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moonlightwritingf1 · 4 months ago

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18 Minutes | LN4

۶•ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N is terrible at time management and is chronically late to every event or meetup. She tries to change this habit. Lando and she make a deal: for every minute she is late to an event, he gets to edge her. And he’s clearly enjoying it much more than she is.

۶•ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

۶•ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 5.7k

۶•ৎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, accidental creampie, oral sex (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial

Based on this request.

Sitting on the edge of her bed in nothing but a robe, Y/N looked at the clock on her nightstand. She sighed. It was already 7:48 p.m., and they were supposed to leave by 7:30 to meet some of Lando’s friends at a new restaurant in Mayfair. He was in the living room, presumably checking his phone or messing around on social media to kill time. Maybe he was looking at track data or chatting with friends from Monaco—she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that she’d promised him she wouldn’t be late again.

And she’d failed.

Her phone buzzed: a message from Lando, ever the tease even though they were just rooms apart.

Lando: You’re 18 minutes behind schedule. That’s 18 minutes of fun for me, by the way.

She groaned, reading his text. A few weeks ago, in a joking attempt to correct her chronic lateness, Lando proposed a playful deal: for every minute she was late, he’d get to ‘edge’ her for exactly that length of time. When he first suggested it, she’d rolled her eyes. But she also couldn’t deny the spark of excitement that lit beneath her rib cage. She’d agreed, partly amused and partly intrigued.

It turned out the idea was far more torturous (and exhilarating) in practice. The last time she’d been late by ten minutes, she’d ended up with shaky knees and breathy pleas by the end of it. Edging, as Lando was so gleefully discovering, was something that he enjoyed dishing out far too much. She claimed she hated it. She secretly loved it. The anticipation, the pleas, the electricity in the air—it was all so heady.

And it was about to happen again, for a full eighteen minutes if she didn’t hurry.

She hopped around her bedroom, rummaging for a pair of earrings. She quickly threw on her dress—a fitted black one with a modest neckline, long sleeves, and a playful slit up the side. The kind of dress that made her feel both comfortable and alluring. She grabbed her purse, threw on some quick lip gloss, and dashed out of the room.

She found Lando in the living room, leaning back on her couch, legs lazily stretched out, wearing a crisp white button-down and dark jeans. He had that faint smirk that made her stomach flip.

“Finally,” he teased, looking her up and down. “You look stunning.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I know. Sorry. Ready?”

His smirk widened. “Eighteen minutes, love.”

Her eyes darted guiltily to the clock on the wall. “Couldn’t we just… skip it this time?”

He raised his brow. “Mm, absolutely not. A deal is a deal.”

—

Dinner was surprisingly smooth. Y/N smiled politely and answered as briefly as possible, reminding herself that at the end of the day, she was going home with Lando—and she knew how much he genuinely cared for her, far more than any shallow distractions.

A while later, dessert was served, and the conversation turned casual, filled with laughter and a few tipsy exchanges among the group. Y/N reached under the table to gently squeeze Lando’s thigh—a quiet thank-you for his constant support.

He met her eyes with a playful sparkle that seemed to say, “You’re welcome.” Then he nudged her knee with his, and she nudged back. This little silent exchange felt more intimate than anything else all night.

When dinner came to a close, they said their goodbyes, and Y/N felt a sense of relief heading out.

Once outside, Lando guided her back to the car. He started the engine and let it idle, turning to face her with a grin that made her cheeks burn.

She crossed her arms, pretending to be annoyed. “Stop looking at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.”

He laughed, low and warm. “Oh, I��m not sure you really know what I’m thinking. But I can guess you’re thinking about the arrangement.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes as she sank into the passenger seat. “It’s so unfair.”

“It’s completely fair. You agreed to it,” he countered, his tone playful yet firm.

Biting her lip, she turned her head to stare out the window. The city lights whirled around them. She felt the tension spark in the enclosed space, his presence so near. His hand settled on her thigh. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze on her cheek.

“You can’t back out now,” he said softly, his touch trailing a small circle on the thin fabric of her dress.

Her heart thudded. As much as she dreaded the torturous wait, her body lit up at the thought of his hands, his lips, his voice at her ear drawing out every sensation until she could barely stand it. A shiver raced through her.

She turned and met his gaze. “Let’s go home,” she whispered.

Back at her flat, the moment they stepped through the door, Lando wasted no time. He pressed her against the entryway, one hand braced against the wall near her head, the other tilting her chin toward him. His lips hovered over hers, teasing, not fully claiming her mouth.

“Eighteen minutes,” he recalled, voice husky.

She breathed out shakily, her hands sliding up his chest. “You actually timed me?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Of course. It’s a matter of principle now.”

His breath ghosted over her lips, and she parted hers, expecting a kiss—but he pulled back at the last second. That made her let out a small whine in protest, which only seemed to encourage him more.

Gently, he took her hand and led her down the hallway to her bedroom, which was dimly lit by a small lamp on the dresser. The familiar environment, the hush of the late hour, and the pounding of her own heart made everything feel heightened. She was acutely aware of how close he was, how every subtle shift of his body seemed to radiate warmth.

He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. He stayed standing, looking down at her with that signature cocky tilt of his head. “I’m going to set a timer,” he said, pulling out his phone. “Eighteen minutes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, but her grin betrayed her excitement.

He bent down, brushing his lips just once, featherlight, over hers. “You love it,” he teased, then reached behind her to place his phone on the nightstand. She heard a soft chime as he presumably set an alarm to go off.

She swallowed hard. “And what if I try to… shorten it?”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent another wave of warmth through her. “Good luck, love. I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten better at making you wait.”

The bedroom seemed smaller than usual, the air thick with anticipation as Lando stood over her, his gaze sharp yet playful. Y/N’s heart raced as she sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers gripping the sheets nervously. She knew what was coming, and though she’d never admit it out loud, the thought of it sent a thrill through her body.

“Eighteen minutes,” Lando murmured, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushing against her skin. He reached down, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her jaw. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”

She huffed, trying to sound annoyed, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “I’m not going to make it easy? You’re the one who came up with this… this torture.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, and leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. “Torture, huh? Funny, because from where I’m standing, you seem to enjoy it just as much as I do.”

Her lips parted to argue, but he silenced her with a soft, lingering kiss. It wasn’t enough to satisfy her—it never was with him—but it was enough to make her toes curl and her breath hitch. When he pulled away, she instinctively leaned forward, chasing his lips, but he took a deliberate step back, his smirk widening.

“Oh no, love,” he teased, holding up a finger. “You’re not getting off that easy. Eighteen minutes. Every. Single. One.”

She groaned, letting her head fall back in mock exasperation. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are, still with me.” He knelt down in front of her, his hands sliding up her thighs and pushing her dress higher. His touch was deliberate, slow, and Y/N couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her. “Now, let’s get started.”

His lips brushed the inside of her thigh, the contact featherlight but deliberate, the faintest pressure that sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. She sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers tightening in the sheets as he lingered there, his breath warm against her sensitive skin. Slowly, as if savoring every millisecond, he pressed another kiss just slightly higher, his tongue darting out to graze the surface in a way that made her legs quiver.

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging in with enough force to keep her grounded but not enough to hurt. He held her still, his grip firm yet controlled, as he dragged his lips farther up her thigh, each kiss a slow, torturous progression. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the ache growing with every passing second, but he was methodical, unhurried, his every movement calculated to keep her on the edge.

Just when she thought he might finally close the distance, he paused, his lips hovering just above where she wanted him most. He exhaled softly, the warmth of his breath sending another wave of need crashing through her. She arched her back, silently pleading, but he chuckled low, the sound reverberating against her skin.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice rough with restrained hunger, before he pressed a lingering kiss to the other thigh, starting the agonizing process all over again.

Her breath hitched, a frustrated whine slipping past her lips as he pulled back, denying her once more. Heat pooled in her stomach, the fire building to a nearly unbearable level, yet he stayed just out of reach, leaving her trembling and desperate, the promise of release taunting her with every breath he took. His hands shifted, his thumbs brushing in slow circles against her hip bones, and she could feel the tension coiling tighter, tighter, threatened to snap with one more touch, one more kiss—but Lando wouldn’t crack. Not yet. Not while the timer still counted down.

The heat of his mouth pressed against the damp fabric of her underwear, and Y/N gasped, her hips instinctively lifting toward him. His hands held her firmly in place, his grip unyielding, as he kissed her through the thin barrier.

“Lando,” she whispered, the word trembling on her lips. His name was a plea, a prayer. His lips moved deliberately, each kiss leaving behind a trail of fire, until her underwear was soaked, clinging to her skin, and still, he didn’t stop.

“Mm, you’re dripping already,” he murmured, his voice rough. He paused to glance up at her, his smirk wicked. “What do you want, love?”

She shook her head, unable to voice it, but her body answered for her: her legs parted wider, her hips arching closer. He chuckled, low and knowing, before sinking his fingers into the sides of her underwear and pulling them down in one slow, torturous motion. The cool air kissed her heated skin, but it was his gaze that burned, his eyes raking over her as if memorizing every detail.

His lips pressed against the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and she gasped, her fingers twisting into the sheets. He lingered there, his breath hot, before moving higher, his mouth trailing a slow, deliberate path toward her center. Each kiss was a tease, a promise he wasn’t ready to fulfill just yet. His tongue flicked out, tracing the curve where her thigh met her hip, and she shuddered, her legs trembling beneath him.

He kissed lower, his lips brushing over the delicate crease of her pubic bone, and she let out a sharp, desperate sound, her hips lifting instinctively. But he didn’t stop there. His mouth moved with agonizing slowness, kissing every inch of her, his lips grazing the swollen, aching flesh of her pussy. She could feel the wetness of her arousal coating his lips now, slick and warm, and the sensation made her head spin.

His tongue darted out, teasing her clit with the lightest touch, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. He chuckled, low and dark, before pulling back, leaving her trembling and desperate. “Not yet,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. His lips returned to her inner thighs, kissing and nipping at the tender skin, as if savoring every second of her torment. The heat between her legs was unbearable, her body begging for release, but he kept her on the edge, his every touch a cruel, delicious reminder of what she couldn’t have—yet.

His tongue finally made contact, a slow, deliberate drag through her slick folds that had her gasping, her body twitching involuntarily. He didn’t rush, didn’t give her the relief she craved. Instead, he let the flat of his tongue glide over her entrance, pressing just enough to make her hips jerk toward him, but not enough to satisfy the ache that had been building since he first knelt between her thighs.

Her breath hitched as he lingered there, his breath hot and wet, the faintest puff of air brushing against her sensitive skin. His tongue teased at her entrance, a soft, insistent dip that made her whimper, her fingers clawing at the sheets as if they could anchor her against the tidal wave of sensation crashing through her. He flicked his tongue against her clit, light and quick, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed, her insides coiling tighter.

