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sinofwriting · 5 months

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I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

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Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t now. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. ��Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #I ❤️ MILFS verse #I was on something when I came up with this idea and the name of this fic #sins fics

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subbmissivesuccubus · 9 months

Text

Bondage~

A/n: This was day 3 of my Kinktober! Bondage with Nanami. As the title says, there's bondage and very strict dom Nanami as well as pain play. And fem reader so enjoy!

You gulped as you waited in the car, Nanami talking to Ichiji. You really screwed up and somehow, your nerves were dulling the pain of your injured foot. Waiting for Nanami, who you knew was furious at you, was somehow worse than fighting a special grade curse.

You didn’t regret what you did. Sure, Nanami, your supervisor, ordered you to stand down as the curse was far stronger than you could handle. He ordered you to not act rashly and to think twice before leaping into action as this particular curse could create illusions and make people see things that weren’t there. But when you saw a crying child screaming for help among all the chaos of Nanami fighting the curse, you couldn’t stop yourself from rushing in. Nanami’s bark for you to stop fell deaf on your ears as you ran to the kid, only to see that it wasn’t real and within a second, something stabbed you through the ankle.

But the curse stabbing you using its claw was just the advantage you needed. You brought out your cursed tool, a long sword and sliced upward, injuring it enough to make it stop in its tracks and that was all Nanami needed to quickly slice it into pieces. You fell to the ground with a shout of pain, Nanami kneeling beside you as he gently grasped your ankle. You watched as the claw lodged into your foot disintegrated away, leaving behind a nasty, bloody hole in your-

The man quickly placed his hand over your eyes, shielding you from the sight. Without a word, he took his tie and wrapped it around your ankle with one hand, telling you to power through the pain. Once it was covered, the tie instantly soaked in your blood, the man lopped his arm under your knees before lifting you up in a princess carry. You grimaced as any movement made your ankle scream in pain, but you managed to not cry. You didn’t want to cry over this when you’ve seen your peers and even Nanami deal with injuries far worse without making a big deal about it.

But as he carried you to the car, you noticed it. You’d been Nanami’s underling for some time now and have gotten to understand his limited facial expressions and this was one you’d seen a few times before now. His jaw clenched, his lips frowning, his eyes in a small squint as he refused to look at you.

Uh oh.

He was pissed.

You jumped as the car door opened, Nanami being done with his conversation as he sat in the driver’s seat. Once the door was closed, he started the car, the engine purring back to life. “S-Sir-“

“Quiet.” The man ordered, not looking at you as he stepped on the gas, “I’m taking you to Shoko. We’ll talk after.”

