#Max-Snippet Controls

[manmishra]

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[amirasainz]

Can you do driver reader, that is one of the driver that crashes during the Brazil race and causes a red flag. Can she be hurt (broken arm or smth)

I love your blog so much🤌🔥

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💕

Rain

The sound of rain drummed steadily against the asphalt, creating a chaotic symphony that echoed throughout the Interlagos circuit. It was the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and anxiety. Yn, the first female driver for RedBull, sat in her car on the grid, heart racing, fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel. She glanced at the wet track ahead and could feel the tension in the air, punctuated by the distant rumble of thunder.

“Okay, Yn, focus,” her race engineer JD's voice crackled through the radio, breaking her concentration. “It’s going to be tricky out there. We’ve already seen a couple of red flags, and the conditions are only getting worse. Just take it slow, especially in the first few laps.”

“Got it, JD. I’m just going to keep my head down and stay out of trouble,” she replied, trying to mask the nerves creeping into her voice.

“Remember, we’re in it for the long game. You’re in second, just behind Max. Let’s see how it plays out, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll be careful. Thanks!” She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The lights went out, and she surged forward, gripping the wheel tightly as she navigated the treacherous turns.

The rain poured relentlessly, causing visibility to plummet. The roar of engines mixed with the sound of rain, creating an overwhelming cacophony. As they completed the first lap, Yn found herself trailing closely behind Max. The two Red Bull cars danced across the slick track, carving their paths through the rain.

“Good job, Yn. Keep up with Max,” JD encouraged as she skillfully maneuvered her way through the corners.

But the rain was unforgiving. A few laps later, a sudden jolt of loss of traction sent her heart into her throat.

“JD! I’m slipping!” she shouted, trying to regain control of the car.

“Stay calm, Yn! Just counter-steer!” JD’s voice was urgent, but Yn could feel the tires struggling for grip on the waterlogged track. Suddenly, the car spun wildly, and before she knew it, her heart sank as the barriers rushed toward her.

BANG!

The impact reverberated throughout her body, and her vision blurred. The world outside turned chaotic; sirens blared, and officials waved red flags frantically.

************************************************

In the hospital, Yn was conscious but barely coherent. Her body ached, and she felt detached from reality as the medical staff worked quickly around her. She heard snippets of conversation, the beeping of machines, and the distant sounds of the race still going on outside.

Meanwhile, the other drivers were huddled in the waiting room, anxiety etched on their faces. Lando paced back and forth, glancing toward the door every few seconds.

“Why isn’t there any news yet?” he asked, running a hand through his damp hair.

“They’re probably just being thorough,” George said, trying to keep his tone light, though his worry was evident. “She’s tough. She’ll pull through.”

“Yeah, but she’s only eighteen,” Carlos added, looking serious. “It shouldn’t have happened. She was doing so well.”

“Max is taking it hard,” Charles mentioned, nodding toward the corner where Max sat silently, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Just then, the door swung open, and a doctor stepped out. “You’re here for Yn Ln, right? She’s stable, but she’s in pretty bad shape. Five broken ribs and a concussion. She’s asleep right now but is being monitored closely. We’ll let you in shortly.”

The relief was palpable, but worry still clouded the room. They exchanged glances, each trying to mask their fear for their young friend and competitor.

***************************************************

After what felt like an eternity, they were finally allowed to see her. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air as they entered the dimly lit room. Yn lay in the hospital bed, her face pale but peaceful, a tangle of wires and machines surrounding her. Flowers adorned the table next to her, a bouquet of vibrant blooms brightening the otherwise stark room.

“Look at her,” Lando whispered, stepping forward. “She looks so small.”

“She’s a fighter,” Max said quietly, his eyes glistening. He stepped closer to the bed, placing a hand on the railing. “I should have told her to back off. I should have been more careful.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Max,” Carlos said gently, joining him. “The conditions were terrible.”

George stepped up, looking around. “We should leave her something. Something to remind her we’re all here for her.”

They began placing little tokens around her bedside: a signed card from Lando, a miniature trophy from George, a chilli plushie from Carlos.

“Hey, Yn,” Charles said softly, leaning down so his face was closer to hers. “We’re all here. Just take your time to heal, okay?” Charles moved a bit to the left, placing the flowers with the rest of the things.

Then, Ollie, Yn’s bets friend and partner in crime, stepped forward, his expression softening. He took her hand gently, brushing back a stray hair from her forehead. “You’re going to be alright. Just rest, and we’ll be right here when you wake up.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering for a moment as emotion washed over him.

A moment of silence fell over them as they stood vigil by her bedside. The beeping of the machines was a constant reminder of her fragility, but they knew she was strong.

“Can you believe she’s just eighteen and already racing with us?” Lando finally broke the silence, trying to lighten the mood. “I can’t even imagine what I was doing at that age.”

“Probably playing video games,” Ollie teased lightly, earning a chuckle from the others despite the somber atmosphere.

“She’s got so much talent,” Carlos said, glancing back at Yn. “And she’s got all of us rooting for her. That’s what matters.”

Max nodded, his gaze still locked on Yn. “She’s going to bounce back. I believe that.”

The hours passed slowly, filled with whispered conversations and laughter tinged with worry as they reminisced about the race and their shared moments on the track. They each took turns sharing stories, hoping to fill the room with positivity, so Yn could feel the love surrounding her.

Finally, as the night wore on, exhaustion crept in. One by one, they began to drift off, still seated in their chairs, leaving her surrounded by the warmth of friendship, waiting for her to wake up.

****************************************************

As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, illuminating the hospital room with a gentle glow, Yn stirred slightly in her sleep. The sound of soft murmurs and familiar laughter filtered through her consciousness.

“Look! I think she’s waking up!” George exclaimed softly, shaking Lando awake.

Max leaned forward, his eyes brightening. “Yn, can you hear us?”

With a small groan, Yn blinked open her eyes, squinting at the faces around her. “Ollie?” she croaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes! I'm here,buba! We’re here! You’re safe,” Ollie said, his eyes widening with relief, taking her hand in his, softly stroking her hair from her face.

“Hey, don’t try to move too much, petite,” Charles advised, noticing her attempt to sit up. “You’ve had a rough night.”

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaky.

“You crashed,” Lando said, trying to keep his tone light. “But you’re tough. You’ve got some broken ribs and a concussion, but you’ll be back on track before you know it.”

Yn closed her eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. “I remember slipping… and then nothing.”

“It’s okay. You’re here now,” Carlos reassured her. “We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up. You scared us, hermana.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the reality of her situation washed over her. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to keep up.”

Max stepped forward, his expression softening. “You did great, Yn. You’re going to come back from this even stronger.”

“Yeah, and we’ll all be right behind you,” George added, his voice filled with sincerity.

The warmth of their presence surrounded her, giving her the strength she needed. “Thank you, guys. I—I really appreciate it.”

“Rest now,” Ollie said, squeezing her hand gently. “We’ll be here when you wake up again.”

And as Yn drifted back into a peaceful sleep, she felt the undeniable bond of her paddock family.

[willowsnook]

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

—---------------------------------------------------

Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it. 

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you. 

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table. 

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?” 

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around. 

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them. 

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. 

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely. 

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle. 

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.” 

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you. 

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.” 

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before? 

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him. 

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort. 

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up. 

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head. 

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger. 

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.” 

