#brushed Motor Driver

[futureelectronic1133]

Choosing the Right Motor Driver with ROHM

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/rohm. Selecting the right motor driver can be challenging. ROHM provides drivers that support both brushed (including stepper) and brushless types for applications ranging from camera lens and printers to power tools, vacuum cleaners, and even mobility, allowing designers to select the ideal solution based on set requirements. https://youtu.be/uolNj62BE00

[futureelectronic1527]

Choosing the Right Motor Driver with ROHM

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/rohm. Selecting the right motor driver can be challenging. ROHM provides drivers that support both brushed (including stepper) and brushless types for applications ranging from camera lens and printers to power tools, vacuum cleaners, and even mobility, allowing designers to select the ideal solution based on set requirements. https://youtu.be/uolNj62BE00

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Could you write a Dad!oscar where baby piastri insists on “driving” like her dad. Maybe she takes over his simulator at home, and he sets up a little toy car for her in the paddock. The other drivers and team members can’t stop laughing at how serious she is about it, and he’s just the proudest dad ever.

Future Champion

The paddock buzzed with the usual hum of excitement as the race weekend unfolded. Engineers scurried around, laptops in hand, as the scent of hot asphalt and motor oil filled the air. It was just another Friday, the start of practice sessions, but for Oscar, it was a bit more special.

His two-year-old daughter, Yn, was spending the weekend at the track with him.

Yn clung to his hand as they strolled through the McLaren garage, her wide eyes scanning everything with an endless curiosity only a toddler could possess. Her brown curls bounced with every step, her other hand clutching a half-eaten snack that was already crumbling against her tiny fingers.

"Daddy, what's that?" she asked, pointing at the sleek orange car parked in the garage.

"That's my car, sweetheart," Oscar said softly, crouching down to her level. "That's what I drive on the track."

Her lips parted in awe, as if she was seeing magic for the first time. "You drive that?" Her voice was filled with wonder.

He chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her face. "I do. I'm going to drive it in a bit. You want to watch me?"

Yn nodded enthusiastically, her snack momentarily forgotten. "I wanna see!"

Oscar smiled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Alright, baby. You'll sit with Uncle Lando while I drive, okay?"

As if summoned, Lando strolled over, dressed casually in his team gear, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Hey, Yn," he greeted, wiggling his fingers at her. "Ready to hang out with the coolest person here?"

Yn blinked up at him with mild confusion before turning back to Oscar. "Daddy’s cooler."

Oscar let out a laugh, lifting her into his arms. "You heard her."

Lando gasped in mock offense. "Betrayed by a two-year-old!" He shook his head dramatically. "I thought we were friends, Yn."

She giggled, clinging tighter to Oscar's neck. "Daddy's best."

Oscar's heart melted at her words, and he squeezed her gently before passing her over to Lando. "Be good for him, okay? I'll be back soon."

Yn pouted for a second, but she allowed Lando to take her, nestling comfortably in his arms. "Drive fast, Daddy."

"Always," he promised with a wink before disappearing toward his car.

---

The rumble of engines filled the air as free practice one began. Yn sat perched on Lando's lap in the McLaren garage, oversized headphones protecting her little ears. Her attention was glued to the screens showing the track, her eyes scanning for any glimpse of her dad.

"He's there!" she squealed suddenly, pointing at the screen as Oscar's car zoomed through a corner.

"Yep, that's your dad," Lando confirmed, bouncing his knees slightly to entertain her. "He's pretty fast, huh?"

Yn nodded vigorously, her face lighting up with pride. "He's the best driver ever!"

Lando chuckled, adjusting her headphones when they slipped slightly. "You're his biggest fan, aren't you?"

"Yes!" she declared without hesitation, her little hands clenched into excited fists.

When the practice session ended, Oscar returned to the garage, pulling off his helmet with a relieved sigh. Before he could even process his engineers' comments, Yn wriggled out of Lando's grasp and sprinted toward him.

"Daddy!" she cried, throwing her arms up.

Oscar bent down, scooping her up in one swift motion. "Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, still catching his breath. "Did you like watching me drive?"

