#Race Car Mechanic Near Me

[screampied]

#OOHMAMI! g. suguru

☆ sum. cuban link, diamond cross—you’re a big fan of suguru geto, the top street racer in tokyo. he doesn’t wanna win any more races, he wants to win you this time. keep at it and he might have to fuck you on the highway.

wc. 5.7k

warnings. fem! reader, street racer! geto, pwp, unprotected, suguru has a (dick) piercing / tats, semi-public, riding, brief ōral (f! receiving), you get eaten out his window lol, overstim, dirty talk, praise, size kink, impact play, petnames, drive safe.

an. chase atlantic inspired me ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

“you, yeah you. wanna ride?”

stop thinking dirty, stop thinking dir—

you stop dead in your tracks, hearing the deafening vrooming of a certain nissan skyline gtr along with a raspy deep voice. you knew that voice, in fact you’d be a fool not to recognize the voice of the suguru geto, infamous street racer who’s won more races around the world than you could count. he’s got a big hand on the steering wheel with his dark purple helmet cracked open. growing pathetically sheepish, you could barely get any words out before you start to feel your feet gradually dragging toward his rumbling car.

“really?” you mumble, barely even pressed up against his tinted window and you could smell his loud rich cologne from there. you couldn’t help but fangirl—and oh, did he look so much better in person. geto’s got pretty long tresses of black hair that’s usually down, but in every race it’s always pinned back. a few loose strands run down his face, peeking out of his helmet and his glove grips tightly against his bedazzled steering wheel that had ‘s. geto’ carved into the material as it flawlessly spiraled around the wheel.

“reaaally,” he tauntingly repeats your word, cocking his head to get a better look at you. you could smell the thick puffed smoke that weeps out of his silvery flashy tailpipes and he hums. slouching back against his seat manspread, his foot eases off from the break and you watch as the flashy racer’s seat flies open on its on, and you step in. “i take it you’re here to see the race?”

no, no you weren’t.

you couldn’t lie to yourself—you were here to see the race, but you were to here to see geto also. you’ve only seen him during his interviews, magazines, and sometimes on tv where his races would be broadcasted for the entire world to see.

but, you managed to snag enough money to actually see him in the flesh.

without a second thought you make your way inside. on the inside, you were screaming. you were currently living every one of his fangirl’s dream. immediately once you sit down, you’re surrounded by the balmy welcoming warmth of his beloved str. you assumed it was an older model but he made it work anyway — it had cushioned seats with blaring speakers and oh, the smell . . it’s almost as if the vehicle had a signature cologne scent of its self. it’s really masculine and it makes your thighs squeeze together once you recline back a bit. his seats warmed up your backside automatically and you glance around the rest of the car, taking in its glitzy beauty.

it’s pretty, you’ve only seen pictures. ogling near his rear view mirror, you see fuzzy dice dangling as he’s adjusting it. the rest of the cars usually gathered near the meet up spot before the race actually starts.

“she’s pretty, isn’t she?” geto snickers, noticing you gawking at the inside of his car.

indeed, you heard about how geto built this entire thing from scratch. before doing street racing as a little side hustling hobby, he used to be a mechanic. a well known one, but that wasn’t as fun as actually racing.

geto tosses an arm behind the head rest of your seat, preparing to go in reverse. “had her for about two years. haven’t lose a match, since.”

“not one?” you murmur, wanting to call his bluff. sure, you’ve never seen anyone covering him losing a match but that was a bit hard to believe.

“doubtin’ me, sweetheart?” he rasps, and you feel the rough jittering of the car. geto’s backing up safely, curving his wheel briefly to drive out of one of his many garages.

sweetheart, you don’t know why but that single pet name had you feeling hot for a moment. once your eyes dart back toward him for a split second, you spot a toothpick sticking out from the corner of his crooked lips. he’s so pretty — he’s got a natural smirk that’s tugging against the corners of his lips. as he starts to drive toward the starting point for the highly anticipated race, a gloved thumb taps against his furry steering glimmering wheel. with a low hum, he glances at you. “seatbelt, silly girl.”

shit, you snap on your seat belt moments later and notice even his signature’s all over his seatbelt covers. ‘suguru geto’ in bright bold letters.

drafty air wafts against your skin as he’s still creating distance with just a few miles. once he reaches near the starting line, you hear his foot tapping against the break.

one, two, three . . three, two, one . . he’s bored.

geto positions his rear view mirror for the millionth time before noticing you zeroing your eyes at his gear shift that glistens from the dozens of rhinestones that glue against the cover. countless diamonds stick up and down the leather skin of the handle and it’s so pretty.

“hold on, sweetheart,” geto purrs, his eyes slowly locking onto the flagger that’s stood in front of the row of cars.

geto’s still got a firm hand gripped onto his wheel, his right foot just barely hovering over the gas. come on, he just wanted to get it over with. you could almost smell the competitiveness dripping from his body.

it was intense, you could almost feel the anticipation as if you were in the driver’s seat. the tall woman that’s dressed in nothing but sheer black carries a hefty checked flag, swaying it in the air every few seconds. as she safely spaces herself between the cars, she does it two more times and you realize it’s almost time for take off.

the cars that were lined up beside and next to geto start to rev their engines and so does he. it’s a roaring groan, and his rousing wheels burn into the hardened cement, his gold pipes coughing up clouds of purple smoke. geto gives his wheel one more tap with his thumb before glancing at you with a cunning grin. “lie back, i take off pretty fast, heh.”

and he wasn’t kidding.

the moment the flagger does a final up-down sway motion with the flag, all race cars accelerate quickly past the starting point. you sink back into the plushy seat as he meanly yanks back his stick shift.

his engine’s loud, and within seconds he’s already in the lead. it’s like he wasn’t even trying. frantic turbo spits through his rusted pipes and you can feel his car speedily pass through each poor vehicle that tries to get in his way.

vroooooom, he’s flying by each checkpoint and you could almost smell the adrenaline that’s coursing through his pulsating veins.

the thrill . .

you felt it all ghost through your own veins, feeling the frigid air roaming through his vents tickle against the hairs that stand up on your arms. geto makes a few sharp turns, keeping an eye on the time every so often. his personal best was around five minutes and seventy-seven seconds. with a coarse grip, he’s tilting his steering wheel while the thunder of his engine growls louder and louder within each whizzing mile.

over time though—you can’t help but be a bit nosy. your eyes shift toward the racer and god, you’re just now noticing how handsome he was.

geto usually wore sweats along with his street gear. he didn’t have to wear his helmet but he preferred it just in case. its all black with a splash of purple—you can see his signature lazily signed near the very top. outlined beside his name was a curling design of smoke. the part where he sees through was all darkly tinted so you could hardly see his face unless you squinted or he took it off.

it’s like it added more to his appeal in a way. he sat manspread and doing so, it gave you a one way ticket to stare straight down at his barely hidden bulge.

fuck, your mind started to ponder. you had so many unanswered questions. isn’t it painful driving around that hard—

“hey,” your raunchy thoughts get rudely interrupted and you don’t even realize how many minutes had passed from you being cooped up in your own lewd fantasm. geto’s driving a bit slower now, around sixty mph instead of his usual two hundred. he’s way in the lead, first place. one hand’s lazily on the steering wheel and he fakes a yawn.

oh he’s cocky.

with a quick glance out his mirror, he knew the other cars were far behind him and he now starts drifting near the freeway. with an intrigued hum, he notices just exactly what you were staring at. his lap. “don’t tell me this was the ride you thought i meant, sweetheart.”

“i—”

it’s like his cologne got louder.

you choked on your words, wondering if you were hearing right. suguru, the suguru geto was flirting with you?

and the thing that got you the most was that he wasn’t even looking at you anymore—every few seconds, you’d lock eyes against him near the ear view mirror, feeling hot once his eyes slowly rove down your figure through his dark tinted helmet.

not only was his cologne loud but so were your thoughts—shamelessly, you did think he was referring to that kind of ride minutes earlier.

and the more you stared at his hardened bulge through his grey sweats, the more you started to think. .

but, little did you know your dirty wish would be granted.

not even a few moment later, you’d find yourself fucked - literally.

geto positions you on his lap, halfway pulling down his loose sweats just so you could ride something else entirely.

instead of riding just his car — you rode his dick, and fuck was he just ridiculously big.

too big, and he knows it. geto groans once he’s buried full inside, lodging his thick cock in between your slimy gummy walls. “shit,” he’d hiss, his head occasionally tossing back once the ring piercing that’s stuck on his tip tap tap tap’s away against your precious g-spot. it swirls all around the inside of your cunt and your thighs struggled to stay open. it tickles, but you were far from laughing. he’s so big, easily rearranging your insides and be barely even had to move a muscle.

he’s ruthless - but your hips were even more ruthless though, far more.

geto knew all too well that this was dangerous—just one swerve from the swerving stimulation of bodies smacking against his and game fucking over.

you moan, burying your face into his neck as your hips continue to move against him. he’s still burning gas as your cunt’s just merrily drooling all down his length from each slapping thrust.

belatedly, your brows furrow, almost forgetting why you even showed up to this event. well, part of why you came. “f- fuck, what about t- the race?” you speak in a breathy tone, your tempo becoming more and more relentless. the salaciously enticing jerk of your unsteady hips gradually turn into rough unstable bounces and he kisses his teeth. geto feels the convulsing veins that run down his cock pulse right through him and between your walls, you feel it too.

“oh, sweetheart,” he huffs, his back of his helmet hitting against his headrest. looking at you with hazy hooded eyes, he flashes you a sleazy grin. “technically, i already won,” and you gasp, feeling him reach a gloved hand down between your rickety thighs. his touch was so gentle, you felt yourself shuddering from both twin digits that drag further down your chest. he cups one of your bouncing tits that pop out of your tank top, brushing a thumb against your sensitive nipple. “god, what a pretty fuckin’ body. look at you girl,” and he’s still got a hand on the steering wheel.

a trembling whimper dies out your throat at the feeling of his swollen fat cockhead vigorously thrusting in and out of your dribbling entrance.

you’re just so soaked. it’s like you can’t help but be sopping wet on his lap and he loves it. sloshes of sobs echo out of your pussy and your legs pathetically quaver directly on top of him.

both of you groan in complete unison and a big hand of his creeps further down, giving your ass a teasing squeeze. “fuuucck, reel those nasty hips. ride it baby, ride me, yeah,” and you hear the grumbling revs of his engine ring against your ears louder. it makes the entire car shake a bit despite him pushing down a few miles. with widened dewy eyes staring at the back of his car, you squint, seeing dozens of cars trying to catch up to geto.

they didn’t have a chance,

they looked like tiny splotching dots in the far distance. geto even had the audacity to not do his usual speed and yet he was still dusting the other racers.

typical.

“s- suguru,” you whine, the undersides of your thighs sticking against him. each time you bounced back on his cock, each ruthless ‘pap pap pap’ of your skin mashing against his and the clingy recoil never fails to leave you brain dead for a few seconds. he’s so thick. you swivel your hips around him, gasping every time his dick piercing scrapes against your clit. the cold material makes a good portion of your thighs quake and you can’t help but coo out a few sweet ‘ooh’ or ‘ah’s right next to the shell of his ear. your panties were lazily shoved to the side and he didn’t even bother taking them off.

yet.

“so fuckin’ big, shiiiit.” you’d whimper, trying to swerve your way all around him. he’s just too big, you were even surprised he fit. you had to go down slow, aligning yourself against him — every few seconds his cock would pop out of you, making that cute squelch sound that makes his suck his teeth in annoyance.

“mhm, ‘n you’re takin’ it so well. you’re a big girl, fuckin’ take it,” he rasps in a hushed tone, nipping a few teeth near the inside of your neck. his helmet along with his toothpick ends up falling near the side of his seat with a loud thud.

your hips were killer.

unlike any opponent he’s had to go up against. you’re happily squeezing around him like a vice, taking in his curved inches like a champ. “f- fuck, who taught you how ‘ta ride? heh, tryna give me a run for my money, hm pretty?”

your whiny moans only pitch louder once he grips a nice chunk of your ass with one hand, peering at his bedazzled dash. the speed was a bit over one fifty now but it didn’t even feel like it.

“ugh, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp, growing more and more dumb the faster you bounced on his heavy throbbing cock. his peeling sack hangs from underneath and he’s so swollen, you feel it.

maddened angry balls entirely reddened and puffed up from the delicious stimulation. with every sharp pull of your hips bouncing up and down, he feels himself shriveling — he’s so sensitive inside of you, and he can almost taste his own pleasure. whilst you continue to twirl your ass around in rotation for him, you couldn’t help but shamelessly salivate at the thought of imagining just how full he might be.

“sugu—fuuuckk,” and a bead of sweat races down the side of your face. geto’s primarily focusing on the road, it’s an easy straight shot and with how it was practically the middle of the night it wasn’t that many cars except for the one’s participating in the annual street races.

“bet you are. sloppy girl,” he huffs, groaning at the echoing loud smacks of your ass. you’re mercilessly clamping down his lap over and over, preparing to gush all over the dick that’s currently nestled inside of you. he’s got such a mouth watering curve of his cock that makes your stomach twist and churn.

the kind of curve that doesn’t involve his motor vehicle, that kind.

geto’s dick knew how to do swerves on its own, it even knew how to carve an entire bumpy race track allllll through your insides with his fat pink tip. “touch yourself, pretty. gimme a show before you mess up my fuckin’ seats.”

you could hear the sass in his voice along with a drip of vex and you’d giggle if you weren’t being ruthless stuffed full of inches. “o- okay,” you breathe through clenched teeth, guiding your hands up and down your body. geto’s dark eyes stare at you intently.

he stared at the way your hands caress your pretty plump tits, feeling down the valley of your exposed chest. his eyes flicker toward you then back at the road, then at you again - he repeats it, feeling his own muscles starting to tighten through his clothing. “ngh, suguru. can’t hold—”

your addictive slams against his cock got more intense until he’s fully buried balls deep inside of your squeezing cunt. you hear the saturated plops that’s squealing out of your pussy and you can’t even believe that’s you that’s sounding like that.

your poor sweet cunt was louder than his radio, completely shrieking over some random chorus of a heavy metal song you didn’t even know was playing in the background.

