past his lips, making you gaze up at him in pure wrecked lust.
His focus is entirely on you, his pupils blown wide, his expression raw with need.
And then, with one final thrust, his hips twitch forward, his body tensing as he spills deep inside of you, a low guttural groan rising from his chest.
He lays down heavily on you as he rides it out, pushing into you one final time, his breaths becoming a soft broken moan as he fills you completely.
For a moment, he stays there, chest rising and falling against yours, his skin warm and slick. His forehead rests against your temple, his breaths mingling with your own as he slowly comes back to himself.
Then, with a deep exhale, he presses a soft kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out.
The loss makes you whimper, and he soothes you instantly, caressing your hip as he eases off of you.
He lays on the bed beside you, his body heavy with exhaustion and satisfaction and you shift closer, wrapping a leg over his waist, placing your hand across his chest where his heart beats steadily beneath your palm.
Austin hums, content, his fingers trailing lazily up and down your spine, grounding you both in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
You tilt your head up slightly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as you can see how at peace he is. “Are we ever going to go back ?” you grin.
Austin lets out a soft, lazy laugh, his fingers slipping into your hair, trailing gently. “We’ll go back.” He smiles.
You kiss his jaw, tightening your leg around his waist a little more as he pulls you closer.
“Let’s stay here just a little longer then,” you smile.
Austin sighs happily, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “Just a little longer.” he agrees softly, his hand still tracing gentle patterns along your back.
As you gaze through the floor-to-ceiling windows together, the stars shimmer brightly above the jagged Colorado peaks, and wrapped in the warmth of Austin’s embrace, you both fall into a deep peaceful sleep.
End 🏔️
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Slow-Burns Part 5
@crowleythesexydemon
PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 6
I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?
Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.
Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.
Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader
1.4K Words
Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?
You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.
Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.
Otherwise, enjoy :)
The Tower had two personalities. Loud and unhinged by day, quiet and dimly lit at night. The kind of quiet that let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory if you weren’t careful.
You stood at the stove, barefoot in sweatpants, hair pulled back haphazardly. A pan of eggs sizzled in front of you. You weren't even really hungry, just… restless.
Behind you, a cabinet creaked open.
You didn’t have to look. “You’re about to ask if I made enough for two.”
A low, familiar voice answered. “No. I was gonna pretend I didn’t want any until I smelled it, and then pretend to be surprised.”
You turned, smiling. “Hi, Bucky.”
He was dressed in what passed as pajamas for him - black sweatpants, faded navy t-shirt, hoodie unzipped just enough to show a little collarbone that you refused to have feelings about. He looked good in the half-light. Tired. Soft.
“Bad dreams?” you asked gently, sliding some eggs onto a plate.
He hesitated. Then nodded.
“Same,” you murmured, nudging a plate toward him.
You ate in silence for a while. Side by side at the counter. The fridge hummed quietly behind you. Somewhere deep in the Tower, something beeped and reset itself. The world outside didn’t exist.
“You always this generous with your midnight cooking?” Bucky asked eventually, voice quieter now.
You smiled without looking up. “Only for people who share snacks with me on stakeouts.”
He huffed a tiny laugh. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this - be near you, know you like this, feel your warmth in the quiet, and not do anything about it. But he also didn’t want to rush anything. So he just ate his eggs. And stayed a little longer.
The off-grid training grounds were several hours into the woods, set against hills and pine. No cell service. No towers. No backup.
Val called it “team recalibration.”
Everyone else called it a nightmare.
“I’m not saying this place is haunted,” John said as he kicked open the cabin door, “but if a ghost asks me to get out, I’m leaving.”
“You are not leaving,” Yelena said. “You are suffering like the rest of us.”
There were three cabins in total. And it was somewhat assumed Alexei and Bob would take the first one, with you, Yelena, and Ava in the second, and Bucky stuck with John in number three. That was until the arrangements were revealed.
“Agent and Bucky, you’re in cabin three,” Val announced, like it was nothing.
John choked on his water. Yelena looked like she’d been waiting for this. Bob dropped a granola bar in shock. Alexei? Beamed like a man who’d just solved world peace.
“My time has come,” he whispered to no one.
That evening in cabin three Bucky stood awkwardly in the doorway as you set your bag down. The cabin was small. Too small. One room, two cots, and the world’s most judgmental kerosene lamp.
“This okay?” you asked, glancing at him.
He nodded stiffly. “Yeah. You?”
“Totally.” You were lying, but only a little.
You settled in - Bucky reading in silence, you flipping through a deck of Polaroids you'd already taken.
He watched you from the corner of his eye. The way your fingers lingered on each image. How your smile changed depending on who was in the frame. He could tell when you hit the photo Yelena had taken of you and Bob earlier. Your whole face lit up.
“He really likes you, huh,” Bucky said quietly.
You smiled, not looking up. “Bob? Yeah. I think he’d follow me into a volcano if I asked.”
“He would,” Bucky said, too quickly.
You looked at him, something amused and knowing in your eyes. “You jealous?”
Bucky froze. “Of Bob?”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His ears had gone pink.
You leaned back on your cot, watching him with an easy smile. “Relax, Barnes. I’m messing with you.”
He didn’t answer. But the tension in his shoulders dropped just a little.
The next day started with mud, yelling, and Alexei trying to invent new exercises on the fly.
“Three laps!” he bellowed. “Unless you are Sunshine, in which case you may do one and then rest!”
“She’s your favorite now?” John demanded.
“She is my destiny now!” Alexei announced.
Bucky nearly choked on his water.
The entire day followed that chaotic pattern.
Bob orbited you during warmups. You and John argued over the most efficient rappel technique, which ended with you shoving him into a river (he deserved it). Yelena dragged you into competitive sparring while Ava watched, amused.
Bucky, always nearby, stayed mostly quiet. But he saw everything.
The way you laughed with them. Teased. Protected. Belonged. How you were the gravity in the center of this storm of broken, volatile, half-saved people. And how you somehow made him feel like part of it too.
That night the stars were sharp and endless above them. The woods quiet. A fire crackled outside somewhere - Alexei leading a dramatic retelling of how he’d once survived an explosion “with nothing but sheer will and my elbow.”
Inside cabin three, it was quiet.
You sat cross-legged on your cot, a blanket around your shoulders, Polaroid camera in your lap. “I keep taking these,” you said, lifting the camera, “because I think one day I’ll want to look back and remember what this all felt like.”
He watched you carefully. “And what does it feel like?” he asked.
You hesitated, then met his gaze. “Like maybe this is the first place I’ve ever truly belonged.”
Bucky didn’t know what to say. Not exactly. So he reached for the camera. Held it up. And took a photo of you - quiet, wrapped in starlight and warmth and honesty.
You reached for it when it popped out, but he held it back again, just like he had the first time.
“This one’s for my wall too,” he said.
You blinked, surprised. Then your smile returned, soft and bright and achingly kind. “Good,” you said. “Then maybe I’ll start showing up in more of your memories.”
He looked at you. And his heart felt like it was overflowing.
Valentina stood at the head of the table, a sly smile playing on her lips. “We’ve got a situation,” she began, tossing a dossier onto the table. “A gala in Monaco. High-profile. Our intel suggests a potential arms deal going down under the guise of charity.”
She looked around the room, her gaze settling on you and Bob. “Agent, Bob, you’re going in undercover. Posing as a couple.”
Bob’s eyes widened. “A couple? Like, dating?”
Val smirked. “Yes, Bob. Dating. Try to act natural.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He glanced at you, who met his gaze with a shrug and a small smile.
Alexei leaned over to Bucky, whispering loudly, “This is perfect! A little jealousy might finally push you to confess your feelings.”
Bucky shot him a glare. “I’m not jealous.”
“Of course not,” Alexei said, winking.
You descended the grand staircase at the gala in a sleek black gown, your hair elegantly styled.
Bob, in a sharp tuxedo, offered his arm. “You look stunning,” he said, genuinely.
“Thank you, Bob,” you replied, taking his arm.
You mingled with the guests, laughing and chatting, all the while keeping an eye out for the target.
Bucky, stationed across the room in a security uniform, watched you closely. Every laugh, every touch felt like a punch to the gut.
Yelena sidled up to him. “You look like you’re about to explode.”
“I’m fine,” Bucky muttered.
“Sure you are,” she said, smirking.
Back at the Tower, the team gathered in the common room, debriefing over coffee.
“Great job, everyone,” Val said. “Agent, Bob, your cover was flawless.”
Bob beamed. “Thanks! She’s a great fake girlfriend.”
You chuckled. “And Bob’s a surprisingly good fake boyfriend.”
Bucky remained silent, his expression unreadable.
John clapped him on the back. “Cheer up, Barnes. It’s not like they’re actually dating.”
Alexei chimed in, “But maybe they should be. They have chemistry.”
Bucky stood abruptly. “I need some air.”
Later that night, you found Bucky on the rooftop, staring out at the city lights.
“Hey,” you said softly.
He turned to you, his expression softening. “Hey.”
You stood in silence for a moment.
“You were amazing tonight,” he said finally.
“Thank you,” you replied. “Bob was great, too.”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah, he was.”
You looked at him, your eyes searching. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
He met your gaze. “Maybe a little.”
You smiled. “Good.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”
“It means you care,” you said, stepping closer.
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I do.”
You stood there, the city lights reflecting in your eyes, the tension between you palpable.
#bucky barnes#james barnes#bucky#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#james bucky barnes
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Burn Notice — Part 1
Featuring Ghost (Simon Riley)
Slow burn, smutty tension, and protective danger
You didn’t expect to end up in a safehouse in the Scottish Highlands with a man known only as Ghost.
But after the mission in Prague went sideways — a betrayal inside your own team, a data leak, and one very near-death experience — HQ decided you were safer off-grid. And apparently, so was Ghost.
So now you were stuck here. With him.
The man didn’t speak much. He moved like smoke, all stealth and muscle, wrapped in black tactical gear even though the only enemies nearby were sheep and moss-covered rocks.
You weren’t sure what his deal was. But you were sure of a few things:
He always wore the mask. Even in the safehouse. Even at breakfast.
He had a voice that could melt glass — all grit and low London rasp.
And he looked at you like he was sizing you up for a coffin. Or a bed. Maybe both.
The days were quiet, too quiet. You trained. Cooked. Read files. Waited.
He barely spoke. But he watched.
When you bent over to tie your boot, his eyes tracked the curve of your ass.
When you laughed at something on your tablet, he stared for a second too long.
And when you trained with him in the back room — sparring, grappling, sweating — his hands always lingered. Not inappropriate. Just… aware. Like he noticed every inch of you. Like he was memorizing it.
You pushed him. Teased him.
“You always this quiet, Ghost?”
“You got a name under that skull?”
“Or are you just afraid I’ll beat your ass in sparring again?”
That earned a glint in his eye. And once — just once — a smirk.
“Careful,” he said, voice low and amused. “You play too much, love.”
But he never touched you.
Not like you wanted him to.
Until the night you snapped.