You gulped. You were well aware of what ‘talking’ meant.

~~~~~

You closed the door behind you as you entered Nanami’s bedroom, the blonde man having gone in before you. Your ankle was as good as new thanks to Shoko, not even a scar left behind. But now, you had to deal with the consequences of your actions.

“So,” Nanami said, taking off his jacket before draping it over a chair, “You decided to disobey my direct orders. What made you think that was a good idea?”

“I-I saw a child, Sir.” You responded, “I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“You knew the curse had the ability to create illusions.” The man said, hands in his pockets as he looked at you, “Rushing in like that was foolish and dangerous. And I don’t train my underlings to act on stupidity.”

“I know, Sir, but I couldn’t risk it.” You defended, “I knew there was a chance the kid wasn’t real but the possibility of them actually being there- I needed to make sure.”

“You think a child would just randomly pop out of nowhere in the middle of a fight?”

“…Stranger things have happened?”

Nanami sighed, grabbing onto his glasses before pulling them off of his face, “You know you’re going to get punished, right?”

“Y-Yes Sir.” You replied, heart starting to hammer in your chest, “I’m ready.”

Nanami was your superior, the man who was willing to have you as a sidekick but that meant you were his responsibility and when you did something dangerous and stupid, he took it as his job to properly…educate you. And he was very very good and getting your lessons through your head.

“Strip and get on the bed.”

You nodded and did as he told. Blood rushed to your face as you started to unbutton your top, shrugging it off of your shoulders. You did the same for your pants, the fabric pooling between your legs before you stepped out of them. With a gulp, Nanami still watching you, you moved your hands to your back and unhooked your bra, your breasts bouncing a bit as they were freed from their confines. Your ears turned red as your nipples perked up, clearly anticipating what was to come. Finally, you slipped your thumb into the hem of your panties before you pulled them down, stepping out of them as well. Completely naked, Nanami watched with his arms folded over his chest as you crawled onto the bed and laid down on your back.

“Do you remember your safeword?” he asked. You nodded, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth as Nanami grunted. You noticed that he had already prepared certain props on the bedside table, mainly, a long coil of red rope. Your eyes widened as Nanami got on the bed as well, straddling you. Knees planted on either side of your ribs, you looked up at the man, his stone-cold expression somehow making your body run hot.

“Tell me.” Nanami said, grabbing a tie from the bedside table, “Why are you being punished?” “B-Because I disobeyed you.” You said, gasping as he placed the fabric across your eyes, blocking out your vision. “And?” he asked. “A-And I got hurt.” “That’s right.” Nanami said, tying a knot at the back of your head, “You know better than to disobey me, right?” “I-I’m sorry Sir.” “You will be after I’m done with you.”

Your body shivered at his threat, your cunt growing wet from his words. Everything felt so much more intense due to his tie around your eyes. With the lack of vision, all of your other senses were heightened. His deep voice, the heat emanating from his body, his touch, his scent- all of it took over you, making you feel dizzy.

You gasped as Nanami’s hand slid to your back, pulling your body up enough for him to slide a rope underneath you. You gulped as you felt the familiar material brush up against your skin, the man getting to work. He first started off with your chest, his rough hands tugging the rope tightly as he wrapped it around your breasts, making them pop out deliciously. You didn’t need to see to be able to feel Nanami’s eyes on you, taking in every inch of your skin. You let out a yelp as he pulled on the final knot, the ropes digging into the fat of your breasts.

He let out a satisfied hum, eyes taking in how delicious your tits looked but he wasn’t going to give you the pleasure of his touch. Not yet, anyway. Nanami moved down your body, settling between your legs. Your face was a bright, beet red as he grabbed your knees and spread them, exposing your pretty cunt to him. Hooking his hands underneath your knees, he pushed them up, making you yelp as he folded you, pressing your knees against your chest.

“Hold your legs up.” He ordered, ignoring the flustered expression on your face as you did as you were told, your breathing laboured as you replaced his hands with your own. It was a whole new type of embarrassing holding your legs up yourself, exposing your cunt even more for Nanami to ogle at. “This might hurt.” He warned before grabbing another strand of rope. His other hand gripped at your foot gently before pressing down, getting it as close to thigh as possible before you felt the rope start to wrap around it. Oh…Oh! He was literally wrapping your leg closed. The rope was being looped around your calf muscle and your thighs to press them together, rendering you unable to stretch your leg. He did the same with the other leg, now both your legs being tied tightly.

“Hand.” He ordered and you obeyed, giving him your hand. Your heart started pounding even faster when you felt him take your hand to your ankle, pressing your wrist against your foot before tying the two of them together. Legs tied so they’re always folded and now, your arms tied to your ankles which gave you little to no freedom of movement- if you moved your legs, you’d have to arch your back and if you moved your hands, you’d have to press your knees to your chest.

“There we go.” He said, clearly satisfied with the job, “Now you can’t run around, disobeying me, hmm?” You nodded, gulping down your saliva as you took inventory of your body. Tied up and ready for him to do whatever he wanted. You felt him get off the bed, hearing the sound of him rummaging through his drawer where you knew he kept his…toys. After a few seconds, he was back on the bed, his heat grazing your skin as he leaned over you.

You shivered and gasped as he lapped his tongue along your nipple, his heat and wetness feeling wonderful on your sensitive bud. He sealed his lips around it, giving it a couple of sucks before his teeth nibbled on it gently. Each time he bit down it made your body twitch, pressing against the red ropes that held you down to perfectly, reminding you each second of how you were tied up.

But before you could enjoy the feeling of him showering your nipple with attention, there was suddenly a sharp pain on your sensitive bud- a clamping sensation that was squeezing your nipple so tightly it took your breath away. “Ah!” you screamed at the pain, “S-sir-“

“Hold still.” Nanami said calmly as he made sure the nipple clamp was secured. He roughly grabbed your other breast, leaning down to give it an apologetic lick before he clamped that as well. Your back arched, legs aching from the stretch as you couldn’t help but scream from the sensation, the clamps so tight it made you dizzy.

“How pretty.” Nanami said, making you let out a loud scream as his finger suddenly flicked at the clamp, “don’t start crying already. I haven’t even started.” “I-Its hurts!” “Good.” He responded, not caring about your cries and whimpers, “But if it hurts so much, why is your pussy getting wet, hmm?”

You squealed as you felt the man gently run his finger along your cunt, rubbing between your folds and getting soaked in your slick. He eventually made it two fingers, his index and middle finger spreading your wetness around before he started rubbing gentle circles over your clit. You moaned, tossing your head back against the pillow as the pain on your nipples and the pleasure on your clit was fighting for your attention, your body shivering at every rub- at ever beat of your heart.

“Naughty girl.” Nanami said, tutting as he gently inserted one fingers inside you, the slide easy due to how wet you were, “This is a punishment, remember? Who gave your pussy permission to get so wet?” “M’ sorry- I’m sorry-“ you babbled, head in the clouds at the various sensations. “I’m sure you are sorry but I think this cunt needs a reminder of who controls it.” “S-Sir?”

Your heart leapt to your throat at his words, knowing full well of what Nanami was capable of. You felt him take his fingers and spread your pussy lips apart, flinching as he blew some air on your clit. No doubt, your bud was plump and sensitive from his teasing touch, the cute nub peeking out of its hood. Nanami smirked as he stared at your twitching pussy, flicking your clit a few more time to really get it to swell up before-

He snapped a clamp onto it.

The scream you let out was piercing, your whole body folding but unable to do anything or move in the way you wanted it to. He watched as you squealed and writhed on the bed, the pain of your poor clit being squished between two wooden clamps too much for you to handle. “Control yourself.” Nanami barked, secretly enjoying the view and your reaction, “You look pathetic.” “Sir! Sir- Please!” you begged, mouth open as you screamed, each movement making the clamps on your body feel like they were growing tighter, “It’s too much- It hurts!”

“You know what word to use if you really want me to stop.” Nanami said, reminding you that you could use your safe word and opt out. He gave you a few seconds but when you showed no indication of using it, he continued: “Will you disobey me again?”

“No Sir!” you responded, tears in your eyes from the crushing pain, “Never again- I promise!”

“When I tell you to do something-“

“I’ll do as you say- I’ll do anything you say!”

Nanami clicked his tongue in annoyance, “Don’t. Interrupt me.”

Your body shivered at his tone, wanting to curl up from disappointing him but you couldn’t move. You sobbed our whimpers of ‘sorry’s’ and you couldn’t help but think of how pathetic you looked to the man. But luckily for you, he liked you pathetic.

“Open your mouth.”

You gulped before you did as ordered, opening your mouth wide. You waited as you felt the man move up the bed and you realised; he was straddling you once more, his knees planted on either side of your shoulders. You jumped as you felt something press against your lips- something hot and hard and throbbing- something you were more than familiar with.

“This is a punishment.” Nanami growled as he rubbed his cock against your face, grabbing it by the base before slapping it on your tongue a few times, “I’m going to fuck your face, cum down your throat and I’m not going to go slow. I don’t care if you pass out, understand?”

“Y-Yesh Sir.” You responded around the cock on your tongue.

“Snap your fingers if you need me to stop.”

You nodded, jaw already aching. Your poor nipples and clit still throbbed from the pain but you hopes sucking his dick would provide enough distraction. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled, making you arch your neck more before he slowly started pushing into your mouth. “That’s it.” He groaned as his cock got enveloped by your hot, wet heat, “Take it…take it…take it all the way down…”

He was only halfway in and you were already gagging. You tried to steel yourself as Nanami continued to push forward, ignoring your gasps and gags. You shut your eyes closed behind the makeshift blindfold, opening your mouth up as much as it could go until finally, Nanami bottomed out.

Nanami moaned, tossing his head back as he enjoyed the sensation of being stuffed deep inside your throat. Your tongue clumsily lapped at the underside of his cock, drool seeping out from between your lips as his balls throbbed against your chin.

This was going to be your punishment. Tied up, unable to touch him, body writhing in pain as Nanami uses you for his pleasure. You didn’t know it at the moment, but once he’s done using your throat, he was going to leave you like this for a while, forcing you to steep in the pain while your pussy throbs for pleasure and release. And no matter what, you were not going to cum tonight.

Gripping onto the headboard, the man started thrusting, immediately picking up the pace just like he said he would. He groaned above you, gritting his teeth as he started fucking your face, his heavy balls clapping against you, the slick sound of your wet mouth choking around his cock echoing through the room.

You’d better not pass out.

#subby writes #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento smut #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kento nanami

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ihaechans · 1 year

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Midnight Driver || N.JM

PAIRING ▸ Jaemin x reader

GENRES ▸ smut, semi-public sex

WARNINGS/CONTENT ▸ profanity, they are parked in an abandoned parking lot it’s just not stated, sex under the influence (alcohol), hints at drunk driving (please don’t do this), oral (f), pet names, unprotected sex (another stupid decision), cream pie (the decisions keep getting worse on the readers part), multiple orgasms, hints at shower sex, big dick jaem, hair pulling

SUMMARY ▸ Fucking in the middle of no where with a man you met no more than a month ago was not something on your bucket list, but for some reason, it wasn’t something you were completely against.

WORD COUNT▸ 1.6k

A/N: blessing y’all with two smuts today who cheered. Working hard lately because I feel like I haven’t been doing enough writing this year but I hope you guys enjoy this quick one. Feel free to send requests! They are always open! Also this is not edited lmao

“Ever fucked in a car before?”

Jaemin sits still next to you in the drivers seat, eyes ahead as he stares into the darkness of the night.

It’s pitch black outside, nothing is heard beside the soft breaths of Jaemin and yourself, alone with the crickets. The car engine hums softly, masking the otherwise eerie silence that surrounds you both.

The night started off innocent. A simple date with Na Jaemin at the bar down town, no sexual intentions, just a genuine connection and a few drinks to let loose.

Maybe one too many drinks.

A smile creeps up on your face as you turn towards Jaemin, giggling at his question. “No, have you?”

Jaemin chuckles, his eyes twinkling mischievously in the dim moonlight that filters through the windshield. “No, but we could change that if you want.” The words slide off his tongue a little too smoothly, your legs automatically pressing together as his deep voice hits your ears.

You feel a shiver run down your spine, both from the cool night air and the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Fucking in the middle of no where with a man you met no more than a month ago was not something on your bucket list, but for some reason, it wasn’t something you were completely against.

“And what would you do if I were to say yes?”

A mischievous smile dances on his lips as he glances at you, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Why don’t you just let me show you?”

You haven’t gotten butterflies in ages, but god Jaemin was such a sweet talker it was almost impossible not to feel anything with the way he was speaking to you.

“What makes you think I’d say yes Jaemin?”

Jaemin leans closer, his voice low and husky in your ear, “Come on baby, i see the way you’re pressing your legs together, why don’t you let me help with that, hm?”

Your heart races at his words, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. With every second, you were getting more and more turned on, the closeness in proximity between you two not helping any.

Jaemin doesn’t back away when he finishes speaking, staring straight into the side of your head. Your heart nearly stops when you feel his hand softly grab your chin, turning your head to face his own.

“Just say the word baby, I’m right here.”

Baby. That’s what does it.

A split second is all it takes for Jaemin’s lips to be on yours, a hand coming to rest on the back of your neck as he kisses you deeper, tongue begging for access into your mouth.

There’s desperation in Jaemin’s kisses, a desperation telling you he’s been waiting to do this for a while now.

With each touch of his lips, the car seems to fade away into the background, forgotten in the midst of this electrifying moment. Only when you try to shift closer, bumping into the armrest is when you snap out of the daze Jaemin’s kisses have put you under, breaking away with an embarrassed giggle.

Without a word, Jaemin pops the car door open, immediately hopping into the back seat, clearly waiting for you to join him.

Like an idiot, you climb over the armrest, nearly crashing face first into Jaemin’s lap.

“Someone’s a little clumsy,” Jaemin chuckles softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he watches you settle onto the back seat beside him.

He doesn’t give you time to respond before he’s pulling you into his lap, hands resting on your hips. The car engine hums softly as the midnight air rushes in through the open windows, the city lights creating a vibrant backdrop to this intimate moment.

“You’re wasting gas by keeping the car on you know,” you remark, playfully poking Jaemin's chest. Jaemin smirks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“That’s really what you’re focused on right now?” He chuckles again, caressing your face intimately.

You can feel the thrill of the midnight air mixing with the electricity between you two, as you lean in closer, capturing his lips with yours once again.

The kiss is softer this time, yet the passion intensifies. Your hands entangle in each other's hair as you explore the depths of each other's desire, thinking of nothing but each other.

Jaemin maneuvers your body, positioning you so that your back is leaning against the car door, legs dangling off the seat as Jaemin kneels down in between them. “May I have a taste princess?” He stares up at you, eyes flooded with lust.

With a nod, your heart racing, you eagerly give him permission to explore, hips lifting up as he slides your shorts and panties down at once, revealing your wet core.

Unmoving, Jaemin stares at your cunt, a blush creeping up on your face. You’re about to ask him to do something, mouth opening to complain and immediately closing as he licks a stripe up your pussy, a weak moan leaving your lips.

“What a pretty pussy,” he slurs, wasting no time as he dives back in, slurping and licking relentlessly.

You can’t even form words, moans spilling out with every lick. Jaemin hold your thighs open with his hands, kneading the flesh as he eats you out like a starved man.

Your hands grip Jaemin’s hair, pushing his face into your pussy, rutting your hips up into his face as you near your orgasm. “Gonna cum like a good girl?” He moans as you grip his hair even harder, hips moving frantically against his face.

“Fuck keep going-“ and with one final suck to your clit, you’re toppling over the edge, legs twitching and moans spilling as you release on Jaemin’s tongue.

Finally, you release your hard grip on his hair, looking down in between your legs to be met with dazed eyes staring back at you. “What a good girl,”

It takes a moment for you to recover, Jaemin licking and nipping at your thighs while you catch your breath in silence.

“Let me ride you.” Only then, the silence is broken, Jaemin’s head perking up in surprise from between your legs.

With a smirk, he finds place on the car seat next to you, the car getting crowded with all the movement going on. “Well,” he pats his thighs, signaling for you to sit down on them, “Get to work then baby.”

You chuckle as you climb onto his lap, feeling the familiar heat coursing through your veins. Trying your hardest not to fumble with the belt on his jeans for too long, you finally manage to push the rough material down to his thighs, reaching into his boxers to free Jaemin's cock, eliciting a deep groan from him.

The boy licks his lips as you stare down at his dick, one of his hands finding place on the back of your neck as he pulls you in for another kiss.

Without thinking, you stroke him up and down, earning a few moans from the man In front of you. He rolls his hips up, fucking himself into your hand for a few before aggressively pulling you closer by your waist, breaking the kiss to catch your breath.

“Gonna ride me now?” He’s impatient, but you nod, grabbing him from the base and lining him up with your entrance.

In one swift motion, Jaemin is inside of you, a deep groan filling the air as your wet heat squeezes around him. Your eyes widen when you truly realize how big Jaemin is, a dark chuckle erupting from his chest when he noticed your expression.

“What’s wrong princess? Said you were gonna ride me but now you’re acting all scared.”

“S-shut up,” you slur out, immediately bouncing up and down in his lap after his teasing.

The both of you moan freely, the sound of skin against skin the only audible sound in the car besides your moans. Jaemin feels good inside of you, so deep and full. “Faster,” he growls, slightly thrusting his hips up to meet your bounces.

At this point, you’re moaning so loud it has to be obnoxious on the ears, but Jaemin finds it incredibly hot, thrusting up even harder into you, attempting to make you even louder.