“fuck, cum then. cum on me, girl,” he grunts, one hand grabbing a nice fat piece of your ass again before spanking it.

you moan, the sharp brief twinge of elation sending you a shiver that immediately sends convulses between your thighs. lewd filthy thoughts foil at your brain and pretty soon, the car steams up with steamy clouded fog.

erratic sharp breaths match each other’s pace and you’re left breathless. geto feels your legs on the verge of giving out and he snickers, bringing a gloved hand to stroke against your sopping pussy. “go on, don’t be shy. should make ya lick up the mess later anyway.”

whimpering, your release comes and fuck, a sharp scream ripples out from your throat once you’re finally coming undone on his cock. the wrinkled skin of his base continues to stick against his sack due to you bouncing against him.

it’s hot, literally.

with both plush mounds of skin harshly plummeting on top of each other, the heat of the car made it feel like the air conditioner wasn’t even on. “thaaat’s it, work those hips, goddamn,” and abruptly, he cuts off from his words after feeling his mushroom tip reach a certain spongey spot that’s buried way inside of your gripping walls.

you gasp once you feel him throb inside with a soft upward shimmy of his hips. milliseconds later, your thighs collapse down on him and you feel yourself succumbing. you’re creaming down his shaft with your slippery slick while at the very same time, struggling to catch your breath. as you weakly try to continue your grinding with your feeble knees, geto uses a single hand to quickly make a detour.

he was close.

the race car makes a swift turn to the left lane, driving a few more miles before he then turns the opposite direction — pulling over safely. with a cooing skrrrrt, his rubber tires come to a cruising stop and geto groans, gripping at his tensing bouncing thigh with his glove. the finish line was just a few feet away but he could care less.

once he puts his car in park, geto falls back into his seat with own sable dark eyes flickering back to the very depths of his skull.

you rode him good, good to the point where he doesn’t even know what to say for a hot second. blinking twice, geto smears his glossed lips together before exhaling, “phew,” and he swats another palm against your ass. black unkempt strands of hair tape against the center of forehead like glue whilst he’s finally got a good grip on your hips. “fuck, ‘m gonna cum too,” and your puffy folds continue to dribble with honeyed slick.

you’re damping his cock and the squelches you make, they were loud.

so wet and slimy. he could listen to it all day, just the sound of your sweet cunt whimpering out sweet sloshes of nothing. the overwhelming sensitivity leaves a sourly candied taste in your mouth and you whine, feeling him squeeze a hand against your right hip. with a raspy out of breath tone, he strokes a thumb underneath your quivering bottom lip. “ ‘s okay if i cum inside, pretty?”

“y- yeah, please,” you babble out in broken cries, feeling your tummy frantically heave in and out.

as he grabs your hips, steadying you—you intake a breath, remembering how many inches he was buried inside. your tummy tucks inward and you whimper, feeling him preparing to shoot pure blanks. with a size like his, geto’s cock never failed to leave its sloppy infamous mark.

you’re just marveled at how fat his tip is, it’s voluntarily french-kissing up against sweet beloved cervix that’s screaming out curses just as much as you. he’s got two hands on your veering hips, smooth fabric of his racing gloves sliding up and down your wobbly. with pouty compressed lips, you moan, bringing your hands to grab onto his shoulders. “cum, cum in me—fuck.”

geto huskily groans, tossing his head back once your hips zealously reel into him right as he gives you the final perfunctory thrust that finishes him off. immediately, he’s shooting out ribbons of hot cum that pour into you. you’re panting as he slows down, glossy eyes raking at his body. you could see a bit of his tatted sleeves peek from underneath his shirt - his tense muscles bulging.

“god, better take all of it,” he groans, pretty black lashes sticking against his droopy hooded sockets.

it spurts out slowly but surely.

globs and globs of frothy cum bubble down the swollen sides of his cock and you feel it all. it’s toasty and warm and as he’s pouring his all into you, painting your gummy walls his pristine-white color, you couldn’t help but lean in.

geto’s matching your breathy irregular pants before he feels your trembling lips crash onto his. “mmf,” he moans against your lips, tilting his head back slightly to a certain attractive degree. a hand of his reaches toward his radio, turning the middle notch all the way down just to hear the squelches of his own seed slobbering down your slick cunt.

he tastes sweet. you moan at the lingering taste of fresh cooling mint that lives on his tongue, feeling his hands tighten around your waist.

oh, he’s obsessed—

screw the race by this point, all he wanted at this moment was you.

geto’s still got such a large load that’s dumping into you raw and it even oozes down past your thighs, a few creamy droplets plopping down on his velvet seats. he grunts, both twisting tongues ferociously tangling against each other whilst your pussy’s still squeezing down on him like a vice. a glossed translucent ring forms around his base and he feels you trying to touch yourself with two curious fingers.

with a slight smack, he swats your hand away and you whine in his mouth. “heh, hands to yourself,” you pout because earlier he let you touch yourself but now, no. he teases, breaking away from the hot kiss. a stringy cobweb of saliva tears back from both lax plump lips before he playfully nibbles on your chin. geto notices how slumped out you were and a broad open hand of his crawls between your legs. “ooooh,” and he lifts you up from his swollen flaccid cock, gazing at just how much of a fill he’s pumped into you. “well look at that,” and you whimper, feeling him strum a thumb down your drooling cunt. “would be a shame if it all went to waste,” then he quirks a brow, sliding a tongue across his lips. “princess, stick your head out the window for me real quick.”

“out the wind—”

and not even seconds later, you find yourself literally being bent over, halfway hanging out of his rolled down tinted window. geto wasn’t done, at least not yet.

your sheeny glossed lips immediately part into an ‘o’ as a sweet gasp leaves your lips. with clammy hands, they grip onto the edge of his window and you whimper once he delves his long tongue inside of your cunt. your fingers gripped against the window so hard that it ends up leaving dozens of your cute fingerprints against the tinted glass.

“oh my goddd,” you babble out in elongated sweet syllables. with your pretty eyes bulging, you gasp at feeling the tip of his tongue swirl all around inside of you.

geto lowly grunts, lapping his twitching pink muscle down your runny folds back and forth. between your legs—he’s a menace, and it was no prying him off.

at all.

he doesn’t even bat an eye at the simple fact that he’s eating his own cum out of you, unapologetically savoring the bittersweet taste that lands right on his flavored tastebuds. your legs were so weak and you can feel his warm breath continuously fan against and on your sopping folds as he chuckles.

“my my, look at her. this prize’s way better than some money,” he hums, using a leather thumbed glove to swipe down your entrance. he’s slow, dragging it all the way down just to watch spurts of your slick pop onto his digit. you’re just so wet, metallic fingers of his ghost further down your clit before you whine. geto sees your cunt pulsing from the sheer thrill and he snickers, smacking a palm right against your slobbering core. “she’s fuckin’ nasty today, yeah?” and his eyes flicker toward your drooling cunt, giving it a teasing suck. “mmph, listen to her with me, gorgeous,” and one spank against your pussy turns into one, then two, then three.

growing quiet, you listen to the weeping sounds purring out of your own cunt. so loud, so shamelessly loud. you could hear it and he barely even had to touch you. you’re drenching up his seats and you couldn’t help but bite your lip, feeling your heart pound ruthlessly out your chest. his tongue knew just where to go—it’s creating a path of its own, laying flat against your clit before sucking against every tender spot. your legs were on its final hinges. you felt like they were about to snap shut. you’re staring out the window, still not seeing any cars which was good.

if anyone saw you like this, being eaten out in this kind of position, you don’t know what would happen.

geto resumes to flick his long tongue down your swollen slit, lapping up the last few droplets of his own cum that tries to dribble down the crevices of your thighs. another final swat from his mean palm sets against your clit and you let off a cute squeal, your tummy instinctively caving in. “so much back talk from a pussy this fuckin’ sloppy. oughta teach it some manners, pretty girl,” he grumbles, and your eyes blissfully roll back once you hear him starting to sluuuurp.

geto had no shame — it was decided, this was far better than any race he’s ever had.

his teeth nip near the inside corners of your thighs before he trails back to munching on your clit, burying his nose deep. “mhm,” he groans, and it only takes a few seconds before his jaw finally locks. geto reaches down, giving his cock a few solid pumps. his pretty reddened tip was angry, it still had dried spurts of cum racing from the sides and he grunts at the memory of being inside of you only just a few minutes ago. whilst his face’s shoved right between your thighs—you don’t even realize you’re trying to reach back to grab onto his hair. you’re hesitant though, and he finds it cute. departing his wet slick lips briefly, a wry grin spreads against his lips. “kinky,” the dark haired man flicks a tongue across his lips, savoring your juices that smeared against his mouth. “don’t be shy. do it,” and you moan once he teasingly whistles against your pussy, kissing against your nub. “pull my hair girl. pull.”

you give it a good yank and his head pushes forward into you—geto’s lengthy tongue dips further inside your cunt and you whimper, gnawing the inside of your stiff jaw. “fuck,” you gasp, and as his tongue gradually curls various bubbly letters inside of your pussy.

it multitasks, continuing to send your entire body a plethora of fluttering butterflies. he was so sloppy, seeping from the corners of his mouth with your slick and just your slick. his head moving side to side eagerly and every few seconds, he’s got to flick away long shaggy strands of his hair. geto’s proudly devouring you entirely whilst you’re just literally hanging out his window.

“oh, come on. harder, sweetheart. even i can do better than tha—ngh.”

with more force, you tug roughly on his pretty black strands and you heard the most sluttiest moan pour from his lips. god, he was so close that you could literally feel that infamous smug grin spread against his lips. geto brings a fat round thumb to run down your drooling cunt, giving it a ‘good job’ kiss. “atta girl. that’s my girl.”

geto ends up coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of over and over and over again.

he’s mean with his tongue, slurping everything out of you until you had no more - nothing more to coal his chin with. his favorite thing to do was to playfully bite against your clit, feeling you writhe and shiver all because of his mouth.

you end up leaving his entire chin with a pretty stream of your syrupy slick. geto’s panting, falling back after talking you through your nth orgasm, and with a peek through his rear view mirror, he spots the remaining race cars that were finally approaching the finish line.

“ah, about time,” geto rolls his eyes, sliding his lips near the corner of his chin where a bit more of your slick laid.

he acted like it was nothing, like he didn’t just have his tongue shoved inches deep inside of your cunt, stuffing his race gloved fingers in and out of you until you gushed right down his lengthy thick digits. you’re just sat on his lap, and you’re too dumb to move an inch. “heh, comfy?” he purrs, dragging his seatbelt across both stacked bodies. you fall against his chest, inhaling his signature manly scent and feel the car jolt once he puts it back in drive.

needy silence was your only reply and he tsks, resting his chin on top of your head before driving toward the finish line. it was barely even a few feet away, and waiting there was a bunch of fans that were awaiting to greet their new winner.

geto couldn’t care less though—he had you on his lap and he could already feel himself bulging again.

he found it cute how you were just clinging onto him now.

maybe you were delusional—maybe it was the fangirl in you screaming, begging for more, but your body wasn’t just begging anymore, it ached for more.

he drives you back toward the car meet up spot, helping you fix back your skirt. with wobbly legs, you step out of the flaunting vehicle with the help of his burly arms wrapped around you. “t- thank you,” you pant, trying to catch your breath, even still. geto stands up tall and he completely towers over you. you feel so small all of a sudden, watching as he puts his helmet back on.

“anything for a fan,” he coos, and he brushes a thumb against your lips. just a single gesture just as that felt so intimate. your eyes lock with his for a long moment, and just before you could say anything more, he mumbles. “oh, you probably want an autograph?”

your eyes light up and you grow sheepish, awkwardly tugging on the vip-checked lanyard that wraps around your throat. “yeah, please.”

“such manners like a good girl, cute,” and you bring out a magazine with his face plastered on it as a headline for this week’s up and coming races in tokyo. “nah,” he waves it away, and as your brow quirks, he takes out a sharpie. geto slides the cap in between his teeth before he glances at you. “pull your shirt down real quick, sweetheart,” and without a second thought, you tug down the hem of your shirt, barely exposing your chest.

geto’s eyes rove down your skin before he swiftly signs right against your left tit. the ink softly runs against your skin and you gasp, watching as he marks up the upper part of your chest. “aaaand, perfect,” he concludes, adding a ‘xo’ at the end of his signature. geto puts the cap back on and he flashes you a sly expression. “so i’ll see you at the next race?”

he starts walking away before you could even reply and you feel the weight of your shaky legs grow heavy. “y.. yeah,” and with dewy eyes, you watch as he steps in his car, playfully revving his engine at you.

the cool air sets against your skin once more as you stood there with shaky legs. the car meet slowly gets more crowded as the rest of the racers pass the finish line.

but, your brows furrow once you realize you felt a bit . . . empty between your legs.

with a soft gasp, you squint near the inside of geto’s car before he pulls off.

hanging over his rear view mirror instead of the fuzzy dice you once saw—was nothing other than your panties,

his real prize.

[bunnys-kisses]

can i order belgian waffles and soda served by max verstappen? thanks bunny <3

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want to submit your own order?? then hit up the menu! there are tons of items available! i'd love to hear from you! as for this lovely anon, thank you for such a nice order! it's rather short, but i love, love, love it! jealous!max my beloved! thank you!!

belgian waffles ("i cum in that every night.") + soda (jealousy) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, jealous!max, jealousy, dirty talk, missionary sex, motor home sex

"you're a jealous man, max verstappen." you said one night in the garage. your arms crossed and you gaze heavy on him.

he mimic your stance and replied, "i don't want the likes of piastri trying to take my mechanic."

you snorted through your nose, "right." you shifted from one foot the other, "because that weekend in lisbon and that christmas present last year really were because i was employee of the month.... that and somehow my supposed contract with alpine fell through."

max wasn't jealous. he was just concerned.

there should be an age restriction on mechanics. they should be old guys who can still work like they were in their twenties. because if max caught sight of you in your coveralls, looking like a total mess.

you weren't just some cute thing in the garage, you moved with the rest of your team. you were strong for all your time lifting and moving things. but yet carried such soft features that yanked on max's heart like a chain. you seemed so dedicated to getting max his fourth championship.

which was why he was curious why you were in the mercedes garage. he stayed a fair distance with his hat low to keep from any unwanted attention. he wanted to see where this was going.

"this is crazy, george! you really shouldn't be showing me this! oh my god." you said. then you starte to ramble about the aspects of the car. you were practically on your knees to get closer to it.

george tried not to think about you on your knees to hard. he didn't have ill intentions with you. and afterwards, you thanked george before you left, telling him you 'owed him one'. you were impressed by the car, if one red bull had the same specs. the team was pushing you to your limit at times, it didn't help that you had the golden boy of the team stalking in your shadows.

"have a good nice." george said before he watched you walk off.

max caught up with george after you both left the garage, a jealousy coiled in his chest. "george!"

the other man looked over, you far ahead now. he waved to max, "hey, mate."

"what are you doing out near the garage? race's over, man." that press smile hung on max's lips. he could see that you were gaining distance. but if max doesn't set a boundary now. george might get the wrong idea.

"ah, ya know. keepin' busy." max was soon in his personal space, "what are you doing around here?"

"aw, well. looking for my mechanic." he smiled as he placed a hand on george's back, giving it a firm smack. he leaned in to the other man and said, "i hope you know, george, i cum in that every night. it's not right to touch what belongs to another man. we're friends, right?" george nodded and max nodded in response, "so just back off, okay? she doesn't need to be poking around in your garage. and tell toto that she isn't interested in that contract either." then flashed the other man one of his winning smiles before he pulled away from him and went to go find you.

max wasn't a jealous man, he just knew your skills were suited better for the build of red bull.

in the room of his motorhome the night before you had to pack up for the next weekend. there was a fair bit of privacy in the place. it was probably more spacious than your apartment. even though max keeps suggesting you move in with him (the cats would love you). it felt nice to be out of your mechanics clothes, it could be sweltering sometimes. but it was needed when handling such dangerous machinery.

you didn't stray from red bull for long. you were in a shirt that had the logo across your chest, your breasts warping the image in the process and a fresh pair of cotton panties.

max loved the sight of you, how sweet you looked in his space. he remembered the first time you were in his home and your mouth went slack from the sight of it. your first comment was the view, which max let you get a closer look when he fucked you up against the window.

but, he'd have to reign it in a little tonight.

you were curled up with him in bed, your head against his chest while he played with your hair. you lifted your head a little to look at him and he kissed you.

