#Sweat Andrea

[myrquez]

In Motogp there’s so much money involved, performance anxiety dominates and builds up barriers. Everyone retreats into their own pack, nothing is done together anymore. And I just adapt to it, according to the theory that it’s better to be alone than to be in a group full of fake smiles. But relationships among athletes aren’t only the ones made via some direct, classic form of communication. In sport you can actually enter into communication with someone through other ways that are more mediated but, in some cases, even more profound. With Márquez, for example, we aren’t technically friends. We think highly of each other, we respect each other, we smile to each other when one sees the other one, over the past year he’s been very fair to me, often defining me as an ideal opponent. I think it’s because he knows that I can race him very hard, but always within the rules. Which is, even if for many may not seem like it, exactly the same thing he always did while racing against me. Marc may look crazy, but he actually stands out from clichés and defies physics laws in good conscience. Unlike other riders — those reckless ones with no sense of limit, who after a crash often say “I don’t know why I crashed” — Márquez knows very well why he crashes. He often precisely crashes on purpose, just to explore that limit. He does some experiments first, then goes on to elaborate his theory. In a way, he’s an empiricist exactly like my dad was, when he purposely kept taking more and more steps forward on the track to teach me how and where to brake. It’s just that in this case, it’s the rider that does it. I like Marc. And I interpreted our famous duels in 2017 as a means to get to know each other better. In Austria and Japan we indeed were extreme, but not crazy. Adventures-seekers who like to push themselves to the limit, but not insane and neither unfair to each other […] Deep down, he isn’t irresponsible, even if he often looks for some maneuvers that have no rhyme or reason. Theoretically, and practically, they don’t make any sense. Yet I never get angry about it, not even that time in Zeltweg when it looked like I told him to fuck off. It surprises me, instead, to see what he tried to do to get a win, something like “I can’t believe it”, an amazed curiosity to see how he tried to move into this uncharted territory, the same one where, thanks to him, I consequently went into as the well. And it’s so cool. As if we both dug together a whole new vein of gold: we won’t share the prize, of course, because to keep the gold is my goal, but we still dug through it together as if we were pioneers. And this indeed does create a bond, whatever is it.

And it’s even more incredible because I exactly know what Marc is going to do in that last turn in Zeltweg. Theoretically, he doesn’t have any more weapons to attack me: at this point his Honda has less traction, worn-out tyres, less power; generally speaking, Honda is less suited to this track than Ducati. And yet he got this far, in the end […] I well know that to have Marc right behind you while going through the last corner is way too much of a problem, the worst thing it could happen to you: he’s going to try it anyway anywhere. So I’ll be there, waiting for him […] Even if we’re going at 200 km/h, I can feel upon my skin how meters get marked bit by bit. One after another. I force myself to focus on his engine’s sound to understand when and where he will attack. And when the noise is there, almost unbearable, I brake hard and leave him a bit of space on the inside line, to force him to exaggerate a bit and then overtake him in acceleration. It’s almost as if I just accepted his invite, just to deceive him later. It might look like it’s just a technical challenge, or a stunt one, but it’s actually about mind games, an hand in glove tied relationship in which our minds get connected. As in bull and bullfighter kind of way. Or, in a I know that you know that I know kind of way. To get a win in this way is a much more difficult thing to achieve, but it is much more cooler as well. When Marc gets on the inside Iine I just know that I made it, because he’s a champion, but he cannot overcome the laws of psychic. My plan gets fulfilled and the dissolving noise of his bike as he goes wide resonates with liberation. That’s when I make that gesture, automatically. Fuck off, you just got played! Real subtitle is: what did you make me do, you bastard? It’s my third win this year. It’s now clear that I am the one challenging Márquez for the title. But to me this doesn’t matter. Like it doesn’t matter that much how I just won against the one who is recognized as the hand-to-hand duels master […] What matters most is that this race has been a way to get to know each other better. Márquez, with his usual Joker smile, confesses that if he hadn’t tried to surpass me he wouldn’t have slept at all that night. That’s what perfectly defines what he is: as long as he is breathing, he will try to pass you even if he had to go through a wall.

In Motegi it isn’t that different. Here, as well, Márquez is struggling a bit more than me, but I am sure he is going to try it in the last corner. Why shouldn’t he? We’ve been “beating” each other as if there was no tomorrow for the last six laps, in some apocalyptic conditions: heavy rain, curling-like grip, no visibility at all […] Ten minutes ago I wouldn’t have thought we’d get to this point, but as soon as Márquez did a little mistake I got back on track and now we’re here, us again. Ehi, Marc, how are you doing? Our connection in Zeltweg has been restored on the other side of the world. It’s now clear that everything that is going to happen now would not be possible without the other’s collaboration. Like two alpinists in a rope team, we will get ‘till the last meter together. We overtake and we get overtaken. We give and we take. We sting like bees, fly like butterflies, and more than anything we hit like blacksmiths. At Turn 10, I change my trajectory: I’ve been studying Marc for quite a lot from behind and now I imitate him, going a bit wider. This allows me to get into Turn 11 very fast, ready for my strong suit: braking. That’s how I easily overtake him. The Ducati is very stable, everything is under control. I’d be sure to get a win at that point but an alarm goes off in my mind: I won’t give it to you this easily. Exactly. Last corner is on the right. Giving my position it’s obvious that there isn’t any physical space to get on the inside, but imagine if he does really give a damn. When I’m about to lean into the Turn, Marc abruptly arrives out of nowhere as gracefully as Hulk in a china shop. It’s not even a dirty try, more like a circus number: his engine’s noise getting closer echoes into my helmet like the drum rolls that comes just before a trapeze artist jumps. Ladies and gentlemen, Marc Márquez! Where the fuck do you want to go? You’re still sitting straight, I’m already leaning: don’t you see that we’re touching? I don’t know how, but I keep the bike in control. I suspend my maneuver for a millisecond, just enough to let him slide on the outside as I go on riding through the apex. At that point he’s way too wide, he pulls half of a miracle by leaning all on the right to keep his bike on track but has no margin for anything else. Farewell, bye, goodbye. I win today. Again. After the finish line, we stop near the track side by side. Our gloves touch. Contact. Knowledge of the other has deepened. Relationship was preserved. Despite everything, no one cut the rope and we got to the mountaintop together. It’s an awesome feeling. That’s exactly the sport that I would always like. Especially because I won. On TV I eventually admit that to win against Márquez in what he does best really excites me: this is the boost that I need for the climb to the championship, at only 11 points from the lead. Marc showers me with compliments and says that it’s awesome to battle with me for the title, the living proof that professionalism and hard work pay off. He calls me a good guy as well, and I forgive him. Actually, no. Why should I be ashamed [of being a good guy]? To pretend to be a bad guy is something that everybody can do. To actually be one when it’s needed, and to do it with a certain style, it’s something for the few.

— andrea dovizioso talking about his relationship and his duels with marc márquez in asfalto (2018)

[rpfisfine]

https://youtu.be/fWomfEL9Jrw?si=RvzSSKoXUrBPRGAX

5:15 for Aleksa content 😁

NO WAY......ALEKSA BIG NATURALS........THERE IS GENUINELY NO WAY

[jendoe]

oo ! ok ok i am thinking nathaniel x vet and also teehee my baby beloved lino x iryna if he had lived for the asks? ✨👁🥀 <3

allegra you did the impossible and found the one vet thing i DON'T ship even a little LMFAO....

canonically, vet kind of wants to chew his arm off and i could not see it happening 💀 he does manage to bond with andreas (and they ARE a ship sometimes so imagine her reaction), but she is. not budging. i think if it WERE to happen, it would be an extreme slow burn where he'd have to work his ass off to impress her! which. yeah. if he could manage that, then he would definitely have Earned it. she IS worth the effort!!

as for LINO AND IRYNA... yeah, sure! i could see him being endeared 💖😌 before the outbreak, he was a bit of a Romantic, but obviously, he didn't exactly have time to be looking for love afterwards. in an au where he lives, maybe it's time!!

[norrizzandpia]

HE WON! LAN WON!

Summary: A long awaited win warrants a shouting Y/n, the proud girlfriend of Lando Norris, 2024 Miami Grand Prix Race Winner. Not only that, but also a smiling Lando now ready for questions about their future.

Warnings: LITERALLY NOTHING EXCEPT A SEXUAL COMMENT AND ME SOBBING IM SO HAPPY FOR THIS MAN I DONT EVEN KNOW (also like a theme of marriage and a comment about having children lol)

Note: i was screaming.

Y/n could feel the sweat drip down her back as her hands shook against her mouth. She had come into this race, along with Lando, assuming there would be a P2 secured for him with the new upgrades, but as the gap between him and Max got larger, it became clear it was his time. His time to let go of that stupid record, the one that had crushed him to hold, of having the most podiums without a race win. Her heart jumped every time he rounded a corner, praying to any kind of higher power to not let a safety car or a jittery move made by him ruin his chances again of winning. She couldn’t stomach the thought of that, he couldn’t either. And by the faces surrounding her in the McLaren Garage, she knew nobody else could.

Everybody held their breath, nerves overwhelming them as their eyes stuck to the screen. Could this be it? Could this be the moment where he took the title as race winner?

It seemed so as he rounded the last corner and his triumph resulted in cheers being heard for miles. Y/n didn’t realize the tears falling from her face until Andrea ran over to her, hugging her and wiping her tears with a laugh.

“HE WON!” She shouted in his face, mascara very likely smudging around her eyes. Andrea nodded at her and hugged her once more before moving on to the engineers behind her. Zak was the second person to find her, screaming with her and high-fiving her when she noticed the glistening in his eyes.

“Are you crying?!” She laughed. Zak shook his head, but wiped away the wetness right under his eye.

She giggled, “I won’t tell anyone.”

He chuckled along with her before the moments dawned on her once more.

She turned around to face the engineers, “HE WON!”

They screamed it back at her as if to try and convince themselves of it, too surreal for their comfort. There was a massive group hug between Y/n and the engineers, all of them having seen just how hard Lando worked for this exact achievement.

“Y/N!” Zak screamed from across the room. When she turned around, she found him aggressively waving his hand, motioning for her to come join him in congratulating Lando.

She squealed before taking off, leaving the man behind quickly.

On her way there, sprinting chaotically, she haphazardly facetimed Cisca, Lando’s mother. When the call went through, their two tear soaked faces met one another and they only began to cry more.

“HE DID IT, CISCA! HE WON! LAN WON!” She screamed, fans and bystanders taking out their phones to videotape the cute moment of loud support from the girlfriend of the newest race winner.

Their cameras caught her flying down the pit lane, screaming into her phone with Cisca over how elated she was for Lando. To add to the charm, the videos captured her tripping and almost face planting on the floor from the sheer pace of her legs. Her cheeks heated up in embarrassment, but she was quick to put it all aside as she pushed through the masses of people, waving her phone around and yelling at everyone to move away because she had the mother of Lando Norris on the phone.

Her body was smashed against the railings as his car came into view and her tears only came falling down harder. Andrea, who was standing off to the side and outside of the barriers, ran over to her, moving the tape up enough for her to come under. She gave him a questioning look, “Aren’t I supposed to stay behind it?”

Andrea shook his head, “Lando would’ve forced you to come out of it anyway. Just be prepared for the trample you’ll get when he gets out of his car.”

She laughed and her head whipped around at the sounds of intense cheering, seeing her boyfriend practically fly out of his car and throw himself into the arms of his team. Cisca laughed at it all on the phone, commenting to Y/n about how chaotic her son had turned out to be.

“Chaotic? I think he’s just clinically insane, hate to say it.” Y/n giggled, shaking her head at the truly concerning things Lando had said to or done with her in the years they’d been together.

“WHERE’S Y/N? DID NOBODY GET HER FROM THE GARAGE? WHAT?” Lando’s body leaned over to one of the engineers, the poor man trying to tell him how close his girlfriend was.

Finally, after a few failing attempts, the man just pointed and yelled, “SHE’S OVER THERE, MATE!”

Lando’s head turned, eyes locking with hers and softening. Andrea quickly took the phone out of her hands, knowing she would want two empty hands to welcome her boyfriend with. And just in time because Lando was sprinting to her, screaming about what he had just done.

“DID YOU SEE, LOVE?! Y/N, I WON A RACE! I’M A RACE WINNER!” His volume was deafening, but the way he crashed into her, holding her body to his as she stumbled back, said more.