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles around her clit, each swirl sending jolts of electricity straight to her core. She could feel the heat building, the pressure mounting, her body right on the edge of release. But just as she felt herself tipping over, he pulled back, his lips pressing a soft, torturous kiss to the swollen bundle of nerves instead.

Her hips lifted, desperate, pleading, but he held her down with one firm hand on her stomach, his other gripping her hip to keep her still. His mouth moved lower again, his tongue tracing the outline of her entrance, his lips kissing the slick skin as if savoring every drop of her arousal.

He was relentless, his tongue flicking against her clit in quick, teasing strokes one moment, then flattening against her in slow, languid laps the next. His breath hitched against her, warm and uneven, and she could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself back even as he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably, her knees pressing together as if to trap the sensation, to hold onto the fleeting euphoria he denied her.

His tongue circled her clit again, the pressure just enough to make her cry out, her body tightening like a coiled spring. But he stopped, his lips hovering just above her, his breath hot and ragged, leaving her on the edge of release, suspended in a state of agonizing bliss.

“Lando,” she whimpered, her voice ragged, her nails digging into her own palms. “Please...”

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating against her skin. “Not yet,” he murmured, his lips brushing hers again, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

But the timer wasn’t up, and neither was he.

“Please,” she whimpered again, her voice broken. “Please, I’m so close. Just—just let me—”

Lando leaned back, licking his lips as if savoring her taste, a glint in his eye that was pure mischief. “Not yet, love. Eleven minutes left.”

“No,” she breathed, her voice unsteady, her body still coiled tight, wavering on the edge. “You can’t—you didn’t let me—“

“Exactly,” he said, leaning in to brush his lips against her ear. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. Her hands reached for him, but he caught them easily, pinning them back against the bed. “You’re a menace,” she muttered, but the way she said it—breathless, charged—gave her away.

He grinned. “And you’re mine. Now be patient. I’m not done with you yet.”

She didn’t respond, mostly because she knew he was right. There was something intoxicating about the way he controlled her pleasure, the way he could reduce her to a trembling, begging mess with just a few touches. She hated how much she loved it.

Lando’s lips found hers again, this time more demanding, and she melted into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair. He deepened it, his tongue exploring her mouth as his hands roamed her body, leaving trails of fire in their wake. She moaned into his mouth, her hips bucking involuntarily, but he pulled away again, leaving her breathless and desperate.

“Still ten minutes,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough with desire. “Think you can last?”

She glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He grinned, his hand slipping between her legs and teasing her with featherlight touches. “Guilty. But can you blame me? Look at you—beautiful, writhing, completely at my mercy. How could I not enjoy it?”

Her breath hitched as his fingers found her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. She arched into his touch, her hips moving of their own accord, but he pulled his hand away, leaving her gasping for more. She could see the amusement in his eyes, the way he reveled in her frustration, and it only made her want him more.

“What’s the matter, love?” he teased, his voice laced with mischief. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her level. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

He laughed, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. “Promises, promises.”

Before she could retort, his lips were on hers again, his hands roaming her body with a possessiveness that made her head spin. She let herself get lost in the kiss, in the way his body pressed against hers, but just as she was starting to lose herself, he pulled away again, leaving her panting and frustrated.

“Nine minutes,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck. “Think you can hold out?”

She let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the sheets tightly. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin. “Good girl.”

His lips left her neck, and she felt the shift in his weight as he stood. Her eyes fluttered open, watching as he unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, the sound of leather sliding through the loops sending a shiver down her spine. He pushed his trousers down just enough to free himself, and her breath hitched at the sight of him—hard, thick, and already glistening at the tip.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt between her legs again, his hands gripping her hips as he positioned himself. The head of his cock brushed against her clit, slick with her arousal, and she gasped, her back arching off the bed.

He didn’t push in. Not yet. He dragged the tip of his cock back and forth over her swollen clit, the friction maddeningly light, teasing her until she was squirming beneath him. Her hands fisted the sheets, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as he continued to torment her.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He chuckled, low and dark, his grip tightening on her hips. “You need what, love? Tell me.”

She whimpered, her body trembling with need. “You. Inside me. Now.”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and finally, finally, he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching her open inch by agonizing inch. She moaned, loud and unrestrained, her nails digging into the mattress as he filled her completely. He paused there, buried deep, and she could feel every pulse of him inside her, the way her walls clenched around him, desperate for more.

“Lando,” she whined, her hips lifting instinctively, trying to coax him into moving. But he stayed still, his hands holding her firmly in place. “Move. Please, move.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Patience, love. We’ve got time.”

She groaned, frustration and arousal warring inside her. “You’re killing me.”

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and finally, finally, he began to move. Slowly. Painfully slowly. He pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the tip inside her before pushing back in with that same torturous pace. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, designed to drive her wild without giving her the release she craved.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling with every slow, deep stroke. She could feel every ridge, every vein of him as he moved inside her, stretching her, filling her in ways that made her head spin. Her hands reached for him, clutching at his shoulders, his arms, anything to anchor herself against the overwhelming sensation.

“Faster,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando, faster.”

He shook his head, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Not yet. You’re doing so well, love. Just a little longer.”

She whimpered, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his pace unchanging. Every thrust was a tease, a promise of what was to come, but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Lando,” she cried, her voice breaking. “Please, I can’t—I need—”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her pleas as he continued to move inside her, slow and deep, driving her closer and closer to the brink. And when he finally picked up the pace, it was only to leave her hanging once more, right on the edge of ecstasy, completely at his mercy.

His thrusts deepened, quickened, the rhythm shifting from slow and deliberate to something harder, more urgent. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, her moans rising with every snap of his hips. She was close—so close—her body tightening, her breath hitching as she wobbled on the edge. And then he stopped. Just like that. He froze, buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls as she clenched around him, desperate for release.

“No,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Lando, please—don’t stop. I’m so close. Please, just let me—”

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice low and teasing. “Not yet, love. Five minutes left.”

She whimpered, frustration bubbling up in her chest, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Forget the deal. Just fuck me. Please, I can’t take it anymore.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and amused, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still. “You know I can’t do that. A deal’s a deal. Besides...” His smirk widened as he stayed buried deep inside her, his cock throbbing against her walls, unmoving. “I love seeing you like this. Begging. Squirming. Completely at my mercy.”

Her eyes flashed with defiance, and before he could react, she squeezed her inner muscles, clenching around him with everything she had. The pressure was sharp, electric, and his cock twitched in response, throbbing hot and heavy within her. She watched his jaw tighten, the amusement in his eyes flickering for a split second.

But he caught himself, his hand darting between her legs, fingertips brushing her swollen clit to stop her. “Nice try,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. He shifted back, kneeling up slightly but keeping himself inside her, his cock still stretching her wide. He gripped the base of himself, stroking slowly, slick with her arousal, as if taunting her with what she couldn’t have. His gaze bore into hers, unrelenting. “You think squeezing around me will make you come? Clever, but not clever enough.”

She glared at him, her body trembling with the effort it took not to buck her hips, but she didn’t respond. Her defiant silence only seemed to amuse him more.

Finally, he pulled out completely, leaving her empty and aching, his cock glistening with her wetness as he knelt between her thighs. “Four minutes,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as he began to stroke himself with agonizing slowness. “Think you can last?”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need as she closed her legs. "You're impossible."

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down but deliberately staying just out of reach. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Now, spread your legs for me. You’re not allowed to cheat your way out of this.”

When she hesitated, his free hand slid to her thigh, pushing it open with firm, deliberate pressure. His cock twitched in his hand, the tip glistening as he stroked himself again, teasing her with the sight.

She glared at him, but her breath hitched—a telltale sign that she was hanging on his every movement.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thumb flicking over her clit once more before he leaned even closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now, let’s make those last four minutes count.”

She groaned, her head falling back against the pillows, her body trembling with need. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, leaning down to capture her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, hot and demanding, while his cock pressed against her clit, the friction maddeningly light. She arched into him, her hips lifting off the bed, but he held her steady, his grip unyielding.

“Please,” she whispered against his lips, her voice ragged. “Please, Lando, I can’t—I need—”

He kissed her again, silencing her pleas, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His cock rubbed against her clit in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to make her whimper but not enough to push her over the edge. She was a mess, her mind fogged with pleasure, her body aching for release, but he was relentless, drawing out every second of her torment.

“Three minutes,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Think you can last?”

She shook her head, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “No. I can’t. Please, just let me come.”

He chuckled, low and dark, his lips brushing hers again. “Almost there, love. Be patient.”

Her hands fisted the sheets, her body writhing beneath him, but he held her steady, his touch firm and controlled. Every brush of his cock against her clit sent jolts of electricity through her, the sensation building, coiling tighter and tighter until she thought she might explode. But he didn’t let her. Not yet. Not until the timer went off.

He pulled back, his lips leaving hers with a soft, teasing pop. Her eyes fluttered open, confused, as he shifted his weight off her and knelt between her legs. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her skin flushed and gleaming under the dim light.

Lando’s hand wrapped around his cock, slick and throbbing, and he began to stroke himself slowly, his gaze locked on hers. His eyes raked over her body—the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, the way her thighs trembled as they spread wider for him. But it was her pussy that held his attention, glistening and soaked, needy and waiting.

She whimpered, her fingers clawing at the sheets as she watched him. The sight of his cock in his hand, stroking steadily over her dripping core, sent another wave of arousal crashing through her. She could feel the heat building, the ache growing unbearable. “Please,” she begged, her voice shaky, almost hysterical with need.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured, his tone dark and teasing, his eyes dropping to where his cock nearly brushed her clit with every slow stroke. He tilted his head slightly as if studying her, his smirk widening at the flush spreading down her chest, the way her legs twitched with every agonizing pass of his hand.

She arched her back, her hips lifting instinctively toward him, desperate for contact. But he held himself just out of reach, his strokes deliberate now as if pushing her closer. “Look at you,” he said, his voice rough with restraint. “Soaked. Begging. Mine.”

Her breath hitched, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to stifle another whine. His thumb circled the swollen head of his cock once before dragging it down, the tip brushing against her clit so lightly it was torture. A small cry escaped her, her fingers gripping the sheets tighter. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

The timer’s chime shattered the heavy silence, loud and sharp. Y/N gasped, relief and anticipation flooding her system. Lando didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her hips firmly, positioning himself at her entrance, and plunged into her in one deep stroke.

She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her walls clenching around him as he filled her completely. He didn’t waste time. His thrusts were hard and merciless, each one driving her higher, sending sparks shooting through her veins. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as he fucked her with relentless abandon.

It didn’t take long. Three thrusts in, the pressure inside her snapped, and her orgasm crashed over her in blinding waves. She screamed his name, her body convulsing around him, her legs trembling uncontrollably as pleasure consumed her.