Jaemin suddenly changes the pace, thrusting deep into you perfectly to find the spot that has you gasping for air, gripping onto his bicep impossibly tight, “I’m close,” you moan out, throwing your head back.

You squeal when Jaemin grips your hair, forcing you to keep your gaze on him as he thrusting into you. “Cum for me, come on baby I know you can do it,”

His encouraging words along with one last thrust against your gspot has your eyes rolling back, head dipping forward to rest on his chest as you release around Jaemin.

“Fuck,” he pants, “Where do you want me to cum?” Jaemin’s eyes light up when you mumble a barely audible, “inside”, the man wasting no time as he fucks himself up into you harshly, hips no longer carrying a rhythm as he releases in your cunt.

He groans, finally stilling his hips inside of you.

You open your eyes, head fuzzy as you stare deep into Jaemin’s eyes.

“Jaemin… how am I supposed to clean this up?” The both of you dip your head down in unison, staring down at the mess in between your legs.

Jaemin pulls out, watching as his cum slowly drips out of your hole.

“Shit, that’s hot. Guess you’ll just have to keep it inside until I get you home, yeah?”

With a smirk, Jaemin lifts you off of him, pulling his jeans back over himself. “Jaemin we can’t just stay dirty like this.”

“Alright then, let’s just shower back at my place.”

“Together?”

He chuckles, settling back into the front seat. “You said it, not me.”

#nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin nct #nct #nct dream #nct u #kpop boy group #kpop boy group smut #kpop smut #jaemin smut #nct jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #smut #ihaechans

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smoooothoperator · 2 months

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What Was I Made For?

09: Begin Again

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Charles POV, start of the redemption arc!, flashbacks are in italics

a/n: I'm back!!! I have to say that the past weekend didn't go how it was planned, but at least I had so much fun...

if you want to play a game and ask things about Dafne

Masterlist

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If you want to be tagged don't forget to message me!

Every way of feedback is very welcomed

“Dafne!”

I flinched when I heard her slamming the front door, making me swallow thickly while I looked at the clock hanging in the wall of the kitchen.

Two in the morning.

It's two in the morning and she left to God knows where, with winter weather outside and with clothes that couldn't keep her warm.

“Fuck, fuck!”

I ran upstairs to grab warm clothes for myself and then to her room to grab something warmer. Her cat was laying on her bed, completely unaware of what was happening. But as I walked in and opened the wardrobe to find a coat and a scarf, I felt the little head rubbing my leg.

“I'll bring her back” I mumble looking down at the cat, swallowing thickly when it looked at me with those big blue eyes.

I rushed downstairs, grabbing the keys of the house and searching the keys of my car in the pockets of my coat.

“Come on, think…” I spoke to myself, getting in the car and turning the engine on. “Think, think, think…”

I groan, driving through the road, away from the house, trying to remember somewhere she could go to be alone.

It was a hot summer. My brothers and I went to the Morelli’s grandmother villa in Tuscany while our parents had to stay at home for work. That year I lost the championship of karting because of her and somehow I felt frustrated.

I needed to show her that I was better. I don't care if she won against me.

“Let's see who gets to the top first” I smirked looking at her pointing at the top of the tree. “The first that arrives is the winner”

“It's dangerous!” she gasped.

“So? Are you that scary?” I scoffed, looking at how she was looking between me and the tree. “Come on, are you a cry baby?”

“Shut up!” she groaned, stepping closer to the tree and starting to climb it.

I watched her, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and something else I couldn't quite name. The tree was more challenging than it looked, with slippery bark and breakable branches.

About halfway up, she grabbed a thorny branch and cried out, losing her grip. I watched in horror as she fell to the ground, gasping when I saw her falling on her ankle.

She kneeled on the ground, pressing her hand against her mouth, trying to not let out sobs. I swallowed thickly, taking slow steps towards her, but before I could say her name, she stood up and pushed me to the ground, running away from me.

“Dafne, wait!” I called her, but she didn't stop.

I felt guilt twist in my stomach. I hadn't meant for her to get hurt. Panic set in as I realized I had lost sight of her. The woods were dense and disorienting, but somehow I knew where she would go. There was a little house by the river, a place we both knew well but never acknowledged to each other.

I made my way to the house and found her at the edge of the river, with her foot on the water. She had stopped crying, but the pain was evident on her face. She didn't see me watching her from behind a tree, and I took a moment to gather myself. Seeing her hurt made something tighten in my chest, a feeling I wasn't used to.

"Dafne," I said softly, hoping not to startle her. “I’m really sorry. Can I help?”

“Go away” she mumbled, not looking at me. “I don't want to see you”

I sighed and sat on the ground with my back against the tree, keeping an eye on her. What if her ankle gets more swollen? I should do something, right? It's my fault she got injured. What if it gets worse?

As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over everything, I waited. Finally, she looked back at me, searching me with her eyes. Her face was a mixture of defiance and pain, but she didn’t look as angry as I had feared.

“I think it's broken” she mumbled, looking at her hand. “It's your fault”

“I know” I nodded, standing up and walking towards her, kneeling in front of her. “Let's go home”

I clenched my jaw, holding tight that memory and praying that she went there. I tried to remember the way towards that river, driving the car through the moody roads and looking around to try to catch a glance of her.

When I found the tree that was near the river I swallowed thickly, stopping the car and grabbing my phone to turn on the light, getting out of the car. If she's not there I don't know what I would do.

“Dafne?” I called her, trying to make my eyes get used to the dark, moving my phone around.

I sighed in relief when I saw her figure sitting on the ground next to a tree, with the blanket she was wearing wrapped around her. But that didn't stop her from sniffling because of the cold night.

“Go away”

I smiled weakly, closing my eyes and shaking my head. It's happening exactly like the last time I saw her here.

“I won't” I sighed, going back to the car and grabbing her coat and scarf. “And get used to it”

“Why?” she mumbled. “Just, why? Why now? Why are you caring now?”

“I always cared, Dafne” I sighed, wrapping the scarf around her neck and putting the coat on her shoulders. “But I tried my best for you to not see it”

“Well, you were damn good at it” she sighed, looking away from me.

“Can we please fix this?” I sighed sitting next to her. “Not only for us… But for our families and our baby”

“I never wanted this, Charles” she whispered. “It's so unfair. If only…”

“I was sick” I interrupted her.

“What?”

“The summer we met” I sighed. “The first time you told me you hated me… I was sick. I didn't throw up because you kissed me. I had a terrible stomach ache and it just happened…”

She sighed and rested her head on the trunk of the tree, taking a deep breath. Her hands were on her belly, protecting the little baby she's carrying. Our baby, my baby.

“But you just ran away…” I sighed. “You always run away when things get complicated”

“I guess it's easier than facing the problems” she sighed.

“That's so cowardly coming from you” I said.

She looked at me frowning, somehow moving away from me before I grabbed her arm. I shook my head and looked at her.

“This time I won't let you run away” I said. “Neither let you push me away, like you did with Sebastian”

“It was the best for him” she mumbled looking away, moving her arm away from my grasp. “I couldn't give him what he wanted”

“And what did he want? To settle down?” I frowned, clenching my jaw.

“Exactly” she laughed sadly. “When the doctor told us I was pregnant, he started talking about buying a house and taking care of this child. He thought it was his baby. Even if I was so happy with him, I couldn't lie to him, acting like it was his kid. It wouldn't be fair to him”

“He was the one that made me understand my feelings” I sighed, smiling weakly. “He was the one that made me realize that even if I'm twenty seven years old I still act like a kid around you, trying to get your attention”

She didn't say anything, just hugged herself tighter. I wish she would let me hold her. I wish we could fix our problems. I wish, I wish, I wish…

“One chance” she whispered. “I’ll give you only one chance. If you fuck up, I want you away from me and the baby. I don't care if it's yours, if you hurt me again I'll make sure you don't even know the name. I'm so tired of fighting”

My breath hitched in my throat, surprised by her decision. I simply nodded, sighing with relief.

“Let's go home” I whispered, getting up and offering her my hand to help her to get up.

When I felt her hand on mine I took a deep breath, pulling her to me and following her movements with my eyes. She was still protecting her belly with a hand, like she wanted to keep it for her, to protect her secret.

“C-can I?” I whisper looking at her stomach.

She took a deep breath and a step back, shaking her head slowly.

“Not yet…” she mumbled. “I don't trust you, yet”

I nodded, hurt. But I understood. I have to fix more than I thought, but I won't give up.

The next morning I woke up with her sneezes and a cold nose poking my cheek.

I sighed, opening my eyes slowly to find her cat's face right in front of mine. I moved slowly, looking at the cat. It started purring and meowing, somehow nervously.

“What happened?” I sighed, yawning.

I saw the white cat jump out of the bed and walk out of the room, then coming back looking at me. I sighed, grabbing a hoodie and putting it on while I followed the cat towards Dafne's room.

“What…?” I frowned.

I opened the door,.sighing when I saw her there sleeping. I bite my lip, looking at her. She really is wonderful, and somehow now, knowing that she's pregnant, looks even more beautiful than before.

I heard her groaning and sneezing again, making me frown and take a step closer to her bed.

“Hey, are you okay?” I whisper, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Sshh…” she groaned.

I swallowed thickly, moving my hand to press it on her forehead and gasping when I felt it warm.

“You are burning up” I whispered, feeling immediately worried.

She groaned, barely opening her eyes and not caring to move my had away from her forehead.

“I'm fine” she mumbled, but I could tell she wasn't.

“Stay here, okay?” I sighed, getting up from the bed and rubbing her cat's head, smiling at it. “I'll take care of you”

She tried to wave me off, but I was determined. I stood up and headed to the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and soaking it in cold water. When I returned, I gently placed it on her forehead, removing the hair wet from the sweat. She flinched at the touch but didn’t push me away, sighing with relief the moment she felt the cold against her skin.

“I’ll make you some tea” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “Just rest.”

She nodded slowly, coughing and sniffling softly. Her cat curled into her side, somehow trying to give her some warmth.

I went downstairs to the kitchen to make her something for breakfast. I know she likes having English tea around, since she's half English, so maybe I could find some of it in the cupboards.

“Bingo” I smiled, finding a few boxes of tea.

I sighed, grabbing the first one I found and boiled some water while I grabbed some crackers for her. I grabbed my phone, searched about the medicines she can take and searching them on the bathroom.

“I’m back” I said softly, walking inside of her room and placing the plate and a mug on the nightstand.

“Did you make tea?” she whispered. “Thank you…”

“You have to stay hydrated” I sighed, looking at the screen of my phone. “And I have to change the cloth of your forehead a few more times. And forget about that blanket, you need to make the fever go down”

“Wow, what are you now, my doctor?” she mumbled, and somehow I felt relieved noticing that her humor was still there even if she was sick.

“I want you to be okay, as well” I sighed. “Did you go to the doctor to do check ups of the pregnancy?”

“No” she groaned.

I sighed and nodded, grabbing my phone. The internet said she should go soon to do the checkups and to see how the baby is growing.

“Do you want me to call? I can go to the village and see if I can find a doctor” I said but she interrupted me with a groan.

“Can you please shut up? Your voice is giving me a headache” she exclaimed.

I sighed and nodded, looking away, watching her cat laying next to her with the head on her belly.

I wish she could let me touch her. But I have to accept that maybe that will never happen.

I stayed silent for a moment, letting her words sink in. I wanted to help, but I knew pushing her too much right now wouldn't do any good. I needed to show her that I could be there for her, even if it meant giving her space.

"Okay, I'll be quiet" I whispered, grabbing the washcloth from her forehead to wet it again in the bathroom.

She sighed, closing her eyes as I placed the cool cloth back on her skin, flinching slightly. Her body relaxed quickly and her lips opened a little leaving a long relieved sigh.

"Try to drink some tea" I murmured softly, guiding the mug to her lips. She took a few sips, her expression softening slightly. "And eat some crackers. It'll help"

“You made my favorite” she gasped softly, looking at the mug, taking another sip of it and humming as she swallowed it.

“I guessed it right, then” I nodded, smiling. “I’ll go later to the village to buy some more”

“You can’t, those are only in the Twinings store in London” she sighed. “Believe me, I tried to find them everywhere I go”

“Noted” I nodded.

She nodded weakly, nibbling on a cracker before settling back into the pillows. I watched her, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. I wanted to take care of her, to make things right, but I knew it would take time.

As the morning wore on, I stayed by her side, changing the washcloth and making sure she drank enough fluids. I grabbed my laptop and earphones and watched something to distract myself while she slept. Her cat, sensing the tension, curled up beside her, offering its silent support.

"I never expected you to be here" she mumbled at one point, her voice barely above a whisper, making me stop the movie I was watching. "Not after everything”

"I never expected it either," I admitted, looking into her tired eyes. "At first I went to your parents’ house to see if you were there, but Erica told me you were here… I guess I didn’t expect you to be…”

“Pregnant?” she sighed.

“Y-yeah” I sighed. “But I’ll stay. I don’t care how many times you’ll try to push me away. I’ll stay”

She didn't respond, but she didn't push me away either. That was progress, I told myself. Small steps

Later in the afternoon, Dafne’s fever had come down slightly, but she still looked exhausted. I tried to keep the atmosphere light, occasionally cracking a joke or two, though they were met with weak smiles or groans. Her cat, a constant presence by her side, provided her comfort, and I found myself grateful for the animal.

"Do you need anything else?" I asked softly, placing a fresh washcloth on her forehead.

"No... just stay" she mumbled, her voice trailing off. “Until I sleep again”

My heart ached at her vulnerability. This was a side of her I never saw, and it made me realize just how much pain I gave her, how little I know her. I nodded, even though her eyes were closed, and settled on the empty side of her bed.

Time seemed to blur. I must have dozed off at some point because when I opened my eyes, the room was darker, the only light coming from the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Dafne was still asleep, her breathing more even now. Her cat was curled up next to her face, purring softly.

I stood up, stretching my back and neck, and quietly made my way to the kitchen. I needed to prepare something for her to eat when she woke up, some soup would help her feel better.

As I searched through the counter and fridge, I found some ingredients to make a simple chicken soup. The familiar actions of chopping vegetables and filling the pot with water gave me a strange sense of peace, a small sense of normalcy after today.

As the soup cooked, I found myself lost in thought. How had we gotten here? Dafne and I had always had a complicated relationship, full of competition and unspoken emotions, hate and rivalry. How could I let something like this happen? I went too far. But now I can’t back up, I have to be here for her and our baby.

I glanced at my phone, considering calling my mother and brothers to update them, but decided against it. This was something Dafne and I needed to figure out first. Besides, I didn’t want to overwhelm her with any more information or expectations than she was already dealing with.

When the soup was ready, I poured some into a bowl and carried it upstairs. Dafne was awake, sitting up in bed and looking a bit more alert.

"Hey," I said softly, entering the room. "I made you some soup"

"You cooked?" she asked surprised, looking at me.

“Don’t act so shocked, I can handle the basic meals” I chuckled softly. “Plus, this is the recipe your grandma taught all of us”

“Oh… Thank you, Charles” she smiled faintly. This is the first time I’d seen her smile at me.

I helped her sit up more comfortably, placing more pillows on her back, and handed her the bowl. She took a tentative sip, then another, her expression softening and humming softly with her eyes closed.

“Just like nonna’s” she whispered.

We sat in silence for a while, her eating slowly and me just being there, present in the moment. It was a small step, but it felt significant.

"Dafne," I began after a while. "I know things are complicated, and we've both made mistakes in the past. But I want to be here for you and the baby. I want to make things right. I want us to begin again"

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine for sincerity. I saw the doubt in her blue eyes, the internal battle she had in her mind.

"I want to believe you, Charles. I really do. But it’s going to take time…” she mumbled, looking down at her growing belly. “You caused me so much pain, and a simple gesture like taking care of me while being sick won’t make me forget it…”

"I understand," I nodded, my voice steady "But I'm not going anywhere. I’ll prove to you that I can change, That… That I’m that kid you met in Greece, the one you kissed"

As she finished the soup and settled back into bed, I felt a tentative hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way through this together. It wouldn’t be easy, but for the first time in a long while, I felt like we had a chance.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu @green-thots

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braden-holtbys · 6 months

Text

Stay, Stay With Me

A/N: Hi everyone, I'm getting back into writing again! This will be a bit different for me as I'm dipping my toes into writing fics with F1 drivers. Please let me know if I should make a part two or start making more F1 and hockey fics! Or let me know if there's anything that I can improve on.

Warnings: None

Carlos Sainz x reader

“Carlos, babe…,” you started to say as you motioned for him to sit on the couch next to you. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yeah, what about?,” he asked as he sat next to you. He was puzzled, but it seemed serious from the look on your face. It’s something that was bothering you a lot, at least more than school and work. You have been in a masters program for athletic training since you two had started dating. Lately, you’ve been getting more and more hate about being Carlos’ girlfriend and how you’re just a freeloader, you don’t do anything, or you just go to school just to be closer to the other drivers.

Don’t leave me before the dark night traps me in. Do you still love me? If you feel the same, don’t leave today. Don’t ask why it has to be you, just stay with me.I don’t expect a lot right now, just stay with me.

“I- I’ve been trying to not let this bother me so much, because I truly don’t want you to worry about me. I’ve been getting a lot of online harassment for being with you and people just think I’m a freeloader or that I’m getting a masters just to be closer to other drivers. I know this isn’t true, but-,” you started to choke up. “Maybe it’s better if we take a break or something.”