It was no secret how in love the two were. Having met four years ago in the paddock, they were inseparable ever since. From the small and subtle touches to the strong statements of adoration and love, there was no fighting or doubting the two would end up sharing the same last name. Y/n had been open in the months leading up to Miami that she had begun manifesting his race win, touching many hearts in the process. Posting pictures of her journal with the sentence “Lando Norris is a Grand Prix Race Winner” written over and over and over again, his mirror with sticky notes in her handwriting with the same eight words. She stopped at nothing. Y/n even took to forcing Lando to make honey jars with her, that specific phrase on a small note inside, so that maybe it would “stick to him”. She was completely uneducated in the world of manifestation and rituals, but she liked to think she was somehow involved in this.

Nonetheless, it all paid off as he reeled back, tears in his eyes, and kissed her sweetly in front of many. His kisses were soft and hasty, drawing back every few seconds to plant another one on her mouth. His arms tightened around her frame and his lips rested against the shell of her ear, “Thank you for everything, baby. I couldn’t have ever done this without you and your spells. I love you so much and there are not enough words to express how grateful I am that you are standing here with me today.”

She grasped his cheeks, pulling him back so their eyes could meet once more, and wiped his cheeks. He did the same to her as she whispered, “This was all you. I hope you never doubt how talented you are ever again because of this, Lan. Everyone is so proud of you, we always have been, but it’s heightened today because you deserve this so much. You deserve a lot of things, this is the start of many.” She brought his face closer to hers, their noses touching, “I am so happy for you, Lan.”

The tears under his eyes pooled around her thumbs at her words and he just shook his head, kissing her again before Cisca’s voice was loading emitting from the phone beside them.

“LANDO NORRIS! YOU ARE A RACE WINNER, HONEY!” She screamed, a slight crack from the speaker.

He blushed, “Thank you, mum. I love you so much. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

Adam’s head popped out from the side of the frame, “What about me?!” He said with a smile and Lando only laughed.

The parents riddled off excited murmurs of support and love before Lando was being ushered away.

A slight crease to his forward told Y/n he didn’t want to leave. She squeezed his hand, “Go, Lan. I’ll be with the engineers below while you get your trophy. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your parents have the best view.”

He shook his head, “I want you to come with me, though.”

She sighed, kissing his cheek, “No, Lan. This is your moment to shine. Go savor it, baby.”

His eyes flickered to the man waiting off to the side, waving his hand as to tell him where he needed to go, and back to his Y/n. The woman he had fallen in love with all that time ago, the woman he had been waiting for his entire life, the woman who had been with him throughout this entire journey, and the woman who he was elated still put up with him long enough to see this moment as the love of his life. He wanted her to share in the victory with him, but the pleading in her eyes told him that wasn’t the right decision. She was right. This was the moment he’d always been waiting for. This was his time to take that top step and cement his presence in it by himself.

Another reason why he loved her so much. She always knew what he wanted even when he didn’t.

Kissing and hugging her again, he ran off.

When he disappeared behind the random door that led him to his podium, Y/n turned to Andrea and Lando’s parents, the ones still on the phone with their smiling faces, they all just looked knowingly at her.

“What?” She giggled.

Cisca was the first to speak, “If there isn’t a ring stuffed away somewhere in you two’s apartment, I’ll be damned.”

—

After the champagne spraying and Lando’s eyes never leaving hers from his high podium, the two were reunited in the McLaren Garage.

His hand slid into hers before leaning his heavy body on her, “I’m so tired. That car was hot as fuck.”

Y/n’s fingers trailed up his back before sinking into his hair, tugging and scratching lightly, “Oh? Tired? That’s a shame.”

Lando let out a confused noise, “Why?”

She turned her head so her lips were close to his ear, “Because I was already planning your post race win celebration. The one in the privacy of our hotel room.”

He choked on the oxygen he was in the midst of inhaling, “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Really? The car was hot, no?” Zak stepped into their conversation, having no idea what he was interrupting.

Lando laughed and Y/n just stuttered, “Yeah, he was just saying it was. I think it’s the adrenaline of winning that’s making him feel awake.”

Zak’s mouth fell open in understanding before he stepped closer and patted Lando on the back, “I’m really proud of you, kid.”

The two shared a quick hug and Lando smiled, “Thank you for all the support you’ve shown me.”

When they parted ways and Lando led Y/n back to his car, he turned to her in the driver’s seat. His eyes bore into hers and didn’t let go as he took her hands, “I have never been as in love with anyone as I am with you and you don’t understand how happy I am you’re here to share in this with me.”

She caressed his cheekbone, “I’m so happy to be here with you too, Lan. You deserve this and so many more wins.”

There was something evident he wanted to say, but it was clear he was hesitant. Y/n could see it. Not wanting to push him, she just smiled and clutched his hand, silently telling him she was safe to confide in, that she would never leave him. Her hand holding was a promise of forever.

Just what Lando needed.

“Promise when I get down on one knee, you’ll say yes?” He whispered.

Her mind took her back to Cisca and Adam and Andrea when they all looked on at her as the future wife of their favorite boy. Her cheeks blushed, “I promise I’ll say yes.”

He exhaled a breath, “Thank God. I have a mental list of all the achievements I want to earn in my life and there’s only one thing left on it.”

She gave him a confused look as he started the car, “What is it?”

He looked at her like it was obvious, “Marrying you. Winning a race was on there,” He smiled, “check. Get into Formula One, check. Meet the woman of my dreams,” A bigger smile, “check. Treat her well,” His eyebrows raised.

She laughed and nodded, “Check.”

He dipped his head down, “Exactly. The last thing on there is to marry her - you.”

“Nothing else?” She asked, toying with his fingers as they rested on her thigh.

He moved his head from side to side, “I assume I will add things to it as we go on in life. Maybe have kids with you, that could be fun. But, for right now, just that. I’d like to bask in the happiness of knowing everything worked out in the end.”

She brought his the back of his hand to her lips and kissed the skin, “It always will, Lan.”

They met eyes as he came to a stop at a light and the comforting color of hers made Lando come to the most beautiful revelation of his life.

As long as she was with him, it truly always would work out.

[wildbrokenmosaics]

Alexandrea’s Spring Celebration Outfit

Part ii — Dark green cable-knit sweater top, high-waisted black skinny jeans, a black leather jacket, black high-cut Doc Martens combat boots, & a claddagh ring facing inwards on her right hand

Not seen — Evren’s dark army green exterior trenchcoat.

[lnfours]

* ✰. — first place serotonin | l.n

summary: your best friend just won the miami grand prix. and what better way to celebrate then telling you he’s in love with you?

warnings: friends to lovers!au (..shocker), overall happiness and fun times, language, confessions, also a bit rushed because i wanted to get something out to you all asap 🧡 happy lando first win!! here’s to many more!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

everyone around you was silent. watching the gap between lando and max grow higher and higher with each passing second. your nerves were shot, anxiously waiting for either lando to cross the finish line in first or for max to inevitably overtake the boy in papaya and reclaim first as his.

but he didn’t. lando held on, everyone cheering and celebrating as he crossed the line in first place. winning his first ever grand prix, a dream that sometimes felt impossible to achieve, now unfolding before everyone’s eyes.

aarav and ria pulled you into a hug, the three of you laughing and cheering before aarav spoke, “c��mon! let’s go!”

the three of you headed towards the paddock, laughing and joining the sea of papaya. the three of you made your way into the crowd. everyone let the three of you towards the front, just in time to see him place his helmet on the ground before he started to run over.

he pulled everyone into hugs, but when it got to you, he felt a wave of something different. the way you looked celebrating him and his win, the way your smile lit up your entire face, the way you ignored the happy tears rolling down your cheeks. he was so in love with you, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“c’mere!” he smiled, you opened your arms, fully expecting a hug. but when he lifted you off the ground and over the barrier, you couldn’t help but squeal. once your feet were placed back onto the ground, the sounds of the mclaren team whistling towards the two of you teasingly was drowned out by how close he was.

he smiled softly down at you, “i had this whole thing planned, but right now seems like a better idea, and i don’t know if that’s because of the adrenaline or what but i just can’t keep this to myself anymore,” he started, “but i’m so fucking in love with you, y/n. i always have been, and i don’t want to pretend like i’m not anymore.”

you smiled at the boy dressed in papaya, shaking your head and laughing softly, “i’m tired of pretending like i’m not in love with you, too.”

that was all he needed to hear before he was leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. everyone around you cheering and yelling excitedly, happiness radiating through the crowd. you smiled against his lips, uncaring of the cameras around you capturing the moment because the only thing you had your mind on was the man in front of you.

you pulled away and happily pulled him into another hug, head nuzzled in his neck. you didn’t care about how damp he was, drenched in sweat. the way this moment felt was definitely going to be engraved into your brain for a lifetime.

“i’m so proud of you,” you smiled, pulling away from the hug. your moment was cut short by andrea and zak yelling his name, telling him that it was time to head up to the podium. he turned back around to face you, almost like he was asking if it was okay if he went.

you nodded your head, “i’ll be here when you get back.”

he smiled, leaning in and pressing one more kiss to your cheek before walking backwards, still facing you as he called back to you, “got any plans tonight!?”

you laughed, shaking your head, “is this you asking me on a date?!”

“will you say yes if it is?!”

“definitely, yes!”

and with that he smiled, turning around to walk with andrea to head up to the podium. but not without one more glance your way.

aarav and ria were smiling, happy that their friends had finally caved in and realized that you both were meant to be.

everyone found their places to watch the podium celebration. you smiled and cheered happily as he took the top step for the first time, and certainly not his last.

he looked down at the crowd under him, his eyes only searching for one person. and when they found you, he smiled. a smile so bright it made your heart clench before you watched the way his mouth moved to silently say those three words.

‘i love you’.

[janiehellion]

Healing Touch

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: When Daryl Dixon is injured and stuck in bed, he’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of being pampered by the group. But you? You’re more than ready to take care of him—and show him just what it means to be a good boy. Think Daryl Dixon’s all rough and tough? Think again...

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: SMUT / HANDJOB / TEASING / EDGING / ORGASM DENIAL

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.033

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: S2E05—ᴄʜᴜᴘᴀᴄᴀʙʀᴀ & S2E06—ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ

MASTERLIST

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, the Georgia sun burning down on you as you walked over to Maggie and Glenn outside of the house on Hershel's farm.

Every so often, you'd look towards the cars where a few others in the group were working, trying to make the most of the now limited supplies you all had left at the moment.

"I got a lot of corn here," Maggie said, holding up a can. "Maybe we can make some soup tonight. What do you think?"

Glenn laughed, "Soup sounds fine, I think. As long as we don’t have to eat beans again. I think I’m starting to sprout beans myself."

"Hey Maggie," you shouted over to her. "How’s everything going so far? You two need any help?"

Maggie gave you a small, but rather distracted, smile. "It’s been a quiet run, so we’re okay. We just came back a few minutes ago with some new supplies."

You nodded. "That's good. Means we won't starve anytime soon. Hey, listen, I heard Daryl’s still inside the house. Do you know how he is feeling? I really hope he is feeling better. Everything that has happened, I just... I don't know. I still can't wrap my head around it."

"Well, dad took care of him, just like he did with Carl, so I wouldn't worry too much about his condition. And if it would've worsened, dad would've told Rick already, that's for sure. But what has happened to him out there, and then the bullet? I don't know him well enough, but I think that he’s too stubborn to admit he even needed help in the first place. And that ear necklace? I'm sorry, but that was beyond creepy."

You remembered… Daryl has been out there, trying to find Sophia again. Of course, it all had to go sideways. You didn't know the details exactly, but you remembered how he had dragged himself back to the farm, looking like he’d been through hell and back. Covered in dirt and blood, and barely conscious.

Then, just when things couldn’t get any worse, Andrea took a shot at him from the roof of the RV. She’d been told to hold off by Rick, Shane, and Dale, but she fired anyway, hitting Daryl in the head, with the bullet grazing his temple.

"I’ll check on him," you now said, putting the supplies aside again. "You're right, he's too stubborn to admit it, but he needs someone to make sure he’s not pushing himself too hard. And if he could, he'd already be out there again."

As you walked towards the farmhouse, you passed by Rick, who was busy organizing and looking through different maps. He looked up at you, giving you a nod. "Hey," he said, his voice sounding rather exhausted. "Are you going to check on Daryl? Or are you going to help Beth and Lori in the kitchen?"