It didn’t take long. The moment he buried himself inside her, the tension that had been coiling in her core for what felt like an eternity snapped. On the third thrust, her body gave in completely, and her orgasm tore through her with a force that left her breathless. She screamed his name, her voice raw and unfiltered, as waves of pleasure crashed over her, one after another, relentless and all-consuming. Her back arched off the bed, her fingers clawing at his shoulders, her legs trembling uncontrollably as her walls clenched around him, milking every inch of his cock.

Lando groaned, deep and guttural, his grip on her hips tightening to the point of pain as he felt her convulse around him. His rhythm faltered for a moment, overwhelmed by the intensity of her release, but then he surged forward again, driving into her with renewed urgency. Four, five, six thrusts—each one deeper, harder, more desperate than the last—and he came with a growl that seemed to rumble from the very depths of his chest. His release spilled into her in hot, pulsing waves, filling her completely as his hips jerked against hers, prolonging the sensation for both of them.

He collapsed onto her chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin slick with sweat as it pressed against hers. Their heartbeats pounded in unison, a chaotic rhythm that slowly began to steady as the aftershocks of their shared climax ebbed away. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling together in the aftermath of the cruel, delicious game they had just played.

Her breath was still ragged, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon. Lando’s weight pressed into her, his skin hot against hers, but the tension had melted into something softer, more intimate. Her fingers absently traced the curve of his shoulder, her body still trembling with the remnants of her release. He lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing her shoulder in a slow, lingering kiss that made her shiver.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, her voice uneven, throat raw. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

He chuckled, the sound low and self-satisfied, his breath warm against her skin. “Good to know I’m still capable of surprising you.”

She tilted her head to meet his gaze, her lips curving into a half-hearted glare. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m low-key annoyed at you for making me wait that long. Like, genuinely. Didn’t think you’d actually go full eighteen minutes. Torture much?”

He grinned, unapologetic, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, come on, love. You knew exactly what you were signing up for when you agreed to the deal. And let’s be honest—you loved every second of it.”

She groaned, swatting at his chest weakly. “I’m never admitting that out loud.”

His smirk widened as he shifted slightly, nudging her legs apart to rest more comfortably between them. “You don’t have to say it. I can feel it.” His hand trailed down her side, fingertips brushing over her ribs in a way that made her shiver. “Maybe this’ll be the motivation you need to stop being late to everything. Because, trust me, if you keep testing me like this, I’ll only get better at edging you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the flush creeping up her neck gave her away. “Oh, so now you’re threatening me? Classy.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a teasing kiss. “Not a threat, love. A promise. So, what’s it gonna be? On time from now on? Or... more of this?” He punctuated his words with a slow roll of his hips, his cock still buried deep inside her, and she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders instinctively.

“You,” she said breathlessly, “are the worst.”

“And yet,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear, “you’re not saying no.”

She let out a laugh, the sound warm and unrestrained, and he pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling. “Fine,” she said finally, her tone mock-defeated. “I’ll try to be on time. But if I’m late again, you better be ready to deliver. That was... intense.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and warm. “Oh, I’m always ready, love. And next time, we’ll make it even better.”

She groaned, but her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was less teasing and more heated. He smiled into it, his body pressing into hers as he murmured, “Eighteen minutes very well spent.”

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barcapix · 4 months ago

Note

A prompt Max Verstappen dating Mark Webber’s daughter?

✮ Intensive Duo - Max Verstappen

max verstappen x webber!fem!reader

sy: a small prompt for when your father, mark webber, rambles on with his lecturing after the first day of ‘25 testing, but really max is only there for you. although, your father doesn’t know your actually dating.

a/n: feel like i may extend this when i get back from work but i’ll see if it flops or not. im really sorry this took so long!! but thank you gorg<3

warnings: nope!

masterlist

the sun was dipping below the skyline, casting honeyed, amber hues over the bahrain circuit.

the pre-season testing was in full swing, each teams garages roaring with fierce engines in a newly competitive environment for the 2025 season.

but this year, its a smidge different. this pre-season is different. your relationship status is different. unbeknownst to your dad, the driver he considered to be like a second son to him, was dating his very own daughter.

although neither of you had the guts to tell him.

max was behind the wheel of his rb21, pushing through the laps with the same intensity and determination that he always remarked.

your father, mark, kept his attendance at significant events—as such testing event this year in support of redbull themselves but more so as a prominent guide for verstappen.

max was on his forty-fourth lap, his car slicing through corners and weaves as he was making it to his forty-fifth.

you both watch the telemetry on the screens, engaging with the dutchman’s lap times and car data streaming in.

“he’s pushing pretty hard today,” mark mutters, eyes trained to the screen. “i’ve noticed he’s like this every test session—chasing the last tenth.”

as you glance back over at the screen, you couldn’t help but notice the brief inconsistencies with the cars performance. “do you think he’s overdoing it?”

mark gave a small laugh. “nah, not overdoing it. he’s doing what he usually does. but with the new rb21, he may have to dial it back a little; the cars different this year.”

you nod, turning back to the figures. max’s aggressive style had turned him into a champion—multiple times—but the new car seemed a little more unpredictable.

just then, max peeled into the pit as he brought the car to a stop. it wasn’t the fastest pit stop, though—it was clear he was exhausted. he stayed in the car for a second longer than usual, adjusting his helmet before finally getting out.

the fatigue in his movements were evident. the dull efforts in raking off his helmet, the breathless exhales when communicating with the engineers and lastly, the sluggish strides as he made a sprint for the pair of you.

his arms stretch out in a subconscious, almost hug, before he promptly snapped them to his sides and cleared his throat as if he had to remind himself where he was.

easy mistake—but it’s the secrecy that counts.

“hey,” the driver greets, voice a little drowsy, but still upbeat. “how’s it looking?”

you offered him a grin and subtle wave, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. you knew him well enough to know that if your strict-to-be father wasn’t here, without hesitation, he would of reeled you in for a hug and maybe even let his head fall against your shoulder.

although instead, he kept a respectable distance. “you’re pushing hard, as usual.”

your father chimed in almost immediately. “you’re doing good, but you’re definitely overdriving in places.”

oh great, here comes the inevitable lecture.

“don’t forget the car’s different this year, and you’re not giving it time to settle,” he points out. “you gotta adjust your driving, especially with the new aerodynamics.”

“yeah i know, i felt it. it’s definitely more stiff than last season.. it’s harder to get the balance right,” max exhales, running a hand through his hair.

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reaching out and fixing the utter mess he had just made with his hair.

“i know,” mark says, nodding. “just remember—it’s all about the consistency.”

he leans in further, now using his hands as a form of declaration. “don’t chase lap times. chase stability, and everything else will come.”

max let out a tired chuckle. “yeah, yeah. easier said than done.”

the frustration in his eyes is palpable, and he hated being anything less than perfect. sure, it was only the testing of the 2025 season, but this was a setup for him to chase the world champion title again.

your father is about to open is mouth again until he spots liam across the room, immediately making a beeline for him.

“lawson! lawson, over here!”

liam, who was about to slip away unnoticed, freezes in place like a deer caught in the headlights, as your father barrels toward him.

max mellowly chuckles, sighing in sheer relief. “so.. does he scare everybody or just me?”

“that depends,” you bite back a laugh, tracing absent patterns on the back of his glove. “are you asking if he’s harsh on everyone or just you?”

he squints. “both.”

“i mean.. i don’t know, liam looks like he’s getting a handful,” you nod in their direction.

you both glance over, and it’s true. liam is stuck fidgeting with the visor of his helmet in his hands—looking mortifyingly terrified at your fathers instructions.

max huffs a hushed laugh. “poor guy. he’s not getting out of there anytime soon.”

“neither are you,” you tease, jabbing him playfully into his chest. “you know he’s gonna circle back and go away on a tangent about something evermore irrelevant.”

max flutters his eyes closed as if he was mentally and emotionally preparing himself for whatever your father was going to counteract him with.

“do you reckon i can get back onto the track before he turns around?” he genuinely suggests.

you raise a brow. “what, and leave me with him?”

“eh i’m sure you can tolerate him more than i can,” max chuckles, flickering his gaze back to you. “sometimes he can be a d—”

you cut him off with a dramatic cough, folding your arms. “are you forgetting that’s my dad?”

“i’m choosing to forget,” he shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. “just momentarily.”

“momentarily why?” you question, confused.

the dutchman tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing down to your lips. “so i can do this without feeling like i’m going to get punched.”

that’s all he needs to say before pulling you in by your waist, finding the small of your back and holding you steadily against him.

his lips hungrily mould into yours, as your hands find a way to knead up from his jaw into his damp hair. max kisses you like he needs the adrenaline and when he gently pulls back, his fingertips find their way to your cheek.

“it’s a good thing you took this off,” you tap onto his helmet that’s loosely in his other hand. “so now you can carry on kissing me.”

max grins, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “best decision i’ve made all day.”

the gap between your faces are about to close again, until a loud, familiar boom echoes against the concrete walls; almost making him jolt.

“verstappen! i’m not done with you yet!”

you watch amused, as he groans like a man walking to his own execution.

“wait what are you—” marks voice suddenly shifts in realisation. “that’s my daughter!”

max barely has time to react before your father starts marching towards him—jaw and fists clenched.

“well i’ll see you later baby,” as he takes a swift step back and presses a gentle makeshift kiss to your forehead. “meet me in the paddock in 15—thats if im still alive.”

he shoots you one last frantic look as you barely contain your laughter—concealing it with your hands. your now-not-so-secret boyfriend spins on his heel and sprints away as your father storms after him.

sometime, somewhere, you’ll break the news.

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door-insurance · 6 months ago

Text

Ahm, hello Life is Strange fandom- I got an announcement

I have been working on my own LiS fan visual novel

This is VortexVN,

You play as Victoria waking up from a hangover with no memory of the week prior, you are tasked with piecing together what happened between her and one of the 4 love interests.

And of course the love interests are:

-Chloe (Chaseprice)

-Max (Chasefield)

-Kate (Chasemarsh)

-Rachel (Amberchase)

The game starts with a quiz; you unlock a route by picking answers related to the character you wanna romance (they are very obvious)

It takes place in an AU where the events of LiS1 and BtS didn't really happen and there are no special powers, Victoria's still a bi tch- I guess that's her special powers.