“You’re insane,” Lando said. 

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off. 

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up. 

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him. 

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained. 

“Not that far,” he said amused. 

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled. 

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact. 

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in. 

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out. 

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer. 

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat. 

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate. 

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused. 

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible. 

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?” 

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.” 

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”  

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game. 

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track. 

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking. 

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted. 

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied. 

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face. 

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.” 

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.” 

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.” 

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing. 

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy. 

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed. 

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed. 

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment. 

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward. 

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you. 

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers. 

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track. 

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.  

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you. 

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.” 

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators. 

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?” 

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked. 

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed. 

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around. 

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on. 

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on. 

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.” 

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?” 

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos. 

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed. 

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that. 

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.” 

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.” 

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded. 

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.” 

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep. 

[rigmarole-07]

magical realism au where every driver has a way of celebrating their wins... except oscar?? max makes the air crackle with thunder, lewis attracts all the nearby animals, charles glows, but... no one's actually seen how oscar celebrates. that is, until austin 2027 when he wins the wdc for [redacted team 😱]. and guess who sees him? one guess, three letters long name, begins with m 😉. read an absolutely spoilery snippet below bc i have no idea when im going to write this:

—

It’s not like what happens to Oscar after the race is rare. The truth couldn’t be farther from it, actually. The internet is full of photos from what seems to be the start of F1- drivers engulfed in flames as they come out the car, downpours over parc ferme, or vines creeping out from around tyres of cars in the garages. None of the effects of winning last for long, or are permanent, and they’ve become a beloved fixture of the sport and the symbol of the driver to the fans. 

To Oscar though, none of that really matters. Doesn’t magically erase the way he felt after his win in karting, the flowers erupting from beneath his helmet for the whole track to see. Vivid orange Californian poppies, glowing softly with the sun, delicate peonies framing the visor, the immediate shame of feeling out of control, at odds with his euphoria. His dad had hugged him after the race, told him how proud he was, and his mum had cried and collected as many as she could to keep in a vase at home, but he hated the way he felt- hot and cold all over; prickly to the touch. So he promised himself- a small, simple thing; never to let it happen again. And he succeeded. 

Throughout the years, he watched when other kids were on the top step, the blinding of the podium when Caroline won F4, how his eyes gleamed and ran with tears of light; when Pourchaire won races in F3 how lightning would crackle above their heads. And through it all- the steadiness and silence when he took each championship year after year. 

His parents, at first worried sick about the implications for his health, pursued countless appointments with consultants. They all said the same things- Oscar was fine, and so, the years bled by and they came to accept it. The photos from the karting race he won never seemed to make it anywhere, and no one really remembered he took part in it in the first place, so. The only people who, if it all, needed to know, knew. That was the way he wanted it. 

Things remained as they were, and journalists, teammates and fans stayed baffled. Every driver had their outlet for their emotions, except Oscar- or so it seemed. At the start it was dismissed, yes, especially with the way he won his first F1 race, they’d say- no one could blame him for lack of celebration. But as the wins racked up, and the calmness continued, the questions came hot and fast, stained into every interview.

And then- and he remembers it with a wry twist of his mouth- and then came Austin 2027. 

[chock-and-bates]

there are so many interesting choices in your wip list but i’d love to know more about one degree separation or beholden to no gods in particular!!

one degree of separation is another case of me flipping the usual narrative around a little bit... and making it toxic for good measure. also, omegaverse :)

Premise: Charles and Oscar were a surprise hookup that ended up turning into a relationship. When Charles wants to try a threesome, he convinces Oscar to invite Max to join them in bed. The fallout is devastating.

(Alpha Oscar, Omega Charles, Alpha Max)

first chapter is filthy smut and second chapter is a lot of angst.

snippet under the cut

Oscar can feel his face turning scarlet as he manages to continue, “I’m not going to pretend like this isn’t awkward to ask, mate, but listen, er, Charles and I… we kind of…are looking for a guest in our bed… if that makes sense…”

He gets to watch in real time as it dawns on Max what he’s asking. In any other circumstances the cartoonish look of shock on the Dutchman’s face would be hilarious, but as is, Oscar just fidgets uncomfortably, rather wishing the ground would swallow him whole

“Wait, are you saying you and Charles are looking for a threesome,” Max finally asks after regaining control of himself, his blunt manner making an impressive return.

Oscar nods sheepishly.

“And you want to ask me,” Max sounds incredulous.

“Well, yeah, I mean we know you broke up with your girlfriend, and Charles thought you could use some cheering up-”

“Charles?” Max cuts him off, “Charles was the one who suggested me?”

Max’s eyes have sharpened, pinning Oscar in place as he waits for an answer. It makes him swallow uncomfortably, “Yeah, Charles wants you.” 

He hates the way he phrased that as soon as the words leave his mouth, his alpha instincts recoiling at the implication, especially when Max’s eyebrows raise, so he stutters as he correct himself, rambling “I-I mean, he wants to cheer you up like I said and…, he-he knows you don’t mind being with other alphas so you seemed like a good choice. But I mean, he trusts you, you know? He thought you’d be a good option because he trusts you.”

Max is quiet for a moment, his head tilted thoughtfully. Finally he speaks, “And do you? Trust me?”

Oscar contemplates the other alpha for a moment- his mind racing through well worn thoughts- Max hates social media and the press, so there will be no worries of him giving anything away to the public. He is blunt but not unkind, assured but not arrogant. And most of all, it has always been obvious he respects Charles, that he has never viewed him differently for his second gender. 

There is no reason not to trust him, besides the strange trickle of apprehension that is settled in the back of Oscar’s mind. 

“Yeah… I do.” 

Max nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Good. I would, of course, respect you and Charles if you’re going to let me into your bed. You would not need to worry about anything.” 

“So… you’ll do it,” Oscar asks, feeling his heart begin to beat a little faster. This felt suspiciously easy.

“Yes, of course I will,” Max chuckles and adverts his eyes, leaning down to fiddle with his keys, but Oscar still notices the flush dusting his cheeks, “Who would be stupid enough to turn down a night with Charles Leclerc?”

He’s quiet for a beat, before hastening to add an after thought “And you, of course.”

Something about the comment about Charles makes Oscar’s skin prickle unpleasantly. He gives a tight smile anyways.

[preet-01]

I wasn’t going to post this snippet until Saturday, but it’s been a very shitty day so I’m trying to find joy in the little things that I can control and won’t catastrophically destroy my life

Here is a snippet from the first draft of a current wip that has drastically changed since I started it a few weeks ago. While none of this will be in the final fic, I did like this snippet a lot.

The actual wip now focuses on hopeless romantic, model Daniel over the course of 15 years as he continually gets his heart broken by multiple formula one drivers until he finally finds the one who loves him just as much he loves them. All of this began from the line: some Australian model that Seb’s been fucking

Max remembers the first time he saw Daniel.

He hadn’t been in Formula One then, no, he’d been in Formula Three battling his demons (a shitty car) and Esteban Ocon (another demon if he was honest). Red Bull and Mercedes had both been courting him — there really wasn’t a better way to say it. Mercedes was dominating that year and Red Bull was on the back foot after dominating for so long. One would think that his best option was Mercedes, but his dad and manager didn’t seem to think so.