"i saw you were with george today."

"oh! that wasn't anything. he just wanted to show me the car. i was interested in the specs that we could use in red bull... if anyone listened to me."

he smiled, "well." he kissed your forehead, "i always listen to you." he got you onto your back and in between your legs. he was able to move you so easily, for a woman who spent her days lugging around heavy materials, max could easily move you.

you were soft under his touch. in the low lighting of the bedroom. his hands on your hips as he admired you. you blushed a little bit, "i promise there was no funny business. plus george has a girlfriend!"

he got your legs around his waist and chuckled softly, "you think so little of me. i know you wouldn't break my heart that way. only being a team switcher. plus, if george tried to put his hands on you... we'd have a problem." he pressed his clothed cock against you, "but you're my good mechanic, right?"

you swallowed, "you're insatiable."

he pulled at the shirt on you, "only for you. i don't want you getting involved with teams that are less than. you only deserve the best."

"and what's the best?" you asked as the shirt was pulled over your head.

"me."

the two of you got out of your clothes, and max grabbed a condom out of the nightstand drawer. you had already gone through half of the pack that weekend. his hands on your thighs as he gazed at your nude body.

the only thing better than red bull or max's logo across your tits was them being bare for his eyes only. he licked his lips as he brushed his bare cock up against your slit.

"hey!" you yelped.

he chuckled, "quiet. i don't want a noise complaint from the other team. i know you want to scream my name, but tonight we have to keep quiet." he put on the condom and laid you out on the bed. he kissed your jaw as he shifted you hips up against him for a good angle.

he got into you, and shuddered at the feeling. being intimate with you was like a breath of fresh air. even on the days where the smell of car lingered on you and sweat was caked to his skin.

he loved your curves, your smile. how you lit up the garage and were a hard working. your knowledge of cars and how excited you spoke about them. he remembered a time where you could point out cars that passed by when you were having lunch together.

"you feel so good." he said softly, "you just feel like a dream. thank you for taking good care of my car and taking better care of me." he peppered your face with kisses, pushed your hair out the way to access more skin.

you glowed at the touch, it was so simple but yet it left your soul on fire. even when max was a jealous man, you still yearned for his closeness. his kisses and touches, his soft words and how he looked at you. he could have a day from hell, but when he saw you it was like the skies opened for him.

you held his face and brought his lips to yours. his lips were soft, a little raw from his biting while driving earlier in the day. his body felt good against yours. when you pulled away, you smiled at him.

it was like being kissed by sunshine.

he moved against you, your legs around his waist. your nails up near the back of his head. the kisses were passionately. the bed shifted a little with max's movements, but it made your heart leap in your chest.

you then cupped his face and ran your thumb across his bottom lip and smiled. heat in your cheeks as he thrusted. "of course max, a champion only becomes one when he has a championship worthy mechanic."

a shudder went through him, "i like when you talk like that." he said with such affection, "seeing that ego of yours inflate."

you giggled and pressed your forehead to his, "it's warranted. just keep getting those podiums." then kissed him once more.

the rhythm max had was steady and made pleasure circulate through your body. your soft moans were highlighted by the creaking of the bed. the heat inside of you bleed into your hands and feet as he rutted against you.

your nails dragged lazily across his broad shoulders. you panted heavily as max shifted your hips to get a better angle.

"so good for me."

"and you're good for me." he replied. he could feel the wash of warmth in his face, probably staining his cheeks pink. like when he finished a race. but having sex with you was not a race.

"max."

he knew you were getting close. he could feel the shudder through his body. it was like a inferno that he fed into.

you covered your mouth as to not get loud. but max pulled them away from you and pinned you to the soft covers. he silenced with you a kiss as he jackhammered into you. your back arched more, stopped by max's wider chest.

you held onto his hands as he pinned them down and kissed him deeply as you climaxed. your legs tightened around his waist and he continued to move against you. he was close behind you, giving you another searing kiss as he finished in the condom.

his pace slowed to a stop and he felt the heat on his back. he pulled out of you and went to go get rid of the condom. you curled up on the bed and pulled the pillow under your head as you eyed him throwing it out with the others from the weekend.

he got his briefs back on and got you back into his arms. you melted into his touch. in all fairness, you had very little intention of running off to another team. even if red bull drove you crazy, to feel close to max as often as you did felt nice.

if you put your soul into that engine, then he gave his soul over to you.

-

max wasn't a jealous man, but the only thing that could sate the throb of emotion were two things. a multi-year contract with red bull with your name on it and the thin gold chain with a small 'm' pendant. something you could tuck into your uniform while you worked.

he smiled at you, and you wiped grease off your cheek with your gloves, "going to make me win tonight?"

you nodded, "of course." you smiled at him before you pushed hair out of your eyes, "win like always, verstappen. and don't." you pointed at him, "damage my car."

he pulled you by the waist for a soft kiss, "of course." he wasn't a jealous man, but he'd be a fool if he let you go. <3

[sunny44]

The lollipop

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of blowjob

Summary: Lando steals your lollipop.

The paddock was busier than usual this afternoon. The mechanics were rushing around adjusting the last details of the cars while the drivers were reviewing their strategies.

I was walking nonchalantly, licking my lollipop while observing the movement around me. Writing had always been my way of escaping the chaotic reality of racing, as there was always a moment when all the movement and bustle got too much but, at that moment, I was just enjoying the vibrant atmosphere.

I saw Lando chatting animatedly with some members of his team and decided to approach him. Lando always had a way of making the most tense moments seem light and fun. When he saw me approaching, a mischievous smile appeared on his face, making me suspicious.

"Hey, Y/n! What are you up to?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Nothing much, just enjoying the day and wandering around," I replied with a smile, my lollipop still in my mouth.

Lando stared at the lollipop for a moment, and before I could react, he plucked it out of my mouth and put it in his own.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, surprised and annoyed. "That's mine! It was literally in my mouth."

Lando smiled, his gaze full of mischief.

"Yeah, and? So was I this morning and in a lot of other days."

I felt my face heat up instantly and the staff started laughing and leaving us alone.

"You're impossible, did you really had to tell that I had your cock in my mouth this morning in front of everyone?" I muttered, trying to hide my embarrassment. But inside, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement. Lando always had this ability to put me off my guard and make me laugh at the same time.

He leaned a little closer, still licking my lollipop.

"Admit it, you like our dynamic, and I just hinted that you had my cock in your mouth, they don't have to believe me." he said, his tone playful but with a touch of sincerity. "Even if it was true."

I crossed my arms, trying to keep a serious expression.

"What if I say I don't like this dynamic?" Lando laughed, a light and infectious sound.

"Then I'll have to keep stealing your lollipops until you admit that you like me. And not just my sexy body."

I couldn't help but smile. "You're so childish," I said, rolling my eyes in an exaggerated way.

"Maybe," he replied, shrugging. "But you love it." He licked lollipop again and, before handing it back, looked straight into my eyes. "Do you want it back?"

"Of course I do, I paid for it," I replied, holding out my hand. Lando held the lollipop out of reach, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Only if you admit you like me." I sighed, knowing he wouldn't let me off the hook easily.

"All right, Lando. I like you. Now give it back."

He smiled, genuinely pleased, and reached up to put the lollipop near my mouth and when I opened it, he put it in.

"See? That wasn't so hard."

I took the lollipop, feeling his fingers rub against mine.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" I said, but with a smile that I couldn't hide.

Lando laughed again. "That may be, but I'm the idiot you like."

And as soon as I took the lollipop out of my mouth, he pulled me in and kissed me. It certainly felt like one of those movie kisses that makes you stop breathing and the butterflies in your stomach flutter like never before.

We had kissed before, but every time I had the same feeling of happiness.

"See you later?" He whispers with his lips still close to mine.

"Of course, we're sharing a room." He laughs and gives me one more kiss before going into the garage and leaving me smiling like a teenage girl after kissing the boy she likes.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername inatagram stories

“Who doesn’t love a lollipop.”

[23victoria]

𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚂𝚎𝚝, 𝚂𝚞𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊 ❀

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

𝚏𝟷 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚜!𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

✿ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟾𝚔

✾ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢/𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚞𝚣𝚞𝚔𝚊! 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎...𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?!

❁ 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘�� 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 ��𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕

✿ 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝟷 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!! ꨄ

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸

𝚏𝟷 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The Suzuka Circuit buzzes with pre-race excitement. The paddock is alive with energy as teams make their final preparations, engineers tweaking last-minute details, and drivers mentally preparing for the grueling race ahead. You walk through the paddock with your helmet in one hand, exchanging smiles and nods with familiar faces. The Japanese fans are enthusiastic, their cheers a constant backdrop to the chaotic scene.

You spot Charles near the Ferrari garage, chatting animatedly with his mechanics. He sees you and waves, a friendly smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Y/N! Ready for today?"

"Always," you reply, matching his grin. "You better watch out on Turn 1. I’m coming for you."

Charles chuckles, shaking his head. "We'll see about that. Good luck out there."

As you continue down the paddock, you bump into Lando and Oscar, both engaged in a heated debate over something. "Y/N, settle this for us," Lando calls out. "Chocolate ice cream or vanilla ice cream? Which one is better?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh that’s easy! The obvious answer is cookies and cream!"

Oscar stares blankly at you while Lando’s mouth drops. "I know you are lying right now, be so for real Y/N." Lando says. 

You walk away laughing, making your way to the Mercedes garage. The mechanics are busy with final checks on your car, and you take a moment to absorb the atmosphere. This is your sanctuary, your battleground. As you step inside, you’re greeted by George Russell, who gives you a friendly pat on the back.

"Nervous?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

"A bit," you admit. "But it’s a good kind of nervous. It keeps me sharp."

George nods, understanding. "Just remember, you’ve got the skills. Trust yourself."

You give him a grateful smile before heading towards the Sky Sports interview area. The familiar setup greets you, and the interviewer, Rachel Brookes, waves you over.

"Y/N, it’s great to see you," Rachel says, microphone in hand. "The fans are excited, and so are we. How are you feeling about today’s race?"

"I'm excited," you say, the adrenaline already starting to course through your veins. "Suzuka is one of my favorite tracks. The fans here are incredible, so supportive and passionate. It’s an honor to race in Japan."

Rachel nods, smiling. "You’ve had a strong season so far. What’s your strategy going into this race?"

"To stay focused and keep pushing," you reply. "Every race is a new challenge, but I’ve got a great team behind me. We’re ready to give it everything."

"And how does it feel to have so much support, both from the fans and your fellow drivers?"

"It means the world to me," you say earnestly. "The fans' energy is infectious, and it really drives me to do my best. As for the drivers, we might be competitors on the track, but off it, there's a lot of mutual respect. It's like a big, sometimes dysfunctional, family."

Rachel laughs. "Well, we wish you the best of luck, Y/N!"

You thank her and make your way back to the garage, the race now imminent. Your race engineer, Amaria, is waiting for you by the car. Her calm demeanor is always a source of comfort.

"How are we feeling?" she asks, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of doubt.

"Nervous," you admit again, this time more to yourself than anyone else. "But ready. I want this win, Amaria. I really do."

Amaria nods, her expression serious but encouraging. "You’ve got this, Y/N. You’re one of the best drivers out there. Trust your instincts, trust your skills. We believe in you."

You take a deep breath, the weight of her words grounding you. "Thanks, Amaria. That means a lot."

She smiles, handing you your helmet. "Now, let’s go win this race."

You climb into the car, the familiar feeling of the seat and the controls a comforting presence. The world outside the cockpit fades away, leaving only you and the machine. You put on your helmet, securing it in place, and perform your final checks.

Amaria’s voice comes through the radio, calm and steady. "All systems are go. Remember, stay focused. You’ve got this."

"Copy that," you respond, gripping the steering wheel. The nervous energy has transformed into a fierce determination. You’re ready.

The lights go out, and the roar of engines fills the air. The formation lap begins, and you navigate the twists and turns, feeling the car respond to your every command. The nerves are still there, but they’re now a part of the thrill, a part of the drive.

You line up on the grid, heart pounding, every muscle tensed in anticipation. This is it.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The roar of the engines surrounds you as you race through the circuit, the familiar grip of the steering wheel steady in your hands. Lap 28 is in full swing, and you're driving your heart out for the win. You hear the crackle of the radio in your ear, your race engineer giving you updates, but your focus is ahead. The track is slick from a recent shower, and the competition is fierce.

You see Ocon in the Alpine ahead, and you're pushing hard, determined to overtake into P5. Albon is close by in the Williams, equally determined to overtake your position as well. It's a dance of danger and skill, every movement calculated, every second crucial.

Then, it happens. In an instant, the world tilts on its axis. Ocon’s car clips yours, sending you into a spin. Everything slows down as the car flips and flips and flips, the ground and sky exchanging places repeatedly. Sky. Gravel. Sky. Gravel. Sky. Gravel. The violent motion is sickening, disorienting. You can hear the crunch of metal, the shatter of glass, and the scream of tires.

The barrier looms too quickly, and then you're crashing through it, the fence crumpling under the force. You're thrown into a building, the car smashing against the structure with a bone-rattling impact. The world goes black.

The pit lane erupts in chaos. Over the radio, a distressed voice calls for a red flag. The race comes to an abrupt halt, safety cars deployed immediately.

"Red flag, red flag. All drivers return to the pits. Safety car on track."

In the Mercedes garage, the engineers and mechanics freeze. George’s eyes widen in horror as he pulls into the pit lane, the scene replaying in his mind. Amaria is calling out for Y/N, but there is no response.

In the Ferrari garage, Lewis’s face pales as he listens to the radio, his heart sinking with every passing second. Charles Leclerc feels a cold dread in his chest. He can’t stop replaying the image of your car tumbling, the wreckage of what once was a powerful machine. His thoughts are a whirlwind, concern for you overpowering everything else.

"Who was it?" Lando Norris's voice crackles over the radio, fear palpable in his tone.

"It’s Y/N," someone replies. The pit falls silent, the gravity of the situation settling in.

Verstappen stares at the monitors, the usual competitive fire in his eyes extinguished by worry. His jaw clenches from frustration and helplessness. He knows the risks and accepts them, but it doesn’t make this any easier. 

Oscar pulls into the pit, ripping his helmet off. "Is she okay?" he demands, but no one has answers. The tension is unbearable.

As the safety crews work frantically, cutting through the mangled metal to reach you, an eerie silence blankets the paddock. Minutes feel like hours. The world watches and waits, breaths held, hearts aching.

Lewis paces, unable to sit still. “Come on, Y/N. Be okay,” he mutters under his breath, his mind racing through the years of knowing you, racing alongside you. He can't lose a teammate, a friend, like this.

George sits in the car, head bowed, fingers clenched around the steering wheel. He blinks rapidly, fighting back tears. The sight of your crumpled car, the uncertainty of your fate, it's too much to bear.

Back in the Ferrari garage, Charles slumps against the wall, his mind is all over the place. He has enough scars from this circuit already, he can’t add more, he needs you to be okay. He was drifting back to the moments you shared. The camaraderie, the rivalry, the mutual respect. “She’s strong. She’ll pull through,” he whispers to himself, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else. 

Oscar and Lando exchange glances, both young, both terrified. It’s a stark reminder of the dangers they face every time they get behind the wheel. Their usual banter is replaced with a solemn silence, each lost in their thoughts, prayers for your safety.