Think of this game as a spiritual successor to Love is Strange by Team Rumblebee rather than Life is Strange 1

Gameplay so far is your typical point and click visual novel affair, you will be given options to explore rooms, examine objects and talk to other characters- the interactions will play a crucial part in how the game ends,

You can win the girl or get rejected or worse... It will depend on how Victoria carried herself throughout the game,

Mistreating certain characters may prove to be a dealbreaker for the love interest,

Each girl has two close friends in the dorm that you should not upset (I'll reveal who in the guide pdf)

This game is also perfect for Victoria haters as you can ruin her life

The game has its own journal system that will be different depending on who you're romancing, it also comes with a read button (I blurred most of the text so you can get curious and play the game)

Read button will display the journal content in Open Dyslexic font

In the demo you'll only get to explore Victoria's room and the dorm hallways and you'll get two encounters from Juliet (Showers) and Alyssa (Hallway)

VortexVN is still in development, I have finished part.1 of the project and will start polishing it soon- the initial build of part.1 will be available to play as a demo!

The cutscenes lack color and proper shading at the moment and you will find placeholders as well, the art style is all over the place- this will change after the polishing phase

Download links:

Mac and Windows

Web browser ver (I don't recommend that you play it on mobile, also the web version lacks animation and takes forever to load graphics)

programs used:

-Renpy (visual novel engine)

-Photoshop CS5 (Drawing/rendering/animating/designing)

-Clips studio (Texturing)

-tablet: XP-Pen Artist 13

Note: I'm not monetizing this project nor do I claim ownership of the Life is Strange ip, all materials and assets presented in this visual novel were either created by me or are royalty free- I did not lift anything from the games via data mining or by leaks

This game is not a response to or a gotcha at Life is Strange Double Exposure or Deck Nine, I didn't really dislike the game

Besides, I've had the idea of a Victoria centric fan game since the first LiS back in 2015

I'm open for feedbacks! You can DM me or reblog this with a review or something- maybe write a comment.

#life is strange #lis #victoria chase #chloe price #max caulfield #kate marsh #rachel amber #chasemarsh #chaseprice #chasefield #amberchase #life is strange before the storm #lis bts #alyssa anderson #juliet watson #VortexVN

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coco-loco-nut · 1 year ago

Text

Revelations

pairing: Daniel x reader

summary: Daniel casually mentions his wife after 11 YEARS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. Danny Ric comeback. 2025 season, he is back on rbr

request are open pookie masterlist part 2

—————————

Being an engineer for Red Bull was something else. You have been with them since you graduated college, and truthfully you never want to leave, the team is your family, having been with them for 11 years.

You met your husband through your job, both starting at the ripe old age of 23, and despite the potential HR violations, Christian Horner practically set the two of you up on a date after being oblivious about each other’s crushes. Thus began Red Bull’s best kept secret.

“Happy 10 years, Danny,” you kiss your husband, him watching you analyze data. Christian made him promise to never use you as a mole, and the two of you very quickly agreed. Even when he was on Renault and McLaren, work talk was kept quiet. Daniel had a great season last year and was brought back to Red Bull Racing, Christian promoted you to be his race engineer, knowing Daniel would listen to you.

“Happy 10 years, my love,” he hugs you tight. Your children are home in Australia with their grandparents for the weekend.

“Good morning, Ricciardos. Happy wedding anniversary,” Christian greets you, sitting for the pre-race meeting. Christian celebrates your wedding anniversary almost as much as you do, but he is a part of the family. He officiated your wedding at this track 10 years ago today, and he is the godfather of your eldest.

“Good morning, I printed out some data sheets so we can determine strategy. I noticed some unusual tyre degradation, while it could be from the unusually high track temperatures yesterday, it is something we should plan for today,” you start, passing out the papers. Daniel will never not be able to admire you. Sometimes he misses what people say because he stares at you, the exact reason Christian helped get you two together.

“Let’s grab some coffee then go on a track walk,” Daniel holds his hand out to you after the strategy meeting, you happily take it. After your lap around the track, you meet with the other engineers while Daniel warms up and does media. As you are watching the F2 race for valuable data, someone from PR comes over to you.

“Watch this clip,” she says and you oblige.

Daniel, you seem in better spirits than usual, care to share?

I don’t know mate, I am usually a pretty happy person.

Here I was thinking that maybe you finally had a girlfriend

Nah, I don’t think my wife would be happy about that… I wasn’t really supposed to say that. If you are watching, sorry! I’ll make it up to you, love.

Well, I hope there isn’t a couch in your future. Good luck today.

Thanks, but she’s put up with me for 11 years, I doubt there will be a couch in the future.

“Oh, he might have the couch tonight,” you laugh a little, honestly surprised it took 11 years for him to accidentally say something.

“Looking back at all the photos, he is wearing a wedding ring, how did we not see that?” You hear one of the Mercedes drivers say outside the garage.

“You saw the video?” Daniel asks as you playfully glare at him.

“I did. I have a winning strategy for you, so maybe you can move off the couch tonight. Lose and you stay there longer,” you tease. Being his race engineer helps so much because you can subtly say things and no one picks it up, and any interactions between you seem normal.

“Yes, Mrs. Ricciardo,” he smiles and goes to get changed for the race.

Last car in, good luck Daniel

I don’t need luck, I have you guiding my race

Ok, Daniel, whatever you say

The strategy works out well, and planning for the hotter heat was a smart move. Christian hasn’t told you not to race with Max, so you push Daniel for the overtake.

“Come on, honey badger,” you whisper. Daniel has had the better strategy and better pacing, all day so he easily overtakes and keeps the lead through the final five laps.

Okay Daniel, last lap, Verstappen behind, keep the pace.

Does this mean I’m off the couch?

Focus.

Sorry.

And that’s P1, P1 very good, Daniel. Red Bull 1-2. You are officially off of the couch.

LET’S GO! Thank you team! I couldn’t have done it without you guys. Thanks for the brilliant strategy, and for letting me off the couch. Best wife ever.

Mhmm. Happy 10 years. Parc Ferme is clear for you, pull in so the team can celebrate.

Let’s just say that F1 TV streaming your radio broke the internet, and the drivers when they all got out of their cars and into the garages. You followed the team to wear Daniel was parking and the team pushed you to the front. Daniel celebrated there with the team, taking his helmet off and kissing you. The team wolf whistles around you.

“Go to the podium, we will celebrate with you there,” you push him in the direction of where he needs to go. Unknowingly to Daniel, Red Bull chooses you to represent them for the Constructors Trophy.

“Mate, how did you keep that a secret?” Oscar asks Daniel in the debrief room.

“It wasn’t much of a secret. Everyone in Red Bull knows most of the relationship,” Max says and Daniel nods along.

“Honestly, I don’t know how people didn’t know,” Daniel laughs. The FIA tells them to start heading out to the Podium and Daniel searches the crowd for you when he steps out, but can’t find you. He’s shocked but extremely delighted when you step out and stand beside Oscar for the Constructors trophy. The mischievous glint in his eye is a loud warning that you will be sprayed with champagne. You happily stand through the national anthems, clap when Daniel is handed the trophy, and beam with joy as you are handed the second trophy. Soon enough you are presented with champagne and the go ahead to spray it is given.

“Max!” you squeal and hide behind him as you both spray Daniel.

“Quit hiding my wife!” Daniel laughs and in a split second, your cover is gone as Max moves to spray Oscar. You and Daniel both pour the champagne in each other’s mouth.

“Ew, that’s almost as bad as if you guys were to kiss,” Max laughs. Daniel gives you a devilish smile, pulling you close to him and capturing you lips with his.

“The kids are going to be so grossed out,” you laugh and Oscar looks almost horrified.

“THE KIDS?!”

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo imagines #oscar piastri #max verstappen #christian horner

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81pastrys · 3 months ago

Note

Hey I have a Lando smut request if ur feeling up for it. Hear me out: Lando and guided masturbation. Reader and Lando had a small petty argument over smth and readers too stubborn to admit Landos right and Lando being Lando is also being stubborn (rightfully so in this case) but bc they're avoiding each other they're both becoming more needy and so one night reader tries to get herself off but it's not working cuz it's not the same as having Lando do the work and he catches her and basically refuses to help her out in any way except by guiding her (and mean Lando would defo be present here imo) and making her torture herself through his instructions and refusing to help her until she's done what he asked (and until she admits she's wrong). And some lighthearted aftercare at the end of all this filth 😭. Apologies for the long request hope u have a grt day

Guided Mastur Meditation

Summary— She finds herself ignoring Lando after a telemetry fight and can’t help herself trying to ease the sexual tension, but Lando interrupts and ‘helps’

Warnings— SMUT ; teasing ; guided masturbation ; fingering ; aftercare provided

A/N— uhm hello?! I LOVEEE this

Lando One Shot List

“You’re wrong, I saw the data Lando!” She argued, standing her ground in the argument. She was saying that Oscar had the upper hand and bottled it in the race, but Lando argued the opposite.

“No he didn’t, he may have had a better set up, but he didn’t have any upper hand.” Lando stayed calm, he understood the data a lot better than she did, even with her engineering degree. “They set up our cars how we ask them to, he always has a different advantage.”

“Lan, Oscar bottled it.” She calmed down now, not as upset. “Half the turns were over shot and the other half was alright, you barely overshot any!”

“Undershot, love, he undershot the turns.” Lando corrected. She groaned and walked off. He silently laughed to himself. He opened his computer and continued looking to the telemetry. He went over his and Oscar’s. Proving his point to be right.

For the next few days they slept facing away from each other, the stupid argument and their stubborn attitudes clashing. It was probably the longest they had gone without getting each other off and it weighed on them. Her especially, wanting an orgasm from his hands, his mouth, she got wet thinking of it.

She went to their bedroom and played on her phone before sparking the idea to get herself off. Lando was busy right? She searched her socials for a good fan fiction of Lando and put her hand down her skirt that she wore.

She read and slipped a few fingers under her panties, soaked with her arousal. Not that ignoring Lando turned her on, but his calm demeanor throughout it all does. Her fingers gathering the slick, making it easier to rub circles on her sensitive clit.

“He touched her with fervor as he slipped his fingers into her tight cunt” She followed the fan fiction to a T, although she was not gaining any satisfaction. His thick, rough fingers just felt so much better than her small, nimble ones. It wasn’t the same and she groaned at the relief she couldn’t get from her own hands.

Lando decided he was going to show her proof as to how she was wrong and walked into their shared bedroom, her hand pulling back quickly as she closed her phone and sat up. She didn’t think he noticed but the smirk on his face said otherwise.

“Does ignoring me make you aroused?” He asked with a seductive hint. Her face flushed with pinks and reds. “I was going to prove to you how wrong you were, but clearly you had other plans.”

She thought she would get the relief she wanted from him, but she was incorrect for thinking that. “I’m not wrong.” She mumbled, hoping for some sort of rough sex to assert his dominance in how he was right by fucking her dumb.

“You can say that you are right, but we both know you aren’t.” He said, still not making a move from the doorway with his arms crossed. “Go ahead, don’t let me interrupt you.” She looked to him nervously. “Make it easier for yourself, take those off.” He was getting hard thinking about how he could ruin her, or he can just tease and edge her by using his words. “I don’t plan on helping you much.”