You nodded. "Yeah. I’m going to make sure he’s okay. Daryl's been through hell while trying to find Sophia."

"Good idea. He’s definitely been through a lot, that's true. I mean, we all have. But just… be careful with him. You know how Daryl is."

You laughed, shaking your head. "I know, Rick. That’s why I’m going to make sure he stays put and tied to the bed. Don't worry."

As you walked into the farmhouse, you could hear a voice coming from the kitchen, where Lori was preparing a meal with Beth together for Daryl and the rest of the group.

"Hello," Lori said and looked at you. "Are you going to see Daryl, or do you want to help us? Rick has been annoying me with me apparently needing help, even though Beth is helping me already."

You nodded, giving her a smile back. "Don't worry, Lori. I want to make sure Daryl's alright, you know, after everything that has happened lately."

She gave you a quick and thankful thumbs up before you continued heading to the room in which Daryl was in, but paused for a moment in front of the door, taking a deep breath. The thought of Daryl lying there, probably still hurt and so vulnerable, made your heart ache. He’d always been so strong, but seeing him in such a state was hard to imagine. And just as you were about to open the door, you heard a voice coming from the inside of the room.

You stopped, listening for a moment before pushing open the door to find Hershel standing by Daryl’s bedside.

"Evening, Hershel," you said as you entered the room, trying to keep your tone neutral despite the knot of nervousness in your stomach.

Hershel looked up, smiling at the sight of you. "Hey there, good to see you. I could use an extra pair of hands."

You moved closer to the bed, where Daryl lay, and Hershel continued, "Daryl’s been in and out of consciousness yesterday most of the time, but I’m hopeful he’ll recover fast if he gets the rest he needs. And if you could help changing the rest of the bandages right now, that would be great."

You nodded, taking a closer look at Daryl. "Sure, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I know he can be stubborn, but he needs to take it easy eventually."

"That’s the spirit. I’ve done what I can for now. He’ll need the rest."

You were still looking at Daryl as Hershel took a few steps back, who now moved slightly at the sound of your voice. His eyes opened just a little bit, and he looked at you with confusion.

"Hey, tough guy," you said. "How are you holding up so far?"

"Just peachy, as always," he answered rather annoyed.

You couldn’t help but smile at his answer. He certainly sounded like the Daryl Dixon that you all knew so far. "Well, I’m here now, so you’d better let me take care of you."

Hershel gave you another nod before finally walking out of the room. "Good, I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, like more bandages, don’t hesitate to ask. We still got enough medical supplies left if needed."

"Thanks, Hershel," you replied, watching as he left the room.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the task ahead.

"What’re ya even doin’ here?" Daryl suddenly mumbled. "'M fine. Don’t need no babysittin’ bullshit. Ain't needin' ya 'round here either."

You gave him a smile, trying to hide how annoyed you already were with his usual behavior. "You’re obviously not fine, Daryl. You’ve been through a lot, and you know it. I’m here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid, like trying to get up and do something you shouldn’t."

He grumbled in frustration, trying to turn away from you. "Yeah… whatever."

You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head. "Yeah... Too bad, huh? Because right now, that means letting me help you."

"Ain’t nothin’ you can do that Hershel didn’t already do," he mumbled again.

You set down the small medical kit Hershel had brought with him and pulled a chair closer to the bed. "Hershel did his part, sure, but it’s not just about the wounds. You need to rest and relax, and that’s where I come in. Also, taking off the old bandages and putting on new ones isn't that hard, but I doubt that you can do it yourself. And Hershel just left the room, so it's up to me now to change the rest of them. I don't care if you complain about it or not."

You then began to carefully take off the bandages from his side, where the crossbow bolt had pierced itself through. Daryl winced a little, but he didn’t complain so far, his pride keeping him quiet even though you could see how uncomfortable it was for him.

"You know, for someone who’s always acting so tough, you’re a real damn mess right now," you said, trying to break the ice with a bit of humor. "How’d you end up like that anyway? What even happened out there?"

Daryl smirked a bit to himself. "Ya think I’m gonna tell ya a story now? Hell, jus' get it over with."

You shook your head and laughed quietly, focusing on cleaning the wound first. "Hey, I'm not the one that looks like the wrong side of the bed became sentient and beat the ever-loving shit out of you. So you’re going to have to deal with me being the one to help you. It’s either that or I get someone else who’s less careful."

"Less careful?" Daryl asked, and he winced again as you applied antiseptic to the wound. "Sounds to me like yer enjoyin’ this."

You stopped for a moment and looked at him with a teasing smile. "You know what? Maybe I really am enjoying this. Or maybe I just want to make sure you’re not going to cause us any more trouble, even though we all appreciate what you did. Especially Carol."

"Ya think I need ya to look after me? I can handle myself jus' fine," he grumbled and closed his eyes, not wanting to look at you anymore.

You soon finished cleaning the wound and then continued with the fresh bandages. "Oh, I’m sure you can, Dixon. But that’s not even the point. The point is, you’re not in any shape to be running around and playing redneck cowboy."

Daryl moved slightly again, trying to get more comfortable. "Ain't in need to be told twice. Thank ya very much."

You stopped wrapping the bandage around him, waiting for him to get into a more comfortable position. "Stop it with the damn sarcasm, Daryl. For someone who’s always trying to play it cool, you’re really not doing a great job of hiding how much this is bothering you. You do realize that looking weak and needing help are two different things, right? You're far from being weak, and you've done much more for this group than you can probably imagine, even if you're doubting yourself and telling yourself that it's all bullshit in the end." You told him and then continued, putting on the final bandage. "But it's not. And right now, you need to let yourself be looked after, and you need to give us the chance to care about you. Even if it's only for once."

There was a moment of silence, and for a second he looked at you only to look away again, clearly struggling with giving you an honest answer about what he thinks.

You took a deep breath. "Alright, I’m done with the bandages. How about a quick check of your other injuries?"

Daryl nodded quickly, but you could see he was starting to relax a bit. "Yeah, fine. Jus'… make it quick, will ya? Ain't got no time for this bullshit."

You smiled and began checking his other wounds. "So, what’s your actual excuse for not telling us what has happened?"

"Ain't worth tellin’. Jus' 'nother day of me bein’ stupid," he grumbled back as an answer.

Soon enough, you finished checking his other wounds and stood up, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Well, now that I’ve made sure you’re all patched up, try to get some rest. We’re all counting on you to be back on your feet soon; don't forget that."

He snorted. "Yeah, sure. I’ll try to stay outta trouble while bein' tied to this damn bed."

You smiled and began to pack up the antiseptic and unused bandages, putting them back into the small medical kit. "That’s all I ask for. Get some sleep, Daryl. You know you need it. Something to eat will be ready soon."

As you put away the last of the bandages, you noticed how tense Daryl seemed to be. So you decided to take an extra moment to help him relax, thinking how a little extra care couldn’t hurt.

Your fingers soon massaged his side as you sat down once more, careful not to touch the wound. It was meant to ease the tense muscles around it a bit, but as your hands moved over his skin, you felt that he seemed to react differently when he gasped slightly.

"Ya really don’t have to," he started, but he stopped talking as you continued, your touch slow and feeling soothing.

You looked up, now looking into his eyes. "Why not? You’re all tense. And it’s not just about the injuries; your whole body’s been through a lot. A little extra care might help. There's nothing wrong with it."

He grunted, trying to remain tough, but his breathing grew heavier, betraying his growing discomfort, and you noticed how his body responded to your touch—a reaction he was clearly trying to hide.

His cock began to harden under the sheets. The outline of it was becoming more pronounced, and you could see the rise of the sheets with each breath he took.

You tried to ignore the current awkwardness of the situation, but it was impossible not to notice, and even more impossible not to look at it. Your fingers stopped, and you hesitated momentarily before continuing to massage his side, with Daryl’s eyes squeezed shut and another groan escaping his lips.

"Ugh... Daryl?" You asked quietly, your voice full of curiosity as you realized what was happening. "Are you… okay?"

He opened his eyes and turned his head away from you. "Yeah, jus', jus' let it be. Shit, jus' stop!"

But you couldn’t ignore the evident hardening beneath the sheets anymore. As you moved slightly in your seat to get a little bit closer to him, your hand accidentally brushed against his cock, and Daryl’s reaction was immediate—he sucked in a breath, his body tensing even more.

"Ain’t needin’ ya to… to be all handsy now, goddamn it!" Daryl's voice was trembling, his body shaking a bit, and his muscles straining, even as you didn't continue to massage him. But the sudden power you had over him was intoxicating, and you decided to take your chance and act on it.

You reached down and carefully pulled back the sheets covering his lower body. Daryl’s breathing hitched as you exposed him, and his cock was already hard, pushing against his pants. You could see it clearly now, the visible outline of it.

You smirked at him as you pulled the waistband of his pants down, just enough to pull his cock out and free it from his underwear.

As you pulled it out, Daryl's eyes widened as he watched you handle him. There was no need for words; the look on his face said it all. He felt vulnerable.

You gave him a smile, your hand now wrapped around his throbbing cock. "You look like you're about to lose it, Dixon."

He glared back at you, but there was no real anger in his eyes. "Ain’t fair, ya know…"

You leaned in close to him, your lips touching his ear. "Well, who said life was fair?" Your hand started to move, giving his cock a slow, torturous stroke that had him groaning. "But maybe… if you ask nicely…"

"God… Please," he groaned again, but it was clear he wasn’t used to begging, yet the desperation in his voice was there beyond doubt.

"Good boy," you murmured, and you could see how his eyes slowly closed as he gave in to your touch and words.

You soon picked up the pace, your hand moving faster, his hips bucking into your hand. "Shit, jus' like that," he moaned, his eyes squeezing shut even more tightly.

Fuck… How he wanted it. Your hand working his cock, making him forget about everything that has happened…

You could tell he was close already. His cock twitched in your hand, and the quiet sounds he was making were turning more desperate. "Please," he gasped again. "I… I can’t..."

"Oh? Already, huh?" You teased him, your thumb brushing over the tip of his cock, smearing the pre-cum over it that had gathered there.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him. "Do you like this?" You teased him further.

"Yeah, jus' like that…" He panted, his body trembling. "Please... I need ya to touch me more. Can't fuckin' take it..."

"Touch you where, Daryl? Use your words. Be a good boy and tell me exactly what you want."

"My damn dick... please, jus' touch it." You immediately switched your pace back to pump him slowly again, and each stroke of your hand made him shiver, his moans growing a little louder with every touch.

His hips bucked involuntarily, but you kept your rhythm controlled, never speeding up, not letting him get the orgasm he wanted so desperately.

"I thought you were a tough guy. But look at you—so damn needy already. Come on, Daryl," you mumbled. "You’re not done yet. Not until I say so."

He whimpered, trying to thrust into your hand, but you stopped him, keeping him on edge.

"Fuck, please…" He groaned in frustration. "Don’t stop… jus' fuckin' finish me off already!"

You laughed, your grip tightening just enough to torture him a little more. "And why would I do that? You need to learn so much more about patience."

With each stroke, you used different pressure and speed, sometimes going slower just when he thought he was about to finally cum. The feeling was almost unbearable for Daryl, and you could see it in the way his muscles tensed and relaxed again and again, his breathing only coming out in gasps.

"How does it feel, Daryl? Being held on the edge like this?" You asked, looking over at the door to listen if somebody was coming closer.

"Shit, feels so damn good…" He gasped, his voice strained. "I jus' need… I need to… Fuck!"

You smiled, leaning closer to him once more when you were sure that you'd be left alone. "Not yet, tough guy. I want to see just how much you can take."

You continued your teasing, your strokes slow and torturous. "You can take it. I know you can. You want it, don’t you? You want to make me finish you so badly, but you’re going to have to earn it," you whispered.

Daryl could only nod. "Please… Hell, I can't take much more!" 

He couldn't take it anymore. The teasing—it was all too much. He wanted to cum. And he needed you to make him cum. Hell, he loved it. Your hand pumping his cock, teasing him, making him groan with need. The way you toyed with him, bringing him so close only to pull back? Shit, he was losing it… And the way your fingers wrapped around his cock, jerking it just right… It was driving him insane.

You simply grinned, feeling excited because of the power you held over him. "But that's good. Because I want you to remember this. Remember how much you wanted it and how much I made you wait."

His eyes were still squeezed shut, his fists clenched at his sides as he fought against the urge to give in.