The medical team finally extracts you from the wreckage, carefully placing you on a stretcher. The sight of your limp body, the blood, it’s almost too much to bear. You’re airlifted to the nearest hospital, the severity of your injuries still unknown.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The air in the paddock is thick, filled with tension, anger, and worry. Max stands near the Red Bull garage, his jaw clenched, his eyes scanning the sea of people for a familiar face. His voice, sharp and commanding, cuts through the chaos.

"Where is he? Where the fuck is Ocon?" Max's words echo with a mixture of anger and frustration, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri hear the yelling, their own frustration boiling over as they join Max's side. "Yeah, where is he?" Lando demands, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Doesn't he know how to drive? Look at the damage he caused out there, to Y/N."

Oscar nods in agreement, his expression mirroring their shared outrage. "It's fucking ridiculous," he adds, his voice rising with indignation. "He's a danger to everyone on the damn track."

As they push through the crowd, their eyes searching for any sign of Ocon, a commotion erupts from the direction of the Alpine garage. Lewis’s voice rises and echos through the pit lane, a voice of anger and frustration. George shouts joining him, a chorus of fury that pierces the chaos.

Max, Lando, and Oscar run to the garage, the yelling and commotion driving them forward. They reach the Alpine garage just as Lewis and George break free from the grasp of the engineers and mechanics, their eyes locked on Ocon with unbridled fury.

"Let me go! Let me go! I’m going to beat his fucking ass.” Lewis's voice reverberates through the paddock, his muscles straining against the hands that hold him back. 

George's shouts match Lewis's, “You bloody fucking idiot.” he angrily says as he tries to grab Ocons’ shirt. 

Lewis somehow manages to escape their grasp and lunges towards Ocon. Arm pulled back with a tight fist and powerful swing, he punches Ocon in the face, the force of the blow causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

The scene is chaotic, a whirlwind of shouting and struggling bodies as engineers and officials rush to intervene. Max, Lando, and Oscar push forward, their own anger fueling their desire to confront Ocon.

But before they can reach him, security arrives, their presence a barrier between the drivers and their target. Strong arms grab hold of Max, Lando, and Oscar, pulling them back as they struggle against the restraint.

"Let us go! You fucker! Come here! You’re a fucking piece of shit!" Max's voice is fierce, his eyes burning with intensity.

Lando and Oscar echo his sentiments, their shouts blending into a chorus of defiance. “You bitch, if she dies it’s on you! You hear me! You don’t deserve to be a driver! How could you be so fucking reckless?!” they say as they try to get to Ocon. But their efforts are in vain as security tightens their grip, guiding them away from the Alpine garage.

Ocon is escorted away, the tension in the paddock reaches a boiling point. The drivers are told to return to their garages, the promise of further confrontation hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Lewis, George, Max, Lando, and Oscar exchange frustrated glances as they are escorted back to their garages, their desire and anger to get to Ocon are outweighed only by their shared worry for Y/N.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

Hours pass in agonizing silence. The race, ultimately canceled. Updates on your condition are scarce, and the paddock is gripped with fear. Every beep of a phone, every whisper, sends a jolt through the waiting crowd.

Finally, news comes through. You’re in surgery, your condition is critical but stable. The relief is palpable, but the worry remains. It’s a waiting game now.

Lewis and George sit side by side in the hospital waiting room, their faces etched with worry. They care for you so much, your smile and energy lighting up any room you walk into. They’ve been through so much together, and the thought of losing you is unbearable. They talk in hushed tones, sharing stories about you, trying to keep the fear at bay.

Max arrives, his usual confident stride replaced with uncertainty. He offers a nod to Lewis and George, joining them in their vigil. There’s a silent understanding between them, a shared grief and hope.

Charles walks in, his face a mask of concern. He sits across from the others, his mind still replaying the crash. He remembers you on the stretcher, lying so still, and his heart aches.

Oscar and Lando arrive together, the youngest of the group, their faces pale and drawn. They sit quietly, their presence a testament to the bond forged on and off the track.

Hours stretch on, the waiting room is filled with an oppressive silence. The doctors come and go, their expressions guarded. Every minute feels like an eternity.

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

Amaria your race engineer enters, her face is grave but kind, understanding the emotional toll this night has taken on everyone.

“Hey,” she begins softly, “I know how much you care about Y/N and how difficult this is, but the nurses informed us that it’s past visiting hours. As much as we want to stay the hospital staff needs to do their work, and you need to rest. Her parents are on a flight here right now, they should be here by morning. The FIA decided we will have a meeting first thing in the morning to update you all on her condition.”

There are murmurs of protest, but they are weak, born more out of exhaustion and helplessness than actual defiance. The drivers know she’s right, but leaving feels like abandoning you.

Lewis stands first, setting the example. “We’ll be there bright and early,” he promises, his voice firm. 

The others slowly rise, their reluctance palpable. As they file out, each offers a lingering glance back towards the surgical doors, hoping for the best.

Charles stops by Amaria. “Please, make sure we know the moment there’s any change,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Amaria nods. “I will. Try to get some rest. She’s in good hands.”

Charles nods, smiling weakly, “You too Amaria.”

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

The atmosphere is heavy as all the drivers sit in the room waiting for news on your condition. You can see the tiredness and weariness on their face. Even though they were told to get some rest it’s obvious none of them could. 

Finally, Toto and Amaria walk in. “She’s out of surgery. She’s stable, but it’s going to be a long recovery.”

The room exhales as one. Relief floods in, but the road ahead is daunting. You’re strong, a fighter, and they all know you’ll pull through. But the scars, both physical and emotional, will take time to heal.

Lewis reaches out, squeezing George’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lord. She’s okay,” he says, more to himself than anyone else.

Max nods, his eyes brightening a little. “Yeah, she is.”

Charles leans back into his seat, his eyes closed, tears escaping as he says, “She's okay, she's really okay. She's alive.”

Oscar and Lando exchange a watery glance, a silent exchange of relief passing between them.

You're okay.

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟸

∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿

© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.

[russellsppttemplates]

Lando being obsessed with poking your baby bump cause he just loves how matilda always kicks his hand when he does it🫠

Cw: reader's pregnant

"I had to spend the whole meeting standing up because she kept kicking if I sat down", you groaned as Lando poked your baby bump, fingers tapping the skin as Matilda kicked back.

"She's a very excited little lady, aren't you?", he spoke just above your belly button, kissing the skin as she kicked everytime he touched you somewhere, "but you have to behave for mummy, okay? She's doing such a great job at making sure you're growing well and she's keeping you safe. So no kicking, okay? At least no kicking unless daddy is near", he said as she kicked into his palm that settled near your hip.

.

"Enough of hogging my wife, please!", Lando said to his mother, who as soon as she walked into your living room proceeded to hug you and ask you all the questions.

"We're not hogging", Flo defended them, "we just want to know how our two favourite Norris are doing", she teased him, sitting next to you.

"Me and baby girl haven't even had our greeting today", Lando recalled. Because he had picked them up from the airport, he left you asleep on the bed, not touching the baby bump because he knew it would cause you to wake up, and right now, you should get all the rest you could get.

Landing his palm soflty by your belly button, the baby was quick to kick, wiggling around at the voices around her, "Oh, look at that!", Cisca cooed, noticing the movements since the strappy top your were was thin enough for them to see the movements, "Hi, Matilda, good morning, beautiful girl", Lando cooed.

.

Lando made sure that you were as comfortable as you could be in the garage so you could watch the race from there. The chair had padding everywhere you needed, a cup holder for your bottle of water and strategically placed so the fan would keep you cool but not cause you to get a sore throat or chills.

"LANDO!", one of the mechanics called, "we need you in the car in two minutes!". It was enough for him to approach you, letting you kiss his lips good luck along with him kissing your left ring finger, a little pre race tradition you started on the first race you watched on the paddock.

"And you, little one, one last kick and wiggle before daddy goes and wins this race for you and mummy, okay?", he said as he poked your baby bump, Matilda kicking back immediately, "daddy loves you so much, Tilly", he cooed, kissing the top of your head one last time.

"Is she having a dance party of her own again?", Adam asked you as he replaced your bottle of water with a new one, "thank you, and yes, yes, she is. She actually slows down a little when the cars start going on the track, but until then it's Matilda Norris' dancing and kicking party, isn't it, my love?", you poked your bump back.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[pucksandpower]

okeyyyy!

but we need a Grid Kids that maybe y/n and seb were in an car accidente (and y/n took the worst of it) and now the roles are reversed, now they are gonna take care of them

Loving this series so much

Grid Kids: UNO Reverse Card

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the roles are reversed when disaster strikes and your grid kids make it their duty to take care of you

Series Masterlist

The rain is pouring down and the paddock is filled with the usual organized chaos accompanying a wet race. The garages are lively with the sounds of mechanics tuning engines, engineers going over data, and drivers preparing for the race.

Suddenly, a deafening silence descends as a member of the Aston Martin team rushes in, face pale and voice shaking, “There’s been an accident. It’s Sebastian and Y/N.”

The news spreads like wildfire. The paddock, usually filled with the roars of engines and excited chatter, is now eerily quiet. Your grid kids, upon hearing the news, rush to find out more details, their faces masks of concern.

A shaky video from a fan’s phone plays on loop on their screens, showing the aftermath of a devastating collision. Your car is almost unrecognizable, crushed, with the driver’s side visibly less damaged.

George, having seen the video, collapses onto a nearby chair, tears streaming down his face. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers.

Lando, usually the life of the party, stands frozen, disbelief evident in his eyes. Mick, face ashen, tries to make calls to get more information while Lance rushes to find his father to find out if the team has heard anything more.

***

Soon, details emerge that you bore the brunt of the impact and your condition is critical while Sebastian, though injured, is stable. The helicopter is already airlifting you to the nearest hospital.

As the severity of the situation sinks in, your grid kids, in an unprecedented move, gather together for an emergency meeting. The weight of the decision is clear in their eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, Charles stands up, his voice firm yet choked with emotion, “We’re pulling out. We can’t race knowing Y/N is fighting for her life. We need to be there for her, just like she’s always been there for us.”

The decision is unanimous. One by one, they all agree. Telling their teams and the FIA descends the paddock into even more chaos.

***

The hospital waiting room is filled with a mix of team colors. Red from Ferrari, orange from McLaren, deep blue from Red Bull, green from Aston Martin, white from Haas, and black from Mercedes. The fierce rivalry that usually defines race weekends is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they’re united in their concern for you.

Sebastian, despite his injuries, is by your bedside, holding your hand, praying silently for a miracle.

As the hours drag on, the grid kids take turns sitting by your side, sharing stories, hoping their voices provide some comfort, even in your unconscious state.

Mick, teary-eyed, recalls, “Remember when I missed my dad? You were there for me.”

Lando adds, “And when I just wanted milk? You welcomed me like family.”

Charles, voice filled with emotion, says, “We’re here now, for you, just like you’ve always been for us.”

***

As night turns into dawn, there’s a shift. Your vitals start stabilizing and the worst seems to be over. The relief is palpable as the somber mood hanging over your family fades away.

Sebastian, tears of gratitude in his eyes, thanks each one of them. “She’s strong, and with all of you here, I knew she’d find a way to fight through.”

***

A week has passed since the accident and you’re now firmly in the recovery phase. The room is overflowing with flowers, cards, and quirky gifts — each one a symbol of just how much you mean to the racing community.

As you slowly regain consciousness, groggy from the medication, the first thing you spot is a balloon, bobbing near the ceiling, with the words “Speedy Recovery!” It has a little caricature of you in a race car with your cat (in a tiny sweater) on your shoulder. Another one reads, “Get back on track soon!”

Mick enters the room with a tray, “Look who’s awake! I made you my special recovery smoothie. Okay, it’s mostly chocolate ... but it’s the thought that counts.”

Charles follows, holding a peculiar-looking teddy bear dressed in a racing suit. “Meet Racy. He’s going to keep you company. We tried to smuggle Speedy in under our hoodies but got caught so this is the next best thing.”

Lando waltzes in, proudly holding up a t-shirt with “I survived a car crash and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” printed on it.

Max pops his head around the door, holding a full-sized F1 helmet, “You better wear this the next time you get in a car.”

George, with his trademark smile, presents a plush safety car. “To keep you safe and sound, always.”

Lance, trying to contain his grin, brings in a steering wheel cushion. “For those moments when you feel the need to take control of your recovery.”

You can’t help but chuckle at their antics. “You guys ... always know how to lighten the mood.”

Sebastian, holding your hand, grins, “They’ve been brainstorming ways to cheer you up nonstop for days now.”

***

Determined to keep things positive, your grid kids rally together for a surprise. As the evening descends, they transform your room into a mini-movie theater. They even managed to sneak in a projector.

The movie choice? “Cars” of course.

Lance, armed with a bucket of popcorn, declares, “I mean, if we can’t race real cars today, might as well watch animated ones!”

Mick dims the lights and George hits play. As the familiar sounds of the movie fill the room, everyone settles in ready for a night of laughter.

***

It doesn’t take long for the grid kids to turn the movie night into their own commentary session.

As Lightning McQueen races across the screen, Max quips, “I think I could’ve taken that turn better.”

Lando, laughing, chimes in, “And Mater reminds me of Charles after a few too many energy drinks.”

Charles feigns outrage, “That’s unfair! I’m at least 10 percent more sophisticated than Mater.”

You, through bouts of laughter, shake your head, “Honestly, I can’t decide what's better, the movie or your commentary? You guys might have a future on a broadcast somewhere if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out.”

As the credits roll, Sebastian whispers, “This is exactly the medicine you needed.”

Your grid kids truly make the day memorable, proving that through thick and thin, family — in whatever form it may take — is everything.

***

The sun is high and the paddock is buzzing with energy as preparations for the upcoming race are in full swing. As you and Sebastian approach, there’s a sudden almost comedic halt in activity. It’s as if someone hit the pause button on a remote. Everyone turns to face you, jaws dropped.

Lance feigns fainting, “Is it a mirage? Or has our beloved Y/N truly graced us with her presence?”

Max approaches with an exaggerated limp, mimicking you, “Thought I’d get into the spirit of things,” he says with a smirk.

George emerges from the crowd holding a makeshift red carpet (it’s just a red towel he stole from Ferrari), rolling it out in front of you. “For our returning queen,” he declares with a bow.

Charles and Lando appear, each holding one end of a “Welcome Back” banner. You try to turn your head to read it … they accidentally held it upside down.

You’re trying hard to hold back tears of laughter. “You guys are impossible,” you manage to say between your chuckles.

Mick, with a gentle smile, approaches holding a small framed photo. It’s of you surrounded by all your grid kids, taken during a race earlier in the season, with the inscription “Family, Always.”

Touched by the gesture, you softly say, “Thank you so much, Mick. This means a lot.”

“You’ve always been there for us,” he replies. “It’s only right that we’re here for you.”

Sebastian, wrapping an arm around you, adds with a grin, “I think they missed you.”

You really loved your grid kids.

[sinofwriting]

Points Have Been Made - Charles Leclerc/Reader/Max Verstappen

Words: 3,363 Summary: Max and Charles find out something happened to their girlfriend. Note(s): Thank you Mak for commissioning this! Mentions of medical stuff, infertility (not reader). One German word, one Dutch word, some French words. Jenson Button appears in this fic, because uh, well, I love him and honestly, I’d like to think (write) him having a weird soft spot for Max (and Charles) after seeing him more recently around Logan.