You were restless, pacing the kitchen in your sleep shirt — which, let’s be honest, was barely a shirt at all — when Ghost came in from the cold.
He paused in the doorway. Tension flickered across that mask. His eyes swept your bare legs, the hem of your shirt riding high on your thighs, no bra.
You raised your brows. “What? You’ve seen worse on the field.”
His voice was a growl. “Not the same.”
Your heart thumped. “Then say it.”
He stepped forward, slow and measured. “Say what?”
“That you’ve been looking.”
Silence pulsed between you.
Then: “Of course I’ve been fucking looking.”
He said it like a confession. Like a threat. Like he’d been holding it in for weeks and finally let it crack.
You barely had time to breathe before he was in front of you, one gloved hand brushing your jaw, the other hovering just above your waist — not quite touching.
“You think I don’t want to?” he rasped. “You think I haven’t imagined what you sound like when you come on my finger or cock screaming my name?”
Your stomach dropped.
“But I don’t take unless I’m sure,” he continued, voice dark and low. “So if you want this — want me — you say it. Because once I start, your mine.”
Your voice was barely a whisper. “Then don’t stop.”
He froze. Eyes locked to yours. Mask still on, but something wild flashing behind it.
But instead of slamming you against the counter like you expected (wanted), he stepped back.
His restraint was a threat. A promise.
“Not tonight,” he said, voice strained. “Not when I’m this close to losing control. When I take you, love…” He leaned in, mouth brushing your ear through the mask. “It won’t be quick.”
You were left breathless, shaking, soaked.
And he walked out — leaving you to burn.
#cod#cod mw2#cod modern warfare#ghost#simon ghost riley#smut#cod smut#simon riley#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#slow burn#touch her and die#cod men#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare
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shattered promises || lh44 x reader
|| pairings: lewis hamilton x reader, platonic f1 grid x reader
|| angst
|| from the author: read angst hcs of f1 so i had to write one please remember this is just fictional, a work of my imagination
-fic under the cut-
The family home buzzed with chatter and laughter, the scent of home-cooked meals filling the air as everyone gathered for yet another event—one of many you’d grown used to over the years. Normally, these events made you feel content, like you belonged to something stable, a network of love that kept you grounded. You found comfort in them, and in Lewis, who stood beside you. His hand rested at the small of your back as you mingled with relatives, the familiar warmth of his touch steadying you.
But tonight was different. There was an undercurrent of tension you couldn’t quite place, a gnawing discomfort that tugged at your chest the longer the evening stretched on. Every so often, you caught your sister casting glances at Lewis—glances that felt too intimate, too knowing. At first, you brushed it off. You trusted them both implicitly; after all, your sister was family, and Lewis was the love of your life. The man who whispered sweet promises of forever in your ear on quiet nights, the man who made you feel like you were his world.
But something was wrong. You could feel it in the way Lewis’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes whenever he looked at you, or in the way your sister seemed nervous, her laughter too forced when they interacted. The uneasy feeling festered as the night wore on, growing harder to ignore.
It all came to a head when you excused yourself from a conversation with some cousins, needing a moment to breathe and collect your racing thoughts. As you walked down the hallway, seeking a quiet corner of the house, you heard it. Muffled voices. The soft murmur of your sister’s voice, mixed with Lewis’s low, frantic tones.
You froze, heart hammering in your chest as you stood just outside the door. You knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but something kept you rooted to the spot. You couldn’t stop yourself.
“Lewis, we can’t do this,” your sister’s voice whispered urgently, panic clear in her tone. “It was a mistake.”
“I know, I know,” Lewis replied, his voice strained. “It was a one-time thing. We were drunk, we weren’t thinking… but we can’t let her find out.”
Her. You.
The words hit you like a sledgehammer, and the air seemed to vanish from your lungs. Your mind raced, a sickening realization dawning on you as the blood rushed in your ears. You felt your knees wobble, the floor beneath you seeming to fall away as the betrayal washed over you in suffocating waves.
You pushed the door open, your hands trembling. Their heads snapped toward you, faces drained of color as they registered your presence. Your sister’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Lewis stepped forward, panic and guilt written all over his face.
“Y/N…,” he began, his voice shaking. “Please, let me explain.”
Your throat burned as you tried to speak, but the words got stuck. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable, as you took in the sight of them together. Your sister—the person you had grown up with, confided in, trusted more than anyone else in the world. And Lewis, the man who had sworn he would never hurt you.
“How could you?” you finally choked out, voice breaking. “Both of you? My own sister, and you… Lewis, how could you do this to me?”
Your sister’s face crumpled as she stepped forward, reaching out, her voice trembling. “Y/N, it was a mistake, I swear. We were drunk, it didn’t mean anything. Please—”
“Stop,” you spat, taking a step back, your chest heaving with sobs you could no longer hold back. “Don’t say another word. Don’t try to justify it. You both knew what you were doing. Drunk or not, you knew.” You turned to Lewis, the hurt in your eyes piercing through the fog of shock that clouded your mind. “You promised me,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “You said I was your forever. Was that a lie too?”
Tears filled Lewis’s eyes as he reached out for you, desperation clawing at his every word. “No, it wasn’t. Please, Y/N, it was one mistake. One night. I was drunk—I wasn’t thinking. But I love you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
But his words fell on deaf ears. Your heart was shattered, and all you could think of was getting away. You couldn’t stand to be in the same room with them, couldn’t bear to hear any more lies. Without another word, you turned and bolted out of the house, ignoring their frantic calls as you fled into the night, tears blinding your vision.
The cool night air hit you like a slap to the face, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. You didn’t know where you were going; all you knew was that you needed to run, to escape the crushing weight of their betrayal. Your legs carried you down the street, feet pounding against the pavement as sobs wracked your body.
“Y/N!” Lewis’s voice rang out behind you, growing closer as he chased after you, his footsteps echoing against the empty street. “Please, don’t leave! Let me explain! I can’t live without you. I love you, please… don’t go.”
But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. His words only fueled your pain, making it harder to breathe. “Stay away from me!” you screamed, your voice breaking as your tears blurred everything around you. You were so lost in your grief that you didn’t see the car speeding down the road, didn’t hear the blaring horn until it was too late.
The impact came with a sickening thud, and the world went dark.
Lewis watched in horror as your body crumpled to the ground, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. Time seemed to freeze as he stood there, paralyzed with shock.
“No… no, no, no,” he whispered, rushing to your side. His hands trembled as he gathered your limp body into his arms, blood seeping into the pavement beneath you. “Please, no. Please don’t do this. Y/N, wake up. Wake up, please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face as he cradled you. “I wasn’t able to make it right. Let me tell her I love her one last time. I know I never deserved her, but why take her away? Why now?”
His words echoed into the night, but there was no answer. Only the silence of the empty street and the cold, lifeless body of the woman he loved more than anything.
The day of your funeral was dreary, the sky gray and overcast, as if the world itself mourned your loss. The church was packed with family, friends, and the entire F1 grid, but the air was thick with anger and blame. Lewis stood at the back, his face pale and gaunt, hollowed out by grief. His eyes, red and swollen from sleepless nights and endless tears, scanned the crowd, but no one would meet his gaze.
As the service ended, the drivers gathered around your grave, their faces hard with fury. Fernando Alonso was the first to approach him, his hand clenched into a fist.
“This is your fault,” Fernando hissed, his voice low and venomous before his fist connected with Lewis’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. “You killed her.”
Lewis didn’t even fight back. The pain of the punch was nothing compared to the weight of his guilt. He barely reacted as the other drivers closed in, their faces a mix of rage and disgust. Max Verstappen, Sergio Pérez, Lando Norris, Charles Leclerc—they all looked at him as though he were the lowest form of life.
“Stay away from her grave,” Oscar Piastri snarled, shoving Lewis back. “You don’t deserve to be here.”
Lewis stood there, unable to move, unable to defend himself as the drivers took turns spitting their anger at him. He didn’t blame them. He deserved every word, every blow. He had failed you in the worst possible way.
Your friends, Lily Muni He, Alexandra Saint Mleux, Kika Gomes, Flavy Barla, and Kelly Piquet, stood off to the side, their eyes filled with contempt as they hurled insults at him and your sister.
“You’re disgusting,” Kika spat, her eyes blazing with hatred. “How could you do this to her? She loved you.”
“And you,” Lily said, glaring at your sister, her voice trembling with fury. “How could you betray her like that? You’re her sister!”
Your family wasn’t any more forgiving. Your mother, her face streaked with tears, approached Lewis as they lowered your coffin into the ground. She slapped him across the face, her sobs tearing through the quiet.
“Why are you here?” she screamed, her voice hoarse with grief. “Go away! You have no right to be here!”
Your father turned on your sister, his face twisted with rage. “How dare you show your face here?” he growled. “You are no child of mine.”
The weight of their anger and blame was suffocating, but Lewis couldn’t leave. He couldn’t tear himself away from your grave, from the last place he would ever see you. He had lost everything—his love, his future, his world.
In the end, he stood alone, surrounded by the wreckage of his choices. You were gone, and no amount of apologies or tears could bring you back. He had destroyed the one good thing in his life, and now he would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his days.
#xreader#fanfiction#ladydigianna#y/n#formula 1#f1#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#lewis hamilton#lh44#lewis hamilton x reader#lh44 x reader#platonic f1 x reader
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~7k. copia/f!reader. explicit. established relationship, smut, filth and fluff. copia does date night, and you show him your appreciation-- it's only fair. mdni.
thanks to @copia for showing me how to put images in a grid-- top right image by instagram user susitse.art. @enjoy-my-swearing and @photiniainsummer, this one's for you. <3
when the red comes over you - ao3
rhrn spoilers. blowjobs, masturbation, dirty talk, light degradation, a small piece of light cum kink, a touch of hanky-panky in public, some thigh riding, face-fucking, fluff, tw: references to past sexual assault/dubious consent/sexual trauma
You’re holding the same pole on the subway car as Copia, his gloved hand over yours, swaying with him, forced into his space by the crowd. It gives you an excuse to stand close to him, in the circle of his scent like cold smoke. You're not complaining– well, not much. Keeping your balance is a bit of a challenge– you aren't used to doing this in heels, even these modest Cuban heels. Riding the subway truly is riding, the rhythmic thrum of the rails swaying up your body, through the balls of your feet. Riding the train feels like riding a living thing.
“I like this,” you say, as if coming to a decision.
“Hnn?” Copia replies, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at you.
“Riding the train. I like it.” You lean in to murmur in his ear, not that you have far to go. It’s a matter of tilting your head until you can feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek. “But I’d like riding you even more.” It’s just the kind of cheesy nonsense that you’re both into.
Your body keeps brushing against his– a particularly hard bump has your belly pressed against his erection, and his choked-off gasp scores a direct hit to your brain stem, bypassing your ears, cinching something tight around your diaphragm. His hand tightens on your hip, possessive. Holding you up, keeping your balance.
“You little minx,” he hisses, frustrated--with a ragged edge of delight. “You wait till I get you home.”