She did as told and took off the skirt and panties, tossing them aside. She sat against the headboard, still no motions from Lando. He looked at her to continue and when she didn’t, only then did he move. Her breath hitched. He sat behind her and rubbed her arms while kissing her neck and face. The closest they had been since the argument.

“Touch yourself for me love, make yourself feel good yeah?” He whispered, his voice husky and deep. He watched as her hand moved back and rubbed small circles on her clit. “That’s it, how does that feel love?” He taunted.

She let out a quiet moan and moved with more aggressive circles. When he was satisfied with her small whines and moans he grabbed her hand and moved it down more, allowing two of her nimble fingers to slip in. “Please.” She moaned. He was teasing her with his words, she didn’t dare picking up speed.

“Curl your fingers for me, touch that sensitive spot you love.” He instructed. Her leg twitched when she did. He smiled and kissed her ear as he continued guiding her. “Move your fingers love, slowly, not too fast.” He watched as she listened, moving her hand at a snail like pace, in and out. The wet noises echoing in the quiet room.

He rubbed her thigh and the other moved her hair. “Lan..” She breathed, leaning back. Her head fell perfectly on his shoulder as her mouth hung open. She could feel his dick hard in his pants as she leaned back, slightly teasing him.

“Go faster, get yourself close.” He teased her still, knowing it takes her a long time to get herself to a climax. “Curl your fingers when you thrust them in, try to keep a steady pace love you’ve got it.” He praised. She felt a climax bubbling and he could sense it by the way she was squirming and the tone of her noises. He grabbed her wrist and moved her hand away.

“What? Lan.” She whined, kicking her feet down and straining her hand against his. He kissed at her neck and she relaxed at the slight pleasure he was providing. One hand intertwined with his fingers and the other in the hold of his by her wrist, dripping with her arousal. “I was so close please?”

He laughed into her neck and gave her one more kiss. “Am I right?” He asked. She whined and spat out that he was but he didn’t believe her. “No, no, I want to hear you say why I’m right.” Her legs continued to move as she tried prying one of her hands away.

“Oscar didn’t bottle shit, I’m sorry.” She whined at him. “Please Lan, let me finish.” Once her legs stopped moving and her breathing calmed, he let her hand go. “You edged me and I told you that you were right, please!!”

Her hand returned but she couldn’t get herself close again, his words stopping and replaced by kisses. “I need more of an explanation as to how I’m right, love.” He taunted her again. Her unsteady hand not getting her anywhere.

“Oscar didn’t have an upper hand, you did- fuck.” She moaned. He removed her hand again and before she could protest, he rubbed small, slow circles on her clit. She whimpered and held onto his arm with her slicked fingers.

“So wet, love.” He said, focusing on teasing her more. “We should argue more often, if it gets you this aroused.” Lando smiled at her state, head leaned back, mouth opened, legs lax against the bed, her hands both tensing at his hand or arm.

“You were right, please lan, don’t tease me again.” She said breathlessly at his slow movements. He finally listened and his fingers took over, doing as he told her earlier. Thrusting in and out, curling as they entered. Her breathing picked up and he felt her walls constricting against his fingers, a climax right on the brink.

“Close already?” He asked. “I shouldn’t let you finish, telling me I’m wrong and that my teammate had an upper hand on me?” He teased and she whined again. His fingers picked up their pace, the slick loud and wet on his hand. He moved their intertwined fingers across her stomach to hold her still while he finished her off.

“Oh my god, fuck lan!” She moaned. Her body crumbled at the orgasm like he had predicted, him following her movements forward to help her ride out the high and not leaving her to have a ruined orgasm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She strained.

“That’s it, such a good girl.” He praised, usuing his strength to lean her back against him. She closed her legs on his hand as his fingers worked her slowly now. She panted as he removed the torturous fingers. “How’s it feel to be wrong?” He teased her still.

Her mind was cloudy, not caring one bit about being wrong anymore. Her ears rang as he coaxed her through. “I want to be wrong more often.” She panted at him. He erupted in small giggles as she relaxed against him. He rubbed her thigh, letting her body have a break.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” He moved from behind her, adjusting his own issue. He was going to deal with that later. For right now he was going to care for his girlfriend who he just gave a mind blowing orgasm. He returned with a damp towel to clean her up.

“You said you had proof that you were right?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow. He shut her up quickly as he cleaned her up, still sensitive from the orgasm. “I said you were right!” She protested as he cleaned her up, longer than usual.

“I know, I just like seeing you squirm and tell me over and over how right I am.” He finished and kissed her lips.

They both looked at the telemetry and it sparked another fight, this time he fucked her dumb and she never disagreed with him on telemetry again.

This is a long one! Absolutely LOVE the request btw

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia

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anaktoria-of-the-moon · 2 months ago

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The first time I saw the “empty spaces” tag (which was yesterday) I thought dolls were an extension of mech fiction, that they were heavily cyberaugmented people - muscle replaced with durable, flex-carbon synthweaves; skin substituted with thermal-resistant ceramic plating, with pliable polymer fabrics to fill the gaps and allow movement; joints made of silicon carbide and martensitic alloy, driven by motors that never die; a heart that beats three point six billion times a second, a tiny sun made of fissile material caged in a chassis of tantalum. Perfect eyes that see singular motes of dust a mile away and do not need wetting and will not yield to puncture or pressure. A face that can be anything - human, if you like, or a festival-goer’s animal god mask, or an ever-shifting screen, or a sheet of indifferent carbon steel to match the brutal and unchanging pace of your heartbeat, the augmented fearlessness of your modified brain.

And witches, I thought, were like pilots, and also engineers, the keepers and caretakers of the highly efficient dolls who served as their blades, their spies, their wings and eyes and ears. Witches I imagined were unassuming individuals who went unnoticed in the outside world, as unnoticed as their creations were not, and inside, in their lairs, donned helmets that sparked and flared with torrents of information - three point six billion times a second - enough to kill any regular person, but with a witch’s brain, shot through with silver threading and lovingly engineered through a homebrew of handmade viruses, all those data, all the eyes and ears and hands and sword-sharp legs, become as clear as the future to an oracle of old.

The dolls are marvels of outward engineering; the witches, their inward counterparts. While a doll might walk through a crowded square and cause all around it to flinch back in awe, or shock, or fear, while there is nothing quiet about the way a doll flickers (like frames caught in a flashbulb) a hundred meters at a time toward some unwitting target and slits their throat with unthinking and graceful precision and then vanishes before you know what has happened, before the splash of blood has time to hit the ground - while a doll is one you know you must fear - the witch is the true danger.

Because it is the witch who guides each doll; it is the witch who tells the infernal heart to keep beating, the eyes to keep seeking, who spends her nights polishing and adjusting and replacing each high-grade ceramic ball joint, who scrubs the white plating clean of rust-colored stains, who uses the blood money from each kill to buy ever better upgrades, for her own head as much as their forms. It is the witch who whispers nightmare into their iron skulls, and then, once they’ve had their fill of it, it is the witch who turns off their fears again and switches dirge for lullaby, so that she might go mad in their stead.

The dolls are the body, the heart. The witch is the mind and soul.

#dollposting #dolls #witches #empty spaces #mechposting #mechs #mecha #mech pilot #microfiction #cyberpunk #original fic

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littjara-mirrorlake · 9 months ago

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Principles of Asexual Heredity in the Phyrexian Organism

We know these things for sure about Phyrexian reproductive biology:

Phyrexians reproduce asexually; it is well known that one drop of oil, from one individual, is enough to birth a population of offspring (such as all of New Phyrexia) or convert a non-Phyrexian organism.

Phyrexians natively born of the oil ("core-born") inherit mnemonic and phenotypic (appearance) information from the oil that created them. For example, core-born Phyrexians of the Orthodoxy naturally develop porcelain metal; it is an inherited, lineage-specific trait. The oil also carries ancestral knowledge such as the Phyrexian language and echoes of history.

The five suns of Mirrodin somehow caused the originally mono-black lineage of Phyrexian oil to splinter into five colored lineages. They may have all arisen from one drop of oil, but they are phenotypically diverse.

(Little canon data is given about the genealogies of core-born newts, but it would most logically follow that Phyrexians descend from single-parent lines, a family tree with continually forking branches and no unions of mating as with sexually reproducing organisms.)

The mechanism I propose for the diversification of Phyrexians on Mirrodin is mana-induced mutagenesis. As a deeply magical material, it follows that Phyrexian oil is prone to being influenced by concentrated sources of mana, such as the suns of Mirrodin (which were trapped in the core, in close proximity to the progenitor oil, during the birth of New Phyrexia). Exposure to mana can thus cause de novo mutation in glistening oil that manifests as novel phenotypic traits in resulting Phyrexians. These mutations are not random, guiding phenotypes to align with the color causing the mutation.

Then there is the issue of inheritance via phyresis, or compleating another organism which was not originally Phyrexian by introducing Phyrexian genetic material into its body. To keep it simple I will begin with mono-color infections: an organism is infected with oil from a Phyrexian whose lineage traits (i.e. white-aligned Orthodoxy lineage, porcelain) may not match their own color identity.

Hypothesis: Phenotype (what color/type of Phyrexian an infected individual becomes) is determined solely by the color of infection, not the subject's own colors. Crucially this isn't the same as color identity; i.e. one can be a porcelain Phyrexian and still have a Boros identity by gaining red-aligned values or retaining them from a pre-compleation life, even though their phenotype is white only. (Much like how elves are associated with green mana, but Simic-identity elves exist.) This phenotype color, in turn, is also what would be passed down to any newts the turned individual creates, or subjects they themselves infect.

MOM corroborates this hypothesis. A mono-black-aligned human, upon exposure to Progress Engine oil, becomes a Phyrexian with a pure blue-aligned phenotype. The changes to their color identity are additive--they retain black alignment--but their phenotype is blue only. All the transforming creatures of MOM follow this pattern.

However, Planeswalkers in ONE did not. For example, Jace was infected by Vraska, who had both black color identity and a black/Thanes-aligned phenotype, but spontaneously developed eyestalks and other traits characteristic of blue Phyrexians from the Progress Engine.

New hypothesis: Individuals with a strong enough internal concentration of mana, i.e. Planeswalkers, cause oil to mutate in vivo to align with their own color, much like how the suns mutated oil in Mirrodin's core. This further shows that mana-induced mutagenesis is color-specific. This should however create a new blue lineage, independent of the Progress Engine, also spawned of blue mana but not necessarily identical. I do not have an explanation for Jace's resemblance to the Progress Engine besides convergent "evolution."

Proposed further study (not ethics-approved): Infect a colorless Planeswalker, i.e. Ugin, with colored oil to test whether a null color identity still has mutagenic effects.