Mercedes already had two strong drivers — a world champion and the man who’d beaten his Uncle Michael. A strong and not old line up meant that Max wouldn’t be the first choice. Not for them, they’d put him in F2 and have him fumble around in the Williams for years until either Lewis Hamilton or Nico Rosberg left or retired. Red Bull, however, had a seat for him for the coming year. Not in F2, but in F1. Red Bull had a junior team — Toro Rosso — with a seat that could be his if he (his dad and manager) picked them. And unlike Mercedes, the main team line up gave him room for promotion because everyone knew Red Bull’s champion, Uncle Michael’s protégé, would eventually go knocking on Ferrari’s door. As for the 2nd seat, the Frenchman currently occupying it wasn’t someone the team expected to win championships with.

The first time Max sees Daniel is in 2014 as he tests with Toro Rosso in a young driver session in Suzuka. He’d seen Daniel in the Red Bull garage nodding along to something Sebastian Vettel had been saying to him.

“Some Australian model that Seb’s been fucking,” one of the mechanics had told him when Max asked who Daniel was.

From there on, Max continued to see Daniel around the paddock. Always on the arm of Sebastian Vettel and hopelessly in love with him despite the number of others that Sebastian paraded around when Daniel wasn’t present.

[ladysomething]

The amount of lestappen content we've gotten lately is amazing!

I've reread wygig like 4 times now I love it so much

Any chance of another snippet before Wednesday????

are you ... not sick of wygig? I did not realise it had that level of re-readability. but I'm delighted that it does!!

probably no more snippets .... I think ...

oh actually!!!

I started dicking around with a random concept after seeing @hotmandrivefast's recent fan art of lestappen kissing during Max's stream, so you can have everything I've written from that so far.

ridiculous vibes as is becoming my brand when I'm not writing wygig lol.

The problem, Charles thinks, is that he and Max have been together too long. 

A secondary, equally alarming problem, is that Charles has also clearly let Max have too much sex with him. The novelty has worn off. 

He’s boring. 

And how exactly has Charles come to these conclusions? 

Because he is laid out on the bed of their hotel room, shirtless, and Max is just . . . ignoring him. For his games. 

His computer is propped up on the bed, and he’s sitting on the floor, frantically poking at his controller and shouting in dismay. 

Charles frowns at him. 

Maybe he needs to break up with Max, just for like five minutes, so that Max appreciates him more. It’s slightly drastic, maybe, but there is literally nothing wrong with the way Charles looks. Actually, he gets endless compliments on his body and face. 

He is so fuckable. 

He’s so fuckable it’s like a selling point. 

So why is staring at his loser boyfriend, pointedly not being fucked right now? 

It’s atrocious. It’s terrible. It’s a state of affairs that Charles finds, frankly, unacceptable. 

He gets up on his knees, crawling over to kneel behind Max’s computer, and then pokes his lip out into a pout. 

Max, like, barely glances up at him, gaze lingering on his bare chest for only a few seconds instead of the usual ten, and then he looks back down to his game, groaning loudly. 

“Yeah, I know,” he grunts into his microphone. “Sorry—got distracted for a second. Yeah, I know.” 

Charles frowns, which quickly turns into a pout again. He taps the top of Max’s laptop pointedly, and mouths, “Max.” 

Max flicks his eyes up to him again, then says, “Guys, once second.” 

He lifts his hands to the headset, presses whatever buttons he needs to press, then pushes the mic away from his mouth. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, not anywhere near concernedly enough for Charles. 

Charles blinks, thrown off by Max not immediately devouring him. 

“I want to cum,” he announces, deciding that a no nonsense approach will work best. 

Max stares at him, clearly perplexed, and then says, “Okay?” 

Charles huffs. There is something seriously wrong here. Maybe he should revisit the idea of breaking up with Max for a few minutes. 

“So?” Charles asks pointedly. 

“So . . . what? You don’t need my permission.” 

Max is an idiot. No, maybe Charles is an idiot, for falling in love with an idiot. 

He retreats to the bathroom to lick his wounds and stroke his humbled ego, but he doesn’t cum. 

He has way more pride than that. 

The next problem Charles encounters is that now he’s come to see the original problem, he sees it everywhere. 

He texts Max to ask him on a date on Wednesday, and Max says he’s busy, sends a love heart emoji, and then an hour later Charles gets a notification saying that a Redline stream has started. So what if he always streams on a Wednesday? Surely one time he could skip it. 

He surprises Max by coming around, bringing Max’s favourite take out for lunch and a brand new toy for the cats to keep them distracted while they have sex, but Max says he can’t hang out that day because he’s in the middle of a stream. So what if the stream is for charity? Charles is still banished to the lounge to eat and play with the cats alone. 

He shows up for their breakfast date, ready to burn the eggs and bake a doughy croissant, but Max answers the door with an apologetic look saying that he’s got to spend a few hours in the sim. And so what if the RB20 sucks and he’s trying to hold onto his Championship lead? 

Charles has needs, goddammit. Vigorous needs that involve him regularly drooling into a pillow and being fucked so good he can’t see, or fucking Max until he cries and begs to be allowed to cum. He doesn’t really care which way it goes, as long as someone’s dick is up someone’s ass. 

And they have a healthy sex life. They have a great sex life, based on the way their friends judge them for being unable to keep their hands off each other, or the times they’ve been walked in on, or the way Max had to put a firm ban on sex during race weekends when Charles had been uncomfortable in the car one too many times. 

He just wants more. He wants so much more, all the time, he wants to sleep with Max’s dick inside him and he wants to have dinner while Max is kneeling and slowly sucking his cock, he wants to have a plug left in his ass so he’s ready for Max at any time and he wants to fill Max with so much cum it leaks out of him. 

He’s ravenous, hungry, a black hole of want, and he knows none of that is reasonable but he wants it anyway. 

Begrudgingly, he settles for sex when they can manage it, but right now they could manage it a whole lot more.

[conceptofjoy]

the prospitans (silly girls) being the ones to go through the yellow yard and have adventures while the dersites have to go on a metoer and do plot shit. but it's actually reversed because nothing happens on the meteor except at the very end and john gets the ring on the ship.

while they don't do plot plot, they still do the heavy lifting of developing background information for the upcoming arrival. every point of drama is expanded upon instead of only being implied.

the difference between the beta kids and the alpha kids is that the alpha kids are their parents. guardians/parents have this running theme of being 2D caricatures of like.. i guess a parent. it's giving "i had to hike 5 miles to school every day, so you've got it good".

however, they are still Touchable. the beta kids are characters, mythological figures. they've gotta go through all these damn trials and plot shit, entire lives being viewable for the trolls and we get to see them grow from 13-16. we didn't even see the alpha kids as 13 year olds. all we get are just vague snippets of their life over the course of.. honestly i want to say over the course of like 2 days max?

just like the alpha kids were waiting for the rest of the cast to join them, we're waiting for the beta kids to touch down so "The Plot" can start up and running again.

reminds me of this one thing, this suit dave has (one of three new ones, this ON one, the midnight crew OFF, and the felt ON)

"marionette suit, puppet, action pajamas" this is the same color scheme as his godtier outfit too btw. the implication is that his peak self is a character, or at least a puppet for him (or someone else) to control.