Carlos looked at you with wide eyes, like you’re crazy for saying such things. Well it was more like the “fans” were crazy for even insinuating such things. For the last two years that you’ve been together, your hard work always shines through and he notices that. He’s always made sure to tell you that he loves that about you. No matter what team he’s one, the team principals, engineers, everyone, sees that and it’d be more of a loss to the team to not have you honestly.

Tears fell from your eyes. It felt worse with the silence, but he started shaking his head.

There’s nothing more I want right now. I can’t even tell if my heart’s still beating. Instead of having forceful conversations with others, I’d rather enjoy the awkward silence with you. So stay, wherever that may be. When darkness comes in sometimes, I’ll be your fire. In a world full of lies, the only truth is you. This is a letter from me to you.

“Babe, I don’t accept this,” Carlos replied in a quiet voice as he pulled you into a hug. You held him, snaking your arms around him, and rubbing your hands up and down his back. “It hurts me to hear you say that, princesa. What they say shouldn’t matter, what I feel should. You’re my everything and I don’t want to lose you.”

That made you cry a little harder, you couldn’t help it. He had thought that it was just school that was making you feel down, but no. He understood that “fans,” press, socials…. All that can be hard on the mind and heart at times. He reassured you as he kept kissing the top of your head, still holding you.

“Bébe, I want you to stay, stay with me,” Carlos finally said after a long silence. He let go of you and used one of his hands to lift up your chin. He looked into your eyes with such love and content. “I love you so much, and it scares me that you said that. I understand if you still want to break. However, I want you to understand that I will always choose you. I swear, no one on our team thinks you’re what the “fans” think or say.” You wiped away your tears as you nodded.

“I want you too Carlos. I-I’m sorry it got to me and you know how much you mean to me. Please, let me stay?”

“Please stay because I don’t ever wanna let you go hermosa,” Carlos whispered as he came closer to kiss you. A deep, reassuring kiss that was needed. You melted in his arms as the kiss deepened before he broke away. There was a sparkle in both of your eyes, just for the other. It was obvious to others that you loved each other like you were the only two people on earth.

“Thank you, hermoso,” You responded with a smile.

“Nandito ako palagi para alagaan ka (I am always here to take care of you),” Carlos struggled to say, but he was learning. This is his way to again, reassure you that no matter what, you’re safe and he’s here for you.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz

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blushweddinggowns · 27 days

Text

They made quick work of getting everything ready to go, even if Robin whined the entire time.

She didn’t fully accept her fate until they were in the parking lot, Steve’s sun glasses over her eyes as she gave Eddie a one armed hug, “Successful trip. Showstopper status confirmed.”

“Thanks,” Eddie laughed as she stumbled into the car, groaning all the while. He stepped around to the drivers side, leaning in the window as he smiled at Steve, “Guess I’ll see you later?”

“See you later,” Steve confirmed as he started the engine. Eddie couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at the noise, disappointed that they wouldn’t be driving together. Plus, a little worried on where he was going to end up considering Eddie was going to be a few hours behind.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah?”

“You can um, go straight to my place,” Eddie said, sounding just as lame as he fucking felt. He was pretty sure he was blushing again, for no damn reason, “If you want! But you know where the spare key is, right?”

Despite the stupid embarrassment, Eddie couldn’t help but feel like he’d said that right thing. The bright smile suddenly stretching over Steve’s face was all the confirmation he needed, “I do. Want me to stay up for you?”

Eddie ignored the sharp scoff he heard from Robin at the question, chalking up to annoyance at having to be alive while hungover, “If you can?”

Steve grinned, “I can.”

“Ok, that’s enough,” Robin piped up next to him, an edge to her voice that Eddie didn’t quite understand, “We can leave now, yes? Then you two can continue the blueba-”

“That’s out queue to leave!” Steve said loudly, sending Robin a sharp glare. He glanced back at Eddie, still smiling but it was off. Not as nearly as happy as before, “See you in a few hours.”

Eddie nodded, stepping away as he watched them go. He could see Steve elbow Robin before they even made it on the street, sniping something at her that he couldn’t quite hear. He sighed, turning to make his way to his own van.

Successful trip his ass.

He felt like shit. He was definitely a worse person than he was two days ago, that was for sure. But that didn’t mean he was going to skip out on saying good-bye to his friends.

Even if the goodbye consisted of twenty minutes of Gareth and Matt judging his life choices.

“Are you banging Robin?,” Gareth asked, the four of them circled together in Jeff’s living room, “Is that why you left? That's it isn't? Does Steve know?”

“For the last time, no”, Eddie groaned, “Stop asking me that!”

“Does…” Matt hesitated before leaning closer to him, lowering his voice, “Does it not work after the accident? Cause if it doesn’t we can shut the fuck up. Seriously-”

Eddie stared at him, “Dude.”

“I’m sorry, you don’t got to tell us-”

“My dick works you ass!” Eddie said, smacking him in the arm, “Excuse me for not wanting you two fumble a sure thing for once!”

“We did not fumble-” Gareth tried, right as Matt chimed in, “We kinda fumbled.”

“Okay, okay!” Jeff laughed, getting in the middle of it, “That’s enough. Let the guy leave already.”

“It was fun,” Eddie added, shoving his frustration to the side. He gave them both a hug, even if it was painfully tight. A slight revenge, “I’ll call y’all when I’m home.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Jeff said, leading Eddie by the arm.

“Sorry about that,” Jeff said the second they were out of earshot, “But you know how they can get.”

“I sure do,” Eddie sighed, bringing Jeff into a hug, “But it was still great seeing all of you.”

“You too man,” Jeff said, stopping him when Eddie went for the door. He put a hand on his shoulder, oddly serious when he said, “And Eddie? I just want you to know… you can tell me anything. Okay?”

Eddie blinked at him, “... okay?”

“Okay,” Jeff said, letting go. But Eddie could still feel his eyes on him as he crossed the threshold, “Hey, Eddie?”

Eddie turned, brow raised, “Yeah?”

“I think Steve’s a great guy,” Jeff said carefully, looking Eddie right in the eye, “He makes you happy. I like that.”

Eddie stared back at him, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t like the way he as looking at him, he didn’t like what any of that implied. He swallowed, forcing out an awkward laugh, “I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

Jeff nodded before slipping back inside, leaving Eddie somehow even worse than before.

Just how obvious was he? If Jeff could see right through him, how much longer did he have before Steve could?

from the next chapter of this fic

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #stranger things #oh no not me id never lose control #fic preview

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fayesia · 10 months

Note

Hello, I hope this doesn't bother you but I had an idea for mike schmidt. Imagine him and the reader are fighting and the reader leaves him. Ever since the reader left him he starts to loose his mind cause he needs the reader to function. Abby notices her brother's situation so she makes it her mission to get him and the reader back together.

Short and Sweet — mike schmidt x reader

a/n: Hiii ofc u r not bothering me! Thank you for the request, congrats you’re the first one so i’m very much appreciative!!! I hope i did justice to your idea, again i’m kind of new to all of this but hopefully you like it :D

“god your so selfish do you even think before you act!!”

You can feel the eyes of people passing by as they return to their cars and pack away their shopping. Except you don’t care, not when this is the third time Mike has forgotten to pick Abby up from school.

“come on at least say something!”

“GODDAMNIT, i’m sorry ok!!”

“well sorry’s not enough Mike! Because when i get home from work and she comes running into my arms having already had a bad day at school it’s on you for making it worse” you exclaim back to him slamming the car door shut.

He does the same, quickly started the engine and driving with rough movements.

“oh yeah, now what? you’re gonna get us both in a car crash, leave your sister alone again-“

“oh my god ENOUGH OK shut up!!”

You fumble with your fingers looking out the window, not in sadness or fear but rather an immense amount of anger. You knew that your emotions would take over your response and you were not going to cry in front of Mike as if what he said effected you.

He parks in the driveway, opens the trunk to collect the groceries and rushes through the front door. You follow after him entering the bedroom and collecting all your things from the closet and bathroom. carrying your duffel bag, you make your way retrieving any items left around the house. Your wallet, keys, shoes and a picture of you and abby are collected as you leave back outside to your car parked across the road.

Sitting down in the drivers seat you stare blankly ahead slowly lowering your head to rest against the steering wheel, soft crys quickly turning into loud sobs that rack through your body. They continue until you reach your apartment, gloomily walking into the place you haven’t been in for months, having spent most days of the week at Mikes house. This place doesn’t feel homely like his though, rather it’s cold and depressing reflecting how you felt right now, which really wasn’t helping.

You’re pulled away from these thoughts as your phone starts ringing. ‘Abby bear’ flashes on your screen as you clear your throat to remove any hints of you crying.

“Hi Abby what’s up?”

“why did you leave” her shaky voice almost has you in tears again.

“what did mike say honey? i’m not leaving forever i just needed to get some stuff from my place”

“he said you were gonna be gone for awhile but would come back. I think he’s lying though his eyes are all red like he’s been crying and he hasn’t moved from your spot on the couch”.

As you listen to her soft voice explain all of this more tears drop down to your chin.

“i’m sorry abby i just think we need a break from each other i don’t know for how long but its something that needed to happen sooner rather than later. I promise i’ll come by and visit you soon, maybe Friday for this weeks movie night?”

“Yayy ok sounds good”

“i have to go now sweetie but make sure you finish all your homework and then you can relax”

“ok byee y/n love u”

“bye abby bear i love you too”

ending the call, you’re left with a gut wrenching feeling spending the rest of the evening crying yourself to sleep on the couch. pitiful? maybe. but you really needed this and now was the right time.

While you spent hours sleeping the pain away, Mike was basically doing the same thing. Abby walked up to him handing him a tub of ice cream “i heard from a movie that eating ice cream makes you less sad after a breakup”

“that’s not true Abby”

her face drops a little at this, Mike quickly trying to cover up his mistake.

“but thank you, why don’t we both eat ice cream and watch a movie”

“ok!!” she settles herself next to him, cuddling into his side with blankets strewn across their laps.

Abby was not very knowledgeable about breakups, only being ten years old herself, and the most she experienced in the romance department was having a crush on the fastest runner in her class.

She did know however that the way Mike was acting was not healthy for him. He spent hours on the couch or in bed, barely eating and if he wasn’t doing that then he would be at work or picking Abby up from school, sometimes they would go and get frozen yogurt which Abby loved the most. She just wished you were there with them like before, when the three of you would go together and spend hours having fun at park.

Abby knew she had to do something, anything she could to get things back to the way they were and she knew just the way to do that.

It had been a week since the break up and neither you or mike seemed to be doing to well in Abby’s opinion but she had a plan set up and tonight she was putting it into action.

Mike received a message from you, his eyes widening as he read, “meet at the park 6pm” a short and simple text. Effective too with the way Mike jumped up running to the closet to pull out his nicest shirt and trousers, and then to the bathroom to shower and prepare him for the night to come.

Abby giggled to herself as she heard the commotion from her brother, taking his phone she started phase two of the plan.

‘bzzz’ you flayed your arm around in an attempt to grab your phone, a yelp coming from your throat as you read the message on the screen. A singular sentence from Mike that read, “meet at the park 6pm”. You expected to read more but that seemed to be it. Short and sweet. You layed out a simple long sleeve top and your favourite pair of jeans, readying yourself for an everything shower.

Soon it was 5:55 and both you and Mike climbed up opposite ends of the hill to the park situated right at the top. There in the middle was a bench and that bench was surrounded by rose petals, with a rose bouquet in the middle, and the bench itself was surrounded by mini lights illuminating the area with a gentle yellow tone similar to the sky’s as the sun set. All of this of course was done courtesy of Abby and you were quick to realise when mikes face was filled with shock when stumbling over one of the yellow lamps, it was clear he was not the one who had set this up. However that didn’t matter to you, the feeling of being swept off your feet into Mikes arms instead was all you were thinking about. He pulled you close to his chest whispering how sorry he was over and over again into your hair as your head rested against his chest, listening to his rapid heartbeat. You silently basked in the feeling of his comfort you dearly missed for that lonesome week the two of you spent apart, not quite ready yet to utter the words ‘i forgive you’ and he knew that after all the hateful words he’d said.

Instead you both sat together on the bench looking out at the setting sun, content with each other presence and no words. As nightfall was falling upon the park Mike grabbed your hand “gotta get back now, Abby will be waiting” he brushed your hand with his thumb for awhile almost hesitant to say something as you waited patiently. “do you want to come?” you break out into a smile, “of course, i always want to go with you”, you reply already dragging him by the arm to the directions of his house.

His house which you knew inside had a very nervous ten year old girl who would see you both walk through the door holding hands and celebrate the most out of all of you.

~unedited~

#mike schmidt #fnaf #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x y/n

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struniolos · 10 months

Text

lovesick.

“in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.”

nick sturniolo x masc! reader.

synopsis: the one time you and your boyfriend decided to go all the way. (this is very awkward and soft, so if you were expecting something filthy, i’m sorry!)

warnings: smut! minors do not interact.

based on this request! also dedicated to @sturnmad who inspired me to write nick!! xx

your lips danced in tandem with nicks, as you desperately clutched at each other in the darkness of your car. clinging to his shirt, his hair. nick was leaned over the centre console to reach you, as you sat in the drivers seat. it was in the early hours of the morning now, 1am when you last checked. you were pulled up in front of his apartment building, ready to say your goodbyes, but it had quickly turned into one of your regular hot and heavy make-out sessions.

“mmph! i have to go!” nick protested against your lips, pulling away from you. he looked gorgeous, his blue eyes glistening and reflecting the lights from your car’s interior lights.

“not yet.” you begged, looking at him through lidded eyes and pulling his plush lips in for another kiss.

nick sighed into your mouth, letting your mouths dance once more. you could feel the blood rushing to your crotch, your boxers suddenly becoming all the more tight. you palmed nick through his jeans, which earned a pained moan from him, but also a slap on your arm.

“matt and chris are going to be wondering where the fuck i am!” nick continued to argue, but you didn’t care. you grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled him into you again, continuing to to squeeze his bulge. nick pulled away from you though, his cheeks flushed and hair slightly mussed.

“you’re insane.” he tells you, pulling away and trying to hide his smirk by crossing his arms and looking out the window.

“you’re worse.” you counter, watching his cheeks dimple as he turns back to face you.

“fuck you.” nick chuckles in defeat, biting his cheek.

“i want you to.” you whisper mischievously, leaning back into your seat and widening your legs, releasing the strain. you loved the way nick was so expressive, how you could say things that you knew would set him off and wait for his reaction.

“you’re not ready.” he told you, his smile now fading. “besides, i don’t even know what the fuck i’m doing so how am i supposed to teach you?”

“i’ve been with other guys, nick.” you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“yeah but not…” he waves his hands, widening his eyes. “you know, like, fully.”

“i’m ready nick, i’ve been telling you for weeks. i want to do this with you.” you push, the humour that was once in the air no longer present. it was silent for a while, as you watched nicks mind churn.

eventually, he spoke up. “well, if we do, i’m not doing it in your car in front of my house.”

you laughed, rolling your eyes. the quiet hum of your car engine caught your attention in the silence, which made you notice that you were in fact still sitting outside his apartment.

you rubbed his thigh, looking at him with a pout. “well, are you going to invite me in, nicolas?”

he looks at you, his foot tapping as he thought. he looked out the window, then back at you, sighing.

“fine.” he said, as if it was a warning. yet, he still had a devilish smirk plastered on his face.

the apartment was dead silent once nick had snuck you in, all of the lights were off and the only noise was the faint hum of the washing machine softly tumbling in the background. you were happy his brothers were asleep- as the last time you had come in while they were home, you were caught in an onslaught of questions. this time, there were no questions asked. you and nick could just be.

you were lead up two flights of stairs in order to finally arrive at nicks room, which every time seemed to knock the wind out of you. once he lead you inside, locking the door behind him, you found your breath again. he was only a touch taller than you, your nose just at his lips. he held your waist, looking at you with somber eyes.

“i’m sorry if i don’t…if i’m not very good. i don’t really know what i’m doing.” he confesses, “i guess that’s why i’ve been stalling for so long.”

“all that matters is that i trust you.” you tell him, cupping his cheeks in your palms. you get a little giddy at the fact they’re so warm.

you both make your way to his bed, collapsing onto his plush assortment of pillows as you continue to kiss passionately. you sling a leg over him, grinding your hardness onto his thigh. nick grabs your hips, assisting your movements. you couldn’t get enough of him, inhaling his scent, biting at his lips, rubbing your body up against his broader frame.

nick broke his lips apart from yours, looking into your eyes. “are we really doing this?”

“yes, i love you. i want to do this with you.” you tell him earnestly, spilling your heart out into the open air.

“i love you too.” he reassures you. “we’ll just…we’ll try. if it doesn’t work out, we can try again another time.”

you smile at this, his words of affirmation something you found extreme comfort in. you both began to slowly undress each other, his hands never left you- jabbing his finger into your hip, tickling you, running a hand up your chest. once you were both only in your underwear, the sheets slightly mussed from all of the shimmying and moving around, nick hovered above you. the only light source was his bedside lamp, which illuminated a condom and a bottle of lube, which made your stomach drop. this was really happening.

nick bit his lip, eyeing your body. he palmed your bulge, eliciting a pathetic moan from you. “this okay?”

“always.” you hum, as he pulls your jocks down.

you throw your head back against the pillows, as nick begins lazily stroking your throbbing length. he licked a stripe up the underside, and your mind went fuzzy, your only thoughts being nick, nick, nick. he took you in his mouth, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked, something you would never get tired of. you ran a hand through his blonde locks, the dark roots showing as you tugged.