With that, you continued to edge him, every touch, every stroke keeping him on the brink, pushing him to the limit of his own control.

And the feeling of sliding your hand back and forth along his thick shaft, the way he groaned and moaned quietly, trying to keep himself quiet just for you—it was everything you wanted...

"Fuck, please," he moaned again, his voice now breaking slightly.

His cock was pulsing in your hand and still leaking pre-cum, and you knew this was the moment he might not be able to hold back any longer. And just when he was about to finally stumble over the edge, you stopped pumping him completely, pulling your hand away from his throbbing cock.

Daryl’s eyes flew open in shock, anger, and need. "What the fuck?" He growled, his voice hoarse. "Why’d ya stop?"

You leaned in, whispering into his ear. "Because I wanted to see you beg for it, Daryl. And you’re not quite there yet."

He glared at you in need, his cheeks red, and sweat started to form on his body. "Ya can’t jus' leave me like this! Please!"

"Oh, but I can," you answered with a smirk. "And I will. Unless you really beg for it."

Daryl closed his mouth, and you could see the muscles in his jaw twitching around as he gritted his teeth, his pride and ego fighting with his desperate need. Finally, he let out a frustrated groan, his head falling back against the pillow.

"Please, please, let me cum," he whispered and finally started to beg and whimper a little more. "Please! I can't take it anymore. Please…"

God... How much he needed you. Desperately. Your hands, your touch, everything about the way you teased and pumped him, the way you handled him… It was like you knew exactly what he wanted and what he needed, and you were giving it to him for free, if only he would beg for it...

You smiled, satisfied with his response. "That’s better. Now, let’s see how much more you can take."

You went back to your teasing, your hand moving slowly over his cock, feeling him twitch and pulse again with every touch. His moans grew a little louder, even more desperate, as you brought him to the edge again and again, only to stop just before he could finally cum.

By the time you finally decided to give him what he needed, Daryl was nothing more than a trembling and pleading mess, his hips bucking toward you again and again, his eyes now looking desperatly at you.

"Fuck, you’re such a good boy, Daryl," you whispered quietly. "Look at you, trying to keep quiet for me, trying to hold back so hard. Taking it like you should… Don't stop looking at me."

You sped up, your movements rough and fast, giving him no time to adjust to the now quick pace. His body was shaking, and you could feel he was more than ready to snap.

"Yeah, you want to cum so bad, don’t you?" You teased. "Go on, Daryl. Cum for me. Show me how much you need it. How much you want it."

With a choked groan, Daryl's body tensed. His orgasm hit him hard, his cock pulsing in your grip as he came all over your hand. You kept pumping him through it, milking every last drop out of him.

"Oh, you really are a good boy, aren't you?" You mumbled. "Let it all out. You did so well for me."

He collapsed back against the bed, completely spent and exhausted, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to catch his breath.

You reached for a towel next to the small medical kit, wiping your hand and cleaning up carefully, making sure not to leave any evidence of what had just happened behind, before you looked down at Daryl, a wide smile on your face.

"Fuck," he panted. "That was… fuck..."

"Told you I’d take care of you," you answered him, giving him a wink.

He opened his eyes, looking at you quite exhausted. "Yeah, ya did…"

He didn’t protest as you cleaned him up; he just watched and stared at you with those intense blue eyes, still catching his breath with his mouth slightly open.

"There," you said, as you were finishing everything up. "All cleaned up again."

Daryl didn’t say anything for now, just giving you a small and a little ashamed nod as you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his sweaty face.

"Get some rest now, tough guy," you whispered, pulling back and standing up. "You’re gonna need it. Remember: Be a good boy for me."

"Yeah… I... I..." He grunted in response, unable to even finish his thoughts after hearing your words, which were still making his head spin.

You simply smirked, heading towards the door. "Anytime, Daryl. Anytime."

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel satisfied as well. Daryl Dixon might be tough as hell, but in that moment, he was completely and totally yours.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

[fernandopiastri28]

Hello! I loved your last oscar fic so maybe you could do one when oscar repays her and is focused only on her pleasure?

hands in your hair ~ oscar piastri

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite.

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?”

wc: 2,437 || warnings: pure smut- oral (f), mentions of sex, hair kink??

(self indulgent- just me being obsessed with oscar's longer hair)

Her finger’s card through the soft locks of his brunette hair, relishing in just how long his hair’s gotten. It looks better than it has throughout their whole relationship, and she’s seen her fair share of his interesting haircuts. For a moment, her hands pull away and her touches stop. He wiggles around, his head lolling around in her lap. “Why’d you stop?” His voice comes out as a grumble, a slight pout to his lips.

“Sorry, Oz,” Y/N giggles, her thumbs moving to brush over his cheeks before moving back into his hair. His eyes are shut, trying to get in a last little bit of sleep before he has to get in the car for free practice 3. Oscar Piastri napping minutes before he has to be driving around a track he’s never driven before in his career- fork found in kitchen. He would sleep forever if he could, and likely would if it weren’t for Y/N, Andrea, and Lando all having to try to wake him up.

A knock sounds on the door a few minutes later, proving her point further. “Osc?” Lando’s voice travels underneath the door of Oscar’s room in the motorhome. When he doesn’t get a response, he calls out again. “Y/N, stop sucking his cock, we need to get in the cars soon” She cringes out, turning dark red that that’s what’s presumed they do whenever they’re alone.

It kinda is, but not always. “He’s sleeping, not getting head,” She retorts, enjoying her last few minutes before he gets whisked away.

“Sleeping, sex, quickies- who cares, please just wake him up,” Lando keeps knocking on the door and she frowns slightly, sad that her time with her boyfriend has to be cut short for him to race.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” She weasels her way out from under him, slipping down enough for her feet to hit the floor. “Oscar, time to wake up,” She brushes her hair off his forehead, kissing at the revealed skin. “Cmon, neither of us want you to get in trouble with Zak because you’ve just decided you don’t want to race today,” 

He groans, rolling himself over to bury his face into a cushion. “Fine,” His arms click as he pushes himself up, his fireproof top having hitched itself up to show off the majority of his toned abdomen. “Only because I don’t want to end up in a Danny Ric situation,” She sucks in a deep breath at that, her mouth moving into a grimace. “Sorry, too soon,” 

Oscar needs to remember that even though she’s his girlfriend, she’s a Ricciardo fan firstly, a true aussie supporting her country. “Good luck, loverboy” She pulls him in for a final kiss just as he’s working on getting his race suit zipped up, forgetting he only has one of his arms in a sleeve.

His hand squeezes at her waist, pushing it slightly into the edge of the bench they were previously perched upon, “Back here at the end of practice?” His adorable bunny teeth scrape along her bottom lip, his lips clasping around it.

“You’ve got it,” She sends him off with a swift smack to the butt, getting a howl out of him and a permanently red face of embarrassment when he sees that Lando saw the whole thing. 