Her face was flushed with excitement. "I wanna drive like you!" Her words tumbled out in a mix of gibberish and enthusiasm, barely understandable.

Oscar tilted his head, frowning slightly as he tried to decipher her excitement. "You... you want to drive?"

Yn nodded, her curls bouncing again. "Yes! Like you!" Her tiny hands made a vague steering motion, as if that would clarify things.

Lando, watching the exchange with amusement, scratched his head. "Is she asking for driving lessons?"

"I think she is," Oscar murmured, his lips twitching into a smile. He shifted Yn to one hip and turned to a nearby intern. "Hey, could you grab the small McLaren car from the storage room?" he asked softly, and the intern scurried off immediately.

Yn tilted her head in curiosity. "What car?"

"You'll see, baby," he assured her, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

Minutes later, the intern returned with a sleek, kid-sized McLaren car—a perfect replica of Oscar's race car. Yn's eyes grew impossibly wide as she wiggled out of her father's arms.

"For me?" she gasped, reaching out to touch the shiny surface.

Oscar crouched down beside her. "Just for you," he confirmed, opening the tiny door. "Come on, let's get you in."

With his gentle guidance, Yn clambered into the car, her face glowing with delight. Oscar carefully closed the door, adjusting her position as she fidgeted excitedly.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said softly, pointing to the miniature steering wheel. "You hold this to steer. And if you press this button, the car will move."

Yn's fingers curled around the wheel as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held. "Like you, Daddy?"

"Just like me," he promised, giving the car a soft push forward.

Her delighted squeal filled the pit lane as she rolled down the smooth surface, her tiny hands steering with intense concentration. She was serious—dead serious—about this.

Lando let out a low whistle. "Wow, she's already better at this than half the grid."

Oscar laughed quietly, his heart swelling with affection as he watched her. "She takes after her father."

It wasn't long before the other drivers began to notice the tiny McLaren zipping (well, crawling) around the pit lane. Max, emerging from the Red Bull garage, stopped mid-step, his brow arching as he spotted Yn.

"What is that?" Max asked, pointing toward her.

Lando leaned against a wall, grinning. "Future world champion."

Charles wandered over next, his eyes widening when he caught sight of the toddler making her slow but determined way across the lane. "Is that... Yn?"

"Yep," Oscar confirmed, not even trying to hide the pride in his voice.

"She's very focused," Charles noted, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Maybe a little too focused."

"She's serious about this," Lando agreed. "I mean, look at her. That level of dedication at two years old? Insane."

Yn, meanwhile, was entirely unbothered by the growing audience. She tightened her grip on the wheel, her lips pressed into a little pout of concentration as she maneuvered her car in circles around the pit lane. To her, this was the most important thing in the world.

Oscar crouched down again when she rolled back toward him. "You're doing amazing, baby," he said softly. "You like your car?"

Yn beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "I love it!"

Lando clapped his hands together. "Alright, Oscar. When are you signing her to McLaren?"

Oscar chuckled, scooping Yn up as she reached her arms out for him. "Give her a few more years," he teased, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "She'll be ready in no time."

Yn snuggled against his chest, sighing contentedly. "I wanna drive like you always, Daddy."

His heart melted right there on the pit lane. "And you will, sweetheart. One day, you will."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this! My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

[keystrokecascade]

teasing your robotgirl gf; starting with opening her case and taking your variable power supply to her sensor wires, overwriting what she feels with a steady buzz, like pins and needles or someone just barely brushing their fingers against them. sticking your fingers in her fans and she whine and starts to overheat without the active cooling. eventually pulling its motor cords so it cant move but can feel everything.

once you get root access the real fun begins. redirecting log output to her monitor so you can see exactly what its thinking and feeling. disabling the speech drivers so she can only produce needy tones and whines. capturing the sensor input in a macro to be replayed whenever you want.

after all, its not like it can climax until you enable that little service again, can it?

[lxndonorris]

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air. 

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport. 

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics. 

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible. 

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you. 

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it. 

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter. 

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart. 

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk. 

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference. 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. 

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. 