“You caint blame that on me, now, that was the train,” you say, but you're close to laughing, yourself. You can hear your accent getting thicker, but damned if you can stop it. Besides, Copia loves it, loves ruffling your feathers enough that he can get you to slide back into that slurring hillfolk drawl. Someday he might even make you less self-conscious about it.
Truth be told, you’ve been practically vibrating since before you left the apartment, restless and swollen between the legs, a low-grade ache that Copia has not been helpful with.
(The apartment. Your apartment. Yours, plural, now, you think. You’d never been a co-religionist of his, and he’d had a toothbrush at your place for a long time. Then a drawer in your dresser. Then he’d brought over his best frying pan, his best chef knife– simply because he couldn’t stand it, gattina, you cook with that? And now there’s as many of his books as yours on the shelves– shelves you put up with your own hands while he did ‘the heavy lookin’ on.’ His name isn’t on the lease, but he paid the rent for the next two months anyway. In full.
When you tried to fight him on it, he’d just shrugged. “Babydoll, I’ve been here more nights than I haven’t for the last four months, this is just… ehh, consider it backdated, yeah?” He’d kissed your forehead. “We can do half each after that. If you haven’t gotten sick of your dirty old man by then.”
It was hard to argue with that.
Copia kept his room at the Ministry, even after his… promotion. His term as Imperator, he’d decided, would be more hands off. You’d talked about it a little. Mostly in bed, sweaty and spent and a little sticky. “Mister Psaltarian is more than capable of running most of it. The administrative things. I’m better with the ghouls, I think, but there’s Kevin, and Ashley, they have it well in hand. I want the new guy to– to be able to be his own man, yeah? I’ll show him the ropes, of course, answer any questions he has, but he doesn’t need me looking over his shoulder all the damn time.”
The new guy. Hell of a way to refer to his long-lost brother. “And you ain’t ready to be around him twenty-four seven just yet.”
“...And that. Yes.” He was quiet for a moment. “You’re too perceptive, gattina. Keep it up and I’ll have to fuck you again, till you don’t think so good.”
“So… you sayin’ you gone fuck my brains out? Say, you ever notice that your man Psaltarian loses his train of thought whenever Kevin comes into the room?”
“That’s it, back in the handcuffs with you. And remember, you brought this on yourself.”)
As ever, he’d insisted on doing your makeup. (It should have been your first clue that you were in for it.) It only makes sense-- he’s better at it than you’ve ever been, and he loves doing it. You love it, too, if you’re honest. He had to take his gloves off for it, to hold your chin firmly and keep you in place. It was terribly intimate, his breath ghosting over your lips, the skin of his hand against your cheek. His quiet, gentle command held something still in the center of you, made it sing like a struck tuning fork– a calm vibration that sank into your bones. The cool brush of the eyeliner on the delicate skin of your eyelids. How meticulous he’d been, how precise. That calm focus he brings to everything that he cares about. How his whole being focused on that point, painting cat eyes sharp enough to kill a man.
Your lipstick had been worse, barely holding your mouth open, the brush sliding over the curve of your cupid’s bow, stretching out your lower lip ever so slightly. You hadn’t even known they’d made brushes for lipstick. Copia has taught you so many things.
Copia knows just what shades of red match your skin tone, knows just how to bring out the color of your eyes. He knows, too, the best cut of a dress to accentuate your figure, to flatter your curves. This one was lovely, shaping your breasts, with a little bit of flare to the skirt. He bought you this dress, these heels. This lingerie. He’s taught you how to fasten a silk stocking to a garter belt, that the underwear goes on over the garters, not underneath.
He’d taken the liberty of fastening your stockings tonight. “So the back seam is straight, gattina. I know it’s tricky to get right on your own, yes? Let me help.” His hands, his clever fingers, so high up on your thighs, his face level with your pussy.
“Oh yeah, sweetness, you're helping something, alright,” you choked out, a little strangled.
He must have seen how wet you were already, if the self-satisfied hum he made behind you was any indication. He bit the crease of your ass, just lightly, making a goofy little rawr noise that made you actually giggle.
Embarrassing, the noises he gets out of you.
“You shaved,” he said, and it was supremely gratifying to hear him a little hoarse, himself.
“Did you wanna do that, too?”
“Hnn. We’d miss our reservation.” He wasn't moving from his place on his knees behind you. “Miss the show.”
“Sound like you're enjoying this show purt’ well,” you said, but you thought it best to step into your underwear, anyway.
Pain shared is pain lessened, isn't it?
…He didn't need to know that you only kept them on for a couple of minutes, just until you used the bathroom one last time on the way out the door.
You almost never know in advance where exactly Copia will take you when it's his turn to plan date night- generally your only clue is what clothing he picks out for you, how he does your makeup, if makeup is required. You've ranged over the city hitting up obscure museums before, taken tours in the underbelly of the public transportation system, gone to aviaries and magic shops and tiny greenhouses.
(You like to think you hold your own. Dive bars and twenty four hour diners, sidewalk art festivals and night markets, one memorable instance of a graffiti lesson– that had been an unexpected delight.
Your man can be blisteringly uncool sometimes– most of the time, even– but there's no snobbery in him. No fear, either, not in the way most people are afraid: of embarrassing themselves, saying the wrong thing, of looking like a jackass. He hadn't been good at it, but he threw himself into the attempt wholeheartedly, listened to the man in the baggy jeans with the paint-stained fingers explain technique and theory and the history of the medium with total attention and enthusiasm.
Never will you reach the bottom of him. His openness and his generosity and his good, good heart.)
Dinner and a show is almost a little pedestrian, for him, but there's comfort in the classics. A bar paneled in blond wood and washed in warm light, specializing in rare vinyls piped in on a very serious sound system as much as the cocktails.
He’d been very good, kept his knee between yours, but otherwise, hadn’t even tried to put a hand up your skirt– a rarity, with him. His eyes told a different story, watching you with obvious, predatory hunger. The second time you caught him ogling your cleavage he leaned into it, dragging his eyes salaciously down your body with enough force that you nearly felt his gloves snagging on your skin.
The cheeky motherfucker actually licked his lips at you.
You barked out your unlovely laugh, and the way he grinned took the sting out of the sharp glances cast your way– the aim was to listen to the obscure bossa nova, not to your fellow patrons. Your face was hot. “Ah, gattina, you cannot blame a man for looking. Not when you are as ravishing as that.” It wasn’t helping the heat in your face.
A glance at the mirror over the bar, old and pitted and a little smoky, the perfect self-aware touch of authenticity. You’d never have recognized the woman looking back, not when you first met Copia, this exquisite creature with perfect makeup. Sharp. Sexy.
You don’t hate it.
“...Y’outdid yourself,” you said, slow. You didn’t look real to yourself, this absolute pinnacle of femininity. Copia’s gaze softened, warmed, less the slavering predator and more– a naked adoration that was hard to look at.
(Of course, neither expression was comparable to the first time he’d put you in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit. You’d thought the man was going to pass out from how quickly his blood rushed south– but that’s a story for another day.)
He crowded your space, just this side of indecent, his knee halfway between your thighs. Copia fed you little morsels from his own fork of– whatever this was. A vaguely mediterranean inspired amuse-bouche. He took his time with it, making you duck your head while the cool tines slid against your lower lip. You kept his eyes for it, moving slow, relishing the way his mouth hung open.
It’s a little much, in public, truly.
You weren’t even sure what you were eating, something perfectly balanced with rich cream, phyllo dough, an acidic tang. Spanakopita when it’s got a Michelin star or two, you thought. Copia’s little shudder at your groan of appreciation didn’t escape your notice, but you managed to keep the smugness out of your expression with truly heroic effort.
From there, it was a short taxi ride with his gloved hand heavy on your knee, Copia keeping up a stream of polite chatter that you barely heard a word of. He’d gotten box seats in a lovely little jewel box of a theatre, for a revival of a classic two-man existential tragicomedy starring a couple of aging comedic actors known for their roles in a cultural zeitgeist film from around the turn of the last century.
It was a good effort, all told, and the actors weren’t bad– they had a chemistry borne out of twenty years of friendship that’s impossible to replicate. But Copia proved that he’s a true and faithful servant of the Devil somewhere around the start of the second act, when he peeled a glove off with his teeth.
Your chest went tight.
No wonder he wanted box seats, you thought, as he settled his hand back on your knee. Like it belonged there, like he had perfect possession of it, every right to edge just under the hem of your skirt.
(His hands-- you love his hands. He’s self-conscious about the hair on the back of them, the dusting of freckles. Large and well-made and skilled, seeing them is like sharing a secret. A gift. He’s squeamish about textures, too sensitive, the slightest scrape will make him shudder-- and not in a fun way. Sandpaper would be torture. Anything gelatinous is right out. You get used to the constant grime and the vague awareness of filth you get on your hands, living in a city. It’s not so bad, for you, you invest in hand sanitizer and don’t touch your face. It’s the price you pay for living in a place with something like a subway, where things pulse and hum and never truly sleep, to be a microbe in the gut of this beast of a city, to be a tiny cog in the great machine.
You love it here. You didn’t think you would. Hell, you didn’t think you could. “It’s growing on me,” you told Copia one day, cool as you like, as if you weren’t giving anything away. “A little.”
“You have no talent for bullshit, babydoll,” he said, both dry and terribly fond.)
All of your awareness focused on the soft warmth of him enveloping your knee, the rough scrape of his calluses on the inside of your thigh– a new sensation, he’s taken the acoustic guitar back up recently. Not moving, just–holding.
You kept your eyes forward, and your breathing even.
His thumb slid over your kneecap, absentmindedly tracing little circles. Your legs fell open a little wider, just so your thighs weren’t touching. You were terribly, achingly aware of the air on your cunt.
A soft stroke back and forth, a gesture that could have been reflexive, thoughtless– if it wasn’t for the beatific expression on his face, his eyes forward and too-innocent. It would have been more convincing if he hadn’t been inching his slow way upwards, featherlight touches, tracing up and back down, up and back down. Just a millimeter higher each time. An agonizingly slow drag, a glacial pace.
Your grip tightened on the armrest.
Copia leaned forward, his breath in your ear. “Why, gattina,” he purred. “I do not think you are even paying attention to the play.”
“You are,” you managed, “a real sunnavbitch, you know it?”
He only chuckled low, and ran his touch to the top of your thigh. The side of his hand brushed up against your wet cunt and you both gasped.
“You little slut,” he hissed, with obvious pride. “So eager for me already.”
He dragged the very tip of one finger up between your lips, so slick it was almost frictionless, pulling away just before he could touch your clit. You took a ragged breath that was nearly a whine, bereft at the loss of his touch. You felt your cunt clench over nothing, an involuntary contraction.
Copia hummed in mock-sympathy, and took mercy on you, cupping your whole cunt with his broad hand, steady and even pressure that was nowhere near enough, but at least took a little of the edge off.
His middle finger slid naturally between your labia majora, and settled there, his fingertip crooked so he could just barely feel the inside of you.
The bastard stayed that way for the rest of the performance, sometimes giving you a gentle squeeze, sometimes pulling away to slide his fingertip back up to circle your clit. Just often enough to keep your attention focused where he wanted.