Masterlist | Support Me!

“Max.” He lets out a hum, his focus on the car and racing line into turn nine. “Box box.” “What?” His eyes flick up to where a yellow or red flag would be waved but there isn’t anything. “I’ve only done three laps on these tires.” “Box box.” His brows furrow beneath his helmet and balaclava at the non-answer.

Pulling off the track and into the pit lane, his fingers tap against the wheel as they pull his car back into the garage. He sits there expecting the mechanics to make some sort of adjustments but instead they start doing what they do at the end of a session, cooling the car down, prepping it for its next use.

He feels a slight pressure to the top of his helmet and then GP is in his line of sight, leaning into his space and car, perfectly helping to cover him with the mechanics and engineers, so the camera can’t see inside. “Something happened, Max. Session is over for you.” His heart starts thudding in his chest, panic threatening to overtake him. “What happened?” His voice is muffled by the helmet but he knows that GP hears it from the way his frown deepens. “Out of the car, Max. We’re doing our best to not let cameras see in, but who knows how long that will last.” Max looks at the mechanics and engineers and only now takes note of how they’re standing. It’s a carefully constructed wall, not allowing the cameras to see him at all. “Alright.” He murmurs.

He focuses on his hands as he disconnects the steering wheel, resting it on top of the car before pulling his gloves off. He doesn’t know why but he expects them to be shaking, but they’re perfectly still, like always. Jaw clenched, he stands, bending at the waist to grab the steering wheel and put it back on before hopping out of the car.

It’s odd to take his helmet off, passing it gratefully to Annie who whisks it and his gloves away.

“What happened?” He asks GP again. A hand is pressed against his back, pushing him to walk and he does. Undoing the near too tight collar of the race suit as he walks. It’s only once they’ve nearly disappeared behind the wall, where outside cameras aren’t allowed that GP speaks. “It’s about Y/N.” And the rug disappears out from underneath his feet.

—

“I’m okay, mama. I promise.” She says, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she rubs at her head. “You're sick. And I know that neither Max or Charles is with you.” “I will be okay, I’m a big girl.” “Your my baby.”

Her heart clenches at her mom’s words. All of her friends growing up and even some now all thought of her mother as overbearing, with the weekly phone calls, daily check ins and texts, but she was her mother’s only child. She grew up knowing that she was supposed to have siblings, that she was never supposed to be an only child, but it hadn’t worked that way for her mother and it had made her protective of her only child.

“I know, mama. But I’m okay.” Her words nearly flatter as a wave of dizziness hits her, but she pushes it away, clutching at the counter with her left hand as her right rubs at her temple. “The weather just changed here in Monaco. Y’know how that goes.” Her mom makes a noise, not believing her. “Pascale will be coming over for dinner, to check on me. Charles' orders. Will you believe her?” “Oh, Kindchen.” Her voice is soft, so reminiscent of her childhood. “It is not that I don’t believe you. It is that you are always the last to notice when you are unwell.” “I will be okay and she will text you to update you. Now go to your book club. I know that it is today.” “It’s not a book club!” “It’s a book club, mama.” She laughs, wincing immediately at the way the movement makes her feel unsteady. “I’ll call you first thing tomorrow alright?” “Alright.” She agrees. “Love you.” “I love you too.”

As soon as her mom hangs up, she takes a deep ragged breath. Her hand on her forehead, that’s damp now with sweat which makes her nose wrinkles, grasps at her phone before setting it on the counter.

It’s only when it knocks into something she realizes she’s had her eyes closed and she doesn’t know for how long. Opening them, she blinks at how bright the kitchen is. Turning her head slowly, her nose wrinkles up again at how the sun is positioned in the sky. No wonder it was so bright.

Letting go of the counter and taking a step towards the living room, she swears when a wave of dizziness rushes over again and she’s clutching at the counter again. The edge of it digging into both of her palms.

“Fuck.” She breathes when it’s passed. She watches as a bead of sweat drips off of her onto arm. She needed a shower. She needed to shower before Pascale got here. With the reminder of Pascale coming in a few hours she takes a few more deep breaths before letting go of the counter and walking.

Only it isn’t just a wave of dizziness that hits her, but a tidal wave and before she can catch herself, she falls to the floor, head hitting the tile hard and knocking her out.

—

“What happened to her?” Max asks, feet seeming to be glued to the floor as GP tries to push him deeper. “GP, what happened?” GP looks around before leaning into his space, a hand on the back of his neck pressing, and Max lets him push his head down. “Pascale found her passed out, she hit her head on the way down. They’re still waiting for test results.” “But,” His mind is whirling, trying and failing to understand what is happening. “Where is Charles?” If GP is surprised by his next question he doesn’t show it. “He’s still out there. He just about told Xavi to fuck himself when Xavi told him to abort his lap.” Normally that would make Max smirk, chuckle but he can’t be bothered. “I need to tell him. He can’t hear it from Xavi or Fred.” “Andrea was going to tell him.” Max shakes his head. “She’s in Monaco. Charles can’t find out by himself.” He looks at GP pleadingly and the older man nods. “I know, go and get out of your race suit and you can go right on over. Fred is expecting you.” Max quickly claps GP on the shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you.” He rushes to say again as he moves quickly to his room.

—

Charles is grinning as his car is pulled into the garage. He doesn’t know what Xavi was thinking, telling him to abandon that lap. It was amazing. And yes he knew that his session was over, cut short due to a new setup that they wanted to try out, but it was fine. This track had always treated him nicely and with this car, it would hopefully even treat him to a win or he mused considering Max, second place.

Climbing out of the car and pulling his gloves and then helmet off, he doesn’t notice the way the engineers and mechanics are blocking the cameras from seeing anything, or the worried looks from Fred and Xavi. He just notices the worry on Andrea’s face when he catches sight of Max, standing just out of sight if you look into the garage, close to where the drivers rooms are. And he does notice the look on Max’s face, it makes his stomach drop and he rushes to him, not even murmuring a thank you to Jean who takes his helmet and gloves from him.

“Max,” he breathes, hands fluttering before they rest gently on his face. “What happened, Mon coeur?” “Charles,” his name is broken up by a stuttered breath. “Did something happen to Sophie? Vic? Luke? Leo? Jos?” Max shakes his head at every name. Dread fills him even more. “Y/N?” Max’s eyes close and he nods. “No.”

“Charles.” Andrea’s voice is in his ear, ushering him forward. “Let’s get you both somewhere private.” He nods, letting his hands fall away from Max’s face, though he can’t help but to grab Max’s hand, intertwining their fingers, needing the touch, and Max clearly does too with the way he squeezes his hand back.

As soon as his driver's room door shuts, Andrea speaks again before Charles can ask anything.

“Pascale called me maybe ten minutes ago. She went over to yours for dinner, to check on Y/N and found her passed out on the kitchen floor.” Charles makes a wounded noise and his already tight grip on Max’s hand grows worse and the barely older man doesn’t even wince or jump. Doesn’t seem to notice. “They’re at the hospital.” Andrea’s voice is somehow even gentler than before when he says it. “They are at?” “Yes.” “Oh, maman.” He murmurs, feeling tears prick his eyes and Max drops his hand, wrapping an arm around him, bringing him close. “They are waiting for test results.” Max says. “GP made me box. He told me and I rushed over here.” “I,” Charles shudders. “Is she okay? I mean she passed out on the floor. How?” “I don’t know. They only just got there or at least that’s what it sounded like.” Charles nodded. “Thank you, Andrea. For getting a hold of GP.” Andrea sends Max a look. “Of course, Max.”

Andrea leaves the room, leaving them alone and Max as soon as the door shuts, wraps Charles completely in a hug, holding him tight as he tries to comfort himself with at least having one of his partners healthy and safe in his arms.

“I,” Charles struggles again. “I should call someone to go be with maman. She shouldn’t be there alone. Not at least till I can get there.” “Charles,” Max starts to say and Charles shakes his head, pushing away. “No, Max. I know it is a race weekend. But it is just a two-hour flight away, I can be back before qualifying if it is not too bad.” “Charles,” he tries again. “I have to go. I can’t just be here while she is unwell.” “Charles,” and this time Max is holding his face, making him incapable of speaking. “I am going with you. Fuck the race. If it is bad, it is not like we will lose our spots in the championship. Everyone else is more than forty points behind, we will be fine. Let me call my pilot, the jet will be ready by the time we get to the airport.” “Merci, Max.” Charles breaths, pressing their lips together. “Merci.”

—

“Pascale?” She mumbles when she opens her eyes and sees the woman sitting beside her. “Did I fall asleep?” She tries to sit up but her head aches, making her groan, and Pascale is gently pushing her back down. “Lay down, sweetheart.” “What?” Her eyes wander around the room as she realizes this isn’t her, Max, and Charles shared place. It’s far too clean, sterile. She tries to lift her arm and winces when there’s a tugging sensation. Her eyes fall to her arm and more confusion builds as she sees an IV. “Pascale, what happened?” “I found you passed out on the kitchen floor.” “But,” she couldn’t have passed out. Right? Her mind struggled to remember it. She knew she had been feeling dizzy, but enough to pass out. “Are we at the hospital?” “We are.” Pascale’s hand pats hers. “I will be right back. I’m going to get the nurse, okay?” She nods and as Pascale darts out the room, her eyes land on someone sitting just outside her room. “Jenson?”

—

“Anything new?” Charles shakes his head, frowning at his phone. “Like before, they knew that she was dehydrated as soon as she came in but they are still waiting for everything else to come back.” “What is taking so long? Is it money?” Max runs his hand through his hair, before he looks at Charles. “Call them, the hospital. Throw your name around, prince of Monaco.” “Max.” Charles hisses. “I am not the prince of Monaco. And I can’t call them. Nothing will happen if I call.” He huffs, slumping back in his seat.

It's silent for a moment.

“Are you,” “Yes, I’m sure, Max.” He reaches over and squeezes Max’s hand before tangling their fingers together, lifting them to give him a kiss. “We will be there soon.”

—

She tries her best to focus on the doctor as they examine her but her eyes keep going to Jenson. Now inside of her room and standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest as he watches intently.

“You have a mild concussion from the fall. The back of your head will be tender.” “But why did she faint?” The doctor frowns, “Normally I’d have the answer for you. But our lab is abnormally backed up and we are down to one lab technician. As soon as the results are in, I will be back to give them to you.” “Take your time.” She smiles.

Jenson shakes his head when the doctor leaves. “How does Monaco, of all places, have only one lab technician working?” “Jenson, what are you doing here?” He smiles at her, coming closer to her and bending quickly to press a kiss to her cheek. “Max texted me. Asked me to keep you and Pascale company. I was already here in Monaco.” She smiles at the older driver. He and Max’s friendship wasn’t too well known, but they talked often. Then she frowns, because Max had asked him. “Max asked you?” Her eyes then look over at Pascale. “I texted Andrea.” She nods. “Can you tell them I’m okay. There is no need to worry.” “Sweetheart.” “Pascale, I’m okay. I haven’t felt dizzy since I woke up, my head hurts a little from the concussion that’s all.”

Before Pascale can respond her attention is drawn away by the sound of the room door practically being thrown up and two voices on top of each other.

“Cheri!” “Schat!”

—

“We were so worried.” Charles murmurs, holding her face gently. “How is your head feeling?” Max asks, sitting beside her on the bed, arm wrapped around her. “I’m okay.” She smiles at both of them. “My head hurts a bit, but that will go away soon enough.” Charles frowns, fingers gently brushing over her cheekbones, before he drops his hands to hold both of hers. “Are you sure? I’m sure we could get you some meds.” “I’m sure, Prince Charles could get you some meds.” Max whispers in her ear making her laugh while Charles sends him a dirty look, though a smile is playing on his lips. “Don’t listen to him, Cherie.” She smiles at Charles, carefully leaning forward to press their lips together. Before being even more careful as she turns her head to kiss Max.

“Thank you both for coming.” “Of course.” “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” Charles and her both look at Max, eyebrows raised. “Okay, I can think of places I’d rather we be.” He admits. Charles shakes his head, “so silly.” He murmurs, leaning across her to kiss Max. “Now, why don’t we have your test results back yet?”

“There’s a backlog.” Jenson says, grinning when Charles jumps at the sound of his voice. “Max sent me over to keep them company as soon as you guys figured out the game plan.” Charles' entire face softens and Max flushes at the look their boyfriend sends him. “And they only have one lab technician.” Max lets out a curse. “Did you try bribing them?” “I could go try if you’d like.” Max starts to nod, but a knock sounds on the door and it opens.

She watches as the doctor blinks at the two new people in her room but ignores them, focusing on her. “I’ve got your results right here. Hypoglycemia. Low blood sugar and I mean very low blood sugar. When’s the last time you ate?” Her brows furrow.

She remembered eating Tuesday night with Max and Charles before they left. A nice dinner that her and Max made, Charles pouring them more drinks or chopping and stirring things. But she had eaten something the next morning hadn’t she? Her head throbs as she thinks, but she ignores it, trying to remember and winces from both the pain and the realization that she hadn’t eaten anything since Tuesday night.

“Tuesday night. I was going to eat breakfast on Wednesday but we were out of my breakfast bars and then I got so busy and I just wasn’t hungry.” “Are you not hungry often?” “Sometimes. But even then I make sure to eat at least one meal a day, I snack throughout. I’ve never done this before.” They nod. “As long as this isn’t a normal occurrence, I don’t see an issue. But, you need to make sure you are eating often. You don’t want to be back in here because you forgot to eat and it made your blood sugar drop.” “Of course. Thank you so much.” They nod. “I’ll get your discharge paperwork done and as soon as you're finished with the bag, you’ll be free to go.”

—

“When are you guys flying back?” She asks, Max’s head in her lap, her fingers combing through his hair as she leans against Charles. Max makes a face. “We won’t be.”

Charles and him had both talked about it as they got Pascale home and she settled in. Their teams would be unhappy, but it wasn’t like they could be overtaken in the championship. They could live. And they had two weeks after this with no racing. Two weeks where they could make sure she was eating, taking care of herself. And she’d be going to the next race anyway. This had been a sort of one-off due to all the things that had piled up at home.

“What do you mean you won’t be?” “We can miss a race. Max is twenty points ahead of me, I am forty-seven points ahead of Oscar.” “I have so many questions about that.” She murmurs, because god what was this season. Checo barely hung onto fourth in the championship with George hunting him down, Lewis and Lando hunting down George. Barely fifteen points collectively separating third to seventh. Charles snorts. “Many people would like to know the same.” “You should go though. Put more of a lead in the points.” Max and Charles share a look, a bit hard with their positions but they manage. “No.” They both agree. “I can survive not even two days. I’ll go stay with Pascale. Have Arthur stay with me. Or Jenson since he’s here in Monaco.” “No.” They say again at the same time. “You are far more important than another twenty-five or eighteen points.” Max continues. She sighs, looking at them both. “Three stubborn people is way too many people in a relationship.” “I think it’s perfect.” “Suck up.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him on the forehead. “Says you.”

“Boys, settle down.” “Love you.” They chorus. She shakes her head, sighing. “If you will not go without me, I will just go with you.” “You have a concussion.” “A mild concussion. And we all know that you have flown before with a concussion, Charles.” He pouts, “it was just once.” “Twice.” Max coughs and Charles flicks him again.