[its-all-papaya]

do you have any clingy/possessive landoscar thoughts? 🤔

Yes. I do have thoughts. Thank you for asking.

tell me what you wish I'd write

I am… obsessed with clingy needy Lando. And I don’t write him suuuuper that way a lot, I usually try and rein him in, but if you want me to be self-indulgent, I can and will.

snippet at the end!

update: second bonus snippet here

Lando basically always wants Oscar. His attention, his laughter, his hands, his everything. All of it. All the time. Lando’s always been like that with the people he cares about. Max F, Carlos, everybody he’s ever dated… He knows he’s needy. He can usually keep a pretty good handle on things, though (he’s had a lot of practice). But sometimes, when his guard is down or when things are bad, his control over it slips a bit. And with Oscar, it’s like it’s ten times worse.

Even before they were properly close, Lando would get drunk and start asking after Oscar. His teammate was never out with them, but Lando would have his eighth drink in the club, or he’d do some lines with Max, or whatever, and it would be “I wish Oscar was here” and “can you call Oscar and ask if he’ll meet us?” and “I bet Oscar’s still awake, should I text him?” Extremely noticeable. And some of Lando’s more casual friends would be kind of blindsided because - again - Lando’s really good at being normal about Oscar when he’s got his whole brain to work with. But it’s Saturday night in Monaco over winter break and he says “it’s morning in Australia, I can FaceTime Oscar, right?” and his friends are like “didn’t know it was like that, mate?”

(He does FaceTime Oscar, on his walk home when there’s nobody to stop him, smile dopey as soon as Oscar picks up. The sun is shining in the background and making Oscar kind of glow around the edges, and Lando says “you look like an angel” and Oscar laughs and that’s even worse, Jesus, “you’re so pretty, Oscar, did you know?” and Oscar had been in the middle of a workout, but he sucks on his water bottle and grins and lets Lando talk nonsensically at him for 15 straight minutes until he’s safe and locked into his apartment with a glass of water on his bedside table. “Put some paracetamol out for yourself in the morning, okay? And sleep tight, Lando.” “Thanks, angel.”)

The second season is really different. They’re much looser and Lando forgets more often that he’s supposed to be holding himself back, giving Oscar space. It’s stupid, he’s been doing it with everyone all his life, but it’s like Oscar wipes his mind blank, and he’s weaseling his way under his arm every other minute at the MTC, hooking a chin over his shoulder while they review data, following him into his driver’s room after practice and talking Oscar through his entire hour, every lap. Oscar never really tells him off, though. He just nods and smiles his quiet smile and drops odd comments when Lando lets his train of thought go a little too far off track.

Getting closer with Oscar is probably a mistake for at least one of them, because it’s like giving Lando’s brain permission to think about him even more. Oscar’s thread is always near the top when Lando opens WhatsApp, and tapping his number to call is too near to muscle memory for Lando to talk himself out of it when he’s drunk. More often than not when he’s out, the night begins and ends with Oscar - a “coming tn?" as Lando walks in and a blurry, giggly “‘lo, Osc,” through a dark front camera on his way out.

Oscar starts out with a hint of decorum. He’ll throw a shirt on before answering Lando’s call, flick the bedside lamp on, and prop his phone up so his face is mostly in frame. That lasts a few weeks, then he starts answering in the middle of whatever he’s already doing (like brushing his teeth, one memorable time, when Lando had insisted on counting up to 120 for him to make sure he did a satisfactory job) and in whatever state he’s already in. By China, Oscar’s answering from bed half the time, face barely discernible in the dark of the hotel room, mostly just mumbling “mhm” while Lando tells him all about what he’s gotten up to at the bars.

SNIPPET (kind of? this was a bullet point and then I realized I was typing actual prose so it’s a bit of a blend… bare with me… it was like 2am for me when this was cooked up…)

Oscar doesn’t come out after Miami. But he does - and he’d deny this to anybody except Lando himself, probably, and even then only when Lando’s too fucked up to remember it - stay up waiting for Lando’s call. He’d congratulated Lando in person multiple times at the track, but it doesn’t feel the same. It’s embarrassing to admit, but as much as he used to find Lando’s drunk calls a little inconvenient (though always distantly amusing) he’s grown quite attached to them somewhere along the line - the quiet intimacy, the little jokes and admissions and compliments Lando hands out when he’s far gone and using Oscar to bring himself down. Lando doesn’t call anybody else like that (Oscar had asked him once, when he was waiting for his Uber in some city or another at half two in the morning). It’s just for them - a special them. 

It gets late, though. Lando always rings late, but it gets late enough that Oscar starts worrying that Lando won’t call at all, that he’s taken someone home, or he’s passed out on someone’s couch, or he’s planning to be out so late it turns right over to early the next day instead. The sun is rising when his phone finally goes off. He’s dozed a bit on and off, the exhaustion of his own race winning out for minutes at a time, but he’s left his ringer on to make sure he doesn’t miss Lando. It’s a special occasion, yeah? He can’t be held accountable. He just doesn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing Lando down from his high inadvertently by shirking his cooldown call. 

Anyway, it’s past 4 a.m. when Oscar’s jolted from his half-daze by the notification, and he sees he’s missed a few texts ahead of time, asking if he’s awake. He hadn’t answered, obviously, but Lando’s calling anyway. Oscar’s too tired, brain too soft and amorphous, to decide how to feel about that at the moment.

“Morning, angel,” he says when he picks up. It’d started as a joke, as most of their little idiosyncrasies had, a reversal, but it’s probably not totally that anymore.

“Oscar,” Lando says. Oscar had expected him to be loud, still riding out his high, but he’s practically whispering. When Oscar finally musters up the will to check the screen, Lando’s in the dim dark somewhere. All quiet.

“Yeah, babe.” They don’t talk like this normally. It’s like these calls exist in a liminal space between their day-to-day lives now and whatever Oscar’s convinced they’re headed towards.

“It’s not morning,” Lando says. A light turns on off-screen.

“Not for you, maybe. I was asleep.” Oscar rubs at his eyes for effect, even though Lando’s not really looking at the phone. His eyes snap to the camera at that, though, and Oscar watches his face fall a little.

“I woke you?”

Oscar doesn’t give it long before he’s shushing Lando gently, “It’s alright. I’m glad you did, I want to hear about your night.”

Lando brightens back up. He’s not as drunk as Oscar expected, but he’s far enough from sober to be pretty suggestible, still, pretty easy with a smile.

He launches into a story about Max and some other names Oscar instantly forgets and a band Oscar’s never heard of, and - as the camera jostles with Lando’s efforts to pry his own shoes off - Oscar realizes he’s already back to his hotel room. 

When Lando hits a long enough pause in his rambling, Oscar says, “Hey, Lan, you want to get ready for bed? You should sleep a little.”

Lando’s nose wrinkles and his face takes on the petulant tilt Oscar is well-acquainted with after half a year of these late-night-early-morning calls.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “you’ll feel better tomorrow. I’ll help.”

Lando agrees, though he still looks a little sour about it, so Oscar talks him slowly through his nighttime routine between stretches of “Oh! Oscar! Max called Charles pretty five times, I think," and “Have you ever had a cherry bomb? Someone ordered me one.” Oscar helps him pick out a soft t-shirt to sleep in and reminds him to fill a glass with water for the bedside table and counts to 120 while Lando brushes his teeth, phone propped against the mirror. 

When everything’s sorted and Lando is sliding into bed, Oscar yawns and says, “Good to go?”