Evil, evil man.
Copia retracted his hand before the lights went up, giving you one final squeeze. He kept your eyes as he brought his hand up to his face, inhaled deeply, and surreptitiously licked his palm before fitting his hand back into his glove for the applause.
“Play weren’t that bad,” you said, weakly. “No call to do- alla that.”
“Oh? Didn’t you tell me you had a crush on the– which was it, the one with the dark hair– as a little girl? You want to wait around, go to the stage door, get an autograph?” All innocence, all the accommodating boyfriend.
“I revise my previous opinion. You are the Lebron James of being a sunnavabitch.” Despite your discomfort in heels, you couldn’t drag him to the train home fast enough.
So now, here you are. You shiver a little, in this hot and humid subway car, remembering. You bite your lip and can taste the wax of your lipstick.
Copia sees it, of course he does, how your eyes go just a little glazed. He smirks a terribly self-satisfied smirk. “Penny for your thoughts?”
“Oh, this’d cost you at least a dollar. Maybe five nintey-nine.”
“Inflation is just outrageous these days. Highway robbery. I’m shocked.”
“Not yet, you aren’t.”
“You are talking a big game, babydoll. Be careful, I think, ehh-- your mouth is writing checks your ass can’t cash.” His hand heavy on your hip, almost indecent. His boot between your shoes, the sweet curve of his thigh displacing your skirt. He’s so close, so warm and solid. The train is packed, but he’s all you can see, all you can feel. His breath in your ear, pitched low. “Your pussy can’t cash.”
It’s all you can do to keep yourself from grinding on his thigh in the middle of the train. “Sweetness,” you croak out. “We’re in public.”
He leans back, conciliatory. Terribly smug. The world fades back in. You catch a teenager in a hoodie smirking at the two of you, a direct and uncomfortable gaze that feels more taboo in this city than even the way your hips keep shifting, restless. You feel almost drunk, stepping into the warmth of his body and his hard cock between your hip and your belly, a little vindictive, relishing his frustrated little grunt in your ear.
“Two more stops, gattina,” he murmurs, as much for his benefit as yours. You see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “We can make it.”
“Mm-hmm,” you manage.
He drags you roughly by your elbow off the train, in a way that has your fellow passengers actually making a faint murmur of disapproval at the way he growls. He might be leaving a bruise on your arm. Can’t be helped. You’re laughing up the stairs, your heels loud on the concrete and metal, giddy, just this side of hysterical.
He’s clumsy with the keys when you get to your apartment building, following you up the stairs so he can look up your skirt. “Can’t believe– I watched you put those on.”
“You just mad you didn’t get to watch me take ‘em off.”
He’s on your neck like a lamprey when you get to your door, and now it’s your turn to be clumsy while you paw through your purse, his hot wet mouth insistent, just under your ear, his teeth grazing your skin. His hands firm on your breasts, pushing the neckline of your dress down so he can fill his hands with them, gripping almost hard enough to hurt. He’s trapping you against the door, grinding into your ass while you fumble with the lock.
“What’re you– you tryna fuck me in the hallway?” you gasp. He’s reaching up your skirt now, his bare palm at the top of your stocking. When did he take his gloves off?
“I will,” he growls, “if you don’t hurry the fuck up.”
You somehow make it in the door without breaking the key off in the lock, and you give him just enough time to slide the bolt home before you’re shoving him onto the couch. You’re in his lap just as quick, your mouth on his, nearly biting him as he laughs into your mouth. Christ, you didn’t even get out of your heels.
He’s warm under you, solid muscle under a sweet softness around the middle, and you can’t unbutton his shirt fast enough. His tongue in your mouth is making you clumsy, making it hard to keep track of how buttons work, shorting out basic motor functions. When you make it, you groan at his fur under your palms, and then he shoves his thigh between your legs and you whine when you grind your wet cunt against it. You have to break off from his mouth for it, clinging to his shoulders.
Your lipstick is all over Copia’s face. He’s grinning, rapt, delighted, impossibly fond. The man’s face is so pink it looks like he’s been slapped around. “Good, eh?” He pushes his thigh forward again, his hand up your dress and on your ass. “You like that?” He’s pulling you into it, making you drag your cunt over his tight jeans. The seam running down the front of his thigh hits your clit and you gasp. “So fucking desperate you need to hump my leg, filthy little thing.”
You roll against him once or twice more, because he’s right, it feels so good, those long runner’s thighs, the coiled power of him. That hard muscle and rough fabric against you, his body between your knees, so warm and familiar and beloved.
But his smirk is just a little too smug for your taste, so you have to make yourself stop before you fall too deep into a rhythm. Even if you actually hurt with being so turned on for so long. You get his shirt the rest of the way open, have to bend your head to suck a nipple into your mouth– the terrible brand over his heart level with your eyes– and bite. It’s not hard, but it does raise his back off the couch, and distract him from you eeling down between his legs to kneel on the floor.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, looking down at you, knowing (some of) what you have in mind.
Your hand is on his belt buckle, and the sheer Pavlovian reaction you have to the sound of undoing it with one hand forces you to press your cheek to his thigh and focus on your breathing for a moment.
You laugh, shaky. You left an actual wet spot on his jeans.
Copia’s hand is in your hair, fingernails running along your scalp, soothing, grounding you. “Baby?” he asks. “Babydoll, are you alright? We don’t have to–”
“No.” You catch your breath, look back up at him, and his mismatched eyes go from soft and sweet to almost afraid, when he sees your expression. The hunger there– you could eat him alive. “No, I was just– too turned on, for a second.”
“Oh.” He pets at you again, then his smile turns predatory as he sweeps your hair up in one hand and pulls tight. “Then why don’t you get to sucking my cock, puttana?”
Just for that, you lean up and bite at his belly, the sweet furry softness just below his navel. You laugh with a mouthful of his flesh at his yelp, how it turns into a groan as you unzip his jeans and take him in hand.
It isn’t as if you aren’t intimately (haha) familiar with his dick, but it’s always nice to see. You’d called it pretty, the first time you’d slept with him, and it really is an accurate description. (It had been emotional for a great many reasons, but that had touched him in ways he still couldn’t articulate.) Silky soft skin over the hard length of him, his head already shiny with precum. It’s the same color as his lips, under the paint.
“You see what you do to me, gattina?” he murmurs above you. “You wreck me. You’ve ruined me– or at least these pants.”
“It’ll come out in the wash,” you say, and take him into your mouth, slow suction, tasting salt. He fills your mouth, fills your hand, blood-warm and firm in your grip. You watch his eyes when you start to suck him down, loving, as you always do, how in that first moment he looks at you, whimpers at you, like you're breaking his heart.
You hear the dry click of him swallowing as you pull the soft skin of his cock further towards your mouth, your grip twisting, the slow churn of it. How his veins give under your lips, under your hand. It doesn’t take long to get him slick, the thick ridge of the underside of him heavy on your tongue. The musk of him fills your whole senses, thick and animal and a little gross.
His hips shift, and before you have to pull yourself off of him to tell him to talk, he’s doing what you want. “Look at you,” he breathes, reverent. “You’re so good at this, fucking made for this,” a twitch upwards, a movement too small to be called a thrust, “aren’t you? Born for this, your god made you to suck my cock. My perfect– ohh– perfect little cocksucker. Want it so bad, don’t you?”
His hand is heavy on the back of your skull, pushing you down with that even, steady pressure just how he likes. How you both like. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it to you, give you what you want.” He’s not choking you with it, you have plenty of room to work with your hand. Still, as you take him down further, swallowing around the thick length of him, you feel hot tears running down your cheeks, sheer dumb animal reaction. You slip your other hand to cradle his slick balls, rolling them gently, the weight of them a little cooler than the rest of his body. He makes a strangled noise, an “Ohh fuck, baby, babydoll, so good for me, so good to me, fuck, fuck–!”
His stutter and his loss of control are just too much, finally, you feel the air of the apartment cool at the top of your slick thighs, your swollen cunt, and you have to do something about it. You take your hand from his balls and slide it up your skirt, slowly enough to feel your silk stockings under your fingertips, slow enough that Copia catches it.
Just as you register how fucking wet you are, his eyes go wide and his hips shudder, the smooth hot head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.
Your grip tightens on the base of his cock, a warning. You freeze, staring blank and unseeing at his soft belly, before looking up at him imploringly. “Okay,” he says, gentling you like a frightened horse. His big hand moving in your hair. “Okay. But baby,” he's nearly whining as you slowly suckle on the head of him, faint living salt in your mouth, “I know you want it, you’re too fucking good at that to not want it, I. Ohhh.” His hand grips tight in your hair as you swallow around him, thick and hot on your tongue. “Oh, fuck.”
You’re finding your pace on his cock again, a little faster, your hands working in time on his cock, on your clit. Freshly shaved like this, you’re fantastically, impossibly slippery. “Ohh, fuck. Oh, sweet Satan. Oh my dear Lord Below.” Copia absolutely doesn’t know what he’s saying, he so rarely gets outright religious on you. It’s an unspoken courtesy you’ve extended to each other, so to hear him break it sends a smug little charge through you. You whimper a little around his cock, give yourself a little more pressure on your clit. He can’t keep still, not all the way, even though you know he’s trying, making little aborted movements of his hips.
Copia swallows. It’s remarkable how you can see him trying to pull himself together. “Knew you loved this,” he says, his voice creaking. “Can’t be that good at something if you don’t love it. Didn’t know you loved it this much, gattina.” A little more pressure on the back of your skull, his nails scraping your scalp. He isn’t exactly holding you down, but he isn’t letting you pull off, either. “Never had my cock sucked this good, never even had a man suck my cock this good, thought I liked that better, before you came along. Had so many people suck this cock–” and that hurts, a hot bolt of pain and arousal that hits your heart and your clit at the same time. Your pace falters, and it must show, because Copia slows as well.
It’s a sore spot. You know that his own inverted form of celibacy in the Ministry included a certain implied… availability that could be, charitably, unpleasant for him at times. Clergy take no wives, no husbands, but give themselves freely to their congregation. You haven’t pushed him on the things that happened to him, he usually insists it was fine, expected, normal– but you generally have to go for a long walk and break something after you talk about it. You know, too, that he had positive experiences there, genuinely caring relationships. It doesn’t exactly help matters that your own knowledge of partnered sex, before Copia, falls radically short of the mean for someone in your age group.
All of that goes through your head in a flash, and he knows it, he can read you so well, even between one stroke of his cock and the next. “Only– didn’t know you’d have a natural talent at this.” Petting at you, soothing, his thumb moving tender on your cheekbone. “Remember, how I had to teach you how to kiss, those hours in the park.” You make a noise on him, not sure if this is helping. “Loved that, babydoll, loved doing that with you, teaching you, drove me wild.” He’s murmuring low to you, his voice a little rough, a little too exposed. “But I– I was ready for you to bite it off, the first time you went down.”