he took his mouth off you with a pop, laying his hands on your thighs. “i’m going to try something, but you have to tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

you nodded eagerly, as you watched a tattooed arm come over you to reach for the lube. he put some on his fingers, smoothing it over your hole. this caused your body to jump a little by the intrusion, but you definitely didn’t mind the sensation. you ran your hands down his biceps, as you admired him.

his eyes flicked up to yours, a knowing grin on his face as he slowly inserted a finger. you gasped, moaning at the stretch. it didn’t matter how many times you had danced this dance, it would always end up with you a panting, desperate mess- but that’s where it would end. it would never go beyond this, and your mind buzzed imagining what would come next.

once he could tell you were comfortable, nick began to stroke your cock as he pumped his finger into you. you groaned, your breathing heavy and laboured. it was too much, your body beginning to coat itself in sweat.

“i’m not going to last long, fuck!” you moaned, your stomach flexing as your hips began to jerk.

“i have to get you ready.” nick protested, his finger deep inside you.

“i am ready! just hurry up and fuck me.” you scolded, the desperation leaking from within you.

nick rolled his eyes, slowly pulling his finger out and stopping his strokes on your cock. “so impatient.”

you grabbed his face as he crawled up to hover over you once more, crashing your lips together. you didn’t waste any time, reaching down his boxers to begin stroking his solid, leaking cock. he moaned hotly into your mouth, a string of saliva between you. nick was big, not ridiculously- but it was the girth that scared you. you knew it would be a tight stretch, but your brain was so fogged with lust you didn’t care.

“i’m going to be really, really slow. i wont lie to you, it hurts like a bitch the first few times.” nick told you, looking into your eyes sternly.

you raised an eyebrow. “the first few?”

“mhm.” he hummed, “so you need to tell me if it’s too unbearable.”

you nod, desperately just wanting him inside of you, your cock leaking and your heart thudding in your throat. he reached over to the bedside table, grabbing the condom and ripping it open with his teeth. you were completely enamoured with him, his broad shoulders, the veins in his arms as he rolled it onto himself, his hair falling over his eyes, his wet lips. it was all so painfully erotic.

he motioned you to roll over to your stomach, and the weight of the situation finally hit you. this was really happening. yet, you found yourself comforted by the fact it was your boyfriend, and that you loved and trusted him more than anyone.

nick put his weight on you, kissing behind your ear. “i’m going to go really slow, okay? and i’ll stop whenever you want, no questions asked.”

“i know you will.” you whisper, craning your neck to turn around and kiss him full on the lips.

he rubbed the cold lube over your hole, and pushed it in with his finger. he toyed with you, spreading you open to prepare you. finally, you felt the tip of his cock linger at your entrance, as you latched your teeth into your fist in anticipation. incredibly slow, nick began to push himself inside of you. you bit down on your knuckles, the intrusion burning more than you had imagined. nick stopped once he was halfway, bending down so that his chest was flush with your back.

“wait, just-just stay like that for a bit.” you breathe, trying to adjust to the stretch.

“okay.” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “you feel fucking amazing, though.”

you chuckled, slowly beginning to forget about the pain. it took you a few moments to gain your composure before you urged him on.“okay, you can keep going.”

nick pushed himself further into you, your mouth falling open and a guttural moan tumbling out. it burned, but it felt so good. that was until, he started thrusting. his thrusts were slow and cautious, but you yelped in pain. “fuck, i’m sorry. it hurts.”

“i’m sorry, i probably shouldn’t have done it in this position.” nick sighs, stroking your hair and kissing your cheek. “this is new for me too, i’m just copying what other guys have done to me.”

you found the strength to smile at this. nick, always the people pleaser. “well, what if we try, like…we can try a different position?”

“yeah, let’s try that.” he agrees.

you take a little bit of fiddling and shuffling around, but eventually find yourself on your back, with nick still hovering over you. he pushed back inside of you, but this time it feels different. this time, you couldn’t describe the feeling. it was euphoric. you loved that you could see his face, too, his cheeks and the tips of his ears pink.

“better?” he asked, coyly.

“yes.” you moaned, “now move, please.”

nick began to thrust into you once more, this time more comfortably. you whimpered as the burning sensation began to fade and be overtaken by a pleasure you’d never felt. nick was huffing and breathing heavy, his arms flexing as he held his weight up above you. your hands found purchase on his biceps, as your legs came to fold at your stomach.

“oh god.” nick moaned, feeling his cock deep inside of you, hitting your prostate.

you felt pathetic, slightly embarrassed by the moans and cries coming from you. nicks thrusts began to get more aggressive, his hips snapping at the back of your thighs, reaching over to start stroking your cock. this almost send you over the edge, your entire body building with pleasure.

“you feel so good.” you moaned, watching him at work, thrusting into you deep and hard, knocking the wind from you. you truly didn’t know he had it in him.

“fuck, i’m-“ nick’s hips began to stutter, his thrusts loosing their rhythm and becoming more sporadic and his hand leaving your cock as he had to hold himself up, his arms starting to buckle.

you were a mess- your bodies slapping together, lewd sounds echoing his bedroom. you pulled him closer to you, so could feel the weight of him on top of you. you reached to your front to tug yourself, feeling the build of an orgasm in your stomach and bubbling to your throat, about to burst.

“fuck! oh my god!” you cried, as the feeling of nick pounding into you combined with his heavy moans in your ear sent you over the edge.

you came all over your stomach, your hole pulsating and body shuddering as the wave of pleasure that overcame you washed you out. nick wasn’t far behind, chasing his release as you held him close, your bodies clutching each other in desperation. nick groaned heavily, his mouth agape and eyes rolling into the back of his head as he came inside you. the feeling was odd, his condom catching his release but you could still feel the warmth.

he collapsed on top of you, and you both stayed there like that- with nick still inside of you and your bodies pressed against each other, basking in the aftermath. the room fell silent now, the only noise being your combined heavy breathing. you absent mindedly stroked his back, your fingers running up and down his spine.

“sorry, i didn’t last very long.” nick finally spoke up with a chuckle. “i definitely do not have the stamina for that.”

“stamina for what?“ you questioned, pulling away so you could see his face.

he bit his lip to hide his smile. “being a top. like, it’s so tiring.”

you perk up now, laughing. “so what you’re saying is you like being the one fucked?”

“yes, the fuck-ee not the fuck-er.” he explained, as if it made perfect sense.

you couldn’t contain your laughter, shaking your head. “jesus christ, nick. sometimes you say things and i just…”

“i’d be careful with what you’re about to say, i’m still inside you.” he tsked, wagging his finger in your face.

you slapped his hand away, “well then, i suppose you’d better pull out. wouldn’t want me to get pregnant.”

nick covered his mouth and widened his eyes. “literally stop talking.”

“wanna go have a shower?” you asked, wiggling your brows.

“absolutely.” nick said enthusiastically, giving you a firm kiss.

as you watched nick get off the bed and disappear into the ensuite bathroom attached to his room, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging, like you truly felt complete now.

“hey nick?” you called out.

“yeah?” he answered, poking his head around the corner.

you gaze at him lovingly, in his full naked form, all broad and flushed. “i’m glad we did that.”

“me too, but next time, you’re fucking me.” he laughs, putting a hand up into the air before disappearing back into the bathroom.

now that, that was an idea you could work with.

#first time writing mxm be nice #if something is wrong or doesn’t make sense pls don’t hesitate to yell at me!#also i never know how to end these things they’re always so lame lol #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #nick sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo x you

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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“Al-righty.” Shiro hums merrily to himself as he puts the car in park and holds the keys out to Keith. “Here we go.”

Keith stares at them. Shiro’s hand remains where it is, keys dangling from the key ring around his finger. His expectant look leaves Keith at a total loss.

“Did you drive me out here to murder me?” Keith asks eventually, finally breaking the building silence. He looks pointedly out the windshield, where all that is visible for miles and miles is the desert.

Shiro snorts. “Yep. You ate the last ramen pack one too many times. Time to meet your end.” He reaches over with his other hand and grabs one of Keith’s, gently prying his fist open and placing the keys into them. “No, I’m not here to murder you, doofus. That would be a horrible idea. I don’t have an alibi.”

Keith refuses to laugh at that. It’s not funny and also Keith has been warned about letting Shiro think he’s funny. It can only lead to more dad jokes, or worse. “These are your car keys,” he says, gingerly holding the objects in question.

“Yes,” Shiro says.

“Context clues imply that you are asking me to drive your car.”

“Mhm.”

“I am thirteen years of age.”

“Yep.”

“We met, famously, because I stole your car. This very car, in fact. And crashed it.”

“Correct.”

Keith blinks slowly at him. His amused expression does not shift. Keith’s not sure how else to spell things out for him, so he just shrugs. He’s not about to say no to getting a chance to drive. How many other thirteen year olds can say that a legal, licensed adult took them out to drive?

“Okay.”

He steps out of the car, Shiro quickly vacating his own seat as well. He stands outside the driver’s side as Keith settles back in behind the wheel, leaning his torso through the open window.

“Okay,” he starts, voice taking on the same instructional quality he uses to lecture. “First step: seatbelt. You know this.”

Keith dutifully buckles himself in.

“Excellent. Now you can adjust your seat — levers on the underside there, yeah. You want to be able to easily touch the pedals, but when you fully straighten your arms, they should only go to the steering wheel. You’re a little too close.” He reaches down and guides Keith’s hand along the lever, helping him push the seat back slightly. “There, perfect. See you you can reach everything, but you have lots of space to move? That’s perfect. Fix your posture, though.”

“Does that help with visibility?” Keith questions, figuring a straight back will make it easier to see over the wheel.

“Nah, I just don’t like it when you slouch. Moving on.”

Shiro quickly runs through the rest of the set up with him — adjusting his mirrors, making sure he knows where all levers and signals are, testing the brake lights. Once he’s satisfied that Keith has a general idea where everything is, he jogs over to the passenger seat and climbs in.

“Okee dokee,” he says as he flicks through radio stations so fast you can barely even hear the first couple notes. He pauses after a moment, eyes flicking to Keith, then clicks back a couple stations, finally settling on a country station playing an old Johnny Cash song. “Start the engine.”

Keith does. The old car sputters for a second, then roars to life.

“Good! Drive!”

Keith looks at him in alarm. “What? Just — go?”

Shiro grins, wide and cheeky. “Go!”

Keith doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He steps on the gas, and the car careens forward at top speeds, shooting a cloud of red dust behind them. Shiro whoops, turning the song up louder.

The wind blows loud and fast through the open windows, competing with the blasting music and whipping Keith’s hair all around his face. He gets sand in his eyes more times than he can count, but he doesn’t dare take his hands off the wheel, just blinks it away as fast as he can. He watches the speedometer climb past forty, fifty, sixty, and his belly swoops every time they ricochet up a hole and go careening back down. Every so often Shiro calls out instructions — “Look at your mirrors and your blind spot before you make turns! Foot off the gas for the first half of the turn, then accelerate through the end of it! Don’t cross your arms over the wheel! Listen to the car so you know when to shift gears!” — sometimes a little too late. Keith stalls the car more than once. He also, at one point, swerves to avoid a cactus that seems to appear out of nowhere.

But Shiro never asks him to stop. Never has him pull over, never screams at him for messing up, never chides him about his speed (which, he might add, is entirely reasonable). He only grips the ceiling handle and cheers Keith on, whooping every time they hit a bump. He only calls out words of encouragement, smiling big and proud, cheering Keith on til he’s smiling just as wide.

For the first time since he lost his Pa, Keith feels like someone wants to see him happy.

#i love the broganes so so much and especially prekerb #this is in a specific universe of mine also i just don’t have a name for it #vld #voltron #keith #keith kogane #shiro #takashi shirogane #broganes #kid keith #young keith #young shiro #big brother shiro #fluff #humour #my writing #fic fragment

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bullet-prooflove · 4 months

Text

Rio: Terry Silver x Reader

Tagging: @volumesofforgottenlore@kmc1989@somethingdarkside17@noonee333

Terry’s warned you about the car. It’s a fire engine red 1967 Alfa Romero Spider, one that’s seen much better days. Cars like this in good condition cost ten grand, yours is not in good condition.

He understands the emotional connection to the car, your parents had picked it up for you after college as a graduation present. It’s the only tie you have to the both of them now that they’re gone.

When you’d got back to LA and brought it out of storage, Terry had known it was going to be trouble. It was in the stutter of the engine, the dilapidated roar. There’s a Duran Duran tape that’s been stuck in the stereo for over a decade and the passenger side intermittently unlocks. Everytime you climb inside the thing he gets heart palpitations.

When he gets the call in the middle of the night, it scares the hell out of him. You’re crying on the phone, there’s been an accident, you think the car is totalled.

“But are you ok?” He asks you, gripping the phone so tightly the plastic creaks.

“Yea,” You say shakily and he can tell you trying not to cry. “But the car…”

“Alright baby.” He says softly as he snatches up his keys. “I’m on the way.”

There’s already a tow truck on scene, along with the police when he arrives. He sees the red and blue lights flashing and his heart tightens in his chest.

The accident had taken place on a dirt road in El Sereno. You were driving home after dropping off one of the kids from the gallery when a drunk driver had hit your car, almost sending it careening over the edge of the hill. You were lucky it hadn’t been going any faster because that car, it has a soft top, he’s certain you wouldn’t have made it if it had rolled.

You put your thumb out to flag him down and he pulls up as close as he can. You’re a mess. There’s mascara streaked down your cheeks, blood running from your hairline down your features.

“Did you hit your head?” he asks worriedly, his fingers seeking out the source of the bleeding.

“No.” You say as he removes a handkerchief from his coat pocket and presses it to the wound. “It’s from the glass.”

When you glance over your shoulder the Romero is being loaded onto a flatbed. The passenger side where the other car hit you is obliterated, the metal contorted beyond repair. You take one look at it and burst into tears.

That night you’re inconsolable.

The loss of that car…

It’s like you’ve lost your parents all over again.

You cry yourself to asleep, your face buried in Terry’s chest as he holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your hair.

The next day you’re exhausted, banged up and emotionally wrung out. He tries to get you to take a sick day but you refuse because you need to be busy. He makes you take a couple of painkillers before he drops you off at the art gallery where you work.

When he gets to the lot where your car is being held, the damage is worse than he realised.

“You may as well sell it for scrap.” His mechanic tells him as he studies the vehicle. “The repairs will cost more than the car is worth.”

“Money isn’t a problem.” He sighs as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you think it can be fixed?”

“It’ll take some time. The crash did a number on it.” The mechanic says as he smooths his hand over the twisted metal. “I can get it done though.”

It’s almost a month later that you wake up and find a silver box with a red ribbon perched upon your nightstand. It’s resting upon the book you’re reading about your namesake Georgia O’Keefe.

When you open it you find a car key inside, one that you recognise. It’s kind of Terry to give you a keepsake, he knows how much that car means to you, the memories that were attached to it.

“Thank you.” You say softly as you linger in the doorway of the kitchen in your robe and hold up the key. “It means a lot that you could give me something to remember the car by.”

“Let’s step outside.” He says quietly, his palm coming to rest on your lower back as he guides you towards the driveway.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing. Sitting there is your car, not ruined or torn apart, but brand new in pristine condition. Your fingertips trail over the bonnet and your throat constricts because you remember the nights you spent with your dad working on the engine, your mother singing along to ‘Rio’ as she revved it at his request.

“He left the tape deck untouched.” Terry tells you, his lips brushing over your temple. “You can sing ‘Hungry Like The Wolf’ to your heart’s content.”

It’s that attention to detail that makes you realise just how much this man cares for you. You feel a surge of something inside of you, a rush of love, of gratitude. Terry has no idea of the gift he’d given you, not really.

“Why don’t you go get dressed?” He suggests, tilting his head back towards the house. “Then you can come back out and take her for a spin.”

Love Terry S? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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#terry silver x reader #terry silver #cobra kai

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shootingstar-scuderia · 6 months

Text

tomorrow never knows

summary: oscar knows a lot of things but when logan seat gets taken from him it turns out that oscar really doesn't know anything at all

(or my brain is still stuck on australia 24 and one (1) line from taylor swift and phoebe bridger's nothing new )

Oscar knows it before the news even breaks. He’s hanging around the garage, antsy, waiting for one of his engineers to get back to him about the data they were going over earlier.

He’s been on edge all day really, anxiety chewing on him in ways that don’t make sense. He’s at his home race, surrounded by fans who love him, who are excited to see him race and somehow that’s not the part he’s nervous about.

He’s nervous about Logan. Worried about whatever is happening behind closed doors at Williams. There hasn’t been any official statement yet, but the writing is on the wall.

There have been whispers of it all over the paddock, murmurs of “that’s tough luck” or “what a shit thing to do to your driver” throughout the McLaren garage. No one is too worried about it really, Logan’s not their driver, but Oscar can still feel something still hangs thick in the air. It’s the knowing he thinks, the waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then the other shoe does drop.

The other shoe drops and it’s like nothing has even happened. Everyone in the garage is still going about their jobs, unaffected by the news. Head down, it’s not your team, it’s not McLaren. And Oscar thinks that he would be the same way too, if it was someone else and not logan. He thinks he’d be able to get by on a shared look with Lando and a murmured “horrible.”

But it’s not. It’s Logan. And Oscar is with a rage that simmers under the profound sadness he feels. Because he knows what this means for Logan and he knows what this means for them.