Unexpectedly, Lando’s eyes go big and kind of watery at that, and he picks the phone up from the covers and brings it close to his face so Oscar’s screen is mostly pout.

“You’re going?” Lando asks, and he sounds so forlorn that Oscar can feel his heart ache in his chest.

“Was going to,” Oscar confirms, even though it hurts a little, “You want me to stay?”

The light’s off, but Oscar can still see Lando hide his face in his pillow. It’s no surprise, then, when Lando’s, “Yeah. Please?” comes out muffled by the bulk of it.

Oscar softens to it. It was never a question.

“Okay,” he says, “you need me to talk? Or just stay on?”

“Stay on,” Lando says. His voice is back to normal, but it’s tiny, a little fragile. So different from the hours and hours leading up to this, Oscar thinks, contextualizing.

“Might fall asleep,” Oscar warns. His lamp’s back off, too, and with Lando safe and sound, Oscar’s bed feels cozier than ever.

“S’okay,” Lando says, “me too.”

“That’s good,” Oscar sets his phone next to him on the bed. Lando’s done the same, both screens matching black and gray, matching hotel ceilings just a few doors apart. “Goodnight, race winner.”

Lando’s laugh is mostly just a hard exhale, but it warms Oscar from the inside out just the same.

“Goodnight, angel.”

(I wrote another whole scene for this ask but this got kind of long already.... so if anybody would like to see it.... all it takes is one little ask... lmk.... xoxo)

[elisysd]

Guilty as Sin? (Max Verstappen x OC)

Snippet 1

“You act like you’ve got everyone figured out.”

Kat smiled then, but there was nothing kind in it.

“No. I just pay attention. You, for example… you try awfully hard to look like you don’t give a damn.”

Max's jaw tightened.

“And you try awfully hard to look like you’ve got it all under control.”

Kat lifted her head slowly, surprised. Max's tone wasn’t mocking—it was clean and sharp, like a blade meant to return the hit she’d just landed. Not meant to hurt, necessarily. Just impossible to hold back.

“You talk like you see right through people, but the way you hold your camera—it’s like a shield. Like it’s the only thing keeping the world at arm’s length. Like you’re scared someone might actually look back.”

She stilled for a moment. Barely a beat. Then came a smile—small, practiced. One that didn’t reach her eyes.

Silence settled again, dense with all the things neither of them said. It was warm inside the reception hall, but a door creaked open somewhere, letting in a draft that slipped through the quiet. Kat shivered without meaning to. Max noticed the goosebumps on her bare arms, but didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

He wanted to. He could feel the words rising, catching in the back of his throat. But nothing came out. He was afraid of saying too much. Or not enough. So he fell back on arrogance—his old, reliable armor.

“Shame to see all that talent wasted on parties like this.”

Kat let out a dry laugh, short and unamused.

“Shame to see all that potential wasted playing the emotionally unavailable asshole.”

Max raised an eyebrow. He should be pissed. He should throw something back. But instead, he laughed—quick and involuntary, like she’d caught him off guard.

“Touché.”

Kat gave a slight nod, mock-serious.

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I’m a photographer, not a journalist.”

He shook his head, unsure if she was getting under his skin or under his defenses. Probably both. He cleared his throat. He could feel Kat’s gaze on him—steady, unflinching. The kind of gaze that made him too aware of himself, of where he was standing, of how little he was hiding.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You should get back to work.”

“I am,” she said simply, nodding toward her camera.

And with that, she walked away—without a trace of hesitation or apology. Max watched her go, the fabric of her dress gliding around her legs like quiet waves. She didn’t look back.

She didn’t have to.

He knew she knew.

And it pissed him off.

And it fascinated him.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because around her, he wasn’t in control.

Not even of himself.

-----------------

Author's note : As I was editing some things through the draft of this story, I told myself that it would be a nice idea to give you a little snippet of what you can expect. Let me know if you liked it 👀

taglist : @teamnovalak

[todayisdeadinside]

My Thoughts on @quietasides 'Just Like You' Analysis (x) (x)

Okay, I'm going insane, I need to yap. I just read the two part analysis for the first time, and I have some background info on Simon Cowell that I wanted to tie into this since OP pointed out how many Simon references there are in JLY.

This bullet point list is about as organized as this post will be. After the cut I start quoting and talking about OP's analyses, elaborating on what I picked up on. I really tried to make this coherent.

Immediately I picked up on the overall themes/repeated concepts-

Louis comparing himself (and artists at large) to race horses, who are very notably worked until death and killed when they are no longer in peak condition.

The Weinstein case being shown in articles, including statements from his accusers, as well as various related and unrelated snippets and headlines about sexual abuse and specifically pedophilic sexual abuse.

"Everyone else here before me" repetitive themes of Louis not being the first artist to be used by the industry, with precedent of Weinstein's accusers and Pat Sephton.

Silencing and victims being too afraid to speak out, and various subtle calls for the industry to change. Subtle visual allusions to the GP having access to more info than they know because they choose not to look at what's in front of them.

Various allusions to One Direction and sometimes specifically Harry.

Thoughts on Part 1:

Okay. Louis being blurred out by the word "cash." He's a product, he's a dollar sign.

"Right to oppose despotism" I didn't know what despotism meant so I googled it. It's essential tyranny. Right to oppose a dickhead ruler who controls your life and fucks you over. So, Simon Cowell, in context.

“Hairdresser with HIV pressured victim into having sex” headline comes up SO many times and I think the hairdresser with HIV part is less important, and it's meant to drive home that theme of being pressured into sex acts as an aspiring artist.

And it showing up on the same page as the name Pat (Sephton), tying in the theme of being a child or otherwise young when this pressuring typically occurs. And add what I talked about in my Simon Cowell post about his pedophilic sex parties he hosted with Max Clifford.

“In sentencing the judge said he had taken into account psychiatric issues...” I wonder if this is about the trend of pedophiles and rapists in the industry accusing or painting their victims as mentally ill, or crazy, to destroy their credibility. We see this all the time with artists being slandered because they were going to speak out about something. There's that theme of silencing and fear again.

The crossword being brushed over with transparent white paint makes me think it's conveying that the puzzle pieces and hints of what goes on in the industry are all there, just thinly hidden behind plausible deniability and distractions so few people ever figure it out GP-side. It's right in front of you, it's barely hidden.

The race horse tables. It's all about numbers in the industry. For horses it's times, for artists it's sales. Money. And that appearing with the lyric "same shit/stress." Again Louis saying this is nothing new, and he isn't the first.

The court thing reoccuring- contracts, being sued, lawsuits, all the settlements that abusers have with victims to avoid charges, this is all very common in the industry. Also "bounty pursuit" is very much how these moguls and industry folks see artists- a bounty, a pursuit towards money. Louis could be the Daring Guest, a speck in the wider industry who's daring enough to subtly speak about it.

The whole bit about the owners and the codes being old, this is a cycle, this is STANDARD, artists aren't just seen as objects by some shitty managers, the system is designed to treat them as walking dollar signs. This and the "gun reform" mention make me think Louis is calling for the standards in the industry to be changed, to be more humane.

"It's like we take, then backwards—form of distraction—enormous reaction—so we—instead of talking" Take, then backwards. They get a win, they get punished. Form of distraction is about the media and tabloids, how they control the narrative and distract the GP when they need to, enormous reaction is what the form of distraction wants to prevent. Instead of talking about the music industry's systemic abuse, distract with glitz and glamour.