Awkward thing, laughing with a mouth full of dick. But he keeps going. “I didn’t know, my baby. I didn’t know how it could feel. Didn’t know how good it could be.” He twitches in your mouth, in time with a tiny movement of his hips, so warm and alive in you. “Taught you how to kiss, but babylove, I swear I felt like a virgin when you took me to bed.” His voice is low and wrecked for different reasons than it was before, and oh no, his eyes are wet.
You let go of him, turn your head to wipe your mouth on your shoulder, quick and perfunctory. You can't take your eyes from him. "Sug," you say, unsure how to continue, the twisting in your chest too much for words, beyond anything you could articulate with language. Your knees creak a little as you start to get up, to do what you don't know. Kiss him or touch him or say something, anything, to the way he's looking at you.
Copia pushes you back down, his hand heavy at the back of your neck. His thumb slots right at the base of your skull, right where he likes to keep it when he kisses you. “No, no, you’re too good at this, I wouldn’t interrupt an artist.” Back in some semblance of control. “You’re too good, you make me feel too good, show me. Will you--? Please, baby, will you show me how it can be good--?"
"Well," you say, pumping slow at his cock. "I can try." You press a tiny kiss to the head of him, too sweet for the situation, relishing the way he shivers. You take him in, how his hair is a disaster, sticking up in the back, his shirt open, your makeup smeared all over his face, his body, the parts of his thighs that you can reach. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes a little glazed, his lips swollen from the way you kissed them and the way he's bitten them. He's wrecked, and he's yours.
You love him. With all your heart, all your mind, and, you're afraid, all your soul. It hurts to look at him, you think he might sear your eyes right out of your skull.
You close your eyes against it, at how it stings, and nuzzle into the silky skin of his cock. Copia's belly is soft, warm, furred, delightfully sticky under your touch, as you run your hand up the front of him, up until you're cupping the sweet curve of his pectoral, until you can feel the cruel scar of his branding under the pads of your fingers. You trace over it, mapping the vector of those interlocking sixes. You feel his pulse under your palm, under your lips. You drag your mouth back and forth, just to feel the soft, delicately crenelated skin, the coolness of his flesh here soothing your feverishness.
Copia makes a tiny wounded noise as his hand presses over yours. As if he could press his heart into your hand. He’s better at language than you’ve ever been, but you can see it falter and fail for him. All you know how to do is– action. It feels inadequate, somehow.
Your dear man. He sees you, and raises your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles in a courtly gesture. It should be absurd, with you on your knees for him, with the delicate skin of his cock against your mouth. Somehow, it isn’t, the alchemy of his tenderness conveying exactly what he means. What you mean, with the most vulnerable part of him between your teeth. “D’you want me to take you to bed, babydoll?”
“No,” you say, pulling off of him long enough to murmur it against his slick head. “Later, maybe. If you’re up to it. Right now, I want–” It’s easier to wrap your lips around him again, to tell him that way. You’re more eloquent with your mouth this way than you ever were with language.
“Alright,” he says, almost a gasp, as he returns your hand to you. “Touch yourself for me?” Almost pleading. As if your pleasure were a favor to bestow on him. “I want– wanna see you get off, my baby, wanna see how much you love doing this. So fucking hot–” His voice breaks off into a whine as you pull him further into your mouth.
His big hand on your head, stroking your hair back, so sweetly. “Do you want me to be a little mean? I know you like that.”
You moan around his cock in an unmistakable affirmative, rut a little harder into your hand, plead with your eyes.
Copia’s smile turns sharp, wicked. “My perfect little cocksucker.” The deep affection in his voice belies the words. “Perfect little cumslut.” Your hand is already back between your legs, and you might– might– be moving your hips a little more theatrically than strictly necessary.
He holds the back of your neck, the base of your skull, his grip tight. Just this side of painful. “You know how to tap out. How to get me to stop.” He pushes you down on him as he tilts his hips up to you, not quite cutting off your air. “But you’re not gonna do that, are you?”
Copia licks his lips. He looks feverish, making shallow little thrusts into your mouth. “No, you. Ohh, you like this too much.” He’s so careful, even like this, testing just how hard he can thrust, finding your limit and pushing just past it before backing down. It makes you moan, makes you shiver, makes your hand speed up on your cunt in time with the way he’s pushing into your throat.
“Cruel to me,” he croons, as he uses your mouth. “Keeping that sweet little pussy from me.” He’s panting. “I can hear it, hear how wet you are.” As he says it, you realize you can, too, the wet noise in counterpoint to the sound of you working his cock. “M’gonna make you pay for it. Hope you’re ready, gonna eat you out till m’hard again.” He’s got both hands on your head now, and he’s too far into you for you to use your hand on him.
“You’ll. Hnn. You’ll need me to, to eat you out. Make you cum on my face.” If it weren’t for the sheer adoration in his eyes, this would be brutal, the way he’s pushing into your throat. The speed of your hand on your clit. Moving with him, point and counterpoint. “Fuck, I’m gonna wreck it, gonna split your pretty little cunt open– I’ll last longer, after I cum down your throat.” You whine around his cock, your cunt clenching on nothing, shivering against your hand.
Copia sounds like he’s in pain. It feels like he can’t stop himself, the way his hips are working. “Gattina,” he whines, helplessly. “Can’t– can’t last much longer, you looking at me like that.” You can feel him trembling under your touch. “D’you. You want it?” Movements a little more shallow, holding himself in check. “You want this cum in your mouth?” A rough, jagged thrust. “Little slut–!” he hisses, and he’s not quite too far gone to grin in smug delight at the way you moan in reaction.
“Gonna cum like this?” he croons, taunting. His white eye bores into you, too bright, and he looks crazed. Deranged. It’s almost frightening, the way you can’t look away from it. Your eyes burn, hot tears on your cheeks, and you couldn’t stop rubbing your cunt if you tried. The way he’s watching you, the way he sees just how turned on you are by him using you like this. Like it’s shameful. “From me fucking your slut mouth like a little cocksleeve.” His voice is creaking, nearly out of control. “You want this cum? You want it? Hmm?”
You’re hanging on by a thread, your nerves strung out like piano wire, helpless before him. Your jaw hurts, his hand so tight in your hair. “Then take it.” He’s beckoning you over the edge, chanting, rapt. “Take it, take my cum, take my fucking cum–” he rasps, knowing exactly what will set you off, will snap the bright line of you.
You see his smile as you break, whining around his cock. How he lights up at it, overjoyed, crooked and tender. You hold his eyes the whole time, giving him as much of it as you can, letting him see all of it, the shining abyssal affection that crashes through your body for him, catching your nerve endings like fire through tinfoil.
“Ohh–! Precious,” he says, almost crying, “my precious girl, my baby, my–” his voice breaks on your name, the syllables like a song, like a prayer, like something more than holy, like the shahada, like the shema, like it's the last thing that he knows. You never knew your name until he held it in his mouth like this, at the uttermost end of himself. He’s flooding over your tongue, slick and bitter. Like the first jet from the fountain in school, sun-warmed metal, iron from the earth, living water.
His cock jumps in your mouth, and you’re shaking, trembling through your aftershocks and his as you swallow all of him, pull all of him into you, watching his eyes and his blissed out expression until his voice does– something wrecked. “You–!” he gasps, delighted. “C’mere, come up here, you’re too– too far away–” he’s pulling at you, babbling, delirious, so soft now.
Copia’s pulling you up, into his arms, his lap, too quick for you to wipe his cum and your spit from your mouth. “Dunno if I like it, you that far away, wanna feel your pretty little body when you cum, you–” And then he’s kissing on you, shivering, laughing, little pecks along your jawline till he reaches your mouth. He makes a deep, appreciative groan when he tastes himself on your lips. He pulls back to look at you, almost scandalized in delight.
You have to laugh at him. For once you can’t be bothered to be self-conscious about it. “Oh, I do like that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he dives back in, like he has to get all of it. You’re still shaky, a fine shiver all down your spine. He’s almost clumsy, licking into your mouth, a real rarity for him. You try not to feel too smug about it.
You can’t stop smiling, when you finally get your mouth back. “Acceptable, then?”
“So good. Every time, I can’t believe–” he’s nuzzling at you, his nose against yours, totally uninhibited in his affection. “So perfect, so sweet, love you so much, thank you, thank you, baby–” Nonsense babble. Incoherently effusive. He scoops your legs across his lap and runs his hands over all of your skin that he can reach. “Perfetta…sei perfetta. Angioletto,” he murmurs, and you shiver. You haven’t heard that one in a while. “Angioletto mio,” he’s saying, into your hair, your skin, and it’s rare that you blow him all the way back to Italian. “Sei tutto ciò che voglio del Paradiso.” You’re a little too fucked-out to parse that all the way, but it still snags in your heart a little.
(He knows, usually, how you still aren’t used to being loved on this much. You know he restrains himself, tries not to overwhelm you. It breaks your heart, sometimes, when you see him hold himself back, even as his consideration makes you warm.)
Now, though, it’s good. It’s perfect. His pants are half off, his dick out, ridiculous. You think you might have snapped a garter, and you definitely put ladders in these stockings. You couldn’t give less of a shit. You loop your arms around his shoulders and bury your face in his neck, letting out a deep, contented sigh.
Copia’s still petting you– appropriate enough. You feel like a cat in a sunbeam, even supremely disheveled like this.
He squeezes you lightly, again, and makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “The, enh– the talking. It wasn’t too much?” Like he’s shy, all of a sudden.
“Noo!” You have to pull back to look up at him. “No, holy shit, sweetness, it was inspired. Even for you! Hot damn, baby. ‘Cocksleeve,’ where did that come from?”
“Ehh– a couple of times, there, I’m, ah. Not even sure I remember what I was saying.” Is he blushing? It’s adorable.
“No, it was great. I’d tell you if it weren’t, honeybunch.” You lean your head back against him, boneless and warm all the way through. “Naw, this was awesome. Ten outta ten, go Team Us.” You hold up your hand for a high-five, and your sweet man, he’ll never leave you hanging– the slap rings loud through your living room.
He tilts his head back onto the couch, looking up at the Devil’s Ivy crawling over your bookshelves. “Although,” he says, slow, considering. “I do seem to recall that I promised you I was gonna make you cum on my face.”
“And split my pussy open,” you remind him. “Or was you writing checks your dick can’t cash?”
“Babydoll, don’t you know by now?” He’s turning back to look at you, his mismatched eyes full of predatory adulation. “The Devil always keeps his promises.”