To complicate this, though, we also have examples of Phyrexians who are chimeras of multiple colors, combining traits of different lineages. Vishgraz was assembled with material (genetic and otherwise) from a white, a green, and a black Phyrexian. It makes sense that Phyrexians put together in this patchwork way could have a combination phenotype. Atraxa was not assembled from scratch, but infected with four separate colors at once. Maybe there are just four types of oil circulating in her body?

I am, of course, interested in inheritance. If these Phyrexians show combined phenotypes, what colored trait(s) do they actually pass down? Do they have individual "cells" that are still only white, only green, only black, etc., or did the colors somehow combine on the most basic hereditary unit level? Thankfully, we actually do have an example of a "chimera" Phyrexian asexually producing core-born offspring: Ixhel.

Ixhel shares multiple colors with Atraxa, not only in her color identity but also apparent phenotype (she has both Orthodoxy porcelain and Swarm copper). Two possibilities here: 1) She truly inherited both genetically; Atraxa passes down multiple colors when she reproduces. 2) Her "core" physiology is still rooted in one color, i.e. white porcelain, and the green parts were added after the fact. I don't have an answer for this, but it's intriguing to consider.

Proposed further study: Attempt to isolate the smallest "unit" of Phyrexian heredity (one single nanobot of the oil) and test if it can only store information about one color, or multiple. See if a germ is formed from only one of these units, as with eukaryotic zygotes, or from multiple.

My theories of Phyrexian reproductive biology remain highly speculative, but every new piece of data adds fuel to this fire, and I have plenty to elaborate on in later posts. If only the interplanar ethics committee would stop delaying my research.

#here from VERY POPULAR DEMAND #mtg #magic the gathering #phyrexian #new phyrexia #speculative biology #atraxa #ixhel #vishgraz #jace beleren #vraska #phyrexia all will be one #march of the machine #xenobiology

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 11 months ago

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Trouble in Oklahoma

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

summary: Tyler and Y/N reconcile after a heated argument during a tornado chase.

The roar of the EF3 tornado was deafening, but it couldn’t drown out the heated argument between Tyler Owens and his girlfriend Y/N. They were in Tyler’s truck, barreling down a dirt road as they chased the monstrous storm. Y/N, a seasoned tornado wrangler, had been trying to guide Tyler, but their differing opinions had reached a boiling point.

“Tyler, I told you to take the left at the last road! We’re losing valuable time!” Y/N shouted over the rumble of the truck’s engine and the distant roar of the tornado.

“I’m the one driving, Y/N! You think I don’t know how to chase a storm? I’ve been doing this for years!” Tyler snapped back, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with anger. “It’s not about who’s been doing it longer, it’s about following the best path! You never listen to me!”

“Oh, I listen. But you think you always know better, don’t you? You’re reckless!” Tyler’s voice was rising, frustration evident in every word.

“Reckless? You’re the one who keeps taking unnecessary risks! I’m just trying to get the best data!” Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, her hands shaking with anger. “Stop the truck, Tyler. Now.”

“What? No! We’re in the middle of a chase, Y/N!” Tyler argued, but Y/N was already opening the door.

“I said stop the truck!” she yelled, her tone brooking no argument.

Reluctantly, Tyler slammed on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt on the muddy road, and Y/N jumped out, grabbing her gear and camera from the back. Tyler followed, still shouting.

“You’re insane! There’s a tornado right behind us, and you want to do this now?” he shouted over the wind that was beginning to pick up.

Y/N shot him a glare as she secured her gear. “I’m not doing this with you right now. I need to get closer for the data!”

Tyler’s eyes widened as he looked past Y/N. The tornado had shifted direction and was bearing down on them fast. “Y/N, get back in the truck! Now!”

But it was too late. The tornado was upon them, and the truck lifted into the air like a toy. The sound was like a freight train as debris flew around them. Y/N’s eyes widened in horror as she saw the truck lifted off the ground, and she knew they had seconds to act.

“Run!” she screamed, grabbing Tyler’s hand.

They sprinted towards a nearby dock, the wind pushing against them with terrifying force. Reaching the dock, they dove underneath, clinging to the posts as the tornado raged overhead. Tyler wrapped his arms around one of the sturdy wooden posts, his body pressing against Y/N’s to shield her from the debris.

“Hold on tight!” Tyler yelled, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.

They clung to the posts with all their strength, the tornado ripping at them with relentless fury. The dock shook violently, and debris flew past them, but the sturdy posts held firm. Y/N’s heart pounded as she clung to Tyler, the argument forgotten in the face of sheer survival.

Minutes felt like hours, but finally, the roar began to fade. The tornado moved on, leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Slowly, they released their grip on the posts and crawled out from under the dock. They were covered in dirt and debris, their clothes torn and faces smudged, but they were alive.

Tyler looked at Y/N, his expression a mix of relief and lingering frustration. “Baby, are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her eyes meeting his. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “We need to talk about this, but not now. Let’s get back to safety.”

Y/N nodded again, her anger dissipating in the wake of their shared ordeal. “Agreed.”

The drive home was silent, tension hanging heavy in the air. When they finally pulled into the driveway, Y/N bolted from the truck, storming into their house without a word. Tyler followed her, knowing they needed to clear the air.

“Y/N, wait!” he called, but she didn’t slow down, heading straight for their bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Tyler stood in the hallway, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew they had to talk, but pushing her now would only make things worse. Instead, he decided to show her how much he cared, how sorry he was for their fight.

He quietly walked to the bathroom and started running a hot bath, adding her favorite lavender-scented bath salts. He lit a candle, placing it on the edge of the tub to cast a warm, soothing glow. Next, he went to the kitchen, grabbing her favorite bottle of wine and his preferred whiskey, setting the drinks down on a small table beside the bath.

Taking a deep breath, Tyler approached their bedroom door and knocked gently.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The door swung open, and there she stood, her eyes still flashing with anger and hurt. But before she could say anything, they both blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Their simultaneous apologies hung in the air for a moment before they both let out a small, tense laugh. Tyler reached for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“I set up a bath for us,” he said softly. “Why don’t you grab some pajamas for both of us? Let’s just relax and talk.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She grabbed a set of pajamas for them both while Tyler led her to the bathroom. The sight of the candle-lit bath, the wine and whiskey waiting beside it, melted some of the tension from her shoulders.

“Tyler, this is…thank you,” she said quietly.

He smiled softly, reaching out to help her undress. He took his time, slowly peeling away her clothes, pressing warm kisses to her skin as he did. Each touch, each kiss, was an apology, a promise to do better.

Y/N’s breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone, his hands gentle as he slipped her shirt off. He moved down, kissing her shoulder, her arm, her wrist, before finally helping her step out of her jeans. She reached for him, and he let her undress him with the same slow, deliberate care.

Once they were both undressed, Tyler guided her into the warm, fragrant water, slipping in behind her so she could lean back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they both took a moment to just breathe, the tension of the day slowly ebbing away.

“I’m sorry for not listening,” Tyler murmured against her ear. “I should have trusted your instincts out there.”

Y/N turned her head slightly to look at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. We need to work together, not against each other.”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

They sat in the bath for a long time, sipping their drinks and talking quietly, their earlier anger replaced by a renewed sense of connection. When the water began to cool, Tyler helped Y/N out of the tub, wrapping her in a warm towel and gently drying her off.

They dressed in the pajamas she had picked out, and Tyler pulled her close, brushing a tender kiss across her lips. “Let’s get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft with affection. “I love you, Tyler.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he whispered, holding her close.

They climbed into bed, the day’s storms now a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of their love and the promise of better days ahead.

#tyler owen’s x you #tyler owen x reader #tyler owens #twisterfanfiction #twisters #glen powell #glen powell x reader

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delaneydiaries · 1 month ago

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10th House Careers

—Aries in the 10th House

Career Fields: Entrepreneur, athlete, firefighter, military, startup founder, stunt performer, motivational speaker

Vibe: Bold leader. Known for trailblazing, risk-taking, and charging ahead before the rest even have a plan

—Taurus in the 10th House

Career Fields: Finance, real estate, interior design, art dealing, luxury sales, farming, architecture

Vibe: Steady, success-built brick by brick. They create lasting legacies, often in beauty or security.

—Gemini in the 10th House

Career Fields: Writing, journalism, teaching, marketing, social media, podcasting, public relations

Vibe: Talks the talk and walks it too. A chameleon in the professional world.

—Cancer in the 10th House

Career Fields: Social work, therapy, childcare, nursing, hospitality, real estate, psychology, education

Vibe: The caretaker turned boss. Soft leadership with emotional intelligence.

—Leo in the 10th House

Career Fields: Entertainment, performing arts, politics, fashion, leadership, motivational speaking

Vibe: Center stage CEO. Craves recognition and knows how to shine in the public eye.

—Virgo in the 10th House

Career Fields: Healthcare, editing, data analysis, nutrition, teaching, research, administrative work

Vibe: The quiet expert. Precision and service-oriented excellence.

—Libra in the 10th House

Career Fields: Law, design, fashion, diplomacy, HR, beauty industry, art, public relations

Vibe: Polished professionalism. Brings harmony and aesthetics to high places.

—Scorpio in the 10th House

Career Fields: Psychology, investigation, forensics, finance, medicine, occult work, crisis intervention

Vibe: Power behind the curtain. Strategic, intense, and unafraid of the underworld.

—Sagittarius in the 10th House

Career Fields: Travel industry, higher education, publishing, philosophy, law, coaching, politics

Vibe: Globe-trotting guru. Wants to inspire through ideas, experience, and vision.

—Capricorn in the 10th House

Career Fields: Corporate leadership, finance, law, engineering, government, business ownership

Vibe: Born for the boardroom. Ambition + discipline = unstoppable climb.

—Aquarius in the 10th House

Career Fields: Tech, innovation, activism, science, astrology, nonprofit, entertainment, aviation

Vibe: Future-focused rebel. Breaks the mold to build a better one.

—Pisces in the 10th House

Career Fields: Art, film, music, healing arts, spiritual work, therapy, photography, ocean-related work

Vibe: The mystic in a suit. Creative, compassionate, and often guided by a dream or cause.

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thoughtportal · 4 months ago

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With growing concerns over online privacy and securing personal data, more people than ever are considering alternatives to Google products.

After all, Google's business model essentially revolves around data collection and advertisements, both of which infringe on your privacy. More data means better (more targeted) ads and consequently, more revenue for Google. The company pulled in over $230 billion in ad revenue last year — and that number continues to climb higher.

But the word is getting out. A growing number of people are seeking alternatives to Google products that respect their privacy and data. Since you are reading this, we assume you are one of them.

Small steps to restoring your privacy

When beginning the journey of restoring digital privacy, some people get overwhelmed with all the work involved, and perhaps give up. Don't let that be you. Understand that you don't need to do everything right away. Instead, start small and go step by step at your own pace. With each step in the process, you get more security and control over your personal data, which is a small victory.