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper. 

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him. 

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. 

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk. 

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances. 

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him. 

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze. 

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement. 

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss. 

This time, he didn't hold back. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze. 

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. 

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material. 

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

You get my motor running

Written for the day 27 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Traffic & Handjobs

Rated: E

Tags: Established Relationship; Post-Vecna; Some vague references to PTSD; Handjobs; Semi-public sex

“Paper towels,” Steve barks, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. A little avalanche descends off the van's roof. Eddie flinches back to attention. 

“That's a curse word I haven't heard before.”

Steve scowls, brushing snow from his hair. It leaves the carefully styled strands ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, giving him a slightly manic look. 

“Hilarious. There is a fucking truck lying in a ditch, like half a mile from here, paper towels all over the place. Police are waving the cars past, but there’s hundreds in front of us. It’ll be hours before we get out of here.” 

“Huh,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms. “Huh.”

They sit in silence for a while. 

“We should’ve gone yesterday,” Steve mutters. His leg starts twitching. “Everyone and their mother wants out of the city for the holidays, we should’ve known traffic would be fucking crazy. We’ll never make it to Hawkins on time at this rate. The others will-” 

“They’ll survive, Stevie,” Eddie says, catching his hand and running his fingers over his knuckles. They’re raw from the frosty air, dry skin coming off where Steve picked at it. A habit he's developed in the aftermath of everything, now that there's nothing left to punch, nothing left to go at with nail bats and axes and molotovs. “It's only Christmas dinner.” 

Steve’s fingers flex and Eddie knows he wants to argue, but then he sighs. 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm just-” 

“Nervous,” Eddie says, tangling their fingers together. “I know, big boy.” 

It hasn't been easy for either of them, leaving Hawkins, but Eddie knows that it's been even harder for Steve. Steve, who's been involved in the Upside Down shit from the get-go, who's spent the better part of his teenage years fighting monsters - the fanged and clawed kind as well as the human-shaped ones. Who still wakes up screaming sometimes, throwing punches at the pillows, trying to protect his loved ones from threats that are long gone. 

“We'll be here for a while, honey,” Eddie says. “Nothing to be done about it. Just relax.” 

“I wish I could,” Steve groans, head thudding against the backrest, and fondness blooms in Eddie’s chest.

“Well,” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to the road, at the same time that his hand lets go of Steve’s fingers and travels to his thigh. “I think I can help you with that.” 

Steve gasps. Eddie stays focused on the road. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know there’s a blush slowly spreading over that pretty face.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice is a low, frantic hiss, but he makes no attempt to swat Eddie off. Eddie grins, shifting his hand just a little bit further upwards, and Steve bucks in his seat. “Are you insane? What if anyone sees?” 

“Well,” Eddie drawls, letting his eyes roam over the surrounding vehicles. Most of the drivers are staring off into space, some drumming their fingers to the sounds of their radios, some arguing with their passengers. Nobody is paying them any attention. His palm finds the bulge in Steve’s pants and cups it in a firm grip. “Guess we’ll just need to be subtle about it, huh?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how Steve’s face twitches as he silently weighs his options. 

“I mean, we could always wait and pull into a side road later,” Eddie shrugs. “But you said it yourself. It’ll be hours...” 

For a few seconds, the only sound is that of tires crunching on snow.

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve snaps, shimmying in his seat so that he can lift his hips and unzip his pants. “C’mon then, make it quick.” 

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Eddie coos, and reaches over. 

As far as handjobs go, it’s one of the odder ones he’s given. 

He needs to keep one hand on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, so the angle is awkward. He also can’t watch Steve’s face as he usually does, but they’ve been together long enough for his imagination to fill in the gaps. Steve makes a needy little noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, rutting up into Eddie’s hand, and he can just imagine the way he flushes, the way he bites down on that pink bottom lip to keep louder sounds from spilling out. For all his initial reluctance, it takes him mere seconds to get hard, and soon his breathy whines are joined by the wet sound of his precome-slickened cock fucking in and out of Eddie’s palm.