He’s never going to hear the end of it.

~~~

Oscar goes crazy on the radio as free practice 3 ends, securing him a first place ‘position’ after getting second in the prior session. For a track that had been cancelled last year, causing him to miss out on racing it before today, he’s doing exceptional. He hurries back to his driver room, excited to get back to spending time with Y/N before qualifying. 

“Oz!” She’s already back on the bench, having made her way out of the paddock once the session had ended to avoid crowds of interviewers. “You were so good, baby!” She reaches her arms out, wrapping her legs around his waist once he’s fully in the hug.

His head buries into the crook of her neck, his hair tickling at her nose, “Did it for you,” He murmurs, his lips aimlessly moving against the collar of her shirt, unintentionally wetting it. “Can we cuddle like before? Your hands in my hair?” The question is slightly muffled by the angle he’s at, but she gets it enough. He’s not really one to go all out with celebrating, and FP3 isn’t something huge to party about anyways. 

She leans back, her head hitting against the wall and lets her legs dangle over the edge so her thighs squish up, just like how Oscar likes. He palms at them, before just dropping his head down onto them, using them as cushions. His cheeks get all smushed up, just like they do under his helmet. Without much time after that, her hands move to his hair, tugging on it ever so slightly, the floppy strands long enough to nearly cover her fingers completely as they disappear under all the brown hair there. He turns over slightly, enough to be looking up at her and have his head up closer to her face. 

After eye fucking eachother for what seems like a decade, his lips press into hers. The kiss is agonisingly slow, strings of spit connecting them and teeth tugging on each other's lips. Their faces seem to merge into one the longer it lasts, each breath being inhaled in tandem. The nose of smacking lips and wet suckling fills the small room, hands going on hips and waists as desperate attempts to hold back whatever incoming lustre they’re both heading towards until they get home tonight. 

They just have to wait til after quali, get back to the hotel, then they can fuck it out. 

Y/N’s the one who ends up pulling away, knowing she’s not strong enough to hold back if they’re gonna continue making out. Oscar’s an exceptional kisser, and sometimes, just that is enough for her to get off on. So they go back to Oscar’s head in her lap, sitting in silence as she strokes his head.

It’s only a few minutes of this before Oscar begins to get increasingly more irritated. A string of whines and groans leave his mouth as her nails scratch at his scalp and his hips shift against the cushioning under him, desperate for friction and pressure. “Y/N,” He mumbles into the flesh of her thighs, “I’m horny,”

Shocker. “Same,” She cranes her neck and hunching her back awkwardly so she can kiss the back of his head. His hair smells vaguely of sweat and some expensive aftershave, hints of hotel shampoo underneath. It’s distinctively Oscar, her favourite. 

His fingers drive into her thighs, leaving white splodges in their wake. “Can I go down on you?” That’s just about the last thing she was expecting to come out of his mouth. It’s not completely out of character for him, he’s actually pretty insistent on spending evenings after races in between her legs, whether his result was good or not. He could spend eternity there, his mind all foggy and dreamlike- like he’ll stay there forever. “I won’t make a mess- I promise, we can be quick. I just wanna make you feel good,”

It’s her favourite request, and her dress is hitched up before he can ask again. Towards the beginning of last season, she’d worn a wide variety of jeans and other long pants, until she realised just how many they found themselves desperate for a quickie before or in between races, and she’d permanently switched to flowy dresses and skirts ever since. 

He arranges himself onto his front, up on his knees and hands while he keeps his chest the lowest angled part of his body. She’s laying in the same direction as him, her knees towards the ceiling and her back flush to the bench, her fingers occupied by playing with the hem of her dress so as to not cum the second she sees his desperate face in between her parted legs. 

It feels like her heart is stopping as his breath gets heavier and hotter on her clothed heat, the fabric basically ruined from how wet she’s gotten. A digit glides across the soaked material, taunting her as he pushes against it. “Fuck, Oscar,” She hits her head down against the pillow under her head, not even realising when she’d gotten this needy.

“You’re dripping,” He notes, his eyes huge and glossy, all mesmerised by the sight. A finger hooks into her waistband, pulling them down tantalisingly slowly. She forces her head up, just enough to study his expression from just above her cunt. He licks his lips, his pupils somehow growing bigger. “Holy shit,” He doesn’t waste a second, his face plunging forward so get his mouth all over her.

Oscar’s talented in many things. Driving, writing hit tweets, taking digs at DRS, being mature in all circumstances, making people laugh with his dry and sarcastic humour, but above all- he’s got a talented mouth. His teeth scrape along her clit, sending shocks of pleasure through her bundle of nerves. Y/N could cum just from that, it feels like floating on cloud nine. She doesn’t even understand how it could possibly get any better until his nose begins nudging her clit, his tongue pushing inside her hole. 

His cock was leaky in his tight boxers, his rock hard bulge still concealed by his fireproofs handing awkwardly off his hips. As she stared down at him, she somehow got even wetter each time he paused momentarily to stare at her wrecked cunt then dove back in like a starved creature. Unclips nails dig further into her thighs, pushing them further apart so his face is fully coated in her wetness. “Oh my god Oscar,” Her voice comes out so depraved and debauched.

Only his eyes are visible as he keeps his steel hard gaze on her. A pair of usually big, puppy brown eyes, the type that ooze innocence and angelic beauty are hardened and dark with lust. Her hands slip into his hair, needing something to ground her as he takes her apart from the inside out. She genuinely can’t get over his hair. How silky it is, how good it feels to yank on, how hot he looks.

His fingers move from her thighs up to under her shirt, practised fingers trailing under the wire of her bra. He pulls the tight fabric far enough from her skin that it leaves a pale mark when it snaps back after release. It’s hell being tortured like this, but it also feels so good. His indexes and thumbs on both hands work the clasp of the bra, undoing it with not much work. It’s an improvement from a few months prior when she’d settled for doing each time as he was so clueless on how to do it smoothly. 

The crazed look in his eyes speaks a million words. She might be the only one getting a proper physical sexual gratification out of this, but he’s clearly getting off on her being in near excruciating pleasure. It feels better than anything they’ve done in a while. She bites her lip, watching as a lock of hair falls onto his forehead, a perfect little curl above his furrowed eyebrows. It’s cute, it’s hot, it’s everything- all at once. 

Now Y/N feels like she could cum just because of his hair, and that’s definitely a new thought.  

He moans, watching his eyes soften at the noise, “That’s so good- you’re fucking amazing at this,” He’s relentless- his tongue, noise, lips, and teeth all committed to making her reach her peak. “Look at you,”

“Look at me? Look at you,” God, he’s so whipped. His index finger glides along her open hole, slipping it inside her and curling it instantaneously. A pain bubbles in her stomach- she’s going to cum. “Fuck, look at that, so perfect around my fingers, just as perfect in my mouth.” She’s leaking around his fingers, her body reacting to his ministrations and praises. 

He can read her like a book, he knows that her twisted up expression can only mean one thing. “You don’t need to ask me, baby, you can come when you need to,” A sharp breath leaves her lungs and her head falls backwards, her orgasm crashing into her like a freight train. 

He kisses up from her aching cunt to her the lower part of her stomach, then her abdomen. He takes his time on her exposed breasts, his tongue swirling around her nipples, before marking her with a love bite in between them. “Looks good on you,“ He looks down at her from where he kneels between her legs, basically drooling at how wrecked she looks post orgasm underneath him. 

Y/N struggles to prop herself up on her elbows, her core aching as she tries to sit up. She angles for a kiss, luckily met halfway by Oscar. “Your turn.. I wanna suck you off,” She pants, her hand moving to push down his race suit. He swats her hand away, laughing at her eagerness. 

“Nah, that was plenty for me to get you off,” He declines, slowly getting off of her so he can clean up the mess he did make in the end, despite his promise. She opens her mouth to argue with him but she’s swiftly shut up with his mouth back on hers. “Plus, I have qualifying in… fuck, like 10 minutes,” He frowns, helping to redress her. 

“Oscar?” Lando’s voice joins the conversation, once again right outside their door. “Now are you getting your dick sucked?” He taunts, like it’s a joke this time around. “Or can we head for quali together?”

He’s wrong, it was the other way around. “Nah, I’ll be out in a moment. Thanks for waiting for me,” He zips his suit up, giving Y/N a final grin.

“Oscar,” She groans. She hates leaving him hard, it feels unfair that she’s just had the best orgasm of her life and he has to go get in a car and drive around at crazy stupid speeds with an aching mass between his legs. 

“Y/N,” He mocks teasingly, peppering her face in chaste kisses, “I’m okay, If I have a killer qualifying session tonight, we’ll continue this later. She gives a final comb through his hair with her fingers, enjoying every bit of it just incase he decides to cut it.

P2 sure is killer, and the sex after it is amazing. Even better when he finds out about the penalty, because angry Oscar is so hot. Her hands stay planted in his hair the whole time, and by the end of it, in their post coital comfort, he promises he won't cut it for as long as she wants.

[adventuringblind]

i’m a sucker for anything with protective charles, i feel like he would always be looking out for his gf or wife…ugh just the thought? 🫣

Car Crash and a Ferrari Mishap

Charles Leclerc x Driver!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Request: yes and I am also a sucker for this.

Summary: even though Charles knows she drives one of the fastest cars in the world, he can’t help but worry.

Warnings: car crash, injury descriptions, protective Charles, ferrari race engineers not doing their job

Notes: written in third person

Masterlist

It had become a typical thing for Charles to worry. He worried more than people thought he did. His lover, however, knee everything about it because he was mainly worrying about her.

He'd lost so many people in his life already. He struggled with separation anxiety and would panic every time she got sick.

It didn't matter that she's a driver for Ferrari. It didn't matter that she's one of the most talented athletes. He worried about her.

Their relationship was public. Mostly because Lando struggles to keep things tight-lipped. It was a great thing, though, as their team had found. Marketing and content wise, they did some things together that everyone adored.

Working in a male dominated field meant dealing with uncomfortable questions. Ones that.nade Charles' skin crawl. He didn't hesitate to jump in and answer them himself. Sometimes, he and Max would use as a way to banter with each other, effectively angering the reporter or journalist.

Races were always terrifying before he got in the car. He made sure that he saw her before every race and kissed her good luck. Reminding her not to be reckless.

This race happened to be ridiculously hot. It felt like he would melt to the floor every time he stepped into the sun.

He found her before the walked to the grid. "Mon amour, are you sure you can race like this?"

She'd already been feeling faint. She hadn't told Charles, but the team had been controlling her water and food intake. They wanted her weight exact, and she had been over that a few days ago.

He could tell she wasn't feeling well. He always knew when someway off. Regardless, she just smiled at him and kissed his cheek.

It took a few laps before she tried for water. Dissapintment flooding her veins as she got nothing.

"Is the water system not working?"

"Negative, keep pushing."

She sighs in frustration but keeps going. Pushing her hardest.

She was almost there. Fifteen laps left. Her mouth terribly dry. Her mind shut down more with each lap. She needed to finish.

She'd stopped sweating. Her body lacks the required liquids to do so. Everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Then everything went dark.

~

"Red flag Charles, red flag." Xavi announces from the radio.

Charles slows down the car. Hot and tired. He was excited to finish the race, and now he'd have to wait longer.

He pulls into the pits. He was expecting to see her there already. As far as he was aware, she was ahead of him.

He climbs out of the car, immediately asking about her. Nobody could give him a straight answer.

Five minutes and still nothing. Then the replay of the crash came on the screen.

Her body going limp in the car. Her foot is still accelerating down one of the straights. She hits the corner, and the car is spinning. Then nothing.

It looked bad. He knew it was bad. Words of frantic French and Italian leave his lips.

It takes Pierre, Max, and Lando holding him back to keep him in the pits. He was screaming at the race engineers. Asking how that could have happened.

He's kicking and screaming like a child as the boys drag him back to his room. His performance coach tried to get him to slow his breathing. Still fresh off the adrenaline from driving.

"I don't understand." He sobbed.

"She didn't have water." Andrea confesses.

Charles pauses. His brain fitting together all the peices. "Have they been trying to get her to lose weight?"

"Yes, which is odd, I was talking to her coach, who said she was already under what she deemed the lowest weight that was still healthy."

Oh, Charles was furious. It made sense now. Why she'd been so exhausted this past week.

He stormed out of the room. Angry words be yelled at every engineer.

Pierre was translating to the boys who don't know French. All of them also getting angry.

"I retire the car." Charles states. Grabbing his helmet and running out to the crash site.

They still hadn't gotten her out. The front of the car has been smashed in. They had cut the halo off, but her body was jammed at a weird angle. A stray peice of metal had found its way into her arm. Her neck already looked bruised.

Charles was a wreck at this point.

The Marshall's used him as a navigator. He was able to get into the cockpit and move things around. It felt like forever until he was riding with her to the medical center.

He pulled her helmet and balaclava off gently. The white fabric dotted with specks of red.

He held her hand and sobbed the entire ride.

~

He wasn't doing much better when people came by after the race.

He was teary-eyed and nauseous. The nurses kept refilling his water. It felt horribly ironic.

He knew he disappointed his fans. They wanted to see him race, and here he was. Crying over his lover in the hospital.

He just needed to see her.

Sebastian came to see him first. Though he was followed by the one person he really didn’t want to see. Seb and Mattia were talking in hushed voices. Seb looked two seconds away from punching him.

“I don’t want to see you.” Charles announced to his team principle.

“I came to see if she’s okay.”

Charles was going to unleash his anger on the Ferrari principal, but the doctor calling her name interrupted him.

“How is she.” Charles voice was definitely more panicked then he would’ve liked but it was to much effort to hide it and there were no cameras here anyways.

“The bones in her calves are crushed. The cut in her arm has been stitched up but we might need to open it up again to check for any missed metallic bits. Just to air on the side on caution and avoid any infections. She has a severe concussion and is severely dehydrated.” The doctor attempts to explain to him, but Charles is trying to stop himself from panicking. “For what it’s worth, it could have been much worse.”