So don't be overwhelmed and remember that there's no “one size fits all” with this process. Even small changes, such as using a private search engine and a privacy-focused browser, are victories. So push on in your quest for more privacy and celebrate each step of the journey.

#article #google #de google #google alternatives #fuck google #search engines #email #internet privacy #privacy #data #internte #resource #degoogle

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lampridius · 13 days ago

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And we back again bois

Platonic Mydei, Boothill, Gallagher and Phainon with teen!reader who escaped from slavery but is still wanted by people that are involved with such things. And like reader usually stays quite close to them out of fear but one time they disappear from their side and all they hear from a distance is reader screaming.

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘬𝘢𝘪: ꒱ 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭 ✴ ───────── ❝ 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ❞ (𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧) －𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘶𝘴 ．．• ♡︎

─ .✦ 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀: mydei, boothill, gallagher, phainon ──── .✦ 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 | 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 | 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 ──── .✦ 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨:

you had been clinging to his coat sleeve, walking just behind him - silent, steady, always wary. you knew they were out there - hunters, slavers, the kind that didn’t stop. but you trusted him because he sees you.

then it happens. one breath you’re there. the next - silence. and then: your scream. raw, distant.

mydei drops immediately. his instincts snap - an explorer turned detective. he calculates distance, direction, probable threats. every moment counts.

without hesitation he begins to run - voice sharp but quiet. “stay low, stay safe,” he calls back, even though he can’t see you. mobs of shady figures shift in the shadows; his aura dips. he moves fast but carefully, pulling you into the periphery of his sight.

he finds you trapped in an alley, pressed against a dented cargo crate. panic in your eyes, but also relief.

he doesn’t hesitate. he fights - sharp, controlled, decisive. then he’s guiding you out, voice clipped but urgent: “i told them not to touch you. i’ll make damn sure you’re never theirs to take again.”

when you sob into him, he holds you steady, warm and guarded. he’ll walk beside you for the rest of your life if that’s the promise you need.

you’d been quiet, pressed against his side as he led you through neon-lit backstreets. your survival scar looked low-key. until it wasn’t.

one second you’re there. then: “nooooo!” it rips through the night. you scream, and it’s enough to freeze him - but only for a heartbeat.

then he’s sprinting - spurs clinking as he tears through the night. everything inside him goes wild, but he stays sharp - eyes scanning, revolvers drawn and ready.

he reaches you pinned against a metal door, desperation in your eyes. he snaps one shot toward the threat - loud, demanding - and the slaver drops, startled. then another - quiet, warning. the street holds its breath.

he grabs your hand, yanking you backwards and off your feet to your safe zone. his voice is rough but steady, whispering broken promises through gritted teeth: “no one’s snatching you. not tonight. not ever.”

he cradles you as you shake, pressing his coat around you. deep in that moment, he’s not the gunslinger. he’s your rock. your home.

you’d been leaning into him in the dim light of a cramped saloon - shoulder brushing his, hands cold. your instincts told you keep close. he let you.

then: “aaahh!” you vanish. the crowd parts as you’re yanked off your feet and pulled into a dark corner.

gallagher moves fast - hands on your captor’s arm, pulling you away, voice rich with authority: “hands off. she’s under my protection.” a bar brawl ignites, but he’s unafraid. he stands his ground, calm in his rage.

when you free yourself into his chest, he doesn’t lecture. just murmurs: “don’t ever sneak off like that again, you hear?” and presses a soft kiss to your head.

your panic shakes him too - but he hides it. he waits with you, holds you, stays until the tremors stop, and your heartbeat comes back in time with his. then he buys you a drink - plain water - and talks with you until your spirit and composure return.

you’d been walking beside him through low-lit corridors, the hum of data and distant engines soothing. you trusted him. until he no longer saw you.

your scream echoes - mechanical lights shaking, alarms pulsing from nearby rooms. he freezes, then moves faster than you thought possible, footfalls silent, mind scanning probabilities.

he emerges in time to see you pushed against a maintenance door, terror wide on your face. he steps forward, voice calm but firm: “step away.” his presence shifts - the pragmatic tactician who never hesitates. The captor stumbles, startled, then runs.

he presses close, checks your pulse, instruments to your wrist in a blink. when he confirms nothing is broken, he sets aside his tools and wraps you in his arms, voice quiet: “didn’t lose you.” His voice is warm logic - soft, controlled, certain.

he leads you back to safety, a steadying hand at your back. he stays until you’re fully calm, as certain in comfort as he is in crisis.

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pucksandpower · 2 years ago

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hi love!! i’m not sure if you’re talking requests so completely ignore this if you’re not but, i’m in love with your grid kids series and i was wondering if you could do something with the grid kids that goes more into readers line of work?🫶🏼

Grid Kids: She Means Business

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: your career as a renowned sports psychologist means you often work with your husband and grid kids

Series Masterlist

Sebastian Vettel: Meet Cute

Red Bull Racing’s pit wall is a hive of activity during the practice session for the Monaco Grand Prix. Engineers, strategists, and everyone in between are glued to their screens, analyzing data and communicating with the drivers.

You’re there in an official capacity, hired by Red Bull Racing to conduct a series of workshops to help the team, particularly the drivers, cope with the mental pressures of racing. With a headset on, you’re mostly observing, making notes on communication dynamics, when suddenly a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

You look up, slightly startled, to see none other than Sebastian Vettel, the team’s star driver, smiling down at you. His mop of hair sweaty and slightly tousled from the helmet he just took off after finishing up with FP2, the impish twinkle in his eyes making you feel … something.

“Oh, no. Not at all. I was just ...” you stammer, suddenly feeling a bit out of your element.

Sebastian sits down next to you, leaning in conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I think I’m here to see what the mysterious new hire is up to.”

You chuckle, “Well, if you must know, I’m observing team dynamics, communication patterns ... very thrilling stuff.”

He feigns a gasp, “So you’re spying on us?”

“In the most professional way possible,” you reply with a smirk.

Sebastian laughs, the sound genuine and contagious. “Well, I hope we’re giving you some good material.”

You lean in this time, matching his playful tone, “You? Always.”

There’s a brief pause, a moment of charged silence, before Sebastian grins, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You smile back, “You should.”

The two of you chat easily, talking about the intricacies of the sport and the importance of mental preparedness.

As the session winds down and Mark Webber also makes his way back into the garage, Sebastian looks over at you, “You know, for someone who’s here to observe, you’re quite the distraction.”

Your cheeks warm, “Is that so?”

He nods, mock serious, “Absolutely. It’s a problem. I think we might need a one-on-one session to discuss it further.”

You laugh, “I’ll have to check my schedule but I’m sure we can arrange something.”

Sebastian winks, “Looking forward to it,” and with that he’s off to debrief with his engineers.

As you remove your headset, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This job assignment just got a lot more interesting.

Max Verstappen: Unloading the Past

Ten years later, the Red Bull Racing hospitality suite is buzzing with activity: the clink of glasses, murmurs of conversation, and the distant roar of engines echoing from the track. But in a quiet corner, there’s a space that feels a world apart.

Soft, ambient lighting casts a serene glow, a few comfortable chairs are arranged in a circle, and on the coffee table lies an assortment of fidget tools, from stress balls to sensory mats. This is your corner, specially designed for individual sessions.

Max Verstappen hesitates at the entrance. His eyes dart around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. It’s clear that beneath that façade of unshakable confidence lies vulnerability.

You rise, offering a comforting smile. “Hey, Max. Ready?”

He gives a tentative nod, following you in. “I’m not ... I’m not sure how to do this,” he admits, voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you assure him, guiding him to a chair. “There’s no right or wrong way. Just start wherever you feel comfortable.”

Taking a deep breath, Max begins, his words tumbling out, “It’s just ... sometimes, when I’m out there on the track, I feel like that kid again.” His voice cracks and he pauses, searching for the right words. “The kid who always felt he wasn’t good enough no matter how hard I tried.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue, “Tell me about that kid.”

As Max delves into memories of his childhood, stories of relentless training sessions, the weight of expectations, and the struggle to fit in, you listen. Every word, every pause, every shift in his tone paints a picture of a boy who was thrust into the world of racing at a young age, grappling with the colossal pressure to prove himself.

You gently prod, asking him to revisit specific incidents, encouraging him to express his feelings, and offering insights when necessary.

As the session progresses, Max’s demeanor changes. His initial hesitation gives way to openness, vulnerability transforms into strength, and slowly, the pieces start falling into place.

“You know,” you say softly, “It’s natural to carry the scars of our past with us but it’s important to remember they don’t define us.”

Max looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “But how do I move past it?”

You want so badly to reach out and hug him — this young man who you consider a son in all but blood — but hold yourself back. You’re both here for work and, right now, Max needs you as a professional and not a mom.

“By acknowledging it, understanding it, and then channeling it. Every time you get in the car, it’s an opportunity to rewrite that narrative. Not for anyone else but for yourself.”

Max takes a moment, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a weight visibly lifted off his shoulders.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Anytime, Max. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. Oh, and remember, we’re all meeting at that little Italian place Charles recommended for dinner.”

There’s a lightness in Max’s voice that wasn’t there before, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles Leclerc: Bittersweet Memories

The setting sun casts a somber glow across the paddock at Suzuka Circuit. It’s a track rich with history, triumphs, and heartbreaks. For Charles Leclerc, it’s where he lost Jules Bianchi, his godfather, mentor, and friend.

You find Charles seated alone in a quiet part of the Ferrari motorhome, gazing out the window. The overflowing sadness in his eyes nearly makes you stop in your tracks.

“Hey,” you greet gently, not wanting to startle him. “Mind if I join you?”

He offers a small nod, his gaze still distant.

Sitting down next to him, you allow a comfortable silence to settle, giving him the space to open up when he’s ready. Moments pass before Charles finally speaks, his voice tinged with melancholy.

“Every time I come here,” he starts, “it feels like I’m reliving that day. The memories, the pain, it all just floods back.”

You nod, understandingly, “Grief has a way of doing that, especially when tied to such a tangible reminder.”

Charles looks down, fiddling with his bracelet. “It’s hard, you know? Racing on the same track where I lost him. Every corner, every turn, it’s like he’s there with me.”

Taking a deep breath, you offer, “Maybe that’s a way for you to connect with Jules. To honor his memory, to carry his spirit with you every lap you drive.”

Charles’ eyes shimmer with tears. “I want to make him proud, to show that everything he taught me wasn’t in vain. But sometimes, the weight of it all just becomes too much.”

You reach out, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. Grief isn’t linear. There will be days when it hits harder, especially in places like this. You just have to remember it’s not about racing against the pain but learning that it’s okay to race with it.”

He meets your gaze, searching for strength, “How do I do that?”

“By allowing yourself to feel, by acknowledging the pain, and by channeling it into your drive. Jules might not be here physically but he’s with you in spirit. And every time you get behind that wheel is another opportunity to show that.”