“I will go with you tomorrow. Just please make the flight later than eight am.” “Done.” Max says, already texting his flight crew. “Thank you.” She starts to bend to kiss Max, when her face is redirected to look at Charles and he kisses her. She expects Max to whine but as soon as Charles is done, Max is turning her head the other way, no longer laying in her lap, to kiss her as well.

@fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @darleneslane @ironspdy @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @eutrizbea @namgification @eugene-emt-roe @skepvids @elliegrey2803 @stopeatread @hiireadstuff

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

[theemporium]

Maybe Carlos plus "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention." from Violet Fluff? 🫶🏻

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

3. "How do you always know exactly what I need?" "I pay attention."

.

You had been so wrapped up in the data sheets and graphs on your screen that you didn’t even hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

The last race had been a shit show, to put it lightly. It was a mess for various reasons between problems with the car at the start of the weekend, poor tire management and bad strategy calls that left both Ferrari cars on the outside of the points. It was a rough weekend for everyone and it meant the two weeks before the next race were spent ensuring a repeat wouldn’t happen. 

You had been working with the rest of the engineers to try and identify all the issues with both cars so the mechanics could work on fixing them before the week was up. The issue that came with that is that, in theory, the cars were fine. The numbers looked normal. But the results were showing anything but.

It was frustrating and confusing and it left everyone on edge as the next race weekend grew closer. 

Most of the team had already left for the night but you were so sure you were on the right path, that you were close to figuring something out. You told your superior you wouldn’t be much longer, maybe an hour or so. You told them there was no need for them to wait up for you. 

That had been over three hours ago. 

Now, almost every room in the building was empty minus the office you were working in. Even the lights had mostly been turned off except for the lamp on your desk that was illuminating all your work. You were frazzled and tired and annoying—but you weren’t anywhere near ready to go home yet.

“Tell me you’ve taken a break.” 

You let out a scream of surprise, heart racing in your chest as you turned to find Carlos standing a few feet from your desk with a sheepish expression on his face.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”

“No, I—fuck,” you pressed your hand against your chest, leaning back against your desk chair as you let out a long breath. “Sorry, I didn’t realise anyone else was still here.” 

“I didn’t want to leave the sim until I got a perfect lap,” he admitted as he began to close the distance between the two of you. “I saw a light still on when I walked past.” 

“You heading out?” You asked, trying to ignore the way his tousled hair made your stomach twist.

“I was,” he corrected before he placed a cup of coffee in front of you. “But I thought you could use some help.” 

You went to say ‘thanks’ as you picked up the coffee, taking a long sip only to quickly fall silent. You stared at the coffee cup, unblinking.

Carlos felt his nerves grow when you didn’t say anything else. “You know, just to get the perspective of the driver to maybe help—”

You turned to the Spaniard with an unreadable expression. “You know how I like my coffee?”

“I–” Carlos flushed but nodded. “Yeah, I do. And I know you were probably gonna stay here for another few hours so I thought it would help.” 

“How do you know exactly what I need?” You asked in a soft voice, though it was mostly rhetoric. You weren’t expecting an answer. 

“I pay attention,” Carlos replied with a soft smile. “And I also know you probably won’t be leaving for a while so–”

You watched as he grabbed a seat from the neighbouring desk, rolling it towards your desk before sitting down with a smile on his face. You raised your eyebrows but he just took a sip of his own coffee cup, determined to stay up with you.

And you found yourself not minding the company.

.

[cadavercowboy]

Hot Rod

Anonymous said: i need a eddie munson fic where reader is pretty bold. I had a dream where i texted him "i wanna blow you" and he just responded "hot." i need this so bad 😭 Hmmm. *cracks knuckles* Alright, allow me to extrapolate a bit here... Idk why Eddie is a mechanic, it just felt right. I believe he would find this ridiculously hot and would lose his silly little mind if his girl got all confident and cocky about giving him the schlurpy durp.

Pairing: Mechanic!Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: You send Eddie some dirty texts and he takes full advantage of the opportunity afforded to him.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Sexting. Oral sex (it's sloppy toppy, guys!). Slight degradation. Face-fucking. Cum swallowing.

A/N: Reposting this because I privated the original and tumblr decided to fucking eat it. :-)

He heard the ping of his phone between the high-pitched whirs of Wayne’s pneumatic drill, though he’d ignored it on account of the grimy layer of black grease coating his fingers. Another ping and then a third let him know who it was texting him. A sudden sense of urgency had him ducking out from under the hood of the latest vintage car his uncle had him helping to rebuild so he could reach for the red rag on the workbench to clean his hands just enough to check his messages. The sight of your nickname splashed across the screen had prompted a small smile, but the content of your messages had his jaw falling slack.

“Eddieee…”

“I wanna blow you.”

Short. Sweet. Straight to the point. Eddie had licked his lips, fighting back a groan as he re-read the texts.

“Miss the way you feel in my mouth…wish I could taste you right now.”

The bold statement had caught Eddie off guard. While you’re far from a prude, it wasn’t usual for you to so blatantly express your desires. He wasn’t sure how to respond, but he knew a simple text wouldn’t suffice; he needs to give you precisely what you’ve asked for. Still, he couldn’t leave you hanging so he tapped out a lackluster response, knowing he’d make up for it shortly. 

“Hot.”

Eddie had stopped giving a shit about his greasy fingers as he dragged a hand through his hair and tried to come up with an excuse to give Wayne so he could get home to you. Sure, he felt a little guilty about flaking on his uncle, but the constriction in his pants won out over the one which tightened his chest.

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie called hesitantly.

His uncle popped up from his stooped position near the rear wheel of the cherry red Coupe, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I’m pretty beat,” Eddie lied easily. “Think I’m gonna call it a day, man.”

Wayne nodded as he stood, tossing a rusted bolt into a coffee can already half-full of discarded hardware. He wiped his hands on the stained material of his navy jumpsuit, wondering why his nephew had suddenly decided to pack it up for the night as he checked the dirty face of his watch.

“Alright, kid. I’ll probably be outta here pretty soon, too.”

Relieved that Wayne hadn’t questioned him, Eddie returned his tools to the rack and cleaned up his workspace so as to avoid any reprimanding from his uncle. His phone chirped again and he snuck a quick peek as inconspicuously as possible. He wished he hadn’t.

“Come home and fuck my throat.”

“Jesus goddamn Christ,” Eddie muttered, nearly dropping the device.

Wayne eyed him wordlessly, studying his shaggy-haired nephew as he fumbled with his cellphone and shoved it in his pocket for the second time in the last few minutes. He suspected the jingling electronic had something to do with Eddie’s sudden desire to leave, though he said nothing.

“See you tomorrow, Ed,” Wayne grumbled. “Tell your girl I said hello.”

Eddie’s steps faltered, unsure if his uncle’s words were intentional or if he’s just paranoid. Wayne noticed the hesitation but pretended he didn’t, instead burying his head in the engine of his car to hide his sly smirk. 

And that’s how Eddie ended up racing home to you and making it there in record time.

Though he knew you’d kill him for it, he texted you on the drive; punching the keys haphazardly — volleying his eyes between the road and the screen — to let you know he was on his way. He had every intention of testing to see whether you have the balls to back up what you’ve said and he knows you know that even without him saying so. Still, you pretended not to see his text. You feign ignorance as his booted feet come clamoring through the door.

“Baby?” Eddie calls, his voice nearly as tight as his pants had been the entire ride here.

He rounds the corner and spots you. You’re lounging on the sofa and watching something mindless on the television. You look so pretty dressed in nothing but a tattered Tom Petty tee, your bare legs stretched out and your ankles propped up on the arm of the couch. He’d love to bound across the room and ravish you right there on the worn green cushions, but he’d much rather have you make good on the earlier declarations you had made so confidently.

“Oh, you’re home,” you note with a smile, though your expression immediately darkens as you swing your body off the couch and begin to advance on him. “Finally.”

Eddie doesn’t even have a chance to say hello before you’re falling to your knees in front of him. His mouth drops open in disbelief and his arms raise at his sides; he’s not quite sure what else to do with them as your fingers deftly undo his belt and wrench his zipper down. You shove impatiently at his grease and oil-stained pants, shifting them just enough to get to what you want. There’s something so hot about the fact that you seem unphased that Eddie has come straight from work and hasn’t had a shower yet; his dick stiffens in agreement.

The warmth of your hand surrounds his half-hard erection as you reach under the waistband of his underwear and Eddie groans in bliss. Your texts already have him so torqued up, he fears he won’t last very long. If the jolts of electricity shooting through his body at the mere caress of your fingers are anything to go by, he’ll be lucky if his dick even makes it to your mouth.

“Been wanting this all day,” you purr as your fist pumps Eddie’s length, coaxing him to harden further.

His legs waver when he sees how hungrily you stare at his dick, your desperation written all over your face. Your wide, wet eyes peering up at him makes his cock throb in your hand and you lick your lips. He barely hears what you say when you mutter something about needing to taste him because your comment is lost among the sound of his broken moan as your lips surround his sensitive tip.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie whispers, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “That’s so…s’good.”

You suckle his swollen head, intermittently flicking your tongue across the weeping slit until Eddie’s knees nearly buckle. When you lean in to drag your soft lips further down his length, Eddie comes dangerously close to exploding. A muffled moan escapes you as you taste the heady flavor of Eddie’s skin mingling with his sweat. He sucks in air between his teeth, finally looking down at you again and delving his hands into your hair to guide your movements.

As much as you love when he takes control, you want to make Eddie feel good; specifically, you want him to relax and let you take care of him. Rather than heeding the pressure of his hands, you plunge your head forward and swallow as much of his cock as you comfortably can. 

Your throat constricts and your eyes begin to prickle with tears. The metal teeth of Eddie’s zipper drag along your chin when you widen your jaw to accommodate the size of him. Gently rocking your head side to side, you manage the last inch before Eddie is pulling away from you. He stops when your mouth is midway down his shaft, taking in the sight of your mouth stuffed full of him as his girth stretches your lips wide.

With your best puppy dog eyes and a dissatisfied whine, you silently plead with Eddie to allow you to proceed. You need to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, need to bury your nose in the thatch of curls at his base until you’re gagging around him. You want it so badly. 

Eddie shudders when you swirl your tongue against the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock. Saliva gathers in the corners of your mouth as Eddie sits hot and hard between your parted lips, the slickness beginning to trickle down your chin. Something in Eddie’s gaze shifts in a way that both frightens and thrills you.

“You really want my cock that bad, huh?” he taunts, a hand circling under your jaw to force you to meet his eyes.

You nod your head carefully, your lips sliding against his turgid flesh with the movement. Eddie grunts in response as his thumb brushes along the corner of your mouth to gather some of the spit that leaks out. 

“Why don’t you let me fuck your pretty little mouth then?” he adds. “Just like you said earlier. Bet you didn’t think I’d follow through.”

Eddie’s words are stern but teasing, challenging you to prove that you aren’t all talk. He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead shoves his pants and underwear lower, baring his cock and balls and the length of his pale thighs to you. He shifts his feet and brings his other hand to your face, each of his thumbs hooking in either side of your mouth as he pulls out. 

“Look at me,” he commands, waiting until you obey before he continues. “Stick your tongue out.”

The wet flesh brushes against Eddie’s cock when you do, the heaviness of the appendage making your thighs clench. Eddie shoves his digits further into your mouth, tucking them between your teeth so you couldn’t close your mouth even if you wanted to. Saliva dribbles from your gaping mouth and he pushes the solid head of his cock through the moisture before shoving the stiff member back between your lips. 

“You look like such a pretty little slut. Keep your eyes on me and breathe through your nose,” is all the warning Eddie growls before he thrusts his hips forward.

The first press of his hard cockhead against the back of your throat is alarming and you flinch and cough, but Eddie doesn’t relent. He thrusts with steady and smooth strokes, his hefty cock dragging over your tongue and bumping the sensitive spot that makes you gag until tears spill from your eyes. You gag and splutter and each noise only spurs him on, the pathetic sounds earning a grunt of pleasure with each slip and slide of Eddie’s slick cock. 

“Stay just like that,” he snarls behind gritted teeth, making the demand as if you have any choice but to remain in his steadfast hold as he fucks your throat. “Be a good girl and let me use you.”

Just as expected, Eddie can feel his balls tightening with his impending orgasm. Adjusting your position, you brace yourself against Eddie’s forceful thrusts; cupping your hands around the backs of his bare thighs and hugging your body close to his so he can continue to fuck your face with ease.

You’re a mess of tears and drool and damn if he doesn’t wish he could stay here forever. Spit falls in steady globs on your chest, soaking your shirt. The wet sound of his cock sliding through the abundant moisture is going to be ingrained in Eddie’s head for a long, long time. Not to mention the way you whimper as you struggle to take him. 

A buzzing in his ears signals the nearness of his release and Eddie holds his breath as he buries every inch of his pulsing cock in your mouth. The swollen head slips just past the tightness of your esophagus and when the muscles squeeze him, Eddie loses it. 

He begrudgingly pulls back, only for the satisfaction of coating your tongue with the creamy spurts. You sniffle and whine when the warm drops hit your taste buds and fill your mouth. Though you do your best to keep it all contained, Eddie just keeps cumming and the abundant seed overflows and begins to ooze over your lower lip and down your chin. 

“Fuck,” Eddie sighs, fisting his cock and giving it a final shake to dispel the few drops that still seep from the tip. 

Not bothering to fix his disheveled clothes, Eddie crouches in front of you. He studies your soaked face and your full mouth, his cock twitching appreciatively at the debauched sight you make.

“Show me,” he whispers hotly.

You widen your jaw and stick your tongue out, careful not to let a single drop of Eddie’s cum escape. He inhales deeply, satisfied with your obedience and directs you to swallow it all. A shiver courses through you at the heated tone of Eddie’s voice, but you do as he asks. Your tongue peeks out to sweep any remaining spend from your lips, though Eddie beats you to it. 

His large hand cups the back of your head, pulling you in so he can capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. The sweet taste of you mingles with his own saltiness and Eddie moans into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours until you’re breathless. 

“What the hell got into you?” Eddie pants with amusement as he observes you with adoration and surprise.

Joseph Quinn Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

[girlsdads]

maxiel; post-silverstone quali hurt/comfort, mild sexual content, ~900k

Steam is already curling out from under the bathroom door by the time Max returns to the suite. They’d ridden together that morning, but he’d left his debrief and found his motorhome empty. Some poor VCARB hospitality worker had been faced with Max’s frustrated disappointment upon hearing Daniel had already called a car. Another thing to hate about this year. Max can count on one hand the times Daniel’s made it out of Q2. It makes him want to run every other car off the track next time—he’d gladly take one million penalties if it meant Daniel got to sail right through.

He shimmies out of his jacket, drapes it over the back of one of the starkly modern chairs arranged in a stupid little seating area near the door. Rainwater drips onto the cushion, oddly satisfying. He thinks about Daniel in the hot, hot shower, washing the chill from his bones. Max himself doesn’t mind the weather much, but he could rip the clouds from the sky with how the rain makes Daniel shiver and shrink.