Charles is brought back to earth by Sebs hand in his shoulder. “You should go see her.” His former teammate nods him along.

~

Charles sits on the uncomfortable plastic chair. His mind wanting to stay awake but his body giving out.

She looked so peaceful sleeping. Her chest rising and falling in even motions.

He almost missed her eyes fluttering open and her hand squeezing his. Charles was standing in a second, trying to stop her from moving to much.

She was panicking. Her heart rate increasing dramatically. Charles sat himself in the edge of her bed. His hand running across her hair.

"The race. Oh god- I'm so sorry."

"No, don't think about that. Just rest." Whoever told her to push so hard without water should be fired.

"Did you win?"

"No, but I don't care. I care that you're awake a safe."

She hums at him. The feeling of his hands bringing a calm sensation back.

"Charles, it hurts."

"I'll go grab a doctor. Don't try to move."

He's out of the room in a flash. Only coming back when he has a nurse in tow.

They up the pain meds and bring her some water. The IV fluids are already helping, but her mouth is so dry that she needs to drink it.

Charles is attentive. He barely leaves her side unless it's absolutely neccecary.

~

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Alt Assistant Pt 4

There are benefits to Lena not being CEO.

For one, she gets to go home at night. She gets to have a life outside work. She gets to go clubbing.

Which Kara only knows because she's standing at a table during Club Velvet's busiest night of the week, watching her boss bump and grind to the music.

She's not alone either. Kara recognizes Andrea, and for brief moment jealousy sparks low and hot in her belly at the thought they might be together. But when it becomes clear that Andrea is focused on a specific man in particular, Kara accepts that they're just here as friends, just like her and Nia.

Lena, for her part, keeps up a steady rotation of dance partners, men and women alike, all outrageously gorgeous and enviably coordinated. Even from her position off the dance floor, Kara can see the sweat clinging to Lena's neck, and feels the phantom feather touch of Lena's swinging ponytail against her skin.

"Holy SHIT," Nia shouts over the music, still barely audible to Kara, let alone others. "Is that Lena?"

Nia has her memories of the previous reality, and Kara knows she's having difficulty reconciling the cozy Lena she knows with the sultry and enigmatic woman currently leaning back against a stranger's chest as her hips move under his hands.

Kara's mouth goes dry. She wants that. She wants to be that man, wants her hands on Lena's hips, her lips brushing Lena's ear.

"Well??" Nia continues, giving Kara a nudge. "Aren't you going to say hi?"

She thinks about it. She *really* thinks about it. About sliding through the throng to grasp Lena's hand and pull her flush against her front, guiding their hips into a tandem rhythm. About burying her hand in Lena's hair and pulling her in to--

Kara shakes her head. "No."

"What? Why not?"

"She's my boss!"

And if her boss knew that Kara was there, ogling her, there'd be hell to pay. She can hear it now-- don't.

At least Nia drops the issue, seemingly accepting that things are different in this reality, as evidenced by the woman continuing to dance along with the beat of the thumping music. Kara manages to go the entire night without bumping into Lena, even if her gaze returns to the dance floor again and again.

It's only until she goes to close out their tab that Kara knows she's in trouble.

"Your tab's already been paid," the bartender informs her.

The message is clear: Lena knows.

Shit.

Kara stuffs a couple bills into the tip jar and makes her escape, anxiety gnawing at her gut. The next day, Lena makes no mention of having seen her, and seems none the worse for wear after her long night. They work in easy rhythm, as Kara keeps to herself and executes her role perfectly.

Right up until Kara enters Lena's office to let her know she's heading out, and finds Lena gazing out the window. The lights in the office are low, and in the glass reflection Kara sees Lena's eyes shift to her, before languidly turning to face her.

"You liked what you saw," Lena says. Not accusation, but simple fact.

"Yes," Kara returns truthfully. She steps closer, emboldened when Lena doesn't protest.

The corner of Lena's mouth lifts. "I'm surprised you'd admit that, after the little diatribe you levied at me your first month here."

"Like I said," Kara reminds her, moving closer still, "I was an idiot."

The way Lena gazes at her sends a shiver up Kara's spine. Green eyes challenge her silently, as though waiting to see just how far she'll go. A small yet confident smile shapes Kara's lips in spite of herself, calming the butterflies in her belly.

She closes what remains of the distance between them, rewarded with a hitch of Lena's breath as Kara crosses the invisible line into her personal space. They're far too close to be professional now, their locked gazes promising exactly where they're headed.

Finally, Kara places one hand on Lena's waist, and lifts the other to brush the backs of her fingers lightly across Lena's smooth, soft cheek. She lets it come to a rest cupping the side of Lena's face, their noses nearly touching.

"Tell me to leave, and I will," Kara offers, giving Lena an out she prays won't be taken.

Lena's hands are already pulling her closer as her response drifts from her lips.

"Don't."

[must-be-mythtaken]

friendly reminder to consider your electrolytes!

drinking infinite water but still feeling bad?

try electrolytes!

muscles weak for no reason?

try electrolytes!

brain not working in a new and not-exciting way?

electrolytes!

I learned this the hard way my first heat wave in South Korea. I was lethargic, weak, brain-foggy, sick, but a friend suggested Gatorade (my least favorite potion) and I trusted them enough to try.

My brother in Christ it worked ALMOST IMMEDIATELY

But Andrea! I can't stand sports drinks! What can I do?

Great question! I'm no doctor, but I have had success with this list of alternatives:

-coconut water

-Pocari Sweat (if you can find it)

-a banana

-literally licking salt off my hand like I'm doing a tequila shot

-PICKLE TIME

-the most amazing soda of my life, found in the Guangzhou airport. Blackcurrant salt flavor. Saved my life after a very long wait in a non-airconditioned customs line

Go forth and survive! I've also heard good things about Pedialyte but have never tried it myself.

[f1byjessie]

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part thirteen.

Lando places third in the Australian Grand Prix. The buzz of lingering adrenaline leaves him keyed up with pent-up energy and, coupled with a few mouthfuls of champagne from the post-race celebration, the part of his brain that stops and thinks through all of his actions before he does them is trapped in a thick, foggy haze.

You━ overjoyed to see him back on the podium and still thrumming with the nervous excitement that always comes from such a close race━ aren’t faring much better.

You’re thoroughly drunk on your happiness and Lando’s infectious exuberance when he meets you back in McLaren’s garage━ high on the euphoric bliss of his success━ only serves as an echo chamber that further encourages the thoughtless choices made under the influence of intoxicating glee.

The post-race glow that shrouds him doesn’t help, either. He’s damp with sweat and champagne, glistening beneath the lights of the garage as he’s all but manhandled around to receive a congratulating clap on the shoulder or pat on the head from every mechanic and engineer who can get their hands on him. His hair is plastered against his forehead, and his fireproofs cling to the curves and angles of his body. His cheeks are still flushed from the exertion of the race, an innocently rosy hue against his tanned skin.

There’s a grin splitting across his face, wide and unfaltering. His eyes squint with the force of it and you imagine his cheeks must be aching by now, but he seems undeterred and, when his gaze finds you tucked away in the corner with your camera poised to capture it all, it seems to grow even wider despite the seeming impossibility.

He approaches you with your name on his lips, whispered like a prayer that’s meant for your ears only. You don’t know if you actually hear him say anything at all over the din of cheers and chatter, or if you’re just remembering how he sounds in the solitude of a hotel room━ when you can pretend like the world outside doesn’t exist and let the pretenses of your relationship fall away to reveal the gnarled claws of your hearts reaching desperately towards one another.

He reaches for you now, a comforting warmth ghosting across your waist. You have just enough sense left to transform his intimate touch into a friendly hug, but the weight of his hand pressing against the small of your back and the tightness with which you wrap your arms around him betray the truth.

“Congratulations,” you murmur into his ear before pulling away. Your hands linger on his shoulders, and you can’t help it when your eyes flicker to his lips━ a deep urge settles within you, a desire to stake your claim here in front of the entire team and show them all that Lando is yours and you are his, despite what the articles written about you and Garrett might claim━ but you relinquish your hold on him when he’s beckoned away by Andrea and resign yourself to maintaining the secrecy still.

Cloak and dagger aside, being in a relationship with Lando has been surprisingly easy. Surprising in the sense that you expected there to be more conflict━ more lingering resentment or uncertainty from all that happened. But the reality is that you both slipped into your new roles rather effortlessly because the only real thing that changed was the label.

And the kissing, of course. There’s a lot more kissing.

Even still, there isn’t too much of a difference between curling up beside him in on a couch and running your fingers through his curls while listening to him gossip about the drama of the other drivers, and snuggling into his side and holding his hand while he talks about his day.

There are still things he’s making up for and he knows that, but somehow the jump between what you were before that night in Bahrain and what you are now, after, feels right.

You consider it, the jump, to be a leap of faith, and it’s brought you to the realization that the life you’d been living━ the life you’d convinced yourself to be content with━ hadn’t been enough and would’ve never been enough. There would’ve always been a part of you that remained empty, a part of you that you hadn’t realized existed until Lando soothed away the ache of its longing. You think, without him, it would’ve been left wanting and waiting for forever.

But that’s not a future that you can envision anymore, because you do have him, and he makes sure to remind you of that fact every night when you’re both safely hidden away from prying eyes.

You were, of course, still careful throughout the rest of your time in Bahrain. Maybe too careful, with the way you both avoided each other in the garage. The entire weekend of the Grand Prix, Oscar had looked like he’d wanted to ask about it━ to pick it apart and figure out how to put it back together like some sort of puzzle in a way that was so uniquely him. You’re better now, sometime during Saudi Arabia you both managed to find the middle ground between ignoring one another entirely and being so smitten with each other that you can’t look away. Oscar still looks like he wants to ask, but he also seems content to observe whatever he’s convinced himself he’s watching unfold on its own.

Everybody else is used to the closeness you share with Lando and the years of history backing your friendship. They don’t bat a lash at the fluctuations between the two of you. Most of them have seen, or at least heard about, the spats in the early days, but all of them have witnessed the attachment you share which makes it that much easier to slip, unquestioned, into Lando’s driver room.

He enters the room himself a few minutes later and seems entirely unsurprised to see you waiting for him.

He takes you in through pupils blown wide with euphoria. He’s still twitchy with the high of his win. “You gonna congratulate me for real this time?”

You beckon him closer with a curl of your finger, an instruction he’s eager to follow. He spares a fleeting moment to lock the door behind him, and then slinks over to where you’re leaned up against the wall opposite the door.

You pull him in by the collar of his fireproofs and press a slow, searing kiss to his lips.

They’re chapped━ he’s been licking them━ but it doesn’t take away from the sweetness of the champagne you can taste in his mouth or the heat that swells in your stomach when he makes a punched out, desperate noise.

His hands shake as they come up to clutch at your shirt and when you pull away, he’s breathing heavily. The pink tinge that had faded from his cheeks is back, and his gaze flickers back and forth between staring into your eyes and staring down at your lips.

“Congratulations, Lando,” you purr, before releasing your hold on his collar and gently pushing him in the direction of the bathroom door. “Now, go shower. The faster you do that, the faster we can get back to the hotel and we can celebrate.”

Lando all but stumbles into the washroom, sparing glances over his shoulder as he goes like he’s worried you’ll disappear. You give him a wave before he lets the door close behind him, and then you wait.

It feels like your fault. You know it isn’t━ or, if it is, then Lando carries just as much blame as you do━ but it feels like you should’ve known better.

You’re the one who set the rules, you’re the one who established the necessity of being careful. No PDA in public, whether it be hand holding, kissing, hugging or whatever. No anything anywhere that someone might be able to see, no matter how inconceivable it might be. It was for Lando’s safety as much as it was for yours, because you were desperate to keep him as far away as you possibly could from the danger of Garrett Ward and his fans.

But you got comfortable. You should’ve put your foot down when he’d crowded against you━ should’ve waited until you were inside the hotel at the very least and not standing in the middle of a parking building━ but you didn’t, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment and still buzzing with the rush of desire from the implication of more that you’d promised in his driver room. Now, you’re staring down at undeniable evidence of a secret that has the power to leave you ruined, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Honestly, it was all going well━ too well.

You don’t typically believe in the luck or karmic balance, but it feels hard to deny their existence now when you’re faced with proof of their work. With so much good fortune used up in such a short amount of time━ your fledgling romance, being able to keep it hidden so well, and now Lando’s win━ you feel like you should’ve anticipated some sort of catastrophe to strike and balance it all out again.

Garrett Ward’s name flashing across your screen is the harbinger of your continued misfortune. He’s made himself scarce the last few weeks and the radio silence on his end has been an enjoyable vacation away from the almost constant reminder of the deal you’re trapped in, but the incoming call from him leaves you shaken and uneven, like your legs have been kicked out from beneath you and now you’re in freefall.

When you answer, he gets straight to the point.

“We had an agreement.”

“Garrett━”

“So,” he interrupts, voice stoney and cold. “Care to explain why I woke up this morning to my agent informing me of a very incriminating picture of you and Lando Norris sucking each other’s faces off?”

You aren’t “sucking each other’s faces off”, but the picture is incriminating. There’s no denying that it’s you wrapped up in another man’s arms and kissing someone who is very obviously not Garrett. You could try and argue that the kissing isn’t technically on the lips, but you doubt that would make much of a difference when the intimacy is plain as day.

“That’s a stretch━”

“Stretch or not,” he interrupts again, “you have royally fucked up and I expect you to find a way to fix it. Unless, of course, you’ve forgotten about why you agreed to this all in the first place?”