It’s almost unconscious the way his feet move. One moment he’s in the McLaren garage and the next he's in Williams trying to find Logan. Trying not to think about the way his eyes water when he’s distraught. The way he shifts his feet from side to side, when he’s antsy and desperate to be anywhere but where he is right now.

When Oscar does see him it’s not a pretty sight. He can see the panic in Logan’s body, torn between fight or flight, surrounded by his team in a way that Oscar knows is suffocating rather than comforting.

He breaks through the little circle that’s formed and grabs Logan by the shoulder to pull him away from everyone. Oscar doesn’t even care that people try to stop them, single mindedly focused on corralling Logan down the corridor and into his driver’s room.

“Osc, what are you- they still- I’m so,” Logan’s neck cranes to look behind him, but his feet keep the marching pace Oscar has set.

Oscar gives Logan a quick squeeze, “I know,” he says. “I know. They can wait.”

He sits Logan down on the little massage table that’s been set up and settles down next to him, pulling him close. “Come ‘ere.”

And that all it takes for Logan to throw his arms over Oscar’s shoulders and bury himself into him.

“It’s so unfair.”

“I know Logs, it’s not fair at all.”

“I know.” It seems to be all Oscar can say and he hates it. Because it’s not really true is it? He doesn’t really know, does he? He doesn't know how it feels, he doesn't know why Williams did it, he doesn’t know anything at all.

“What’s worse is that I think I could have done it. I could have gotten us points.”

And the only thing Oscar can do is pull Logan even closer to him, “they’re making a mistake, you would have gotten points. I know it.”

Logan doesn’t cry, he just lets out a shuddering breath, his body sagging against Oscar’s.

“No you don’t,” Logan says his voice wavering, “you don’t know that.”

And Oscar knows he’s right. He knows that they’ll never get the chance to know if Logan could have gotten points this weekend. That they were robbed of it before they even could figure it out.

“And I know what people will say,” he continues, “I know they’ll be saying that it makes sense from a points perspective, that they did what they had to do. And they’ll say that I’d be better suited in Indy, at something else.”

Logan sighs, his whole body collapsing in on itself. “But I don’t want to be better at something else, I want to be better at this.”

And Oscar knows that too. Because he knows Logan, because he knows that it was always the dream. That it was supposed to be the two of them, on the podium together, winning championships.

It feels impossible to know if this holds true now. A couple years ago, when they were moving from F3 to F2 and winning, they knew there was a chance. But when they were younger, they knew this without a doubt. They knew that it would be Logan and Oscar, Oscar and Logan, racing each other until time itself stopped.

How could they have known everything at 15 and 16, but nothing at 22 and 23?

He’ll come with Logan to the track tomorrow Oscar thinks, hide him away in McLaren for a little bit until he has to go and play nice with everyone for the cameras. And he’ll hold Logan close tonight and stop him from thinking of the future, of the cliffside of legacy they’re teetering on the edge of. That much he knows and that’s enough for tomorrow. And for the day after that, and for the day after that.

Oscar knows that Williams didn’t make the right choice, but they made a choice and they’ll continue to make choices. Choices about Logan’s future in F1, choices that will shape his image as a driver. Choices that they can’t control and ones they won’t know about but will have to face together.

Oscar can only hope that when the time comes they’ll make the right choices.

#loscar #loscar fanfic #logan sargeant x oscar pisastri #oscar piastri x logan sargeant #oscar piastri #op81 #logan sargeant #ls2 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #australia gp 2024 #f1

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

POLLUTED MARROW & HOLLOW BONES (VIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IX ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 6.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, arguments, high-tension scenarios, talks of death, strained familial relationships, anxiety symptoms including lightheadedness, vomiting, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“L-let’s not be rash, here,” you chuckle awkwardly, still staring down from the top of the roof into Gaz’s glaring eyes, the amber in them boiling and rolling with fire. The vans all open their obsidian black doors, multiple armed men spilling out to case the area—but all the Sergeant does is set his jaw.

“Get down,” it’s the only thing said. A low rumble and tilt of accent. Dead.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and for a moment you’re so tense you forget the fact that you’re looking into Kyle’s eyes without so much as flinching. You stare a moment longer, one hand on the edge of the concrete, steadily tightening its hold as the other cradles your father’s things.

“Eh…” Your eyes dart away, blood on the bottom of your face dried and itchy. You’d never heard him speak like that before.

Before you can think to protest, you’re slipping onto the latter with a burning face and a skip in your heart. This was worse than having to smack a man with a vent grate—like being taken to your death.

When you land on solid ground, a hand latches onto the neck of your jacket and begins forcefully moving you to one of the vans. Your free hand snaps to the clenched fist, grasping onto his wrist like a whiny teenager and releasing a sound of alarm.

“Hey!” Your feet try to dig their heels in, but the void of the car door is coming up quickly. “Gaz, let me go!”

There’s no response. The form beside you is so firm and his hand so unrelenting you wonder if you’ll be in even deeper trouble this time than when you stole your mother’s credit card in middle school. Kyle’s athletic build surges with anger—a clench to his teeth so hard his jaw bones can be seen while the corners of his eyes.

Any snappy response or insult stales on your lips as you see his other hand tightly curled in on itself, the tiny growl that builds in him at your struggling. Throat bobbing, you let the man push you forward to the car and hop in without another word.

Oh, I’m screwed. You thin your lips and cringe at the loud slam of the door, trying to keep calm in the enclosed space as the darkness sets in. Some of the soldiers enter the Museum, probably doing damage control.

Bringing your items to your chest, you take a steadying breath and rub under your sore nose; bits of red flaking off like dirt on the wind. Your head pounds with uncertainties.

Did you really think you could pull this off? Body hunching in, the driver glances back at you, his eyes narrowed with annoyance and a frown on his lips. Your face and the tips of your ears feel like they’re being placed over hot coals.

You clear your throat, staring at the portion of skin right under his orbs. “Problem?” The driver scoffs and returns his gaze to the front as the passenger side door opens with a pop.

“Get us back.” Kyle orders, voice clipped and final.

Engine starting, the man that had tracked you down clicks his seatbelt on and closes the door with a stiff arm. Alone in the back, you do the same after a slight beat of hesitation; a second of something like panic hitting you in the chest.

It was stupid to ask why he would be acting like this, but you still wondered if you had really met Kyle’s breaking point. The aggressive re-situating of his ball cap seemed like a good hint—the rod-straight spine and tapping fingers on the door-arm.

He was in full gear.

But…this was what you wanted, right? A breaking point?

Your mouth opens and then slowly closes, breath caught in your throat and not knowing what to say. Why did you feel like you’d just done something irreversible?

Gaze darting to the floor, you glare at the mats as the vehicle jerks forward, turning to bring you back to the mansion surrounded by metal like an abyss and bullet-proof glass.

“I…found some stuff, y’know,” you puff out, not liking the strangling silence about two minutes in. The USB in your pocket sits heavy.

Again, no one answers. The Sergeant’s eyes don’t even glance at you from the mirror. Frustration grows like a virus.

“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d just let me help, Gaz.” You try to get him to speak, suddenly nervous and building in volume…or was that desperation? “I mean, really, it’s my dad!”

Nothing.

Face stained with shame and lips peeled into a sneer, your eyes crinkle with a slight burning sensation trapped behind the skin. You sit with shaky fingers the entire ride, your mouth strangling down the loud exclamations as to why this wasn’t your fault so you don’t bark like a dog.

You had to, didn’t Gaz understand that?

Whatever was in your father’s belongings would tell you what you needed to know—break this entire thing open. And if the rest of the Sergeant’s friends overseas could track down the two that started this, all of it could be over.

You could be left alone again, finish your classes, and…and…

Brows slowly slide in.

What then? As the car pulls up through your gate, you find a horrifying realization that you have no idea.

Unclipping your seatbelt, you go to try and open the door with a frown, only to find it’s unwilling to release you. Lightly pushing on the material again, your eyes slowly widen.

No way.

Kyle had child-locked you.

Gaping, you have to wait for Gaz to get out in a long moment of letting this new reality settle into your blood. He does so after pure silence, seeming as if he might say something, but the Brit just ends up sighing loudly and shaking his head. Gaz gets out and grasps the handle to your door, pulling it out and standing back—all without a mumble.

Like you want to prove to yourself that this doesn’t make your chest feel weird, you shuffle out and scoff at him. But anyone can see the guilty expression on your face.

Striding up to the front door, you push at it with your shoulder, the night air cold and encompassing before the relatively warmer air of your house hits your face. The plate you’d left out for the cat hours earlier is left behind on the step, empty.

Kyle follows close after, hands hanging off his combat vest. In the foyer is when you snap.

“Are you going to speak up or keep acting like a child? Look at the stuff I got, Garrick!” You hold the items in display as you can hear the car out front leave in a grind of gravel. “This could be the answer to if my father really—”

The laptop and the journal are all swiped from your grasp and he’s pushing past you before you can continue. Shocked, even petrified for a moment, your mouth flaps like a fish.

Realization hits you like a truck.

“Fucker!” That was a new one.

Twisting on your heel, you stalk quickly after the male as he stomps, hands clenched into themselves and the skin of your knuckles thin. “Give those back! Garrick—don’t you ignore me, I don’t deserve this!”

It’s like he snaps at that, whipping around and pointing a finger right into your face. You balk back, surprise and alarm alighting your features.

“Deserve?!” Your eyes blink rapidly, lips parted. You stare widely into his cheek scar as his lips turn into an attacking jibe. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, what you deserve is to be locked into a fucking jail cell! Least then I’d be able to keep track of you, eh? What kind of bastard do you have to be to think that was a good idea?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it your family that’s,” you splay your hands, the house echoing with the sounds of verbal battle. The glass finally shatters. “Being goddamn hunted, Sergeant? Your father that got his head fucking imploded?”

You didn’t want to admit how much this argument was making you feel uneasy, but you want your father’s things back. They belong to you, and now they’re stuck in this jerk’s gloved hands like a doll. Those things were valuable; they could fix this.

“If it was me, I wouldn’t be running off like a bloody fool! I’d be listening to the people that are here to keep me alive!” You growl and shake your head. “How thick-headed are you?!”

Gaz isn’t done, his finger moving back and forth as the skin of his cheek tightens, lips dancing to speak rapidly like a fire was under his feet.

“Your father is dead.” Blood drains from your body, expression immediately blanking. “He’s gone and he wasn’t someone to be proud of. Whoever he was with you was a facade for his family and the public. If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else, yeah, you understand that?” Tears infect the sides of your wide gaze, and you’re suddenly sucked into Gaz’s eyes as you had been the first day you’d both met. Amber and flashing gold—enraged emotion and raw bluntness that you’d had yet to experience in this capacity. What had happened to his sarcasm? His stern and laughable annoyance?

“Hell,” he keeps going, moving his finger to point to the side. “Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead—innocent civilians and a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t exist! You’re mental, Love, fucking mental!”

Kyle pants, staring into your face and your tiny pupils; your shaking body. He grits his teeth and peels back, angrily twitching his nose.

“If you would listen to me, this all would have already been over with, can you get that through your skull? I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

The house gradually goes back to silence, but it’s no longer a deep, ancient feeling. It’s like walking on glass, blood pooling along the soles of feet and sticking through flesh.

You stare and can’t find it in yourself to breathe anymore.

Amber darts to your bloody nose and Gaz bares his teeth, face bright with dismissal. He pushes past the concern at the crimson flecks. He’s done trying to earn your favor, so he blankly spits out, “Clean yourself up. I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag,” and turns down the hall.

“I fucking hate you,” the words spill out in a strangled gasp, a wheeze on your tongue. Gaz pauses, his back taunt and straight. His chin partially peeks over his shoulder.

“Good.” The worlds feel like lead. “It can go both ways, Love.”

When he disappears, you stand in the darkness and feel the first dribbles of tears wet your lashes—making them stick to one another as you stutter on air.

Your brain can’t make sense of it.

Empty-handed, your body is so heavy the first few steps in the direction of your room feel like you’re dragging a statue of stone behind you; the rope tied to your fingers and toes. But when the bile starts to fizzle in your throat, you pick up the pace; darting through your opened bedroom door and beelining to your bathroom.

Just in time, your face finds the toilet, vomit coming out in sputtering coughs as your sobs exit moments later, stuck between the acid in your throat and your stubbornness.

You hated crying—hated vomiting—but lately, it was like those were the only things you could do; your body didn’t listen to your pleas or begging, only did what it wanted. On that front, you believe that your brain and matter were equally matched.

Gasping and feeling saliva drip off your lips, you raggedly cough up what little you had in your stomach until you can sit back against the wall and blankly stare ahead. With varying success you try and take down deep breaths, shivering something awful as the chill gets to you.

But suddenly the silence of the mansion was a prison.

The water pipes, the small creaking—the click of your small clock out in your room.

Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.

Your mind told you that you shouldn't feel bad. Shouldn’t be wearing that thousand-yard stare as you tase vomit on your tongue and in your throat; the burn of that shame and guilt. You had nothing to be guilty of—nothing.

It was your father, not Gaz’s. He’d do the very same thing.

Right?

You grasp at your scalp and lean forward, slotting your head in between your knees. Everything spins and twirls, there’s a violent need to satiate the thirst in your throat, but you can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

“...I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

Gaz’s hands on your palm and the way your very injured hand stings now in memory; those stitches popped and bandages bloody—the crimson on your nose.

How he held you in the kitchen and leaned you back against the island. Spoke so softly and casually, as if you hadn’t nearly passed out on him.

He’d apologized not hours before you’d gone and snuck out.

Your heart tightens.

He’d apologized.

Your fingers dig into your flesh, biting hard as you suck down sobs and tiny whimpers; tears staining your clothes in fast droplets.

“If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else…Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead…a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t bloody exist!”

You curl into a tiny ball of horror.

“I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag.”

—

Kyle moved his things to the room directly in front of yours in the middle of the night, when you’d passed out from your panic on the bathroom floor. He’d grasped all of his belongings with clenched hands, bags contouring under the force.

At every instance, he cursed your name and everything you’d put him through.

“Bloody, unbelievable,” he growls, shoving clothes into his duffel bag before zipping it up and wrenching it over his shoulder.

It was rare to find the Brit this mad, so often level-headed.

“Give her every chance in the books, and what does she do?” He flicks the lights of his old room off and quickly walks down the hallway. “Fucking plays me for a fool! Jesus. Brilliant, just brilliant.”

There was no way to describe how his heart had jerked out of his chest when he’d come to try and speak to you hours earlier; when he’d found the room empty after knocking for minutes—trying to be considerate to your privacy.

The open window, the damn curtain rack.

It was insulting.

Gaz stalks in a bitter and steam-emitting silence to the room across from yours, not bothering to check on the cracked open door from your own. You’d had your fun, you’d probably just forgotten to close the door fully as you made fun of him behind his back.

Kyle frowns and sets his things down on the white, sheeted-covered bed that would be his. Tiny, and not even long enough to let his legs stay on it fully.

He tries not to remind himself about how afraid you’d looked as he’d laid into you. Halfway through his barking match of emotion, he’d thought maybe it was time to stop—to ease off a bit and reel it back in, but then it had become necessary.

If you didn’t listen to him when he was calm, the fact was that you wouldn’t listen to him at all. Best to get it all off his chest while he could.

He’d already sent in a reassignment request to Laswell not an hour prior.

Taking out his things, his fingers brush your stolen laptop and journal. Christ, there was so much paperwork to go through after what you’d done—damage reports and write-ups on his record for losing track of his VIP; the crimes you’d stacked like awards that needed to be scrubbed.

This wasn’t only a protection Op, this was his job.

And you were taking a hammer to his perfect track rep.

Pulling out the two items, Gaz huffs and shakes his head, running his free hand over his chin.

“Two things and it couldn’t have waited a few more days? What is this girl about?” They’re placed down on the bed and not given another glance.

He’d have to go through them later.

Kyle goes and splays both of his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes before taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with oxygen. An attempt to calm down.

You’ll not get anything done acting like this.

The resounding truth was that he was tired. You’d tested him to the point of snapping—how was that even possible? You were a bloody Uni student with a big mouth and a stubborn streak, not even a drug lord could do what you did.

You’d gotten him to yell at you and on the other end, he’d gotten you to look at him. Yes, look, with your own volition, but that fact left a sour taste in his mouth where it should have felt like a triumph after the terrible first in the park.

You’d stared into his eyes with utter shock and numb fear—as if he’d pull a gun on you.

A civilian. His charge.

You had been terrified, even if you’d tried to use entitlement to sneak around it. You’d been shaking. With eyes dead still.

“God, you twat,” Gaz grunts. Had he really called you mental? “Bloody hell, you’re in for it.”

You’d be livid tomorrow when it catches up to you. A damn near homemade bomb wrapped in metal and filled with nails; Gaz’s name written on the top in red ink.

As he kept his door open to stare at yours in the middle of the night, the Sergeant prepared himself, still angry and dreading the future.

If only it could be that simple.

In the morning, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Wearing a large hoodie and pajama bottoms, you had already downed three cups of coffee by 9 o’clock, your body stiff and the air around your head a cloud of indiscernible separation. But it wasn’t like Gaz had tried to speak to you, either.