#the band ghost#ghost band#cardinal copia#cardinal copia x reader#cardinal copia x female reader#popia#popia x reader#popia x female reader#papa iv#papa iv x reader#papa iv x female reader#frater imperator#frater imperator x reader#frater imperator x female reader#the band ghost fic#the band ghost fanfic#the band ghost smut#cardinal copia smut#copia#copia x reader#copia x female reader#(fun fact: this is the only outright pornography i've ever posted!)#otp: you found the ache in my argument
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Heart On The Grid (Min Yoongi x Sebastian Vettel's God Daughter!Reader)
Series Masterlist
Y/N was Sebastian Vettel's God Daughter. It came with a lot of benefits; like she practically grew up in racing. She was karting by the time she was 3 and winning races by the time she was 5. She wanted to be like Beb, she could't pronounce his name properly yet but Sebastian was and is her biggest inspirations. That's how she ended up on the paddock. All the drivers would fret and coo over her. She had the entire grid wrapped around her finger. The drivers would be at her beck and call; if Y/N was hot and uncomfortable they had ice and cold juices and ice-cream ready for her, if Y/N was cold, they would either remove their own sweaters or have an extra pair for her ready. She wasn't only her dad's princess but the entire Formula One's driver line ups.
She would interrupt most drivers during their media interviews who would just smile at her, lift her up and continue on with their interview as if it was the most natural thing. You would find a lot of old interviews of drivers with baby Y/N in their arms but as soon as she would spot her Beb, she would scream for him to come over and take her. Most drivers didn't let her off with a bit of a fight with Sebastian since they wanted to hold her. She was smart, she would talk to them like her parents talked to her; "Nando, I'm going with Beb now. I'll be okay. You do questions and then we can tuddle" she would explain slowly climbing into Sebastian arms who would be smirking at Fernando who was glaring at him.
Whenever she would be gone for school or her karting races, the paddock felt empty. There weren't random stickers stuck to their cars or extra ice-creams lying around. Even the interviewers would miss her since she would give an interview with Sebastian during media day. But most of all, Sebastian would miss his tiny shadow.
Sebastian would try to be there for her karting races as much as he could and she would always talk about Sebastian when she would be interviewed on who was her favourite driver. "So, Y/N, can you tell us who your favourite driver is?" the child interviewer asked. "It's Mark Webber, don't tell Sebastian though" she would tease while looking at him. Sebastian never took it too seriously, what pained him was she was growing up and had out grown her Beb. She wouldn't be as overtly affectionate as she was.
As she grew older, her visits to the paddock decreased with school and her interest shifting from racing to academics and then she started university. It was in University when she was pursuing her masters when she met Yoongi on her exchange programme in Seoul, South Korea. She had gone there to earn a new experience and returned with the sweetest boyfriend. Back then BTS had just started finding their footing in the industry and breaking out even in the west. With all the dating issue in K-Pop and with both their busy schedules, they kept their relationship on the down low. Sebastian was just happy his god-daughter hadn't bought some random man home.
Until one fateful day, Y/N had invited everyone to her house. Her reasoning; she wanted them to meet someone special. Both her father and Sebastian were dreading the day. Y/N cheerfully greeted her parents and Sebastian and his wife, Hannah. Her mother and Hannah were thrilled to hear that she was dating someone; and said someone was currently in the kitchen preparing the dinner. "He cooks?" her mother whispered looking at the man in the kitchen's back. "yes" she smiled looking at Yoongi lovingly. "You guys should sit down" she commented pointing at the sofa. Yoongi came out of the kitchen and greeted everyone. Sebastian and her dad were eyeing the poor boy like he had committed arson. "Hello sir. It's nice to meet you" he greeted her father. "I'm a huge fan, nice to meet you sir" Yoongi said shaking Sebastian's hand who had a vice grip on his but Yoongi just smiled and stood there.
The dinner began with out a hitch until they started interrogating Yoongi and the moment he said he lived in Seoul, you could hear the wheels in their head rotating; "Our Y/N isn't moving to Seoul. It's too far away. You can't have her, sorry, but she's ours." the two men screamed. "I'm no ones" Y/N said exasperated. "She's an adult darling, she knows what she's doing" her mother interjected. "But...but" her father tried to reason while Sebastian was shut up by his wife with a glare from across the table.
They finished the dinner without anymore interruptions. "Sir" Yoongi began looking at her father, Y/N was busy catching up with Hannah to notice, "I promise to take good care of her. She is the most important thing to me in my life. I promise to always make her happy and never let her cry. I really love your daughter. Will you let me marry her?" he asked. Both of the men sighed, they looked at each other before her father started speaking; "We can't tell her what to do, but if you really mean everything you said, then we will support her. But if you do anything to hurt her" "I will run you over with my car" Sebastian cut him off. Yoongi smiled, "Never, wouldn't even dream of it" he said.
Once everyone had filed out, at the door her father hugged her and whispered in her ear, "He's okay I guess." he lamented. "I wished you dated someone I knew so I could keep an eye on him but he's okay too I guess" Sebastian said begrudgingly as he hugged her good-bye.
Y/N had gone to South Korea to see Yoongi off for his military enlistment. It was the night before he was supposed to start and the pair were laying in each others embrace as Y/N peppered kissed once in a while across his face. "I love you" she stated. "I love you too" he replied suddenly sitting up. "Y/N, you make me the happiest I've ever been. I didn't think someone else could make me feel this way other than music. Will you do me the honour and marry me?" he asked now on his knee. She was in tears and could only nod. Yoongi slipped the beautiful ring on her finger and pecked her lips. "I love you. Can't wait to spend forever with you" he stated in her embrace. "me neither" she hummed as they stayed like that for a little longer since when the sun rose Yoongi would be gone, fulfilling his duty.
#bts x y/n#bts x you#bts x reader#bts imagines#bts fanfic#bts suga#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x you#min yoongi fanfic#min yoongi x y/n#min yoongi imagine#suga x reader#suga x y/n#suga x you#suga imagine#sebastian vettel#f1 imagine#formula one imagine#formula 1 imagine#kpop x reader#kpop x y/n#kpop x you#kpop imagines#bangtan x reader#bangtan x you#min yoongi#suga fluff#yoongi x reader#yoongi fluff#yoongi fanfic
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THE ONLY RULE ✦ DANIEL RICCIARDO
premise. you want to indulge daniel into anything he wants because you know that he would with you too. so, when he asks for you to dress up as a cowgirl for a halloween party, you don’t dare say no. you don’t say no when he throws away the party just for a fuck.
tags #ㅤsave a horse; ride a cowboy, costume/uniform fetish, cowgirl position, light dom daniel ricciardo, possessive daniel ricciardo, orgasm control wc #ㅤ1.7k
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It's a bit too silly. Daniel insisted that you two attend the Halloween party one of his mates was hosting. You couldn't help but laugh at the costume idea he had—a cowboy. Maybe you shouldn't be surprised. You were relentless in teasing him about his cowboy fetish. Of course, he denied it all. Still, the mirror catches the reflection of the upturned cowgirl hat, the curve of your hips accentuated by the snug denim skirt, and the way a cropped flannel button-up pushes up your tits.
Daniel’s voice cuts through the quiet of the bedroom, low and smooth like whiskey on a cold night. “Well, hello there, partner," he grins. "You from ‘round these parts?” Daniel is a little less exposing than you are. His dirty denim and loose flannel are accentuated with the American flag on his back.
You laugh at him, watching him approach. “Don't tell me you're going to do that awful fucking accent the entire night.”
He pouts, putting his hands on your hips. "So mean,” he whines, a laugh falling short from him after. He tugs you forward, pulling your eyesight upward to him. Your hat makes you barely see his face. However, what's evident is the satisfied grin that sits at his lips. It's expected. It's unsurprising.
────── FULL WORK HERE can't afford to may monthly? buy it once for life! all prices are dependent on my commission rate ($5 per 500 words)
@Delululeclerc @hiireadstuff @rtorresblog @Jamie2305 @nichmeddar @vannylen2144
FOOTNOTE ────── had this one cooking up in the drafts for a long time so i'm happy i finally got this one exposed to the light <33 forever in love with honorable american in the f1 grid
#🔖 . DR3#: 🔗 above 1k#: 🔗 fic#daniel ricciardo#daniel ricciardo imagine#daniel ricciardo x reader#daniel ricciardo x you#daniel ricciardo fanfic#daniel ricciardo fic#f1 imagine#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 scenarios#formula one imagine#patreon
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"heavenly"
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pairing... dr3 x reader
now playing... heavenly by cigarettes after sex
summary... everything little danny does that makes your lives sweeter
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we all know daniel is the best
he is such a ray of sunshine and takes pride in being your favorite boy
he melts when you call him things like that
"baby"
"my boy"
"my love"
"sweet boy"
he also likes when you call him danny, daniel is a little too formal for his taste
you've been with him throughout all the low points in his career
when his monaco win was taken from him
when he was hopping from team to team
and he appreciates so much for that
sometimes he comes up to you and just holds you, savoring the moment because he cares about you so much
daniel also thanks you our of nowhere for just being with him
"thank you baby" "for what?" "everything"
he is the biggest softie at home, and throughout your relationship he has softened up in public too
he is unashamed to be looking for you after a race and the team is used to him having an arm around you or his hand in yours in the garage
he loves taking you to races and showing you off because all that beauty is all his
at home, he just likes to be with you
he helps while you cook, sits with you while you answer emails, and especially loves to follows you around while you get ready
he loves watching you make yourself feel beautiful, but if you ever felt like you weren't naturally the most stunning person in the world, he fixes that pretty quick
he especially likes watching you get ready for date nights
he gets almost giddy when you're almost ready because he just loves every second of being with you
the entire grid knows how obsessed he is with you
teasing comments are often left on both of your instagrams whenever you post together
if you're ever not at a race, at least twelve out of the other nineteen drivers ask where you are
his absolute favorite thing is telling you how in love with you he is
telling you he loves you works too, but there's something more special about telling you he's in love with you
he tells you on the phone when you're apart
while you're watching a movie
when you're on your way to work
when you're walking through the city after a date
he just loves to love you because of the person you are
danny also loves to give you little gifts
you're running out of an expensive product? there's a replacement in the bathroom in a couple days
you look at a dress for a little too long in a store? it shows up in your closet
going on vacation? why not go on a little shopping spree before?
he just wants you to fee as heavenly as he sees you
it makes him so happy living with you and doing the little things together
doing laundry and dishes can become bearable with him near
and coming home to you gives him the most irreplaceable feeling of trust, commitment, and passion
#formula 1#f1#daniel ricciardo#danny ric#daniel ricciardo fluff#daniel riccardo imagine#daniel ricciardo x reader#danny ricciardo#visa cashapp rb#vcarb#dr3#dr3 imagine#dr3 x reader#headcannons ᡣ𐭩
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"He laughs at all my jokes / and he says I'm so American"
Zak O'Sullivan x driver!reader
SMAU
Logans grid kid might be more patriotic than him. Reader is an American menace to the f2 grid, her bf included, who uses Oliva Rodrigo to cope (and Kimi has been demoted to f3 and Olivias release schedule for Guts is wrong). Based on this prema video
there is a criminally low amount of fics about this man
Music themed masterlist
Complete masterlist pinned on my profile
ynln
liked by zak.osullivan, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, and 892,293 others
ynln totally sleighed it
tagged sister_username
dinobeganovic girl you slayed that house
ynln SLAY 💅
dinobeganovic slay 😵🔪
ynln oh
olliebearman mate what is that third picture? The dirt??
ynln chief I live in the southern US we dont get snow here
olliebearman what a sad winter
sister_username we ate the first pic up
ynln its a christmas miracle, my sister being the only one who's nice to me
zak.osullivan cant wait for you to see a REAL winter wonderland
ynln id take my dirt covered ground over your royal snow anyway 💪🇺🇸
zak.osullivan says the girl who flys out the 28th
user1 "were you silent or silenced" @/ynln
ynln gagged to silence ✋😔
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ynln posted 2 stories!
caption: (1) thoughts and prayers as I head into enemy territory (2) 🇺🇸→🇬🇧
replies
zak.osullivan
oh fuck off
haha
I can hear your gremlin cackle from here
heyyyy you're supposed to love me
I do
I love you and all your gremlin traits
im blocking you and visiting Harry Styles instead
like he would take you in
rude
anyway please call me when you land, I'll be waiting to pick you up anyway
but just in case
ofc baby
get some rest
I love you ❤️
I love you too❤️
ynln
liked by user4, prema_team, olliebearman, and 891,923 others
ynln theres snow-where better than this
tagged zak.osullivan
Logansargent beer in the snow 10/10
Ynln thank you thank you
Olliebearman “I’d take my dirt covered ground over your Royal snow any day” you sure girlie??