Followed by another direct mention of sexual assault and victims being afraid to speak out.

The silhouette over Louis' shoulder is a clear metaphor for management, as an entity, contracts, whatever and whoever is keeping eyes on him.

Followed by another mention of sexual harassment with Cara Delevigne's story.

The three strongest themes are artists being dollar signs/objects akin to race horses, Simon Cowell, and sexual assault/pedophilic sexual assault. I think it's clear what this is getting at, maybe not specifically but broadly with what I've uncovered about Simon and what I know broadly about the music industry. Combine those entwined themes with the subtle calls for the industry to change, but fear holding victims back. It's starting to tell a story.

Half of the story with the 1D fonts on Story, comes after all of that set up for the main themes Louis is trying to convey. Simon of course owned One Direction since they were teenagers. Louis is saying we only know half of the story about Simon Cowell and One Direction, how we can find the bits and pieces of how this industry works, of Simon's pedophilic sex parties, but we don't know the other half of how 1D was affected specifically. But with Louis' repetition of him not being the first, and the Weinstein case being prevalent as an example of the past, I think the message he's trying to convey is clear.

Five pound notes for five members of 1D, again that money cash cow comparison, how we only know the glorious story of world famous boyband One Direction, but not the other half.

Followed by the hairdresser with HIV pressures victim into sex article again. I think this is poignant.

The bits about "his downfall not being by chance" is about the fact that most big exposures of pedophiles and rapists in the industry are planned. The Diddy case, for example. A kingpin who gets thrown under the bus is thrown under the bus for a reason, because this industry has ways of protecting the kingpins it values. Diddy was caught on purpose, Weinstein was exposed on purpose. If Simon's crimes ever get exposed on a major scale, it will be by design. The info about Simon is out there (at least as off 2024-25) but he won't have his downfall until the people above him want him to.

"...Even life under—radar in the UK can—better than life at home where economic opportunities can be extremely poor..." And of course alluding to the fact that Louis and the boys (and most aspiring artists) were promised the world in exchange for just a little bit of their human rights and sanity. Being under radar- constantly monitered or filmed- is better than being poor, right?

"Weinstein’s disgrace and defenestration are not happening now wholly by chance. They are part of a changing world." That call for change again, the outright statement of Weinstein's downfall being planned. Louis is telling us how the industry functions as a precedent for the side of the story with Simon that he can't outright tell.

A hallway where it's dark and things are hidden behind closed doors? The metaphorical sense of things being hidden behind closed doors, but also the related metaphor of "behind the curtains" in industry speak, and also also the fact that there's been multiple instances in my recent research of illegal sexual "favours" taking place in LITERAL dark rooms behind literal closed doors, usually in strip clubs or members-only clubs (Groucho club, anyone?)

...And Louis being placed in that hidden hallway. Being whited out with that transparent paint that shows what's going on if you were to pay close attention, that transparent paint of distraction that the GP accepts, so that nobody pays attention to what's right in front of them.

"Look" and "Do" being important makes me think he's saying to look at what's happening, and then do something about it. Observe the information, then take action. It's another subtle call for change.

Alongside Pat Sephton's obituary. According to OP's post, a 14 year old who performed naked on a stage. This being an older example, again hammering in that Louis isn't the first. "Like everyone else here before me" and then he proceeds to show Weinstein, Weinstein's accusers, and Pat Sephton's names.

And references to Simon Cowell again after that. Really clearly outlining the message, I think.

The bit about a powerful and dangerous weapon, which I think is less about Louis and more about the industry and it's ability to "bomb" someone's credability in an instant- a very powerful ability to possess- if they speak out. Or even the bomb that is controlling when a kingpin gets exposed, also a very powerful weapon to possess.

Followed by the hairdressing pressured victim into sex headline, again.

Thoughts on Part 2:

Starting off strong with the word "watch" telling us to open our eyes.

“open secret—for years that—is a sexual—epic scale but—the horrific—the public.” With THIS basically saying "look at the sex abuse in the industry it's literally an open secret."

“...He was surrounded by yes-men and despite stories of his appalling behavior being rife in the industry, senior figures queued up to laud the producer...” This being followed by the bullhorn is showing us that these kingpins are protected up until they're not. They're lauded and praised and beloved- until the industry needs a scapegoat, or they've stepped out of line. Bullhorn! Weinstein in the news. Bullhorn! Diddy in the news. This is the cycle.

Followed by Cara Delevigne's accusation of sexual harassment. Perhaps highlighting how victims only feel safe to come out with their stories after their abuser is already disgraced by the GP? How the industry controls when victims speak out with this planned downfall pattern?

(It's an open secret -> industry protects abusers until -> bullhorn! planned exposure -> victims feel safe speaking out)

And followed by the bit about fear of speaking out again.

"late because—in the same—2013 he said—make good" This stuck out to me because Jeff Azoff started scouting Harry in 2013. The Azoffs are known for being big kingpin names and they have some sex abuse stories attached to them, but they haven't been bullhorned yet. Shelli Azoff sexually abused her maid for a year, Irving Azoff supposedly funded a sex trafficking plot. The rabbit hole with that family goes DEEP, I need to make a post about it.

"if only you knew" "stared at me like I was a piece of meat." These being right alongside each other on screen feels very intentional. He's saying "if only you knew how I was treated. That other half of the story you don't have."

That image ripping away to uncover “I wish I had—have been braver—I will be when I—that sexual abuse—in Hollywood” is continuing the story. "If only you knew I was stared at like a piece of meat, I wish I had been braver, I will be [braver] when (something comes out about Simon?), that sexual abuse in hollywood." Look I know I'm probably insinuating a lot here but this is what the video is conveying, to me at least.

The dog barking poem, I feel is an analogy for the constant expectations and constant surveillance in that industry. Always being barked at to do this, do that, perform better, sell more. Day and night. "it never stops."

By Louis' photo the bit about “brothers who grew up—the abuse they suffered” and 1D being as close as brothers, I think it's another 1D reference with them being teens when they formed and growing up as essentially brothers in this industry. With the Simon is a rich twat bit, and then court being mentioned again. Being threatened via contracts or with threats of lawsuits is very common in this industry, and Syco contracts and known to be INSANE (see: Katie Waissel)

2 speakers but one is off and one is on. I think this is another "half of the story" bit. Followed by the photo of Louis edited onto the article about Weinstein's victims, and followed by the phrase "I was a kid, and I was petrified." Louis mixing himself into the precedent is an even more clear show of Simon being another Weinstein, and Louis being another victim who was too young to know what they were getting into.

The part where the Weinstein article highlights the line about "him sexually abusing women over decades" which then switches onto the race horse article and a circled letter H. I think this is meant to portray the power dynamic in the industry, and maybe an allusion to Harry? The Weinstein and sexually abusing over decades bit, then it shows the H and race horse bit. So far, these kinds of stories being laid out have alluded to Louis, but the H? Is that alluding to Harry as well? 1D on the whole has been alluded to multiple times, so it's plausible.

“unsatisfactory” experiences for owners... want to see “fair, transparent and responsible practices in place to remove significant actual and perceived barriers to new owners” joining the sport" Another call for change, to stop treating the "race horses" (artists) so inhumanely.