Both of you were forced to be in the same room, as the Sergeant wouldn’t let you alone save for the bathroom. You couldn’t be trusted.

It was mental torture.

Jaw clenching, the man watched you work on your personal laptop, doing classwork while your USB stuck out of the port—he blinked away, writing up his own reports on the incident last night.

The air was so thick you could be lost in it like a forest full of mist. It simmered; burned—then cooled to a degree of freezing before starting back up again. No words, no acknowledgements.

Brown drifts back to your blank face as your fingers stop over your laptop’s keys, a small tremor, and then get back to it. Gaz bites his lip and closes his eyes harshly, shaking his head once.

He had to stop feeling guilty for the truth. You needed to hear what he said, no matter how blunt. It was the truth, after all.

But the truth didn’t stop his heart from hurting when you reverted to a state of waking nothingness with little desire to eat or move beyond the shuffle of your body.

Gaz sighs and tells himself it’s not his problem anymore—in a little bit he’d be gone if Laswell approved him for transfer. Back with One-Four-One. Working with people who trust him and his judgment.

It was for the best.

You stare at the ‘enter password’ screen on your laptop with a chill on your neck, blind to all else as you wrack your brain for answers.

The USB from your father’s office was password protected. Ten tries before it got locked out. You’d gone through five already.

Staring hard, Gaz keeps distracting you.

He was sitting in the living room with you, on the opposite couch as well as on the opposite end—as far as he could be with still being near. Being in this state and feeling the tension in the air made you lightheaded with anxiety.

It’s as if every urge to speak or breathe near him dissipates; your face a perpetual furnace, blood on fire.

Focus, you have to tell yourself, but it only makes it worse. Eyes dig into the screen as the two words blend into one another, taunting.

You can hear his breath, the scratch of his pen as it travels over paper—if the circumstances had been different, it would have been the picture of quiet companionship.

A pity you both were the way you are.

The shame was urging you to apologize, to rectify what you’d done; pride was taking that shame by the throat. But you were faced with the reality that you couldn’t go back to living alone like you had before, because this silence was enough to make you go insane.

You missed his voice, and you’d only been without it for a short while. Kyle’s smirk and his cheeky quips. You both hated it and longed for something to grapple to.

It was true, you admitted, hands over the keys, you’d grown used to him. It was disgusting.

About to chance another possible password—your parent’s anniversary halfway typed in—the front door rings.

Immediately, everything that had seemingly already been still, halts.

Freezing, you stare at the laptop and let the echo spread across the mansion, the high ding of the rarely used object. Your eyes slowly rise to stare at the living room opening, blinking, and for a moment any thought of Kyle and the argument; the hatred at your stubbornness and pride, utterly ceases to exist.

With a twitch of your fingers, you close your laptop in what seems like hours, the tiny sound it makes when it lays flat making your ear perk.

Gaz’s head is already swiveled, body wound up. He sends a quick glance your way before standing and reaching for the X12 in his waistband. Your eyes catch the glint of his watch and you look away with a frown, lids narrowed with hesitation.

Tell him you’re sorry. You know you are.

Standing to follow, Kyle sends a hard look your way. Your feet stall.

Both of you seem surprised by that.

The Sergeant’s eyes widened for a second, hand on his weapon loosening and pulse up-ticking. So much expressed with absolutely no words to be muttered aloud. You take a deep breath and lick your lips, not able to speak over a raspy grunt of, “Kyle…I-I—”

The doorbell rings again, longer this time.

You snap your mouth shut.

Kyle looks you up and down, but his feet only hesitate a moment longer. He turns his head away quickly and carefully leaves the living room.

Running a hand over your neck, you close your eyes and contort your face into an image of confused pain, an inner hatred at…everything. You’d messed up. Badly.

And you were afraid of your own fear. Afraid of your sudden unease at Gaz’s absence and his angry silence. Afraid because, deep down, you knew his outburst last night was nothing but the truth.

Sighing, you sit back down and lean into the cushions with a growing headache. You wanted more coffee, your stomach rolled with hunger, and you were cold.

You hated being like this.

“...Sweetheart?” your head whips up to a familiar face in the grand double doorway, breath getting taken in with a big inhale.

A woman dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants stands with a hefty designer purse over her shoulder, face open and soft, blinking through the wetness at the corners which you stare at in pause.

Gaz comes in behind her with another man, tall and blond with a mustache—your mother’s guard, because that was who the woman was after all...your mother. Home. The Sergeant looks over at you and places his gun back with a small sigh.

You clear your throat, standing before you shuffle your feet.

“Hey, Ma,” you glance to the side, itching at your arm. “How’ve you—”

You’re slammed into a tight hug and you flinch violently into it, sharp noise escaping your lungs and Kyle takes a quick step forward in alarm. The blond guard sends him a look of confusion, but the Brit stares at you and feels his lips thin.

“Oh, my God!” Your mom exclaims in utter relief, sagging to you and placing a hand firmly on the back of your head. “I was so worried, I-I saw the news about the shooting but I wasn’t able to get in contact with you.”

Your body is moved back and forth and you awkwardly place your hand on the small of her back. You stare at the far wall like a stuffed animal. Your mother was never a hugger, but maybe Gaz’s expression in the kitchen had been true. People change.

Three years.

“Christ, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you. Are you alright, talk to me.” The meat of your arms is taken and you’re maneuvered back so your matriarch—and last remaining family member—can look you in the eyes.

You quickly move your head to the side.

“I’m fine, Mom,” licking your lips, you shrug. “Glad you’re back…How was overseas?”

She sighs, looking at you in concern, and brushes past your question.

“You look sick,” your chin is taken and moved to the side, and another hand is taken and placed on your head. “And you’re running hot—when’s the last time you slept?”

Hot? You’ve never felt more cold.

“Mom,” taking a small step back, you whisper out a meaningful utterance.

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m a worrier...But, how have things held up? I feel like we haven’t been able to speak in lifetimes.”

We haven’t. Who’s fault was that?

Gaz tilts his head at the interaction, seeing your uncomfortable stiffness and your mother’s open and obvious love. This wasn’t how you described her at all, but then again, your mum’s actions weren’t the same either.

“How’s it been?” Alex asks, his arms crossed as the two women speak in low tones a few feet away. Your body is seen shifting and hands flexing. “Heard some stuff, everything goin’ smooth over here?”

“Wouldn’t call it smooth, Mate,” Kyle utters. “Recon you had it better than I have.”

“Ah,” the CIA Officer shrugs. “Gonna be honest, the Old Lady’s pretty easy—most I had to do was ask for her tea with extra sugar while on the plane.”

He sends over a twitch of his lips, a raised eyebrow. But the expression shifts to serious moments later.

“Word is the boys overseas haven't got any leads, they’re stuck in the dirt with this.” Kyle grits his teeth.

“Nothing?”

“Nada.”

“Fuckin’ hell. That’s bollocks—how well are those two hidden?” Alex moves his fingers from their hold on his biceps, moving them up in a show of ‘no clue.’

He draws out his words with a huff. “It’s going to push out this timeline even farther than it already is, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“There any good news?” Gaz watches you as your feet realign, hands going to hide inside your sweatshirt pocket. A bobbing to your throat makes his shoulders turn in.

What is your problem? the Sergeant hums to himself. It's just her mum—Christ. Ease off it. Alex’s eyes narrow in question when he notices the hatted man’s attention is half on you and half on the conversation.

“...Not any worthwhile.”

“They’re expecting us to just wait? We can’t stay in a single bloody location forever, it makes a bigger target.” A brown gaze doesn’t stray from you as he says this.

“Not much we can do, Garrick. VIPs take priority.”

Kyle shakes his head in disapproval. “For now, we might have something here—some new intel. Have to look into it.”

Alex perks, his arms falling to his sides. “How’d you come by that?”

“Long story.” Gaz sighs deeply and the blond chuckles, giving a half-shrug.

“Fair enough.” Alex nods to you and Kyle tenses. “It have to do with her?”

“...Longer story.” That gets a few grunted laughs, and the Sergeant smirks lightly, feeling a bit better to have someone he knows to talk to.

Across the way, you explain everything the best you can to your mother in small sentences and stuttering words. Her hands don’t leave you; studying you deeply at every mico-expression.

“Well,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll make us some tea, hm? Start cleaning up the estate when I get settled. I understand it’s a lot of work, but let’s at least open the curtains.”

She laughs and it fills you with dead. Clean up? She didn’t really expect to mess with everything right? Your mother kisses your cheek.

“I’ll be right back—be sure to introduce yourself to Alex. And do try to be respectful.” Her fingers pinch your skin and you thin your lips. “Smile, Dear. No foul language. A-and let’s try to get some sleep tonight, okay? School can wait.”

“Right. Yeah, I know.” She nods and smiles brightly, before telling you how happy she is to see you again. Your mother walks out and slips past Alex and Gaz.

Two sets of eyes level on your form.

You waste no time snatching up your laptop and quickly walking to the separate set of doors, ignoring the confused looks before entering the hallway and breathing heavily.

This should be a good thing—having your mother back. Hell, you should be relieved she’s still alive after everything that went down.

So why did it feel like everything was going to change? Three years and you’d had it under control, your routine, the fitful nights, you’d managed—not well, but you had. Now all of that was gone; stripped away like some meaningless cloth.

It wasn’t meaningless to you.

The house was the way it was—like you in many senses. You lived with the covered furniture, and the curtains over with windows with a glance and nothing more. That was your normal.

She’s going to change everything. She’s just come back and she’s going to wreck it.

It wasn’t fair to her to be like this, but it wasn’t fair to you to have disappeared when you needed a mom more than anyone.

“Oh, God,” you cover your mouth with your hand and try to push away the footsteps that follow behind you, the nearly vacant press of shoes.

Of course, he wouldn’t even allow you to have five minutes to gather yourself.

Gaz doesn’t utter a sound as he follows at your heels, staring into the back of your head. You briefly wonder where the ‘Alex’ fellow went, but find you don’t even care. Your mother was here after all. She’d take care of it.

She’d take care of everything.

You glare painfully at the hardwood ahead of you and hold your laptop tighter, wishing you had your father’s journal—something that belonged to him. But Gaz had already stashed it away, probably locked it up from you.

And you can’t find it in yourself to be angry, which makes you annoyed.

That annoyance stays, just as the guard at your side does, even one day later. You don’t speak anymore, you don’t quip and dig; he doesn’t respond or smirk—no jokes taken in stride where yours are blunt and his whitty.

Everything changes overnight.

Gaz had seen your body completely turn to stone on the stares when you’d come down and glanced at the furniture open to the air, no sheets or coverings. Things were dusted and set on display; even taken from storage and laid out in expensive finery. He’d darted his vision down at you and tightened his lips, again saying to himself that it won’t be his problem for much longer.

Yet, when he’d clocked your very-much real panic at the sight of the open curtains, he’d nearly put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, having to restrain himself.

You didn’t take it well.

“Honey!” Your mother calls down from the foyer, holding her phone in her hand. “Lovely, just who I was looking for. Do you think we should change the colors from navy to green, or to violet?”

You stare in horror, hands clenched into fists near the banister.

“I-” your voice stutters. “Why are you changing the navy?”

“Well…it’s a bit dated, don’t you think?” Gaz’s face pulls. “Let’s, I don’t know, mix it up a little!” She laughs, flicking some dust from the coffee table near the old fireplace. “We’re back together—it’s time to move on.”

And still, to his shock, you say nothing, the fight sucked out of you. You bite your tongue and hold it all in as he spares you wide brown eyes. A sound of confusion bounces from Kyle’s throat.

If it were anyone else you’d be down their ear by now—barking about the history and the memories.

For a moment he’s left as you slowly start back down the steps, back straight and neck tense, blinking at your spine.

He almost speaks to you.

Almost, but not quite.

As you seem to sink into a hole of mute acceptance you begin to close up even more—what little you’d opened up to Gaz was shuttering closed with a great shaky slam.

“Hey,” Alex is leaning against the wall as a loyal hound would, keeping an eye on the ground floor. When he sees you he stands up straighter. “We weren’t properly introduced—Alex Keller, I’m glad to hear you’re—”

You stride past and grasp at the single straw to your name—the USB. You’d still had no luck with it yet. Only two tries left. It was weighing on your soul more than your mother’s insistence on eating meals at the family table.

“...alright…”

Alex passes a look to Gaz and the Sergeant only shakes his head over his shoulder and quickly moves.

The blond is left with lightly parted lips and quickly blinking eyes—hand barely outstretched in failed greeting.

You end up in the library, hurriedly messing with the books under your name and piling them on the table out of instinct. Call you possessive, but no way was your mother touching anything that directly belonged to you.

You own the estate now, you remind yourself, just tell her to stop.

You only grab books faster—especially the ones that your father read. Maybe there was something of importance there; he liked to highlight and annotate important sections and quoted things often.

A sequence of numbers or a code? A phrase? Who knew at this point, but you needed to do something. Keep you occupied.

Keep you from thinking about the silent man who watches you from the side of his eye near the door.

The silent treatment—you weren’t new to it.

Just didn’t expect it from a soldier in his mid to late twenties.

Huffing, you drop more books onto the table and tidy them, brushing off dust in your form of cleaning with a slap of your hand. When you’re done, the large objects are piled high in front of you and relatively dusted.

Breathing stiffly, you try to push back the weight on your lungs before brushing off the heat on your cheeks as Gaz watches, head tilted and face tight.

If he’s anything as stubborn as you, he’ll be keeping this up for—

“What’s the question, then?”

You immediately wind up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes daring to connect with Kyle’s. Twitching, you settle instead on his scar; studying the darkness. It’s a minute before you respond, and when you do, it’s nearly silent.

Brows moved with apprehension.

“Kyle?” You ask, sticking your hands into your pockets. You’d left your coin back in your room. A frown mixes with a grimace.

It’s hard to admit how his voice made your heart lurch.

Gaz clears his throat, feet shifting, but his voice is still hard and monotone. “Your question. You cleaned the books off.”

“I help you clean, and when I say we take a break, I have to answer one question of your choice.”

Your bargain. A bit skewed, yeah, but apparently it counted.

“...I don’t have one,” you admit lowly, not a hostile thorn heard. Vision sliding, you look down at your objects. Apologize. Grunting, you grasp a few of the books, moving forward with them in your arms.

Kyle lets you slide past, moving his shoulder until you’re not about to bump into it. In the bright light of the open curtains, he stares after and closes his eyes; breathing in through heavy lungs.

Re-assignment couldn’t come soon enough. If not for his sanity, then for yours.

Kyle fiddles with his watch and fixes his cap once before continuing after you, a very large hole of something in his chest that can’t be filled.

By how he wishes for your sarcastic comments and your fiery spite right about now, staring with growing worry at your hunched shoulders, he dreads what that something could be.

Tonight he’d take a look at your father’s laptop and journal—too busy yesterday with paperwork and reports; getting through red tape and trying to get into contact with Price.

He hadn’t told you, but there had been a break-in at the museum the same night you had snuck out. Same section. Same box bearing your father’s name ripped open and thrown to the ground. Five minutes after his team had cleared it.

Five minutes after you’d left with the items in your dust-coated hands and bloody nose. Your wide, fake-innocent, eyes over the corner of that roof.

Someone was playing games.

And they were getting closer.

TAGS:

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thatsdemko · 1 year

Text

Woodward avenue - p. o’ward

masterlist

pairing: pato o’ward x fem!reader

warnings: talks of Detroit(but I’m from here) + minor anxious thoughts + implications of the future

a/n: I was the target audience for this fic 😅 so enjoy my self indulged fic! xx

the automotive business wouldn’t be what it was without Detroit. pato knows that, it’s why he’s wandered the streets of downtown Detroit, to pay his respect to those workers who created the business they have today. without Detroit, there couldn’t have been an Indy car, nascar, or even formula one. the automative business bloomed here, and now Indy car will race it’s straights and turns once again.

he’s not one to wander too far from the track, but the graffiti on the buildings and the smell of chili brewing grew his curiosity. he wandered the streets, and now began to wish he didn’t go alone. it wasn’t a scary city, he’s seen far worse, he’s now lost looking up at the Woodward street sign.

not a helpful soul roams the streets, just the drunk homeless man who mutters words to himself that are completely useless with directions. he’s lost hope, as he knows he’s got to be at the track in thirty minutes.

“let me guess, you wandered too far down Woodward?” your voice startled him. he turns around to see you standing there, an annoyed look on your face. you didn’t hate that indy car was back in Detroit, but you did hate the obnoxious sounds of the engines that interrupted your morning and afternoon.

“something like that.” he shoves his phone into his back pocket following you down the street. you weren’t too inviting to him, but he needed a way back to his motorhome, and he was sure by now people were beginning to be suspicious of his whereabouts.

“you a fan?” you point to the mclaren shirt, an automotive company you were well familiar with seeing. the cars were too expensive to be outsourced from Detroit, but your fathers dedication and passion to the fancy cars, helped you single him out on the street.

“a driver actually. and I need to be on the grid in thirty minutes.” he checks his watch nervously hoping you’re not leading him to a sketchy parking lot or a white van, but he somehow knew he could trust you. maybe it was the fans and the news casts that made him believe all Detroit native were good people, but he could certainly say he was weary about you.

“oh, a driver? my dad would be so jealous right now, he loves Indy 500– or whatever is filling up these streets.” you gesture to Woodward, closed down until the Grand Prix was done. it pissed more than half a dozen people, but you got a good view from your apartment of the circuit.

“Indy cars, actually, but you get the gist.” he heaves out a chuckle under his breath.

you take the chance to glance over at the man you were helping. your morning walk to get coffee was interrupted by a strangers confusion in his eyes, you were instantly drawn to help him.

two pieces of the mop of brown hair fall just above his eyes, the ones that lured you in. you look back over to the street when his eyes flicker to meet yours. you smell the burnt rubber, tires burning against the shitty pavement of Detroit.