Steve never believes him when he says it, but Eddie can feel his orgasm coming before he himself does. He’s learned to read the little telltale signs - the stutter of his hips, the minute hitch of his breath, the way his cock starts twitching in anticipation. Today is no exception. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Steve moans, trying to jerk away, to tuck himself back in, but Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and tightens his grip, keeping him in place. Eyes trained at the snowflakes falling beyond the windshield, he lets Steve shake apart in his hold, head thrown back into a silent scream, spilling hot and wet all over Eddie’s hand and his pants and the seat. By the time his breathing evens out, the cars in front of them have started moving again. 

“Well?” Eddie asks, wiping his hand on his pants. “Relaxed now?” 

Steve huffs, a breathy and incredulous thing, but his features have gone soft and content.

“Relaxed and fucking filthy. How are you gonna explain the stains to the others, genius?” 

“Well,” Eddie winks. “Maybe someone up there can lend us a paper towel.” 

Steve almost makes him walk the rest of the way, but he thinks it’s well worth it.

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[a-folkwhore]

Rough Ride

Pre-outbreak!Tommy Miller x Female!reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+ below the cut; explicit intimacy scenes described. fingering, car sex, spanking, swearing. all the good stuff.

Masterlist

The engine of Tommy’s truck rumbles low beneath you, the only sound on the backroad besides the hum of cicadas and the soft rasp of his breath. The cab smells like him — sweat, leather, motor oil — and it’s got your thighs squeezing together in anticipation.

He slides a hand over, fingers grazing your bare knee, then dragging up slow under your skirt. “You’ve been actin’ like you wanted somethin’ all night,” he murmurs, eyes still on the road, voice rough with promise. “That true, baby?”

You nod, lips parting just as his fingers reach the edge of your panties.

He glances over, smirking when he sees the flush on your cheeks. “Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

He pulls off into a secluded turnoff, gravel crunching under the tires. The truck jerks to a stop and before you can breathe, he’s turning toward you, full attention now on the way your thighs are trembling.

“You wet for me already, darlin’?” he asks, voice a low growl as he leans in. His breath brushes your lips. “Better not be teasin’ me.”

You whimper as he pushes your panties to the side, fingers slipping right into your heat. He groans when he feels how soaked you are.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” he mutters, pressing his forehead to yours as two fingers work inside you, curling just right. “Always this needy for me?”

Your hand fists his shirt, hips rolling helplessly as he works you open in the driver’s seat.

“Tommy,” you gasp, nails digging into his arm.

He chuckles, deep and low. “Say my name again.”

“Tommy.”

“Louder.”

You moan it for him, and his lips crash into yours — hot, desperate, tongue sliding into your mouth as his fingers speed up. The slick sounds between your legs fill the cab, and you feel him hard through his jeans, pressed tight against your thigh.

“Get in the back,” he growls, pulling away just enough to speak, breathless. “Can’t wait ’til we get home.”

You move fast, heart racing. He climbs in after you, and the second the door shuts, he’s on you — pulling your panties off, yanking your skirt up, dragging you onto his lap.

“Ride me,” he mutters, unzipping fast, freeing his cock — thick, hard, already leaking. “Wanna feel how bad you need me.”

You sink down onto him with a cry, and his head drops back with a groan, hands gripping your ass tight.

“Just like that, baby… fuckin’ perfect little pussy.”

You start slow, grinding your hips, kissing his neck, but he’s impatient — always is when it comes to you. One hand snakes up your back, fisting your hair, yanking your head back so he can lick down your throat.

“Faster,” he commands. “You wanna come, you ride me like you fuckin’ mean it.”

You do. And when your rhythm stutters, he helps you — snapping his hips up to meet you, fucking you from below, hard and fast.

Smack. His palm lands on your ass, sharp and possessive.

You gasp, moaning louder.

“That what you needed, baby?” Smack. “You like when I spank this pretty fuckin’ ass, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes, Tommy—”

He groans, thrusts getting rougher, the truck rocking beneath you.

“You gonna come all over my cock like a good girl?”