You’ve never heard Garrett ever sound so angry before. He’s been annoyed and pissy, and he’s snapped at you with cutting remarks and sneering derision like your presence alone pains him, but he’s never been angry. The dark undertone of how he speaks and the thickening of his sharp accent forces something cold to settle in your chest.

“I don’t care that you got what you wanted out of this whole scheme, Y/N,” he continues, snarling your name. “Quite frankly, if I cared any less about you and the happiness you’ve found with Norris, I’d stop breathing. But I haven’t gotten what I’m after, yet, so you better not fuck this up anymore than you already have or you can say goodbye to everything━ Norris included.”

There’s a finality to the way he says it, like he’ll personally ensure your happiness is destroyed if he doesn’t get his own.

Garrett is aware of what he can get away with. You’ve learned this through the time you’ve begrudgingly spent with him. He doesn’t fear the consequences of his actions because the likelihood of there ever actually being any consequences is slim, and he has such an obsessively devoted fanbase that they’d turn a blind eye to any wrong doings he’s accused of.

All Garrett has to do is tell them to jump and they’re tripping over themselves to ask him how high.

You can’t believe you ever thought you could get anything out of him. It seems so unforgivably stupid now, to have tried to stoop to his level out of your pettiness towards the situation with Lando. The fact that you ever felt it justified to risk admitting your feelings on the matter with him is appalling. Garrett is a conniving, manipulative prick and you think the only person truly capable of loving him would be his mother out of a maternal devotion to her child. There is nothing redeeming about him or what he does. He is useless in every way, and you’re tired of him having so much control over you, especially when a good chunk of that control was handed to him through your own fears.

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, Garrett.”

He scoffs, like it’s obvious. “Because I can? Because I’ll do whatever it takes? Manchester City is my team, and I’ll be damned if I let them kick me off because a few people take issue with how I keep my company.”

“I don’t think it’s all that unreasonable to not want to associate with someone who’s a notorious prick,” you bite back.

“Maybe I am a prick,” you can practically hear the sneer in his voice, and it doesn’t take much to envision what it looks like on his face. “But I’m a prick who plays for the greatest English team in the world. The trophies prove as much.”

It feels like a slap in the face to the players that actually got those trophies for the club. Players like Jack, Erling, Kevin, Bernardo, and so many others━ who actually put in the blood, sweat, and tears that were necessary to earn them their Treble win in the prior season. Players who care about their club and team beyond the notoriety the name gives them, or how good it’ll look in the future when their Wikipedia page says they played for Manchester City under the tutelage of a legend like Pep Guardiola. Players who care about the people behind the scenes━ the coaches and physios that ensure they can do their job and do it at peak performance, and the staff like you who don’t really affect their ability to play but who still have a role in keeping everything in motion.

“You didn’t even help them get those trophies!” You exclaim, happy Lando left earlier that morning when the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon and Melbourne was bathed in the dawning light. It gives you the ability now to tear into Garrett without his concerned hovering, to be as viscious and cutthroat as you want without fear of Lando judgement.

“You were on loan to a Championship team all of last season,” you continue, “and you only got called back because of your injury. You weren’t game ready until February of this year, and even now you don’t start. You’ve been back on the pitch a whopping two times, and both of them were for the FA Cup when Pep wanted to rest up the players that actually matter. Everything City has gotten they earned without you. They don’t need you at all, Garrett. You’re useless to them, and you’re useless to everyone else without them.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you can tell you’ve struck a nerve. As much as Garrett pretends to be infallible and nonplussed, he is still a human and he has insecurities of his own, and you’d bet every chunk of change you’ve ever earned that you just managed to find his.

When he speaks again, his voice is low and dangerous. The blazing inferno of your anger dwindles down to a flickering candle flame in the face of his own rage, like you’ve been doused with a bucket of frigid water.

“And you’re useless to me━” he says, “━if you don’t find a way to fix this mess you’ve created. So either you do what you’re told, or I’ll follow through on what I promised and make you so miserable that you’ll never feel even a fragment of happiness ever again. Have I made myself clear?”

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

He laughs. “It’s nothing personal, love. I’ll be in touch. Cheers.”

INSTAGRAM.

liked by garrettward, landonorris, and 318,149 others

tagged: garrettward

yourusername i was made aware today of a set of photos going around featuring me and my coworker in a situation that could be mistaken as compromising. i’m coming here to tell you that me and garrett are still very much together and still very happy to be with one another. lando is a long time friend of mine and i was congratulating him on a well deserved victory. a kiss on the cheek is not implicit of romantic interest, and i will not be made to feel ashamed for supporting my friend in a way that is unique to us. we, like all friends, have quirks to our relationship, and those quirks are no one’s business but our own. lando is very dear to me, but i can have male friends and still be very much in love with my boyfriend. as proof, here are pictures of the day me and garrett spent in london on a date after i got back from melbourne.

view all 2,145 comments

user i was actually kind of excited at the idea of her being with lando… 🫤

↳ user IKR??? idk, her relationship with garrett has always seemed to surface level. her and lando have YEARS of friendship under their belt and i gen thought they were already dating when i got into f1

↳ user so glad i’m not the only one who thought this!! seeing the pictures of her with ward actually shocked me bc i thought her and norris were in a not-so-secret secret relationship already

user THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU Y/N 🙌🙌🙌

user if my bf kissed another girl on the cheek and hugged her like that, congratulations or not, i’d be livid.

↳ user just say you’re insecure and move on. not everyone is out to cheat on their partner, but it says a lot about you that your first instinct when you see two friends sharing a moment is that you automatically assume they’re romantically involved 🙄

user ok but those pictures look pretty damning…..

↳ user i ain’t never seen “friends” hold one another like that is all i’m saying 👀👀

↳ user friends can be intimate without the intimacy being romantic, but in this singular case i do think there was mayhaps a bit more going on than just friendly congratulations

user ooooooh I know Lando has got to be fuming rn 😂

user seeing this comments makes me so afraid for the future generation. since when did we condone cheating?

↳ user are you actually fucking blind?? 🤨🤨 you’re commenting this on a post where she is literally telling us she didn’t cheat and that her and lando are just friends. it’s literally a he-said-she-said situation between the paparazzi and her and lando, and quite frankly i’m choosing to believe the people actually involved because the paparazzi are notorious for capturing things without context and painting situations in a certain light purely to drum up drama and excitement.

↳ user yeah but if someone’s cheating and they get caught they aren’t gonna admit to cheating? especially if they can just use the excuse that they’re friends with the person they’re having an affair with?

↳ user i think it’s super telling how the media views women if the first impression is to assume a woman with a male friend is cheating on her partner. god forbid women have friends that aren’t exclusively female 🙄😮‍💨

user GARRETT GET OUT OF HERE LET US Y/NLANDO GIRLIES HAVE OUR MOMENT OF TRUTH 😭😭😭

user i know my girl y/n wasn’t a cheater

user is it morally wrong to hope that y/n really is cheating on garrett? I’ve always gotten a bad vibe from him from the beginning, especially when he did nothing to defend her when his crazy fans were bashing her in the comments and literally sending her death threats. I’m not saying cheating is okay, but i don’t think i would blame her in a situation like this, especially when lando is her best friend and has been since like 2019

↳ user i don’t think it’s morally wrong persay… i don’t think i would blame her either for cheating in this situation, but i also don’t want her to be associated with the type of stigma that comes from being exposed to the public as a cheater. especially since her career is as public as it is and relies so much on having an online presence

↳ user honestly i just hate garrett ward and i’ve wanted her and lando together since 2021 🤷‍♀️

user why does the caption to this post seem so scripted…?

INSTAGRAM.

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren, and 594,950 others

landonorris can’t tag who took these pictures for me cuz we might get accused of cheating 🤷‍♂️

view all 2,145 comments

oscarpiastri do you think people suspect we’re also having an affair? 🤔

↳ landonorris they can never stop our love, oscar! 😩

user MR NORRIS DID NOT COME TO PLAY 🫢🫢

user i love you lando pls never change

user i just know bro was FUMING when he saw y/n’s post denying the rumours

↳ user mans has been trying to shoot his shot with a babe like her since 2019 💀 if i were him i would be too

user okay so do we think there’s actually smth there or are they really just friends?

↳ user my two cents is that they’re together and garrett knows but doesn’t care and just doesn’t care so long as the public doesn’t find out about it

↳ user what??? no wtf why would any guy, but especially a guy like garrett ward, let his girlfriend be with another man???

↳ user because garrett ward is an infamous cheater and he probably is seeing other women too? because garrett would be a hypocrite to condemn his gf if she cheats when he’s cheated on several women in the past and not even faced any consequences?

user god what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall when all this drama is happening

↳ user I have never wanted to be in the room where it happens more than this moment right now

user 🧡🧡🧡 LANDO PODIUM LET’S GOOOOOOO!!! 🧡🧡🧡

user bro got the trophy and (almost) got the girl

↳ user he’ll have his first win AND the girl by the end of the season, i’m calling it

user so disgusting to see you condone cheating. what happened to bro code??

↳ user be so fucking frrrrrr omg. he’s not condoning cheating, he’s making fun of ppl who think he’s having an affair with someone who has a boyfriend just bc they’re friends, bc for some reason society forbids boy-girl friend duos. grow up. “bro code” is so middle school.

user bro wants us to know it was real so bad but he knows he’d get in trouble if he out right told us

user lando is either telling us we’re all dumb for thinking they’re together, or they’re actually together and we’re all dumb for not knowing

↳ user he’s a paradox and his only purpose in life is to make things chaotically confusing for the rest of us 🤦

user the filters on these photos just SCREAM y/n...

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre @chezmardybum @marshmummy @405rry @sideboobrry11 @d3kstar @mcmuppet @happylittlereader @casperlikej @5starl1ght @bellezaycafe @whentheautumnleavesfall @mess-is-my-aesthetic @ssprayberrythings @landosgirlxoxo @lifelessfan @81ja @wcnorris @a-disturbing-self-reflection (CLOSED).

━━ a/n: please disregard any typos or mistakes! i wrote this in bits and fragments and wanted to get it posted as soon as i could, so i only briefly scanned through it after i finished. but i hope you enjoy it! i am genuinely so sorry it took me so long to finally get this out here, my job has been a bit hectic and it's a lot more physically demanding than i had initially thought, so i'm pretty wiped out by the time i get home and i usually just veg out and rot on tiktok or something until i feel like i can turn my brain back on again. but here's to hoping i can get back into the swing of things here soon as i get more used to my schedule!

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

Title: No Closer Could I Be To God

Pairing: Post-outbreak!Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary:

The closest he’s been to a god in these last few miserable years has been between your thighs.

Dear Reader:

This one is for the homies with religious trauma. If you enjoy this little fic, please comment or reblog! Title art is "Through Cataclysm" by Andreas Birath (b. 1974).

Warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), infidelity, no use of y/n, no reader description or age, single POV - Joel, post-outbreak Jackson, heavy religious themes and imagery, unprotected p in v, oral sex - f receiving, dirty talk, pet names, begging.

Joel Miller gave up on the notion of a benevolent god around the time the light faded from his daughter’s eyes and he was left to hold her lifeless body. Since then, he’s only seen glimpses of that former goodness in the world — in Tess and the way she fought tooth and nail for their survival and in Ellie, once she quit being such a pain in the ass.

But perhaps the closest he’s been to a god in these last few miserable years has been between your thighs.

“Joel!” You cry out, squirming beneath his tight grip. He’s got you laid out on the work bench, thighs hugging his head as he licks and sucks your clit until you’re singing his praises. The storage shed is hot, sweat gathering at his neck and beading at his temple and making his fingers slip against your damp skin.

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth away from your center and licking his lips to gather every drop of you from his flesh. “You’re fuckin’ loud today.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, voice breathy as your chest heaves with desperate breaths. “It’s been too long.”

“I know,” Joel agrees, standing up and leaning forward to steal a kiss, your hot mouth opening immediately for his tongue to explore. You taste like shitty instant coffee and mint, his favorite flavor as long as you're the source. “‘M sorry.”

Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scratching against his scalp. He drags his lips across your jaw, down your neck, sinking his teeth briefly against your pulse point to make you shiver.

The modest dress you’re wearing is rucked up around your waist and Joel reaches down to slip his fingers past the elastic of your underwear, sinking two digits inside of you and groaning at how tight you are, how warm and wet you get for him. Your quiet whimper reaches his ears and he wishes he could hear you without restraint, wishes he knew how loud you could be. He’s fairly certain it’s as close to a choir of angels he could ever get.

Especially since he’s destined for hell. But that’s neither here nor there. Right now, he’s in heaven.

He removes his fingers, reaching up to slip them past your lips for a quick clean. Your tongue glides across his fingertips and your eyelids flutter shut as he uses his free hand to work his belt open with clumsy movements. He shoves his jeans and boxers down his hips, just enough to expose the hard length of his cock.

Joel pulls his hand away from your face, using his spit slick fingers to pump himself. With his other hand, he reaches into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt for his knife.

Your eyes go wide as he pops the blade open, slipping the cold steel beneath the elastic of your panties and tugging sharply. The fabric snaps, echoing your gasp, your mouth dropped open in surprise. He doesn’t give you long to recover, sliding his cock through your wet folds and smiling in satisfaction as your expression shifts from incredulity to pleasure.

“You ready?” Joel grunts, his tip catching at your entrance. You nod your head rapidly, but he’s in the mood to hear you beg. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Please, Joel,” you murmur. Your lashes glisten with captured tears and the sight makes his blood run hot. “Please, please, please!”