“so first time here?” you ask, out of the corner of your eyes you see him nod, “yeah, actually. I was just trying to take in the city and got a little too lost.” he replies, rubbing the nape of his neck with his fingers.

he takes a look at you now, lips formed in a soft smile as the cool breeze lifts your hair off your back. you love this city, and he can tell by the wave you give to the local drivers who stop.

“who’s this? a new boyfriend?” an elder man pulls to the side of the street pointing out pato. the man knows your kindness runs too far, but seeing the McLaren shirt he knows why you’ve helped him in the first place.

“he drives, and he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’m pato.” the man waves from behind you to the driver in the car, your dads best friend who nods, smile widening on his face.

“indeed you are my friend. good luck out there!”

you watch his car drive away, before you turn to man beside you, “pato? I like that name.” you gesture for him to continue to follow and he does, allowing you to take the lead like the last time.

“it’s short for patricio, but I don’t know your name, you know?” he looks over at you, brown eyes glimmering in the sun that begins to increase in temperature as you continue to walk.

“y/n.” you stop pointing to the barriers that begin to line the sidewalks, “and I’m afraid this is where we part ways. if you follow the path you’ll find the entrance. good luck today and tomorrow.” you point to the barriers that line the sidewalks and the stands that you see in the distance.

“what would you say to me inviting you and your dad tomorrow? you said he’s a big fan, I’d love to have him in my garage.” his offer excites you, but you know what your father would say. offering a strange man a walk throughout the city, and then an invite to the McLaren garage? he’d think you’d gotten drop kicked on the sidewalk.

“I don’t know, he’ll question why you aren’t my boyfriend—“

“then tell him I am. what’s he got to know?” he smirks watching you open and close your mouth a couple of times.

“he knows you’re pato o’ward and if I was dating pato o’ward and didn’t tell him I’d be the worst daughter ever.”

“then you’re not dating pato o’ward. you’re dating just pato. the guy you met on Woodward.”

—

“dad, this is pato. I met him on Woodward yesterday—“

your dad scoff cuts you off, and he happily shakes the drivers hand, “pato o’ward, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m impressed with your work.” he beams with excitement, a thrill that runs through the drivers body knowing he’s made somebody proud today despite his finish.

“thank you, sir. your daughter helped me out a lot yesterday.” he flashes you a wink, one that your dad doesn’t catch because he’s too busy taking in all the mechanics, cars, and other sights in the garage. you couldn’t believe pato did this for you, matter of fact, for your dad. the man who got you into racing in the first place.

“you know, you come here again I can show you around all the auto factories? y/n can show you downtown Detroit— you know what you didn’t see.”

you laugh at your dads excitement reminding him pato has better things to do. he’s got a busy schedule, and racing came first. you spent a couple of hours last night doing your research on the Indy car driver, he wasn’t interested in much else beside racing.

“dad, he wouldn’t want to come back here I’m sure—“

“there you go again, assuming you know me.” pato tsks you shaking his head, that same smirk that drove you insane all last night forms on his lips, “sir, when can I come back? I’d love to join you and y/n.”

“I like you, pato. have you ever thought about dating anyone? my y/n is perfect for you.” you watch your dad pull pato aside, arm wrapped around his shoulders as he talks highly of you.

you just roll your eyes in embarrassment watching pato look over his shoulders and send you a wink. the universe works in mysterious ways, and you can’t believe it led you to pato o’ward on Woodward, the man you can now call your boyfriend.

#pato o’ward #pato o'ward #pato o ward x reader #pato o ward imagine #pato o’ward imagine #pato o’ward x reader #pato o’ward x y/n #pato o’ward fic #indy car #indycar #indycar x reader #indycar imagines #arrow mclaren #indycar fic #indycar imagine

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fernandopiastri28 · 5 months

Text

strawberry wine ~ mw2 x fa14

“Strawberry wine, and all the time we used to have. Those things I miss, but know are never coming back.”

prompts: - refusing reconciliation because they're still deeply hurt - being the other's 'right person, wrong time' - remember when they were able to keep the promises they made? *I reworded Mark's exact quote from “By silverstone i'd concluded, another year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” to “By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late”, as I've made it all that this happens over the course of 2013*

no warnings

2013- China, April

“I just don’t know Fernando, I’m not quite sure that Ferrari is right for me,” It seems not matter how much convincing and pleading he attempts, Mark isn’t seeming any more keen on switching to the scuderia then he had been at the beginning of the phone call when he’d rung his longtime friend, voicing concerns about the possibility of him changing teams.

“Give it a try Mark,” Mah-k , in all their years of friendship, one thing he picked up from him was the exact way the Australian pronounced his own name, the r translating to a h. Feh-nando , not fe-r-nando.

The older man lets out a strangled sigh, slightly exasperated and seemingly at a loss for words. “I- I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” He admits, a quiet click of his tongue signalling the end of his sentence.

“Why not?” He can’t understand the resistance to at least try . Driving for Ferrari at a point during your career essentially cements your legacy in formula one. All the greats have done it- Schumacher, Villeneuve, Surtees, Ascari, Lauda- now himself.

Mark should be added to that list. Webber should sit right after Alonso on the list.

“Because who’s to say I’ll do anything remotely remarkable at a new team? I could completely bomb out the second I step in the car. The devil I know is better than the devil I don’t,” Alonso didn’t realise when his friend had become this complete pessimist- the kind of guy who didn’t even consider trying.

“That’s not a world champion’s mindset,” They both know he’s true. As a two time world champion himself, Fernando does have some kind of power over the other to say so- he knows first hand what it takes to be the best. “Red Bull isn’t doing you any favours, so really- how much worse could Ferrari possibly be?”

The Australian hasn’t had the best run being at Red Bull. To say he’d been bad would be an outrageous claim, and objectively untrue, but the Spaniard just knows he’s destined for better. He’s deserving of a world championship, and as long as he’s a second driver to vettel, he simply doesn’t have the car or the possibility to achieve one.

“Seb is winning the championship currently, in a red bull- that’s gotta count for something,” Fernando rolls his eyes at the mention of the young german. If he’s the reason that Mark is so resistant to leave, Fernando would happily beat some wits into him, get him onto his side in convincing the Australian to leave the team that disregards him and treats him so poorly.

“And I’m second, what is your point?” Ah perfect, he’s got him there. When he doesn’t answer, he adds on, “Just, you’ll consider?” The question is met by a short exhale from Mark, shaking over the phone call. Picking at a piece of flint that’s attached itself to his fire engine red team polo, he patiently waits for Webber to cave and agree to it.

“Yes Nando,” His voice has a sense of faith and possible hope, “I’ll consider it for you,” It’s not a ‘ I’ll sign the contract now,’

2013- Britain, June

WEBBER TAKES RAIKKONEN! From nowhere the Australian rips past the Finn, and is closing fast on Rosberg! Where did this pace come from?

Fernando watches as Mark zips ahead in front, his pace looking outstanding from the glances he catches, trying to focus on his own face- aiming to secure another win for the season.

Rosberg has turned the speed on and posts a quicker lap than Webber in that one, and is 1.35 seconds clear of the Red Bull. Not far behind Alonso is all over Raikkonen's tail... AND HE MAKES A MOVE!

Fernando catches Raikkonen at a vulnerable moment for the Finn, feeling no regret or empathy as he whips past him into third, trailing just behind Webber.

1.2 seconds now between Rosberg and Webber - the German is doing enough, and will surely win the British Grand Prix now!

The gap between him and the Australian is only getting tighter, the possibility of standing on the second step at the end of this becoming a more realistic and possible reality. For now though, he won’t allow himself to get distracted by dreaming of what he could do, he needs to focus on pushing.

Lewis Hamilton right in on Alonso as well - half a chance of a podium for Lewis despite that blowout which put him back in last place!

Shit. Being too focused on the gap between him and Webber meant he’d lost all consideration about how closely the Mercedes of Lewis had been trailing on his heels, eager to snatch up a podium finish.

NICO ROSBERG WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX! He crosses the line 0.7 seconds clear of Mark Webber, who has almost pulled off an amazing victory despite falling back to 15th after a catastrophic start to his race!

First place is no longer an achievable spot, but just as Senna’s mantra went, ‘If you no longer go for a gap that exists, you are no longer a racing driver’, he won’t allow himself to slow down just because he won’t be top step when it’s time to receive a trophy. Second or third is always better than fourth.

Webber second, Alonso third with Hamilton fourth despite the tyre blow-out which robbed him of first place early on.

It’s done now at least. He may not be first, or even second, but he’s not in Hamilton’s spot either- a blown out wheel and the lost opportunity of a race win. He’s doing better than most, and he’s willing to take that.

He stands on the third step of the podium, Mark proudly standing tall to his left, waving his sweat soaked hat high above his head. He looks proud, a grin stretched across his mouth in a tired relief. He may have not gotten first place, but he sure as hell has enough pride in his expression to seem as if he did.

Rosberg is equally as happy, an unbeatable look of elation staining his face. He pumps his hands up, showing off his golden trophy. One by one, they receive their bottles of champagne, ready to really start the celebration.

The Spaniard and Australian coat each other in sticky bubbles, while the Finn focuses his onto the crowd in front of them, raining down on the Mercedes team in particular. Pressing the spout to his lips, Fernando takes a long mouthful- the sharp champagne filling his mouth and sliding down his throat.

He makes eye contact with Mark as he does so, ‘We’ll be doing this every weekend if you make the move,’ . He reckons Mark picks up on that, but there’s an uneasy look in his eyes, withholding something from him.

When the fizz dissolves and all three men are left in sopping race suits, reeking of alcohol- it’s time for interviews. A man, wielding a microphone goes straight to Nico, interviewing him about ‘how his race had gone’, and if he thought he’d ‘win the race from the get go ,’.

While the attention isn’t on them, rather solely focused on the blond man, Mark takes his opportunity to slip into place beside the Ferrari driver, dropping his voice a few octaves and tilting his head, putting them at near the same height. “I’m not going to Ferrari, Fernando,”

No.

He’s not doing this right now.

If this is true, he doesn’t get to say this in front of a crowd of thousands of fans.

That’s not fucking fair.

“Mark,” He hisses, drawing his eyes away from the crowd to look up for the slight difference they have between their height right now. His jaw goes lax, his lips parting in shock.

“Nando,” He places his hand on the small of his back, his fingers nudging into where the suit awkwardly clings to his narrow waist. “I’m sorry,”

“Not now,” He looks away, his attention drawing to where Nico’s interview is drawing to a close, Mark will be the next to be talked to. “ Dios - why?” His throat is gluey, his accent strengthening despite how he often tried to dull it down to be easier understood.

“I couldn’t,” Mark ducks his head, shame flooding his face. Fernando doesn’t care, Webber doesn’t get to feel poorly about his decision. He’s the one who disobeyed his promise and broke trust. He’s to take responsibility for that.

2013- Germany, July

Tensions are still high between the two by the time the next grand prix approaches. Alonso avoids each attempt that Webber makes to reconcile their relationship- try to make some half arsed apology in which he’ll not even understand why Fernando is hurting like he is. He doesn’t understand how much the promise of teammates means to the Spaniard- he likely never would.

2013- Italy, September

“By silverstone i'd concluded, it would be my last year with red bull and that'll be it. Fernando did all he could to change my mind but it was too late” The Spaniard feels like driving a screwdriver into his head upon hearing that over the radio, maybe step onto incoming traffic. There’s a strong urge to gouge his eyes out and then cut his ears off bubbling deep throughout his whole body. The want to go out in the most painful, gory ways.

Is it seemingly an intensely dramatised reaction to a seemingly harmless statement the senior pilot made? Not in the slightest. It’s not fucking fair, Mark doesn’t get to do this to him. The Australian had promised for years that they’d be teammates eventually- even if it took their whole careers to do so.

Bringing him into the interview was beyond unfair. Clearly it had all just a joke to him, some easy fucking lie he could reassure Fernando with to get him to stop bothering him.

It’s the first that the Ferrari driver is hearing of the official news, the final verdict that had been reached. Sure, Mark had told him back on the podium in Silverstone- but hearing it over national news, it just feels far more true and official.

Up until this point, he’s allowed himself to view the possibility of the situation through rose-tinted glasses, a warm and hopeful feeling deep in his chest- the belief that he would one day be teammates with the man he considered his closest friend. Maybe Mark would change his mind, maybe he would decide at the last moment that Red Bull wasn’t for him.

Now that’s all being betrayed so he can stay driving an energy drink on wheels alongside some bratty german kid who barely looks old enough to be driving on the freeway.

Fuck you Sebastian Vettel.

Fuck you Red Bull.

Fuck you Mark Alan Webber.

2013- Singapore, September

He ignores each call the Australian tempts him with, patiently outwaiting the five rings until he can return to the aching silence of his hotel room. It’s not fun, nor is it any what pleasant. Deep down, he wants to pick up, hear even just the careful and calculated breaths of the older man- give him a chance to explain.

But what if he doesn't like what he heard? What if Mark gave him all the reasons why they wouldn’t work as teammates and it was all the things that Fernando had spent so many years ignoring because he so desperately wanted it to be perfect- he was willing to make any sacrifices just to be alongside Mark in matching bright red race suits.

So for now, he’ll just rot under the thin bleach-white sheets of his hotel bed, wishing for a different outcome to the ending he always secretly expected.

He doesn’t have to see Mark on the podium this time. He’s on the second step this time, Raikonnen in third and the Australian’s younger teammate Sebastian took an easy lead the whole time- winning by almost a landslide. Fernando refuses eye contact with the German, the man who gets to take the place of being the teammate of Mark for another year, until he will retire.

It settles in his mind for the first time that the next time he’s in this exact spot, racing in Singapore, he will no longer be racing under the humid heat and bright city lights alongside his Australian friend. This was the final time the pair would ever race on the Marina Bay Track together.

That’s a fate he’d rather not talk about.

2013- Brazil, November

In the five races after Singapore and before Brazil, Mark secures an impressive three final podiums for his last year in the sport. Alonso doesn’t. They don’t stand on the podium together past the british grand prix, and despite how betrayed he feels- it doesn’t mean that he wants Silverstone to be the last time they held those trophies above their heads together.

His wish is finally granted in the concluding race of the season, Mark’s career too. With Sebastian winning the race, his teammate stands on the step below him, and Fernando on the final step. It’s just like Silverstone all over again.

It’s the last dance for the two of them, a final chance for them to celebrate together- even when separated by Sebastian, and separated by rival teams.

It’s beyond impressive in his last races in formula 1 that he’d secured four podiums, but that was just Mark’s fashion. To go out with a bang.

2014- Abu Dhabi, November

After a whole year of stewing in slight hatred and missing of the aussie at ferrari- having Kimi Räikkönen as a teammate, who is significantly quieter and more serious then he was expecting out of his 2014 teammate- Fernando finally makes the difficult decision to change teams to McLaren.

He’ll race alongside Jenson Button, who he reckons will be a breath of fresh air- closer to Mark then the teammate he’s had this year. It had been an abysmal year for him too, only 2 podiums- China and Hungary. So he’s looking onto next year in a positive light, a new chapter of improvement for himself.

2015/2016

Jenson is only his teammate for a single year of the 2015 season. For 2016, he has Stoffel Vandoorne alongside him at McLaren and they don’t get on too well. Fernando is clearly the favoured driver- Stoffel often being instructed to let the Spaniard past him. Regardless, they remain racing for the same team for the next three years. They’re a painful few years without a single podium, still chasing that high from Brazil- stood next to Mark.

He’d had two since then, but they’d felt empty and meaningless to him, wishing he’d been dressed in red with Mark instead of Kimi. Being in orange doesn’t feel any better than that- especially without a single trophy to prove that maybe Ferrari also hadn’t been good for him.

2018, August

Fernando announces his retirement on twitter on august 14th. He posts a minute long video, thanking the sport in general and all his adoring fans over the years of his career. He does a bit near the end that showcases him in all his different team merchandise- Minardi, Renault, his first year long McLaren stint, again to Renault, Ferrari, and finally McLaren once again.

It’s a moment that he thought he would be able to avoid for a few more years. He had faith he would win a third championship- hopefully at Ferrari too. But he looks around at the grid that surrounds him, all the new and fresh talent, and he feels a lack of belonging.

There’s supposedly going to be an eighteen year old replacing him at McLaren when he leaves, there’s already a twenty one year old in Max Verstappen, and a twenty year old Lance Stroll. He just feels old.

Hamilton’s still there, so is Vettel, and a few other drivers from his prime time- but he can’t escape the feeling that his time has come, it’s time for new ventures.

Maybe he’ll continue to race under different circumstances, maybe he’ll focus more time and energy into managing- maybe he’ll just leave racing to the past, and go on with the rest of his life without it.

2020, February

Mark and him speak for the first time in a while on the phone. Mark sounds well, his voice rougher with age if anything. They’d last spoken when Fernando had announced his retirement, and the Australian had showered him in congratulations and best wishes for his further ventures. They were now on the same boat, even if the events had occurred almost eight years apart.

Mark tells him that he’s just begun managing the FIA Formula 3 champion, a seventeen year old Australian called Oscar. According to the older Australian, Oscar was possibly the biggest Alonso fan growing up- had one of his karts and a race suit. It makes him smile that he’s inspired someone who was born after his career even began.

Beyond that short call, the amount of times they talk on the phone increases as the pandemic regulations tighten, forcing everyone into home isolation. Hearing all about all these fantastic achievements Oscar is making, Fernando feels something he had lost back in 2018- the want and desire to race.

So after many conversations, emails, phone calls, meetings- Fernando Alonso officially becomes an Alpine Driver for 2021.

#f1 #formula1 #formula one #fernando alonso #mark webber #sebastian vettel #oscar piastri #2012 f1 #webbonso #webbonso wednesday

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