Zak.osullivan she’s been swayed
ynln I’m just a girl
Zak.osullivan my snow angel ❤️❤️
ynln ily 🤭🤭
Kimi.antonelli snow angels?? Are you 5
Zak.osullivan our entire yard was filled by her alone
Ynln excuse me, I’m enjoying my youth and I will grow into a happy adult with no regrets
sister_username nice to see you’re having fun without me
Ynln get a hot European bf then we’ll talk
user1 stop I love this
user2 if Y/nZak has no fans I’m dead
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zak.osullivan
liked by Ynln, user43, user32, and 828,992 others
zak.osullivan "I want your midnights"
tagged: ynln
artgp_offical new year, new us!!
ynln "but ill be cleaning up bottles with you on New Years Day" ❤️
Zak.osullivan ❤️
Ynln HOT DAYUM
ynln boy do i know how to take a photo 🥵
Ynln I can cook and clean
zak.osullivan no you can’t
Ynln I can bark
Zak.osullivan please don’t I believe you
user1 Y/n is a prime example of the duality of man
user2 she said what were all thinking
user3 this is so Y/n coded
user4 oh he def had help with this post
user5 thank you Y/n for the middle pic
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ynln posted 2 stories!
caption: (1) 🎶 New Years Day by Taylor Swift (2) New year, minimal headache
Replies
Zak.osullivan
Well hello
Didn’t expect to see my abs and underwear on your public story but here we are
let me show the people what they lost
How about you celebrate that win instead of dm-ing while laying next to me
sister_username
now I have to bleach my eyes
what better way to start the new year than with new vision
could've still done without your bf's stomach but ok
you'll live 😘😘
ynln
liked by user1, paularon_, user43, and 918,929 others
ynln shes back and ready to show these Europeans how its done
tagged no one
user1 QUEEN 🇺🇸🦅💪
Ynln “salute to me I’m your American queen” T.S
Kimi.antonelli nope
Olliebeaman absolutely not
Zak.osullivan keep dreaming babe
paularon_ id rather die
dinobeganovic I’ll crash myself into the barriers instead thank you
user1 ummm hello???? I didn’t mean to assemble the avengers💀
logansargent f2 grid menace is back 👏👏👏
Ynln gotta show them a good ole ‘merican time
user2 making that smoothie recipe rn
User3 omg update me on how it is!!
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zak.osullivan posted a story!
caption: I was bamboozled into matching
Replies
dinobeganovic
“Bamboozled” sure
Stfu 🙄
Ynln
I can’t believe you put up with it
rest assured I’ll be checking what’s under your sweatshirt from now on
Oh😏
No
I’m blocking you
f2_updates
liked by user3, user8, user32, and 819,929 others
f2_updates: Y/n L/n has won the first grand prix of the season!! Did you enjoy her victory radio as much as we did??
Tagged: no one
User1 PLEASE SHES SO PAINFULLY AMERICAN
user2 never a doubt she’s Logan’s grid kid
user3 at this point I think dating a Brit just eggs her on
User4 not the tik tok audio 💀💀
user5 her engineer is so done with her
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ynln
liked by paularon_, ollliebearman, user82, and 918,929 others
ynln first race back and WE GOT THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER PLAYING! Lets see if we can keep it going 🇺🇸🦅🎆
tagged prema_team
Prema_team perfect season start 🤩🤩
Logansargent OH SAY CAN YOU SEE
Ynln BY THE DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT
Logansargent you were great! Definitely a race to be proud of
Ynln thank you Lo!!!
Zak.Sullivan I’m proud of you love
Ynln ❤️❤️
user1 what is that last photo 💀
Ynln me dramatically blaring Dolly Parton
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Time skip-- a few races
zak.osullivan
liked by ynln, artgp_offical, user3, and 918,929 others
zak.osullivan MONACOOO COME ON 🏆🏆🏆
tagged artgp_offical
Ynln YESSSS SIR
olliebeaman you’ve never sounded more American
Dinobeganovic put this girl in a frat
Logansargent I have to agree…
ynln my own grid dad betrayed me
Ynln THATS HOW WE DO IT
ynln 15 to first??? YOU MAD MAN
Williamsracing we agree 👏👏
User1 get this man in f1
User2 id love to see it
ynln I LOVE YOU❤️❤️❤️❤️
Zak.osullivan I LOVE YOU TOO ❤️❤️❤️❤️
olliebearman congrats man!
dinobeganovic impressive race
paularon_ it was nice to share a podium
Logansargent calm down before you take my seat
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ynln
liked by sister_username, prema_team, user8, and 918,927 others
ynln MCDREAMY oops I mean ZAK GOT P1 IN MONACO!!!! I AM SO SO PROUD OF YOU!!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH (oh and I got p4 yadda yadda…)
tagged: zak.osullivan, prema_team
Zak.osullivan even in my time of victory I lose to Shepard 😔😔
ynln someone had to keep me entertained while I waited for all your media to be done 🤷🏼♀️🤷🏼♀️
Zak.osullivan thank you for all your support!! You raced a wondeful race, congrats on p4
Ynln I love you (but your race was better no need for a pitty congrats)
sister_username congrats Zak!! The Y/n family was cheering you on
ynln this L/n was also cheering you on!!
user2 I love that Y/n and her family were pulling for Zak more than Y/n 💀
user1 ugh we love a supportive gf
User2 God its me again🙏🙏
User3 when is it my turn
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ynln
liked by Oliviarodrigo, liakblock, elvirahallqvist, and 918,928 others
ynln Happy Guts release to those who celebrate! "All American Bitch" will be my personality from this moment forward
tagged: lettiemng, elvirahallqvist, hamdaalqubaisi_offical, liakblock
olivarodrigo wrote it just for you 🫶💜💜
ynln screaming crying throwing up I love you so much
olivarodrigo i literally love you!! My fav driver
user1 girlie just barley made the teenage cut
ynln 19 is still a teen ☝️🤓
paularon_ as if you needed any more reason to be more American
user2 omg this was a group I didn’t know I needed
user4 it seems so random but I love
user3 please give us content🙏🙏🙏
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ynln
liked by Zak.osullivan, user1, user3, and 918,829 others
ynln traveling the world with my world 🇪🇸
tagged Zak.osullivan
Olliebearman boo 🍅🍅🍅
Kimi.antonelli 🧀🧀🧀
ynln i can never win with yall
Olliebearman yall 🤠🤠
ynln get out of my comment section
Zak.osullivan I love you
ynln are you sure?? You said no to taking the cat
user1 “my world” I’m crying
user2 as much as i love American menace Y/n i LOVE soft y/n
user3 omg did you name the cat??
ynln ummmm of course, it’s Brick
user3 idk what i expected
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zak.osullivan
liked ynln, dinobeganovic, user43, and 918,892 others
zak.osullivan adventure buddies for life 🤝🤝
tagged ynln
ynln deal 🤝
user1 i love that they both posted a solo pic of the other
user5 top tier photography on both ends
user2 the middle pic 😭😭😭
user4 oh to be looked at the way either of them look at the other
user3 those olives looks good as hell
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ynln posted 2 stories!
Captions: (1) for the record I am NOT happy to be in Silverstone on 4th of July weekend (2) OLIVA YOU HAVE TURNED MY WEEK AROUND
replies
olliebearman
oh no
oh yes
and I thought the 4th was proper punishment for all your terrorizing
queen liv said no💜✨
call it good karma
GOOD KARMA FROM WHAT??
Elvirahallqvrst
im so excited
Me too!! I'm sad we won't get a listening party again
same 😭
hamdaalqubaisi_offical
my pre-race playlist just keeps getting better 😌
fr!!
zak.osullivan
liked by ynln, prema_teams, user4, and 923,029
zak.osullivan best way to end a home race?? his and hers 1-2
tagged: artgp_offical, ynln, prema_team
artgp_offical we agree!!
prema_team couldn't have said it better ourselves
olliebearman id rank that at bloody brilliant 👏🍾
user1 y'all live for a Ferrari 1-2, I live for a ZakY/n 1-2
user2 the "his and hers" has me crying
user3 strong race!! I hope you plenty of family and friends cheering you one
ynln what a race!! I was so nervous you'd overtake me in those last laps
zak.osullivan believe me I tried, if you weren't so damn good at defense
ynln 🤭😘
user4 I know she was just messing around for practice but Y/n looks so good in that blue suit
user5 the best part was she wore that to celebrate Zak's home gp
user4 stop thats so cute
user6 I agree she looks beautiful
user7 prema retire the red rn
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ynln
liked by olliebearman, user54, liakblock, and 928,924 others
ynln what better way to celebrate 4th of July than forcing the US national anthem to be played (I love you Zak and im so proud but Brits gotta know their place)
tagged: zak.osullivan, prema_team, artgp_offical
user1 I still cant believe she wore that sweatshirt around Silverstone
user2 see I want to be surprised but honestly im not
logansargent ultimate checkmake! You've made me proud kid
ynln ss this and hang it in the Louve 🥹
zak.osullivan you are incredible!! I'm proud to call you mine
ynln even when you lose
zak.osullivan fuck that im blocking you
olliebearman I despise everything you do
ynln screw me then for getting team points (and congratulating you on p3)
olliebearman the boys dont fw americans
ynln one of your boys fucks an american
olliebearman OK NOW WHERE DID THE PR TRAINING GO???
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ynln posted a story!
caption: My new national anthem has dropped!! 🎶 So American by Oliva Rodrigo
replies
zak.osullivan
did we finally find our song??