Then Louis sets off a bomb and walks away, the same Louis cutout who's pointed to different bits in the articles. The call for change followed by Louis bombshelling the truth, essentially saying he's shown us the missing half of the story through this video, and he's been calling us to LOOK and DO about it. He's telling us to pick up what he's put down.

I don't think OP picked up on this in their post but the guitar doodle encases the phrase "brain-dead bigot" and then of course the jetski -> Simon Cowell reference. Louis called Simon a brain-dead bigot. Thought that was very important to add.

So Simon Cowell, followed by "come and see" and "no further warnings needed." Louis again saying "Look at this, it's visible, I've given all the warnings and precedent with Weinstein and whatnot, so now take that knowledge and look at Simon. Look at my story I'm telling."

"I thought I was safe" "I asked him if he knew I could sing." Louis hammering in that point that this is all precedent that explains his untold story. His face is on the screen during this bit. History is literally repeating itself so clearly he can use past stories to explain his own.

End Notes:

This was driving me crazy, sorry it's such a long post, but I hope I got my point across with what I was seeing. OPs analysis is amazing and I'm just expanding on it with my own thoughts and connections/themes I picked up on, mostly aided by my background knowledge on the music industry and Simon Cowell. I'm not saying I'm definitely correct, but I'm curious to hear people's thoughts.

The Simon Cowell post I mentioned is under my "The Music Industry is FUCKED UP" tag, it gets into alllll of the evidence I have for Simon Cowell being a pedophile and running underage sex parties during some of the years 1D was active & before.

The stuff about Groucho club I'm planning a post on, but basically: pedophilic sex trafficking. Again.

And the Katie Waissel mention on Syco contracts is about her reading her original Syco contract on her twitter a while ago, which I also plan to make a post about.

[kiyomitakada]

i realized i'm a fucking idiot and i can literally just post links to my dreamwidth fics on here instead of stressing about putting them all on ao3 so

dreamwidth fic masterpost

the vast majority of these are from moooonths ago so i dont know if i like them all anymore… but the ones i am fond of are marked with a *

also, these are all like, 100-1000 words max with very few outliers. the 3sf ones are even shorter because, you know, they are Three Sentences. so if you want tiny bites of fic here is your chance!

count: 20 kiyomisa, 19 lawlight, 6 yagamane, and 18 other :D

kiyomisa

yuri shipping olympics, round 1-4:

canon compliant dinner scene internal monologue (baby's first ever kiyomisa……………)

there's only one bed?! (*)

missing scene after the nye show (*)

how to send death threats in flower language (*)

snippet from the first kira!kiyomi au

round 5-8:

fake datingggg

how to send death threats on tumblr (*) (also on tumblr)

why are first violinists like that (*) (also on tumblr)

we are not making it out of the time loop with this one (*)

immortality elixir

mermaids… in SPACE!!!!! (*) (also on tumblr)

magic is just another word for fossil fuels

illegal karaoke

at the edge of the world

i made them act out the tempest by good ol bill shakespeare

100 words of them in a haunted hotel (*) (i still like this but be warned that it is truly fucking stupid)

vice principal kiyomi takada (*)

three-sentence ficathon:

i posted all my fills for 3sf under anonymous because i was feeling incredibly deranged realized that i should probably use a different screenname but did not want the effort of making a new account. i swear these are all me. honor code

lipstick (*)

three-way cheating, as you do (*)

dinner scene alternative ending (*)

lawlight

yuri shipping olympics:

edward vs jacob (baby's first trans girl light yagami…………)

sara berry au (as in, sara berry plays light and julie plays L. light and L are not actually in this fic. i don't know if this appeals to anyone but me)

face to face with i told you so (*)

dragonslayer (*) (also on tumblr)

high school lawlight, in an auditorium for some reason (*)

the good guys always win (*)

teleport to the backrooms. its backrooms time for you (*)

three-sentence ficathon:

i've got a list of names and yours is in red underlined (*)

in which light manages to call misa before she gets arrested (*)

playing > winning

are you dreaming of me?

resentful longing (*)

are these the eyes of a murderer to you

oh thank god my crush is a serial killer again

three grieving detectives in a trench coat (*)

audio drama light dies (*)

my jackass boyfriend is using me as a grocery pickup app

there is no moral; the forest is beautiful

werewolf cannibalism hell yeah (*)

yagamane (all three-sentence ficathon)

"your family hates me," misa's sobbing on the couch (*)

the drone could have been something other than a killing machine

some thoughts on misa and abuse (i fucked up the formatting on this one, you have to click the text "abuse cw and fatphobia" to see the first paragraph)

ok well MY kira logo was better

past the last exit (*)

parasitic (*)

other

yuri shipping olympics:

proto-ricochet (remisa)

possession au (remisa) (what if shinigami possession was like traditional taking-control-of-your-body possession)

three-sentence ficathon:

kiyomi is revered past death, sort of (kiyomi & halle)

the mortifying ordeal of being known (lawmane) (*)

in which light yagami is absolutely not sleep deprived (*)

in which soichiro volunteers for mock executioner (*)

sayu unrequited crush hours!!! (misayu)

misa & matsuda, post-canon (*)

sachiko & sayu, post-kidnapping

you can't kill me / oh, you knew? (remisa)

in which light is different from how kiyomi remembers him

he has my photograph doesn't he (meronia) (*)

in which misa notices sayu's crush on her

light/aizawa

light solo character study (burrito arc)

light solo character study no. 2

naomi lives au (naomi & light)

manga light/musical light (*)

[elihashadenough]

Pairing: max verstappen x male reader (could be read by masc presenting people)

Summary: sometimes things go right in the moment but will they always be right? can they survive through the hardships of love? can their love hold the test of a treacherous path of love?

a/n: part 5 is here, sorry if the upload was later then i usually post, i've been a little busy with some things but here it is now. I also apologize to leo...sorry leo and yeah i hope you enjoy it :)

-> do not repost, copy or translate my works nor post them anywhere else. Read at your own risk. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated.

[series masterlist]

{that race weekend}

{snippet}

You walked into the paddock with Max behind you, pulling of your helmet and balaclava. You heard max scoffed before saying “so you are just going to walk away” you closed your eyes taking a deep breath not wanting to have a argument, your head was already aching with everything that had been happening the past week “very mature of you y/n” 

You finally turn and face him, helmet in hand voice trying to keep its composure “you wanna talk about it fine, what the fucking hell was that, max?!” Max pulled back a little, his defence mechanism coming out “I-I didn’t see you coming up on me! I was focused on the cars ahead” you shook your head “you didn’t see me…you didn’t see me my ass! At every turn you kept blocking me!” you could feel your control on your voice slipping “It was a racing incident, you know I wouldn't do that intentionally! It's racing, things happen!”  max says as he walks closer to you gesturing at the track, your voice raised as you replied “yeah, yeah things happen when someone’s being reckless and aggressive on the track! Putting their life and others lives in danger max!” 

“oh and what about you, huh? You were trying to push just hard, cutting me off like that! You knew I was there!” you hated fighting with max but he had just been getting on your nerves this whole week “I had already passed you, Max! you crashed into me cause you can’t tolerate anyone passing you, can you?!” max looked at you dead square, his hands clenched into a fist “don’t you dare!”