Max sheds his shirt next, tossing it onto the still unmade bed. Kicks his shoes off, hops from one foot to the other peeling his jeans down his legs. He’s naked by the time he enters the bathroom, the humid air heavy on his skin. He can see Daniel’s lovely silhouette through the steam, the strong lines of his back down to the gentle curve of his soft hips. He’s got his forearms pressed to the wall, head ducked and resting on his clasped hands. He doesn’t startle when Max opens the glass door and steps in behind him.

Inside the spacious stall the air feels thicker, almost suffocating. Daniel’s curls are flat to his forehead and his skin is flushed pink. He’s been in here for a long time already, Max can tell.

“Daniel,” Max touches the flat of his palm softly to the small of Daniel’s back. He is so warm. It takes everything in Max not to plaster himself to Daniel and shove them both against the shower wall, to feel him everywhere. But Daniel has been in here for too long and his sensitive skin will be getting pruny.

Max opens his mouth to say as much, but Daniel cuts him off. “None of it was my fucking fault, today.” His voice is practically a hiss.

“They put you out into traffic,” Max says calmly, his thumb rubbing small circles into one of the dimples at the base of Daniel’s spine. Max had been coming around toward the pitlane when his radio had chirped with Daniel is out now, Max. Max had of course seen Daniel pull onto the track, had seen the traffic there in front of him. Had tried to push Daniel forward with the sheer will of his own mind, as if his devotion alone could overcome shitty mechanics and shittier strategy.

“If it was me fucking up—I could handle that, y’know,” Daniel laughs, one of his honking ones, but it’s humorless. “They want me to prove myself? When they don’t give me a fucking fighting chance?”

Daniel suddenly whips around to face Max, his big round eyes a bit red like he’s been crying but a bit wild like he’s ready to put his fist through a wall. Max can’t help the way his cock starts to thicken a little between his legs.

“I dunno if I can do another year with this team, Maxy,” he says after a moment, his gaze flicking from holding Max’s to cast down at the tiled floor. The resigned admission is swallowed by the thick swirl of steam surrounding them.

Max chokes on the lump of panic that suddenly rises in his throat, the lingering dread that Daniel would not bother with him if he were no longer racing. The insidious little voice in his head that wishes Checo would just… disappear, so Daniel can have back the seat that has always been his.

Before Max’s brain can continue its spiral, Daniel chuckles, shakes his head, smiles tiredly but genuinely. His wrinkled fingertips come up to caress Max’s jaw in a way that makes Max want to melt into his skin.

“I’m expecting the full WAG experience, once I’m sacked.” He grins.

“You will of course be racing next year, Daniel.” Max is sure of this, as sure as he is of his own career. Though it is delicious to imagine a future where he could publicly pamper Daniel to his heart’s content.

“Mmm, you sound so sure of that, baby.” Daniel’s words are a rasp in his ear, breath hot on the wet skin there. “Wish everyone believed in me as much as you and I do.”

Max hears himself hiccup a gasp as Daniel’s teeth scrape over his earlobe at the same moment his hand wraps around where Max is fully hard, now. The raised wrinkles on Daniel’s fingertips feel like needlepoints against him. It makes him tremble.

“Just me, Daniel, and you—just us together—please,” Max pants as Daniel speeds his hand up, slipping the foreskin up and down and up and down. “Fuck everyone else.”

“Yeah, Maxy,” Daniel whispers, almost reverent, as Max spills over his fist. “Fuck everyone else.”

[aheathen-conceivably]

Somewhere on the other side of downtown Strangerville the town’s shopfronts pettered off into the desert, and an old road led through stone buildings falling to the sands of time. Like everything else in this town, Jo figured they had been toppled by the wind and the air; but the people who lived there knew better.

It was just as far from the farmhouse as Jo was willing to walk in heels, although not much further from the bar than her own house was. The fact that she could now call it her house added some spring to her step, even if she had no plans for it to remain that way forever. But for now, it was at least enough to anchor her to her promise to Gio, and the knowledge that she would be leaving it in less than 24 hours made every sight and sound more appealing than ever before, especially since she was there to pick up her ticket out.

Not long after Jo had agreed to her father’s offer, Val had approached her with a smile like she held a secret or had somehow already outwitted Jo in a game she hadn’t even realized they had begun to play.

From the depths of one of her pockets she had fished out the keys to a 1932 Ford Roadster, laughing at Jo’s confused face. Almost as quickly as she had produced them, Val had tucked the keys back into her pocket where they most likely rarely saw the light of day, then explained that the car was Jo’s if she needed it for the tour. All of Jo’s subsequent questions were met with simple shrugs or smiles, so when she approached the house the day before they were set to leave she was still surprised to see Val actually leaning astride the car she had promised.

Before either of them could say a word Jo’s eyes began to wander the scene in front of her. None of it was anything like she had expected. The car was sleek but sturdy, modern and flashy, and utterly at odds with the woman using it like a simple fence post in the desert. Behind it was a small white house with bright shutters and a daring red door, juxtaposed against dilapidated wooden shacks flanking either side of it. Jo didn’t quite know where to look or what to take from the whole scene, so her eyes lingered on the rocking chair on the front porch and wondered if Val ever sat there near sunset.

Val caught her curious gaze and crossed her arms, “What? Were you expecting me to live in a teepee like the guidebooks told you I would?”

A flush crept up Jo’s face as her eyes darted back to the woman she was set to meet. “Val! That’s…that’s not it at all. It’s just so colorful, so new…” So unlike anything I imagined from you. From the house I thought about you going back home to night after night while I tried not to think about where you slept and undressed on my own walks home. Only now I’m here and you’re here and does the inside look like this too? Does your bedroom look just as warm and modern and…

Valcita’s laugh broke the tension settling over the air with every unspoken thought racing across Jo’s mind. “Jesus Christ, Jo, relax. I’m kidding! Come here, would you?”

She leaned off the trunk, gesturing for Jo to walk nearer as she began to explain the mechanisms and workings of the interior. Jo ran her hand along the swooping edge of the car, open to the sky above so that you could drive with your hair blowing in the wind. Already she could hear it deafening her ears, throwing off the protective cover of the truck’s thin metal roof where she had learned to navigate the winding curves at breakneck speeds and made a promise that was getting harder and harder to remember.

As Val kept talking, explaining which buttons to press and gears to shift, Jo couldn’t help but look at her standing between the glittering black paint and small porch. Her ever-present turquoise necklace caught the light of the sun and reflected the color of the shutters. It was usually her only adornment, but now it seemed like just a rock in the desert alongside this treasure she had never expected to find at the edge of the dust bowl.

Val was mid sentence, pointing to the levers for the windows and the locks when Jo’s question finally slipped from her lips. “Why do you have it anyway? The car, I mean. Do you leave? The bar is so close, and I’ve never seen it outside…”

Immediately Val’s arms went back across her body, although Jo was beginning to realize it wasn’t a stance of defensiveness for her the way she had originally thought. It was always paired with some sort of smile that told her it was usually amusement. Or even more likely, defiance. She shrugged her shoulders and confirmed it was the latter. “It was new. Suppose I didn’t need much more of a reason than that, did I?”

The keys now firmly in her own pocket and some modicum of knowledge on how to work the thing thanks to Gio, Jo followed Val around to the driver’s side door. She waited purposefully for Val to lift her hand to the door and pull it open before placing her own neatly beside hers.

As she went to step inside she lifted her right hand to the door, forgetting to move her other one away from Val’s as she looked at the interior of the car laid out before her like a new world. It was nothing like the truck she had learned to drive in, the same one she had dreams of stealing in the night and driving off into the desert with. Only she could already tell that this one was even faster, fast enough to take her all the way to California, or maybe even back to New Orleans. By the time anyone realized, she would be too far gone for them to ever find her again.

Her breath caught in her throat as she composed herself to look back at Val. “I’ll be back at the bar before you know it. It’s only a few weeks after all.”

Val pulled her hand away from Jo’s, as though to tell her she had seen exactly what she had been thinking and had no intentions of holding her back. “No you won’t. I’ve seen your brother play, and I saw how you handled him with my father. They’ll be another tour, and another, until you’re out in California with the rest of the women that look like you.”

Suddenly Jo felt her feet lock in place, and she hesitated to get into the car that she had considered running away in seconds before. “What’s - what’s that supposed to mean?”

As though she could sense the shift in Jo’s posture, Val leaned her weight onto the door. “I said it the day you walked into my bar, ain’t nothing about you that belongs in this town. Not sure how you got out here anyway. But here,” she said, nodding at the steering wheel and moving to shut the door behind Jo as soon as she stepped inside, “There’s your ticket out. Just try and return it to me in one piece, will you?”

[ilikeredcars]

Two hearts, one love

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader

Summary: Formula's one cutest couple also happens to be between a reporter and a certain pilot in red

Warnings: Broken bone (leg)

An: Hiiiiii!! I'm very very proud of this work (so if you don't like it pls don't tell me 😌) anywhoss, just remembering yall that I'm brazilian so English is not my first language, that means you have to forgive me if I make any mistakes LOL, ENJOYYY!

Being a reporter for Formula One truly isn't easy, but you love it and always did. You were indeed always fascinated by all the cars, drivers, teams and everything that had to do with the sport, so it wasn't surprising to anyone when you graduated college and soon got a job as a reporter to a highly successful TV channel. Your job was great, you could do together the two things you loved most, work for TV and Formula One. And that is how you met the third thing you love most: Charles Leclerc. He had just signed with Scuderia Ferrari when you two met. It was your first year as a field reporter, which meant you went around interviewing drivers, mechanics and team principals, basically anyone that you passed through who had time and knowledge enough to be interviewed. The day you two officially met was in the first Grand Prix of the season, it was qualifying day and Charles had just done amazingly well for such a young driver, fortunately the universe was on your side and you managed to get a interview with him, il predestinato, all dressed in red and with sweat dripping from his hair to his forehead and onto the sides of his face, that was the first time you saw him so close, and the moment he looked inside your eyes, the driver knew that the purpose of his life, was to make you his wife. And he did it, two years later you married in a beautiful church just outside Monaco, and it was the happiest day of your lives.

Current days

It is race week! And you couldn't be more happy with the excitement of every fan who passes by your side, you just love everything the paddock has to offer, maybe except for the giant cast on your right leg that couldn't go by unnoticed even if you tried. The week before you were walking home and in your way you encountered an old lady whose cane had fallen, without thinking twice you bent down to pick up the object for the poor woman who could clearly barely bend down, unfortunately for you, a car next to you lost control and hit you hard, fortunately he was not driving at a big speed and so the only injury you received was a broken leg, you were released from the hospital a day later with a cast on your leg and a crutch. And that's how you ended up here, this is officially your first race as Charles' wife and not as a reporter and you couldn't be more excited, with Charles help you got out of the car and was immediately flooded by questions and fans wanting to take a picture with your husband or wanting an autograph, you told him it was okay and gave him space to talk to the fans for about ten minutes. After some of the fans went away he walked slowly toward you with a giant smile on his face, "Sorry about that mon amour, let's get you to the garage okay?"

"Okay" You smiled and gave him a small kiss to his cheek, "I love you so much angel" "And I love you more bébé"

As you were walking to the red garage that was near the end of the paddock a reporter stopped you and you immediately recognized her as Rachel, the girl who was filling in for you until you took off your cast and could go back to work.

"Charles! YN! How are you love? Are you getting better after the accident?" She asked smiling towards you. She had a microphone in her hand and the cameraman had the camera pointed at you, Rachel can be your friend but this was still an interview and you had to be careful with what you and Charles said.

"Hey Rach! Fortunately I'm great! The accident wasn't too bad and I'm not feeling pain at all!"

"That is awesome YN!"

"Yeah! And let me tell you a secret..." You felt your husband's hand wrap around your waist and smiled. "...I have this great guy by my side who is helping me with everything I need!"

You turned to Charles who gave you a passionate smile and slowly pulled you in to give you a loving kiss (appropriate for the cameras around you, of course), you smiled and found home in his embrace.

"Okay okay, let's let the lovebirds be! Haha! It was great seeing you both. Good luck on the race today Charles and hope you get better YN!"

"Bye bye Rach! Thank you!"

"Merci Rachel" Said Charles before turning once again to you and helping you continue your way toward the garage. As soon as you entered the space you grabbed your husband's hand carefully.

"I love you so so much and I'm so proud of you my love. You have no ideia how much I look up to you"

"Je t'aime tellement mon ange, je l'ai toujours fait et je le ferai toujours"

*I love you so much my angel, I always have and I always will*

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Broken Circuits

Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader , Oscar Piatri x Fem!reader, Logan Sargeant x Oscar Piastri

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

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The paddock was alive with the familiar buzz of anticipation as mechanics made last-minute adjustments and engineers hunched over their laptops, analyzing data. It was a scene I had grown accustomed to, yet today, the excitement felt like a distant echo. Logan had been struggling all season, and with each race, his frustration had grown.

Standing by the Williams garage, I watched as Logan stepped out of the car after qualifying. His face was a mask of disappointment, and I knew from the slump of his shoulders that he had once again qualified last. My heart ached for him. He had worked so hard, dedicated every ounce of his energy to this sport he loved, and yet, the results just weren't coming.

"Hey," I said softly as he approached. "You'll get them next time. I believe in you."

He didn't respond, just walked past me with a curt nod. I followed him, trying to offer some comfort. "Logan, please talk to me."

He spun around, eyes flashing with anger. "What do you want me to say, Y/N? That I'm fine? That it's okay? Because it's not! I'm sick of losing!"

I took a step back, shocked by the intensity of his outburst. "I know it's hard, but I'm here for you. We'll get through this together."

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "You don't get it, do you? I don't need you to tell me it'll be okay. I need results. I need to stop being a joke on this grid."

"You're not a joke," I insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. He pulled away, the hurt in his eyes cutting me to the core.

"Just leave me alone, Y/N. I can't deal with this right now," he snapped.

I felt a lump form in my throat, tears stinging my eyes. "Logan, please don't shut me out. I love you, and I want to help."

"Help? How can you help?" His voice was rising, drawing the attention of a few team members nearby. "You can't make me faster. You can't change anything. Just stop trying to fix this!"

His words hit me like a physical blow, and I felt my vision blur as tears finally spilled over. "I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I just want to be here for you."

Logan's face softened for a moment, but then the anger returned. "You know what? Maybe you're the problem. Every time you're here, I don't get good results. Maybe you're bad luck."

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful. I couldn't believe he had just said that. "Logan, you don't mean that."

"Maybe I do," he said coldly. "Maybe I regret ever giving you a chance. Maybe I hate you. Maybe we should just break up."

I stood there, stunned, as he walked away. My heart shattered into pieces, the pain of his rejection overwhelming. I turned and walked away, the tears streaming down my face. I found a quiet corner near the back of the paddock, sinking to the ground and hugging my knees to my chest. The sounds of the busy racetrack faded into the background as I let myself cry, the hurt and confusion washing over me.

"Y/N?" a familiar voice called softly. I looked up to see Oscar standing there, his expression filled with concern.

"Oscar," I managed to say through my tears. "He said... he said he regrets ever giving me a chance. He said he hates me and... he broke up with me."

Oscar knelt beside me, pulling me into a comforting hug. "He doesn't mean it, Y/N. Logan's just frustrated. He's under so much pressure, and he's taking it out on the person he cares about the most."

"But it hurts," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I thought we were a team."

"You are," Oscar said gently. "When you're not around, Logan's always wishing you were. He loves you, Y/N. He's just lost right now."