Charles takes a deep breath, absorbing your words. “Thank you,” he murmurs, a glimmer of determination returning to his eyes.

You give him a comforting smile. “I’m glad I could help, even if it’s just a little. We’re all here for you every step of the way.”

Lance Stroll: Nepo Babies Have Feelings Too

Inside the Aston Martin team lounge, screens show replays of the latest race, commentators discussing various drivers’ performance. One topic that often comes up is Lance Stroll. The chatter revolves around his father’s ownership of the team and whether Lance truly earned his seat or if he’s just a product of nepotism.

You notice Lance sitting a bit apart from the rest, headphones on but his face is a giveaway. The furrowed brows, the downward curve of his lips —he’s clearly overheard the unsubtle whispers.

You make your way over, gesturing to ask if he’d like some company. He nods, removing his headphones.

“Those comments,” you begin gently, “they don’t define you.”

Lance sighs, his frustration palpable. “It’s just ... no matter what I do, how hard I work, how much I improve, it always comes back to the same thing. That I’m only here because of my father.”

You nod, understanding the weight of such judgments. “It’s tough, Lance. But remember, others’ opinions of you are just that — opinions. They aren’t the truth and they most definitely are not your truth.”

He looks up, eyes searching. “But how do I prove them wrong? How do I show that I deserve to be here?”

“It starts with belief,” you say, leaning forward for emphasis, “belief in yourself. You’ve trained, you’ve raced, you’ve faced challenges head-on, and you’ve earned your spot. Your journey in F1 isn’t just about your last name. It’s about every late-night on the simulator, every risk taken on the track, every lap you’ve driven.”

Lance nods slowly, taking in your words. “But the chatter, it’s just so deafening sometimes.”

You offer a comforting smile. “You can’t control what others say but you can control how you react. Every time you’re on that track, you have the power to redefine the narrative, to let your skills speak louder than any spiteful words.”

Motivation straightens his hunched shoulders, the weight of doubt lifting slightly. “So focus on the drive, not the noise?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “Your talent, your dedication, that’s what matters. Let the world see Lance Stroll, the driver, not just Lance Stroll, the son.”

He chuckles, “Easier said than done.”

You wink, “That’s why you have a stellar support system. Lean on us whenever the noise gets too loud.”

George Russell: Comparing Comparisons

It’s a cool afternoon at the Silverstone Circuit and the entire paddock is buzzing with excitement. There’s an added layer of intrigue to the British Grand Prix this season. Lewis Hamilton, the seven-time world champion, will be racing alongside his much younger compatriot, George Russell, as teammates for the first time.

In the Mercedes team garage, George is meticulously going over his race data, replaying certain turns and maneuvers in his head. But an undertone of tension cuts through his concentration.

You walk over, picking up on his restlessness. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

He glances up, forcing a smile. “That obvious, huh? It’s just racing alongside Lewis … it’s a dream come true but also incredibly daunting.”

You nod, understanding the pressure of standing next to a giant in the sport. “It’s natural to feel that way. Lewis has carved a legacy in F1 and now you’re right beside him, sharing the same tracks in the same car.”

George sighs, “That’s the thing. Everywhere I turn, there’s a comparison. It’s not just about my performance anymore, it’s about how I measure up to him.”

You lean against the worktable, choosing your words carefully. “Here’s the thing, George. You can’t control comparisons or expectations but you can control your race. Every driver brings something unique to the track. Lewis has his legacy, yes, but you have your own journey and story still to build.”

George nods slowly, pondering over your words. “I want to be able to block all of that out. I’ve tried every single weekend so far. But it’s hard. How do I focus on my race and not the looming shadow beside me?”

“There’s no one right answer,” you sympathize. “Look, Lewis is an icon and racing alongside him is an opportunity to learn, to grow. But remember, you’ve earned your spot here. This is as much your race as it is his.”

He chuckles, “You always know exactly what to say.”

You smile, “Just a little wisdom from the sidelines. Trust your training, trust your instincts, and let George Russell shine.”

Lando Norris: Never Grow Up

It’s a warm and bright morning but the mood inside the McLaren motorhome doesn’t quite reflect the sunny atmosphere outside. Lando Norris sits in a corner, earbuds in, lost deep in thought. The usual playful energy that surrounds him is missing today.

You approach, sensing the shift in his demeanor. “Room for one more?”

He looks up, offering a half-hearted smile. “Sure.”

You settle beside him, waiting for him to speak. After a brief pause, Lando finally breaks the silence. “Do you think I’m too childish?”

You’re slightly taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

Lando sighs, “I overheard some comments from a few crew members from another team. They said that no one takes me seriously because I’m always joking around, always laughing. They think that I’m not mature enough for this sport.”

You consider his words, understanding where he’s coming from. "Formula 1 is intense. It’s demanding and requires immense focus and dedication. But it’s also about personality, about bringing your unique touch to the grid.”

He nods but still seems unsure. “But what if they’re right? What if I’m not taken seriously because of how I act?”

You lean in, ensuring he listens to every word. “Lando, your driving speaks volumes. Every time you get behind the wheel, you showcase your skill and your tenacity. The playful side of you, the side that loves to laugh and bring joy, that’s a part of who you are. It doesn’t diminish your talent or your dedication.”

Lando seems to ponder your words, “But it’s hard, you know? Feeling like I have to constantly prove myself. Like there’s something wrong with being myself.”

You take his hand into both of yours, “Every driver feels that way at some point. But remember, the beauty of this sport is that it’s as much about character as it is about speed. Your playful nature, your genuine laughter, it brings a freshness to the paddock. Embrace it.”

He chuckles, the familiar sparkle returning to his eyes. “So be me and let my racing do the talking?”

“Without a doubt,” you confirm. “Stay true to yourself. The world needs more genuine smiles and more authentic laughter. Then, on the track, just keep doing what you do best.”

Lando grins, “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

Mick Schumacher: What’s In a Name?

The aftermath of a race is evident inside the Haas garage. Engineers are engaged in post-race analysis, the car undergoing routine checks. A desolate Mick Schumacher sits among the organized chaos, his helmet still on, concealing his face.

Walking over, you notice the subtle tremors in his frame, the weight of something heavy weighing on his young shoulders. Gently, you tap on his helmet, signaling for him to lift it. When he does, the anguish in his eyes is palpable.

“You okay, Mick?” you ask softly.

He tries to answer but his voice breaks. Swallowing hard, he confesses, “I just ... I can’t do it. I can’t ever live up to the name.”

You know the gravity of his sentiment. Being Michael Schumacher’s son in Formula 1 is no easy feat. The legacy, the expectations, the constant comparisons that follow Mick everywhere — it’s overwhelming.

You sit down beside him, “I won’t pretend to understand the pressure you feel but remember this: You are not just your last name. You are Mick Schumacher, your own person with your own journey, your own challenges, and your own victories.”

“But everywhere I go, it’s always about him,” Mick interjects, frustration evident. “The great Michael Schumacher’s son. Can he do it? Will he be even a fraction as good? It’s suffocating.”

You nod, acknowledging his feelings. “Your father is a legend and it’s natural for people to draw parallels. But racing isn’t just about legacy, it's about passion, determination, and personal growth. The shape your path takes in this sport is yours alone.”

Mick wipes away a tear, his gaze distant. “But what if I never truly make it? What if I never even score a point much less a podium or a win? What if I’m always just the son of the legend, never a making a name for myself in my own right?”

You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Then you make peace with that and find joy in what you managed to achieve regardless. You are among twenty of the best drivers on the planet right now. Getting here is no easy feat. Not every path has to lead to the same destination. Maybe you’ll carve a different legacy, one that is uniquely yours.”

Mick seems to ponder over your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just ... I want to make him proud.”

You smile gently, “By being yourself, by giving every race your best shot, you already are. It’s not the titles or the championships that define us. It’s our heart and the impact we make on those around us. And trust me, your heart is in the right place. Your father would only ever want you to be happy, whatever that entails.”

With a deep breath, Mick nods, a content smile crossing his lips. “Thank you. I needed that.”

You give him an encouraging pat, “I’m always in your corner. Remember that it’s not the shadow that defines us but how we emerge from it.”

Mick stands up, ready to face another day, another race. The legacy of his last name will always be there but he’s slowly learning that his own identity holds value and strength too.

Toto Wolff & Christian Horner: Couples Therapy

The sun filters through the sheer curtains of the sophisticated office, casting dancing patterns on the wooden floor. A blend of vanilla and sandalwood wafts through the air, lending to an ambiance of calm. But this illusion is quickly shattered by two animated voices engaged in heated debate, echoing from the hallway. The door flings open to reveal Toto Wolff and Christian Horner, each determined to prove their point even before the session officially starts, and the cameras and sound equipment stationed around the room quickly zero in on them.

You sit in your chair, a hint of amusement in your eyes, as you address them. “Gentlemen, welcome! How about we start by taking our seats?”

Toto and Christian hesitantly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance from each other as possible.

“So,” you begin, trying to contain your laughter, “Drive to Survive mentioned you two might need some ... couples therapy?” You add air quotes for emphasis.

Christian immediately rolls his eyes. “It’s ridiculous! We’re competitors, not some bickering married couple.”

Toto chimes in, “Although he does nag like my grandmother.”

Christian retorts, “Oh please, Toto! The way you carry on, anyone would think you’re auditioning for a soap opera.”

You hold up a hand, “Alright, let’s take a deep breath. We’re here to find common ground.”

The two team principals continue their banter, airing their grievances, from stolen engineers to wind tunnels to secret agreements. You listen, scribbling notes, occasionally nodding or offering a “hmm” of understanding.

After what seems like an eternity, you interrupt their tirade. “Okay, I’ve come to a conclusion. You both are quite the pair. But instead of directing this ... energy at each other, how about a united front? Surely there’s something, or someone, you both dislike equally?”

Christian and Toto exchange glances, a mischievous glint appearing simultaneously. “The producers,” they chorus.

You swear that you can hear the men standing out of camera range behind you — the producers in question — audibly swallow.

You lean in, intrigued. “Go on.”

Toto grins, “They’ve been poking and prodding, trying to get a reaction out of us. It’s why they set this whole thing up in the first place. And while we do love the drama,” he eyes Christian, “maybe it’s time they get a taste of their own medicine.”

Christian nods in agreement, “A united front to give the producers a season they won’t forget.”

You clap your hands together, “Perfect! So what’s the plan?”

As the session concludes, Toto and Christian leave, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughter echoing down the hall.

You lean back in your chair, chuckling. “Well, that was certainly one for the books.”

You turn around to face the Drive to Survive crew already packing their equipment and producers looking shell shocked . You’ve never seen grown men look quite so pale. But they only have themselves to blame — the session was their idea in the first place.

Sometimes you really love your job.

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