I think we did babe
dinobeganovic
am I gonna have to see you and Zak be all gushy to this song
🤷♀️🤷♀️
liakblock
its been on repeat
oh my spotify wrapped is messed up
zak.osullivan
liked by ynln, zak.osullivan, user43, and 923,923 others
zak.osullivan you're just so American
tagged: ynln
ynln screaming crying throwing up
ynln I didnt even ask you to do this
ynln I love you so much
zak.osullivan I love you (and your entire range of emotions)
olliebearman mission success?
zak.osullivan mission success.
ynln wot
user1 the Olivia quote???
user2 I think she knew deep down it was never her and Louis's song
user3 omg imagine Y/n and Zak dancing with Louis at an Oliva concert
user4 Y/n would die happy
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ynln
liked by sister_username, user4, user1, and 928,382 others
ynln "he's like a poem I wish I wrote"
tagged: zak.osullivan
user1 omg the 1D phone booth
Ynln I had to make my pilgrimage
Olliebearman glad to see you’re embracing real culture
Ynln a drink cup full of canes sauce IS real culture
user2 stfu I wasn’t prepared to a domestic ass today but where we are
user3 might sleep in traffic fr fr
sister_username if y'all dont get married I will kms
user4 same girl
user5 we got a L/n on our side
ynln oh hello to you too
zak.osullivan no pressure ig
#f1 imagines#f1#f2#formula 2#f2 x reader#formula 2 imagine#formula 2 x reader#formula 2 smau#zak o'sullivan x reader#zak o'sullivan#zak o'sullivan smau#zak o'sullivan fic#zak o'sullivan imagine#zak o'sullivan fluff
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☆ the wrong way to hard launch (14) | OP81
summary : oscar's girlfriend is a walking pr problem for literally everyone (including herself) social media au
pairing : oscar piastri x zhou!fem!singer!oc
a/n wait wait let him cook (imola)
masterlist | last part | part 14 | next part
INSTAGRAM
oscar piastri just posted to their story
TIKTOK
comments
FOLLOW UP QUESTION, WHICH RACE ????
something about a formula 1 driver and a rockstar having like the most normal story of meeting is hilarious
"took me a while to actually start dating her" i'm deadddd, u pulled her in the end tho bro
best relationship on the grid, i would die for them
didn't win the race but won her number, u have ur priorities straight
y'all gas her up too much it's not like she's that big a deal 💀 ↳ she's at least ten times more famous let's be fr for a sec, most of the world doesn't know what f1 is but they've probably heard one of lina's songs on the radio
REDDIT
r/EmptyBottles · Posted by u/luckyluna9364 1 mo. ago Lina x Oscar Timeline [read new comments]
fantstic013 · 12 hr. ago reviving this post bc of oscar's tiktok; they met at a race, which race??? when did lina attend a race?? whatthekermitdid · 11 hr. ago her f1 race debut (her words, not mine) was literally suzuka last month so i'm just as confused niaphilia283 · 11 hr. ago she might have done it behind the public's back. i think we all know that lina is only seen when she wants to be seen; we basically only saw her at scheduled events for the entirety of 2020-2023 like where was she even? what was she doing?
luckyluna9364 OP · 3 hr. ago ppl out there scrambling wondering which race but it has to at least be from the 2023 season bc i bet my whole life savings that their talking period was like 3 months so the new proposed meeting is like... abu dhabi grand prix (at the very least) which was back in december 2023
TWITTER
emme @flowersforcami · 4h still not over last night's show... the shit was phenomenal, it the cherry on top ↳ amie <3 @mieflrs · 4h i don't think we acknowledge how masochistic t*mmy must be to follow lina around europe and enduring those 2 hour shows where almost every song is the biggest middle finger to your existance; personally, if a song like aconite was written about me, i'd just never show my face again
kayla @luna_apocolypse · 5h oscar's story??? sir are you talking about the actual view or the stunning woman on the balcony?? it's important that i know
president linami @ linaminami · 6h 24 days since lina's posted on any of her socials... i can't believe i miss her unserious ass so much 🥲
oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 33m "oscar could do so much better" respectfully how do you get better than selina fucking bui? ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 33m "he should be with someone like him" she's australian, she's born in 2001, she's got cat energy, she loves sleeping and chocolate, she's slightly unhinged, she's known as a prodigy in her field, she keeps down low and most importantly, she's hot as shit, what more do you want
piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h he called her his lucky charm 🥺 i love them so much 😭 ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h wait lina?? where's this from?? i have terrible signal and no videos are loading ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h it's from a video of them entering the paddock, someone asked him what's its like to have her at a race again and he grinned and said she's his lucky charm ↳ lila💚 @kasdanrights · 2h WAIT NO THEY'RE SO CUTE I CAN'T
MESSAGES
from the phone of oscar piastri
TWITTER
oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 4h WE'RE SO BACKKKKK
↳ piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 4h that lucky charm must be working 👀
pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 34m OSCAR PIASTRI P2 START YES YES YES
oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 21m oh he was not kidding when he said she was his lucky charm ↳ oscalina real ?! @emptyginbottles · 20m i'll have whatever he's having bc he was like a cat on steroids
jess @OPIXSTRI · 28m we were so close to a maiden pole why is it always a fucking haas ruining everything
Jonny @EB_jonno · 32m @ OscarPiastri Mega quali mate, way to absolutely send it (don't give Lina too much credit)
INSTAGRAM
oscarpiastri Autodromo Enzo e Dino Ferrari di Imola
liked by cameliazzz and 218,496 others
oscarpiastri Well, it was fun while it lasted 😂
opeightyone Time to have better fun tomorrow then
cameliazzz i bet she found it hilarious ↳ oscarpiastri @ cameliazzz She found the timing hilarious, she was pretty upset it happened
TWITTER
pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 3h oscar piastri is now incredibly familiar with the rear wing of that ferrari it's just a shame it's the hideous hp logo
oscalina real ?! @ emptyginbottles · 3h LANDO??? LANDO OML U ARE SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF EVERYONE
piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h i mourn the mclaren double podium we could've had... ↳ piaa⁸¹ @ papayaeightyone · 2h what matters most is that oscar finished ahead of sainz, i'm a happy woman
ZG24 future WDC · @zhoupdates · 21m the most iconic cousins are having dinner together in imola after the race
tagged: 周冠宇 | Zhou Guanyu 🇨🇳 and lina !!! ↳ clara @ zgy24 · 5m oscar finally let lina out of his sight this weekend?
INSTAGRAM
oscarpiastri
liked by logansargeant and 264,586 others
oscarpiastri En route to Florence (got really sidetracked)
amelia_belrose who gave them the right to be so cute?
pi4str1 the anticipated road trip happened 🥺 ↳ linasgirl4 @pi4str1 from a mention in a rolling stones interview to reality, they did it guys 🫶
opeightyone Nice quick break before the double header
siera_mblanc he's never looked so boyfriend before this is insane, the girlfriend effect is slowly kicking in
TWITTER
pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h something real funny about oscar driving down to florence with lina to spend a day or two before having to helicopter over to monaco by wednesday for the mclaren senna tribute livery/monaco gp promotions like 😭 OSCAR, BREATHE A LITTLE ↳ pookie piastri @op81ln4 · 2h idk how u think this is lina hate, it's just me pointing out that oscar had found a gap in his schedule and immediately went: i'm spending as much time as physically possible with my girlfriend before they forcibly drag me to monaco
Oscar Piastri @ OscarPiastri · 4h Searching my family tree to find any trace of Monégasque roots ↳ Charles Leclerc @Charles_Leclerc · 1h I can adopt you if needed ↳ Jonny @EB_Jonny · 13m did we just become in-laws to the leclercs???
piaa⁸¹ @papayaeightyone · 1h oscar piastri-leclerc 😭
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
taglist @ririyulife @ashy-kit @fionaschicken @namgification @cherry-piee @urfavsgf @eiaaasamantha @sp1rl @destinyg237 @iloveyou3000morgan
#f1#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x oc#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri smau#formula 1 fanfic#formula 1 smau#f1 fic#f1 smau#f1 imagine#f1 social media au
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Drivers like Lance Stroll, Nico Hulkenberg, and Checo Perez all being given so much grace and time to take up seats while people got sooo weird and parasocial with Daniel when he was no longer in a race-winning team just proves that sometimes it’s better to be mid your whole career than to be a STAR than dimmed
No one cares if Nico or Lance are on the grid, and no one cares if Checo gets the Cadillac seats (thanks to sponsors) to sit at the back of the grid next year, because literally they have such a low ceiling that no one expects anything of them.
It was Daniel that came into the team in 2014 and beat the reigning 4x WDC and Red Bull Golden Boy Seb. It was Daniel that finished third in the championship in his rookie season and had everyone pegging him as the Next Big Thing. It was Daniel that carried Red Bull through their less competitive years and still pulled out incredible, jaw-dropping wins while his engine exploded every other week. It was Daniel that moved to Renault and brought them their first podium in decades - took the sixth faster car on the grid to 5th in the WDC (the first driver in the 21st century to finish 5th without a top 4 car!!).
It was Daniel that ALSO pulled a Monza win out of thin air in a car he was not comfortable with and gave McLaren their first win in over 10 years. People were so laser focused on ‘what went wrong?’ ‘Why is he struggling so much?’ ‘Is he washed/is he Red Bull’s only solution?’ because Daniel has always shown that - given the right car - he can make miracles happen. Even now, it’s ’where is Daniel Ricciardo?’ Because they know his exit wasn’t justified. They know where and how he should have ended his career. He was and has always will be a once in a lifetime driver that we’ll never see happen again.
THANK YOU NO NOTES.
if you are mediocre they don't care that you are mediocre. if you are great, they can NEVER forgive you when you are mediocre.
it's bothering me that if there was a win on the table, daniel was taking it. if it was even remotely possible, you better be on your best performance, because daniel will be. like, china. he spent 40 laps out of the top 5. and as soon as he hunted down the top 5 and realized he had the speed, there was nothing stopping him. he didn't leave anything on the table in his own power.
and monza. i get so irrationally mad about people saying it was team orders. no it wasnt. no, it fucking wasnt. daniel was fast the whole weekend. he had clean air. he overtook max immediately by literally pulling max's deep turns on him (almost as if they called him the last of the late breakers for a reason) and max said he knew it was daniel's race as soon as that happened. if they had given lando the opportunity to race daniel, lando would have just cooked his tyres - and back then he was chief tyre cook - and they wouldn't have gotten a 1-2. but daniel would have still won, as evidenced by him randomly deciding to go for FL on the last lap just to prove he can.
and what did checo have? that sakhir win? nico and lance have 2 poles, 2 FLS and 3 podiums between them? please, give me a fucking break. none of them have daniel's achievements. none of them are anywhere near close. checo can come back to try and rewrite history but do you know what checo has? that's right, 6 wins while driving rb's arguably most dominant car and team run ever. well. it really speaks for itself doesn't it.
#just fyi lance and nico have one pole each#daniel has 3 poles by himself#lance has 3 podiums#nico has zero#and if you wrote that 3 and next to it that 0 you will get 30#WHICH IS 2 LESS PODIUMS THAN DANIEL WHO HAS 32#and somwhere in there daniel picked up 15 more FLs than their combined record#one of which in a literal tractor on his last race while mentally so down he was barely holding up#but sure nico has had bad cars all his career#f1#formula 1#daniel ricciardo
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