We sat there in the fading light, Oscar's presence a small comfort in the midst of my heartbreak. After a while, he stood up, offering me his hand. "Come on, let's get you somewhere more comfortable."

I nodded, taking his hand and letting him lead me away. As we walked, I saw Logan in the distance, his expression conflicted. Oscar's grip on my hand tightened as we passed him, a silent promise that he would take care of me.

Later that evening, as the paddock quieted down, Oscar found Logan in the team's hospitality area. "We need to talk," he said firmly, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a steely resolve.

Logan looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with regret. "Oscar, I—"

"No," Oscar interrupted. "You don't get to apologize to me. You need to fix this with Y/N. You hurt her, Logan. You pushed away the one person who's always been there for you."

Logan hung his head, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. "I know. I was an idiot. I let my frustration get the better of me, and I took it out on her. I need to make it right."

"You do," Oscar agreed. "But it's not going to be easy. She's really hurt, Logan. You're going to have to work hard to earn her trust back."

Logan nodded, determination replacing the regret in his eyes. "I will. I'll do whatever it takes."

The next day, I was in my hotel room, still trying to process everything that had happened, when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Logan standing there, looking more vulnerable than I had ever seen him.

"Y/N," he began, his voice shaking. "I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I never should have said those things. I don't hate you. I love you more than anything."

I looked at him, the pain still fresh in my heart. "Logan, you really hurt me. I don't know if I can just forgive you like that."

"I understand," he said, taking a step closer. "But please, give me a chance to make it right. I promise I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back."

I hesitated, the memories of his hurtful words still lingering. But I also remembered the good times, the love and support we had shared. "Okay," I said finally. "I'll give you a chance. But you have to prove to me that you mean it. You have to earn my trust back."

Logan nodded, his eyes filled with determination. "I will, Y/N. I promise."

As we stood there, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting, I realized that love wasn't always easy. It was messy and complicated, filled with highs and lows. But as long as we were willing to fight for it, to work through the pain and come out stronger on the other side, it was worth it.

---

taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal l l @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii @Milkyymelanine @ilovsyou3000morgan @styl1shl1v @eddieharrington @hellowgoodbye

[mythicalmaven]

omg i saw your prompt list and I'm a sucker for oscar lately, so i thought 45 (God, I am so in love with you) with him? fluff please :)

i love your writing btw!

First Kiss - Oscar Piastri (requested)

Masterlist ↳pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader ↳word count: 0.8K ↳summary: In which Oscar wins the Azerbaijan GP & finally kisses you for the first time ↳prompts used: 45 - "God, I am so in love with you"

Oscar had been in love with you for years, a secret he’d kept tucked away in the corners of his heart, afraid of what would happen if he ever let it out. He’d watch you laugh, your eyes sparkling with a light that made everything else fade away, and he’d feel his chest tighten with the words he could never quite say.

You’d been his best friend since forever, the person who knew him better than anyone else. Every victory, every defeat—you were there, cheering him on or comforting him in the quiet moments when the world seemed too much. But as much as he cherished your friendship, he was terrified to risk it by confessing his feelings, convinced that you saw him as nothing more than a friend.

It was a thought that haunted him every time he caught you looking at him with that warm smile, every time your hand brushed against his, sending electric shocks through his body. He couldn’t imagine a life without you in it, so he swallowed down his love, settling for being your best friend even if it meant his heart ached every time you were near.

But everything changed the morning of the Baku race. He was in the paddock, nerves buzzing under his skin as he tried to focus on the upcoming race, terribly failing as he catched himself staring at you once again. But then Lando came up to him with a knowing smile.

“You know she’s in love with you too, right?” Lando said casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him.

Oscar blinked, his brain struggling to process the words. “What?”

“Yeah,” he continued, oblivious to the way his heart was suddenly racing. “She’s been head over heels for you for ages. Honestly, it’s kind of obvious. I thought you knew.”

He stood there, stunned, his mind spinning as everything he thought he knew shifted. You were in love with him? All those moments he’d dismissed as wishful thinking, the lingering touches, the way you looked at him—had he been blind to it all?

"Are you sure?" Oscar asked, completely dumbfounded. Afraid that Lando might got the wrong signals, that it wasn't what he thought it was.

"Couldn't be more sure" Lando smiled at him, patting his shoulder "Mate, she legit told me, 'I wonder if Oscar has any idea how crazy I am about him.' That clear enough for you?" he chuckled, mocking your love sick tone "Didn't wan't to be the one to spill the beans, but I'm pretty sure the both of you otherwise would have been too shy too ever confess to each other"

His heart soared, hope blossoming in his chest, but there was no time to process it. The call for the race was going out, and he had to get to the grid. He barely remembered the moments that followed, his body moving on autopilot as he climbed into the car, his mind consumed by thoughts of you.

And when he crossed the finish line, his first instinct wasn’t to celebrate the victory—it was to find you, to tell you everything he’d been holding back for so long. Because now he knew. And he wasn’t going to let another moment slip by without you knowing, too.

He glanced around, searching the crowd with an urgency you’d never seen before. When his eyes locked onto yours, a grin split his face. Without a second thought, he handed his helmet to a nearby mechanic and practically sprinted toward you. Your heart leaped into your throat as he reached the barrier, reaching out to lift you over it with ease. His hands found your face, cupping your cheeks with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intense look in his eyes.

“Oscar—” you began, but your words were cut off as he crashed his lips onto yours, his kiss filled with a raw, unspoken longing. You gasped against his mouth, stunned, but the surprise quickly melted into warmth as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their shouts echoing around you, but it all faded into a blur. It was just the two of you, standing there in the middle of the chaos, wrapped up in each other. The kiss was everything you’d ever dreamed of—soft yet demanding, sweet but full of a simmering passion that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the joy and relief radiating from him, his lips moving against yours with a mix of exhilaration and tenderness that made your legs weak.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and dazed, Oscar rested his forehead against yours, his eyes sparkling with unspoken words. His thumb brushed over your cheek as he searched your gaze, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I love you too, by the way,” he whispered, his voice slightly breathless but steady.

A giggle bubbled up from your chest, pure happiness spilling over as you leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. The cameras were still flashing, the crowd still cheering, but all you could focus on was the warmth of his hands and the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.

Oscar’s gaze never left you, his grin widening with each passing moment. Finally, he could hold you the way he’d always longed to. He’d admired you for so long, captivated by your beauty. But now, seeing you up close, you looked even more stunning. He was completely smitten. “God, I am so in love with you.”

Masterlist

[rafeyswrd]

a quiet place . day one.

sweetheart pogue!reader x best friends!brother rafe cameron.

SUMMARY: all you wanted was to spend a day work free. a tragic expectation really, when the screeching and dreadful screams sounded through the island. and after painful trudges and sour wounds, it didn’t take long to figure out that all you needed to do was stay quiet — and simultaneously take care of a terrified and overly scared cameron.

WARNINGS. teeny mention of reader being shorter than rafe. wounds. blood. violence. gore. mean!reader ( she’s scared okay 😞 ) . mention of mental & physical health issues. mentions of puking. insinuations of death. panicked rafe (?). probably unrealistic cat behavior. think that’s it!

WC. 1.8k

A/N. i don’t know if this writing style pleases anyone because a) first time writing in a while so maybe some mistakes, b) english is my second language, c) since i’m not used to writing from the second pov. please lmk if there’s anything to work on! since i catch myself writing unnecessary details many times lols

leave feedback please!! any interactions / reblogs are highly appreciated, i’d love to see where to continue with this ^_^

It was everywhere.

Blood. It was seeping through the drains embedded into the ground, a crimson layer running and carpeting the dirty tar roads. Your breath was irregular, hands clutching onto the sides of your shorts as you came face to face with the under mechanics of a car.

Screaming filled your ears, screams so agonising and dread filled it caused a rise of bile to race up and down your throat. And in a weak attempt to lessen the striking fear residing within, you scooted further beneath the car, watching from afar with hooded eyes as large claws dug into the floor with each heavy step it took.

“Help ME,” a man’s groans escaped him as he crawled near your feet, tugging at them harshly, “Please, help me!”

You let out a choked sob, his nails digging painfully into your ankles. No matter how lowly you plead, how creakingly you whisper for the man’s pleas to come to a halt, your begging fell to deaf ears, utterly ignored. And it was not until the man’s hands loosened on your foot, his body dragged by a creature so baring it knocked your breath out, did you finally throw your head back in relief.

The dirt and broken glass beneath you pierced the back of your shoulders, your chest rises and falls erratically as you scoot further away, only to realise the numbing planted in your ankles. Biting your lips, you pushed your body further up, feeling a tear slice through your muscles. As tears rolled down your swollen cheeks, your body glimpsed itself into sunlight once more.

Yet even then you could not let the louder sobs break free, not when the area was still crowded with ache laced yelling, not when you saw your flesh torn apart near your feet.

Your brows furrowed, watching in bittersweet anguish as she appeared.

Nona.

Your sweet cat Nona, who tiptoed around the glass to curl up near your hands, sniffing it before running the opposite direction. You look around, pushing your body up slowly as you limp near a wall, watching as she sneaks herself into a dark corner etched between two run-down buildings.

You trudged through, leaving a trail of blood behind you and you slid down behind a trash can, a lone tear cascading across your reddened face. Leaning up, you nibble firmly at your lips to prevent a fearful scream from leaving you at the sight of your damaged, flesh torn ankles and look around in distress when you take notice of your cat missing once more.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Nona was smart.

Being deaf did not prevent her from being the sweet support cat you were given at 14. She was a smart cat. Knowing what you needed, when you needed it – because sometimes your brain struggled to pick up signals of distress, sometimes it let you suffer until your hands seized and legs gave out.

And sweet Nona always knew how to take care of you.

So, as she trudged through the small town, she took a stop near a choking man lying on the edge of a lake. Water spurted from his swollen lips as he violently shook. Nona softly jumped on his chest, one, two, three times before his choking came to a sudden halt.

Rafe’s body shot up, breathing heavily as he pushed the rest of his body off the running water.

His face was wet -- tears or the water he was unsure of, but as he clenched his bloodied shirt, torn from the sides, he frantically glanced at the heavy weight planted on his chest. Rafe, for the first time that day, felt a sense of comfort wash over his battered body. The cat he loathed to see every time you would bring it over, sprawled in front.

It was an ugly thing in his opinion.

Furless, purely wrinkling pink skin and an unfortunate short tail. One of her eyes was crossed, and an ear was cut in half from God knows what.

He hated it, it made his skin crawl whenever he would sneakily watch you cuddled up with it on Sarah’s bed after a sleepover. But now, as he recognized the bright pink tag across her neck and the curled snarl that was directed towards him, Rafe allowed himself to gently pet Nona.

He glared when she pushed his hand away, standing before him, blinking once, and twice, before walking away.

Normally, reluctance would follow his senses but as he stared longer at the cat’s figure; your face painted his memory, hope flourishing within his chest, and he gulped at the thought of you all alone – or dead. He shook his head, gripping his head as his lips wobbled, you had to be okay. You just had to be. Even if it was just for his own sake.

1 minute turned to 5 and 5 soon turned to 12, until Rafe found himself standing 2 feet away from your agitated body. You were shaking, one leg bent as the other seemed to bleed through wrapped, white fabric that was ripped from the ruffles of your shirt. It had been the first time he’d seen you look so tired, so worn out and miserable and so out of your usual sunshine element; your smile lines disappearing with the deep downwards tug of your lips. It stung him, only slightly.

From the corner of your eyes, you sensed a figure watching over you, and you stilled. With gradual movements, you turned around, and a small smile drew itself upon your lips. Nona ran towards you, rubbing her head on your wounded foot, allowing you to grin.

Rafe watched intensely, eagerly moving near you and wincing when he saw you flinch; finally catching sight of his appearance. You clenched your jaw, gripping the garbage bin with force and limping yourself up. Clutching Nona in one hand and leaning on the trash with another, you straightened yourself enough to look at him with narrowed eyes, only to push past his shoulder and limp away. Mouthing a meek “go away.”

Though no matter how far you walked (attempted to), how far you tried to distance yourself from the Cameron boy, you eventually felt the heat of his body hit your back, causing you to trip forward and his lanky figure following you shortly.

Nona dropped to sit by your foot as your nails gripped onto a stone wall, a tear slipping as a crack emitted from your injured foot. Rafe’s rough hands found your waist, gripping you upwards with panicked eyes.

“I’m sor-” His pupils widened when your sweaty palms gripped at his chin, roughly pulling him forward before placing it on his lips.

Your stare was wide and filled with worry, swiftly glancing around with a frightened gulp. Rafe furrowed his brows, following your line of vision despite the bleak grip you have on his face. It was raining.

You tilted your head, the thought finally processed. Rafe’s distressed tone didn’t cause commotion, not a batted eye; and you tested the waters – “you need to leave.”

Rafe shook his head, “explain what’s going on,” his voice cracked, and despite the clench of his jaw or pursing lips you could tell he was beyond terrified. “Y/N/N you need to tell me-”

“Shh!” Your breath was rugged, and you shut your eyes momentarily before whispering, “Rafe, the survival ship that will take you away is on the other side of the island. I am not going to help you; I am looking for my family.”

Despite your erratic movements vigorously pointing to the street behind him, he stood firm before you. “N-no! You don’t get it, Y/N I-”

“Shut up,” your lips were swollen from how hard you bit them, glaring at Rafe, “Rafe. Please leave. They depart in less than 3 hours; I-I am not your stopping point for any sort of survival!” You were sure your face was red, though your anger came to a cut when his eyes welled up, and you can tell it took everything within him to prevent a tear from slipping by.

His upper body shook, “’m scared, okay.” He managed to grit out. “Just-just explain to me,” he sniffed, watching your hesitant gaze before adding, “please.”

You pouted, sighing next. Giving in despite every atom built up inside of you telling you not to.

Shaking your head, you licked your lips and stepped closer – a tactic you were sure lacked any intimidation points from how tall he stood. “Fine.” Shaking your head, you looked at him with a frown – unsure whether his emotions were a play of manipulation on your fragile state. “You cannot make any noise, you understand?”

He nodded, eye twitching and fists clenched. Rafe trembled with every inhale and exhale, observing you with hooded eyes, and he took in the sight of you — really took in how you looked, and the deep furrow of his brows relaxed ever so slightly. “I understand.” He spat out.

Actions that you wilfully decided to ignore, you didn’t care how hard it was for him to listen to you, or how manic he appeared; the last thing you needed was to take care of a man who ignored any help his way.

“I am going to my home Rafe; this is your last chance to leave.” Your whispers were getting dull, and breathing heavier, mixing with the rain taps surrounding you. Both of you were beyond wet, shivering and shaking intensely beneath the water drops.

He gulped and stared at you for an eerie minute before nodding once more, “okay.”

“Okay.” You breathe out, turning your aching body around, refusing to acknowledge his gaze – to which you do not want to decipher.

The train of thoughts had not paused once, reeling against the walls of your mind roughly. Rafe was beyond saving. He was an arrogant boy who had never taken your presence into accountability until he was forced to. A boy who made your friends lives hell, a boy whose father was the murderer of a man you cared for dearly.

You were unsure if Rafe would have ever helped you if your emotions were as brittle as his own, if you were coke crazed and panicked as he was, and you did not want to think much of it, knowing if you did, you’d quickly come to regret your decision.

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