Joel presses forward, sinking into your body with ease. You have one hand on the workbench behind you to support yourself but the other grips his shoulder tightly, fingernails sure to leave little indents in his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Christ,” he hisses, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “Always feel so fuckin’ good. How is it always so fuckin’ good?”

“Need you to move,” you reply. “Please, Joel.”

And what is he if not your good and faithful servant?

Joel draws his hips back and thrusts sharply, lifting his head to watch your face as he does. This is his favorite part, staring into the Garden of Eden, enjoying his forbidden fruit. You whimper and moan, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep quiet.

When he feels that knot of pleasure coiling tight in his belly, he curses and chases it all at once. It’s always over too soon when all he wants is to worship at your altar for eternity.

“Angel,” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your low back as your own circle his shoulders. “Need you to come for me, baby.”

You whine, high and petulant. “No, no, no,” you chant, “Not yet.”

Joel leans forward to capture your lips with his, the action more of a sharing of breath that lacks any coordination of a proper kiss. He slips his hand between your bodies to circle your clit, the responding moan swallowed by his greedy mouth.

“Good thing you don’t make the rules,” he grunts, hips stuttering as you begin to squeeze around him. He may not inherit the kingdom of god, but he at least got a glimpse of heaven today.

Your legs drop from around his waist and he lifts his head to find your gaze. He always worries what he’ll see — disgust, guilt, and shame have all been reflected back at him before. But today…today you just smile softly, your skin damp with sweat and your lips swollen from his kisses and your teeth.

“Joel,” you murmur, pressing a palm to his cheek. “I have to go.”

Joel nods, knowing you’re right. He’s kept you long enough. Gray light filters through the dirt caked window of the little shed and you should get back to your home to get ready for Sunday service.

“I’ll see you around,” he replies, wrapping a hand behind your neck to pull you forward and give you one last hungry kiss before stepping away to right his pants. He holds a hand out to you to help you down from the work bench and watches as you fix your dress.

You give him one last watery smile before leaving through the flimsy wooden door. It slams back against the frame, the sound sharp to Joel’s ears. He sighs, counting to himself as he catalogs the spiderwebs and rusted tools in the shed.

There’s a flash of white in the corner of his eye. The mangled fabric of your panties sits discarded on the ground, and he leans forward to pick them up, pocketing them. For what, he’s not sure, but he’ll take any piece of you he can get.

Even if it’s just the part you’ve carelessly left behind.

________

Later, your husband stands at the dented podium to deliver his Sunday morning sermon to the good people of Jackson who still turn to religion for comfort and guidance. Joel isn’t one of those people, but he sits on a rough wooden bench across the aisle from you. Your panties are still tucked away in his pocket and he wonders if you’ve cleaned up already, or if you’re still full of him even as you sit there watching your husband.

“…And we see this spoken of in Proverbs 7:25 — ‘Do not let your heart turn to her ways or stray into her paths. Many are the victims she has brought down; her slain are a mighty throng. Her house is a highway to the grave, leading down to the chambers of death’.”

Joel looks towards you as the words settle among the crowd. Your gaze remains steadfastly on your husband, but your hands move restlessly in your lap. When Joel looks up at the podium, he finds your husband’s righteous glare trained on him.

Maybe Joel was wrong. He hasn’t found heaven in you.

He’s just found a deeper hell.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[wanderingblindly]

22 for the kiss prompt? do whatever you wish I'll eat it up BUT I will forever believe that drivers should be allowed to make out on the podium (or after races in general, they deserve it)

Sometimes I just write shit on phone and pretend it’s passable. Anyways, WAG Oscar for the Prompt Game???

On Adrenaline

He can’t feel his hands. He’s grasping the flag — unceremoniously bunched up in his lap — so tightly that they’d gone numb twenty laps ago. But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move an inch, frozen in one of the mechanics’ collapsible chairs and fixated on the screen.

The image blurs a bit, papaya shooting into indiscernible streaks alongside brilliant red and dangerous navy; Oscar blinks rapidly, clearing his eyes.

His feet are numb, cold-sweat numb.

He could hear a pin drop.

Beyond the screaming engines, the buzzing fans, the non-stop commentators, and own heartbeat, it’s like nothing exists. It’s him, the skin-warmed nylon in his hands, and the television screen. It’s like the world goes silent, somehow, everything moving in slow motion.

Lando rounds Becketts.

“…ever since he was a boy, ever since he signed as the youngest British racing driver in Formula 1 history…”

The mechanics are moving; Oscar can sense them in his periphery, but he stays — eyes unyielding, heart lodged in his throat. He can’t see the screen anymore, tears welling too quickly to blink them back. With the last of his resolve, he tightens his grip on the flag in his lap.

Lando rounds Stowe.

“And Lando Norris, for the first time since Lewis Hamilton in 2008, looks to bring home victory to Woking —”

He sucks in his lower lip, pinning it between his teeth to stave off the quivering.

They grab his shoulders, two hands on each side, and drag him to his feet. There are hands all over him, dragging him towards the mouth of the garage, but neck stays fixed; his eyes never stray from the screen. Because he sees it, sees the endless waves of that hideous flouro yellow and papaya, sees Lando exit Club corner, sees him straighten out towards the finish, hears —

“And Lando Norris takes Silverstone 2025!”

“Oh my god,” He whispers, hands shaking, voice drowned out by the immediate chaos. The mechanics are jumping, cheering, Lando’s side of the garage rushing with Oscar — stunned stiff — in tow. “It’s —” He starts, seemingly to himself, throat gone too tight to say anything else, to speak up.

Lando’s done it.

He’s —

“Lando! Lando! Lando!” The mechanics chant, pushing as a united front towards the barricades — shoving Oscar to the forefront like an unrelenting wave. The metal hits him in the ribs, the force of it makes him gasp, snake him back into his body.

Lando pulls into parc ferme, tapping his front wing on the number one placard. Even in his car, he looks larger than life. He looks like a champion, the neon livery brilliant against the clear July sky.

With jittery hands, Oscar shakes out the British flag and whips it through the air, catching Lando’s attention as he stands on top of his car — as he strikes his fist high, jumping with the force of it. And Oscar, strung like a wire for hours, finally breaks; the tears don’t stop, falling rapidly down his cheeks. He sobs.

Hideous, disgustingly atypical sobs shake him, only held upright by the crush of Lando’s team — of the people who got him here. Finally.

Loudly this time, loud enough to make Andrea laugh beside him, “Oh my god, Lando!”

Helmet and HANS device unceremoniously and hastily abandoned, Lando sprints to the barricade. Through the tears, through the jostling and screaming and adrenaline, Oscar feels like he’s seeing Lando for the first time; he’s seeing a new part of him that glows brighter, smiles harder, and drives into his chest deeper.

He crashes into him with the unrelenting force of a tornado, throwing his arms around him with enough strength to bruise.

Part of Oscar hopes he feels it forever, that ache.

“Lando, Lando, you —” He tries, sobbing uselessly into Lando’s neck. Lando doesn’t manage to say anything back, pulling away to look him in the eyes; electrically bright, like the whole moment is over-saturated in color. “For you,” Oscar gasps, trying to move enough to drape the flag over Lando’s shoulders. “The team brought it for you, for when you won.”

“God, I love you,” Lando beams, grabbing Oscar’s face with both hands and smashing their mouths together — Oscar’s lips slick with tears, Lando’s dry and chapped.

It’s the worst kiss they’ve ever had; their teeth clack together painfully, the team jostles Oscar back and forth, camera crews crowding to capture the moment, and Zak wolf-whistles from far too close. But Lando’s palms on his cheeks, squishing them too hard, and the taste of his smile makes it perfect.

Beyond perfect.

[wildbrokenmosaics]

Alexandrea’s Spring Celebration Outfit

Part i — Simple & natural face with no makeup on her face, an elegant arrow necklace of white gold, & a sophisticated classy wristwatch with a leather strap

[lestappenforever]

I just saw a TikTok that said “imagine Charles playing basketball, points at you and says this is for you and completely misses 20 times in a row” and now I can’t stop imagining max awkwardly standing there while this happens.

I cackled at this mental image for fifteen minutes, so I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry, anon.

---

Max Verstappen understands that people are different. He also understands that people have different definitions of fun. And it just so happens that Max Verstappen's idea of fun on a Saturday afternoon is not to be in a clammy gym that kind of smells like years and years of old sweat, with the loud, insufferable sound of sneakers squeaking against hardwood floor every few seconds while a group of not-even-a-little talented men run around, trying to get a basketball through the hoops.

It is, however, Charles Leclerc's idea of fun, apparently. And Max has long since learned that dating Charles Leclerc means that he will be spending some of his off-season days doing things he wouldn't usually subject himself to.

Such as watching his idiot boyfriend and his entourage of idiot friends trying to play basketball. Emphasis on trying.

Andrea isn't half-bad, but not being half-bad isn't very helpful when the other seven people on the field are absolutely useless. Max has long since lost track of how many times Joris has failed at his attempt to receive a pass, and Riccardo has been spending more time on the floor of the gym than on his feet. But worst of them all, is Charles.

Beautiful, wonderful Charles, who can navigate an F1 car through the smallets of corners at incredibly high speeds without issue, but who can't seem to get a basketball through a hoop to save his fucking life.

He hasn't managed to score a single point, and they've been playing for close to forty-five minutes already. It's nearing to the point of being painful to keep watching, but Max can't seem to tear his eyes away. It's like watching a car crash, and Max is captivated.

Another ten minutes pass before Joris demands a break, claiming to be on the verge of death, and the group makes their way towards the stands. Andrea holds his fist out for Max to bump once he's within reach, and Max obliges.

"How do you put up with them?" Max asks, watching as Andrea chugs half a bottle of water in one go.

"I ask myself the same question almost daily," Andrea responds with a sigh, which earns him an offended huff from Joris. Andrea rolls his eyes and pointedly doesn't acknowledge it further.

Max huffs a laugh and gets to his feet, making his way down onto the court and turning right, walking in the direction of the bathrooms.

Upon finishing his business and returning to the court, Charles is the only person who has returned to the court, and he's standing at the freethrow line in front the hoop closest to the bathrooms.

"Hey, Max!" the Monégasque shouts as Max passes him, and when Max looks over at him, the other man is grinning widely at him.

"Yeah?" Max calls back.

"This is for you," Charles shouts, pointing at Max and giving him one of his signature attempts at a wink — his worst attempt yet, Max finds himself fondly thinking — before throwing the ball in the direction of the hoop.

It goes flying over the entire thing, and Charles scrambles to retrieve it once it returns to the floor.

"Kidding," Charles tries and fails to sound nonchalant as he returns to the freethrow line. "This is for you!"

This time, Charles throws the ball so hard it slams against the board behind the hoop and immediately returns to the Monégasque's hands.

Max stares, unimpressed. Somewhere behind him, Andrea stifles a laugh — Joris flat-out cackles. From where he's standing, Max can see Charles' cheeks pinking slightly, and as the Monégasque glances at him, Max recognizes that look in his eyes.

Determination. Not unlike the determination he has seen in Charles' eyes so many times before a race.

"Ah, fuck," the Dutchman groans, as Charles makes a third attempt to make the shot. He fails, yet again, and immediately runs to retrieve the ball.

And so it begins: Charles trying and failing to get the ball into the hoop, from several angles and distances, and Max awkwardly standing at the sidelines, watching him the entire time.

He misses a grand total of twenty times before Andrea loses his patience and intercepts the ball before Charles can retrieve it for a twenty-first attempt, and announces that the game will resume, putting Max out of his misery.

Charles argues with Andrea in Italian and Max leaves them to it, returning to his previous seat to keep watching what is arguably the least impressive game of basketball he has ever seen.

Another half hour passes before the group decides to call it a day, and start packing up their things to go home. Charles, however, remains on the court even as his friends start departing one by one, barely even acknowledging them with a dismissive wave of his hand as they bid him farewell. Shortly after, Max and Charles are alone in the gym.

With a sigh, Max gets to his feet and walks onto the court, where Charles has once again tried and failed to get the ball into the hoop from the freethrow line.

"Wanna go home?" Max asks him once he comes to a halt a couple of steps from the Monégasque.

"Nope," Charles answers immediately, without looking at Max. His laser focus is trained on the hoop as he shoots — and misses.

"Are we going to stay here until you make that shot?"

"Yep."

Max rubs a hand over his face. "Do I have a say in the matter?"

"Nope."

"Lovely," the Dutchman concedes, and walks back over to the stands to take a seat.

It takes Charles thirty-three new attempts to finally get the ball in the hoop, bringing his total attempts up to fifty-three. Max watches every single one.

But it's all worth it in the end when the ball finally goes in, and Charles erupts into a wild celebration — falling to his knees and pumping his fists in the air as if he has just won his first World Championship. And Max realizes he would gladly sit there until the morning if he had to when he sees the look of pure, unadulterated joy on the Monégasque's face as he beams at Max.

Not that he'd ever tell Charles that, though. Because the man is insane enough to actually make him do it, too, if he knew. So Max applauds Charles' achievement and returns the grin Charles sends him with a matching one of his own, before he gets to his feet.

"Well done, babe," the Dutchman says. "Now can we go home?"

And Charles leaps to his feet and bounds over to Max like an excited puppy, throwing himself into the other man's arms and wrapping his own around the back of Max's neck.

"Now we can go home," Charles confirms, pressing a firm kiss to Max's lips that the Dutchman can't help but smile into.

It's a smile that fades quickly, though, when Charles pulls back with wide, excited eyes.

"I'm just going to try to make a shot from the half court line first," the Monégasque says, as he turns to look for the ball.

Before he can start moving towards it, however, Max grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back firmly. "Absolutely fucking not," he huffs, using his hold on Charles' shirt to turn the other man around and shove him towards his things.

"But —,"

"Home."

Charles pouts the whole way there. Max pretends not to notice, because now it's Charles' turn to take part in Max's idea of fun: which doesn't involve leaving the apartment. Or the bedroom.

Being in a relationship means making compromises, after all. And, well, Charles kind of likes compromises.