“don’t I dare what? Tell you the truth max!” you were getting angrier by the second “don’t you dare put this all on me y/n! you always do this blame others for your mistakes!!” you were a little taken aback, in two years he never called you by your name even if you both were arguing, it was always your nickname, y/n/n. as you looked back at him he was gone as you stood there looking at the door of his waiting room slamming shut.

i haven't proof read this so if there were any mistakes, i'm sorry. But i hope you all enjoyed this. I hope you all have a wonderful day/night ❤️

tagging: @leosxrealm, @miloformula123fan, @woozarts

[chock-and-bates]

hi! i hope this doesn't come off as pushy but do you plan on finish sparks fly or has the story been abandoned :(

looking forward to all your upcoming works as well <3

hello loves!!

the good news is no, sparks fly absolutely hasn't been abandoned! i really, really want to finish it. i miss writing omegaverse, and i feel like i've been getting a bunch of signs that it's time to return to it, so hopefully that will happen soon.

the bad news is that i have no idea when i'll update. every time i make a promise about a fic, it falls through :( for now all i can say is that i fully intend to complete it.

i'm very sorry about the wait, i feel terrible, believe me. i wish my muses/adhd would cooperate.

but thank you for checking in!! it's not one of my most popular fics, but the people that read it seem to be very dedicated to it, which makes me so happy since it's my special little project that got me back into writing ❤️

here's a snippet in the meantime.

Charles’ face twists into an ugly snarl as he watches the little whore sidle closer to Max again. He jerks against Joris' hands around his arms, his friend holding him back and pleading with him to calm down and not go storming over there. Andrea’s voice is suddenly in this mix as well, sternly telling Charles to get a hold of himself before his stress levels push into dangerous territory-

He hears none of it, the rage inside him spiking as he watches the other omega put a hand on his true mate’s chest. Even from across the club, Charles thinks he can see his fingers flex-

Charles' vision goes red, Joris and Andrea’s increasingly frantic words drowned out by a dull roaring that fills his head.

A feral growl rips from his throat, straining against Joris’s hold so he can go break all of the omega whore’s fingers one by fucking one for daring to touch his true mate, for getting his undoubtedly putrid scent all over him, for even having the audacity to look at him when he’s Charles’-

His quick spiral into ferocity is abruptly halted when he watches Max shove off the presumptuous man himself.

Charles falls still, watching in astonishment as his alpha’s face twists into a scowl, Max’s mouth moving with what looks like sharp words of reproachment that have the offending omega quickly backing away, his hands raised in apology.

Mon dieu. 

The sight of his alpha rejecting an omega is exhilarating, sending Charles' heart stumbling in his chest. But while it should soothe his omega instincts, the display seems to only make Charles feel even more out of control, his hindbrain buzzing and frantic.

He is still desperate to cross the club, to get to Max, to let everyone see them together, to see that it's him that Max wants, see him cover himself in his alpha’s scent and be scented in turn, let them see Max’s hands all over him, see Charles bare his neck for his alpha, let everyone see how good Charles is for him- A low whine slips from his mouth as he strains towards Max.

“Charles,” Andrea is barking in his ear, his hand tight on his shoulder, “Breathe. You need to calm down. You’re working yourself up too much. You’re going to-”

A familiar heat abruptly blooms in his belly, traveling quickly through the rest of his body, his abdominals tightening and slick suddenly- oh, merde.

A stress heat, he’s about to have a stress heat.

Charles has barely realized it himself when he sees Max’s head snap up.

His alpha stands tall, scenting the convoluted chaotic club air and looking around frantically, until stuttering to a stop, his eyes locked on Charles.

[your-waywardson]

Sooo I finally started the PsychPatient!Will x Psychiatrist!Hannibal fic and although the first chapter might not be ready for a few days heres a small snippet from what I have so far (It's set in a fictional asylum I called BSA (Baltimore State Asylum- I know it's basic but I thought it kinda fit iykwim) which is basically BSHCI but not max security) soo please lmk what you think (no pressure) and enjoy :))

also lmk if Will is horrifically ooc I find him kind of hard to write so I'm sorry if I got him wrong or anything. Theres no Hannibal in this section just an fyi.

"This isn't BSHCI. Why are you here ?"

Chilton smirked, giving a quick chuckle and licking his lips before answering the question.

"Well, Mr. Graham, since my recent encounter with Dr. Gideon I honestly didn't feel safe there anymore. Now, that's not to say I want to give up psychiatry completely; that would be silly, wouldn't it ?"

His smirk only grew at the expression of disgust that made its way to Will's face, and as it dawned on him the realization was evident.

"…So you gave up ownership of the BSHCI and took over this place instead."

He couldn't help the bitter edge his voice held, and he didn't bother trying to control it either; he wanted Chilton to be wary of the distaste toward him. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he muttered under his breath, barely audible.

"Coward,"

He hadn't expected that small jab to aggravate Chilton as much as it did, yet it managed to wipe the smirk from his face, and replace it with a hard, almost angry expression.

"What I feel toward my ex-patients is not fear, and it is certainly not cowardice, I would just prefer to own a facility in which my patients aren't trying to kill me every time I pass their cells,"

Chilton's defensiveness only made his own smile widen, and he looked at him with a tilted head and condescending expression. He was all bark and no bite, and Will was going to use that to his advantage— he needed some entertainment in here after all. He slowly crossed the room as he spoke, making his way to Chilton around the ridiculously huge desk

"Do you honestly think patients here aren't capable of the same things your old patients are ? The only reason we're here and not BSHCI is that we had enough self restraint to behave ourselves during our trial, which, if I'm being honest Doctor, makes us more dangerous. We're all criminals here Frederick— I don't think you should forget that so easily,"

He was right in Chilton's face now, and the man looked worried as he raised a hand and signaled for the security guard by the door to come help him. Will was hauled away pretty swiftly out the office without a struggle and taken down the corridor, with Chilton shouting after him, and he had to be honest; he pitied the way his threats, although empty, seemed to strike a nerve with Chilton, and he could only imagine what had happened to him in BSHCI and he shuddered at the thought— he was glad he had been sent here and not there, even if that meant spending the rest of his life with Chilton it could have been far worse.

[ladysomething]

sooo.... what are the chances we celebrate charles' awesome drive w a wygig snippet? 😅😅

trying to find a snippet with minimal spoilers was so fucking hard!!!!

this is what I've come up with 😭😭

On the final of only three pages, there is a list of additional clauses; only one is in Fred’s handwriting, while the rest are in Max’s, with both their signatures next to each one. 

In Fred’s writing, it says: You (the buyer) are not able to compel, manipulate, or in any way coerce or convince The Omega to share confidential information regarding Scuderia Ferrari. 

Max has clearly agreed to it, M. Verstappen signed beside it. Charles runs his thumb over it, lips sucked between his teeth. He remembers, immediately after the auction, Giulia telling him that his new owner and Fred were negotiating additional clauses. 

Considering the winner is on the grid, she’d said. 

He was so hopeful that it was Pierre. That despite the huge price he’d sold for, Pierre had somehow made it work. 

Obviously, he’d been wrong to have faith Pierre would understand the complexity. He can’t really blame him, though, considering Charles had been so unable to grasp the seriousness of the situation himself. Until Max had walked into that room, Charles had really thought himself still so in control. 

God, what a naive fool he was. 

If Max hadn’t been there . . . 

“When he realised it was me, he tried to write in a clause about any children we might have.”