You nod frantically, and he wraps an arm tight around your waist, holding you down as he pounds up into you. Filthy words pour from his mouth, each one driving you closer until—

You break.

Body spasming, mouth open in a silent scream, you come hard, clenching around him. He snarls, spilling inside you a moment later, hips jerking as he groans your name against your throat.

When it’s over, he presses a kiss to your jaw and smirks. “We’re not done, baby. Not even close.”

He zips up, helps you dress just enough to keep the night air from biting. Then he drives home with a dark look in his eyes and one hand gripping your thigh — tight, possessive, already hard again.

_________________________________________

You barely make it through the door before Tommy’s hands are on you again. The second it shuts behind him, he’s pinning you to it, lips crashing against yours like he’s starved. One knee slips between your thighs, pressing up, and you whimper against his mouth.

“Bedroom,” he growls, grabbing your jaw with one rough hand, forcing your eyes on his. “Now. Or I fuck you right here.”

You run. He follows.

Your clothes are a trail behind you — his shirt first, then your bra, your panties dangling from his back pocket. By the time you hit the bed, you’re bare, breathless, aching. He shoves you down onto the mattress, standing at the edge, his dark eyes raking over you like he could eat you alive.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he mutters, stroking himself slow as he stares. “Laid out for me. Drippin’. You want it again, baby?”

You nod, breathless, legs already spreading for him. But he grabs your ankles, yanks you to the edge with a sharp tug that makes you gasp, and flips you onto your stomach in one fluid move.

“Uh-uh,” he growls. “On your knees. Want that ass up.”

You scramble into position, heart pounding, hands gripping the sheets. He kneels behind you, one big hand sliding up your back, then down again — pausing to cup your ass, squeeze it hard, then deliver a firm, stinging smack.

“Been thinkin’ about this all fuckin’ day,” he mutters. Another spank. “You actin’ all sweet, sittin’ pretty in that little skirt — knew you wanted it rough.”

You moan into the mattress as he spreads you open, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. Teasing. Testing. Torturing.

Then he sinks in.

Slow at first — dragging it out, thick and deep — making sure you feel every inch. You gasp, nails clawing the sheets.

“Fuck, baby… You feel that?” he groans, already fucking into you deeper. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

Your moans are broken now, raw and high-pitched as his hips slap against your ass. He’s rougher this time — relentless. One hand gripping your hair, pulling your head back so he can growl in your ear.

“You like when I fuck you like this? Like a fuckin’ slut in heat?”

“Yes—God—yes—”

Smack. His palm crashes down again, harder this time, and you cry out.

“That’s right. My dirty girl. You take what I give you.”

His rhythm grows punishing, fucking into you like he owns you — like he’s branding you from the inside out. His dirty words pour into your ear like fire.

“Pussy so fuckin’ tight around me. Can feel how close you are. You gonna come again for me, baby?”

You’re trembling, thighs shaking. “Please, Tommy—”

He leans over you, weight pressing you down, cock hitting deeper, harder.

“Beg for it.”

“Please—need it—need you to make me come—”

“That’s my girl.”

He reaches around, fingers rubbing your clit just right, and you unravel — a loud, desperate cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and blinding.

“Fuck—just like that—” Tommy groans, slamming into you a few more times before he buries himself deep and spills inside you, hips jerking as he growls your name against the back of your neck.

You collapse together, breathless and spent, tangled in sweat and heat.

But his hand is already sliding down your spine again, slow and greedy.

“You thought I was done?”

He rolls you onto your back, smirking down at you.

“We’ve got all fuckin’ night.”

[mosselines]

this did modest numbers on tiktok, i hope y’all like it too! here’s my…

✨dazai headcanons✨

but they’re all rlly specific & weird

(coming from a cosplayer who’s been in the fandom since 2016)

he has an astigmatism that went untreated for so long he’s now partially blind in his right eye. he needs glasses but hates his old pm pair and never wears them in public. he’s too lazy to get his prescription renewed/hates going to the doctor so they’re not even up to date for his vision

that’s why he’s a bad driver— he can’t fucking see

he drives/reads better if he closes one eye

mori forced him to get braces after he formally joined the port mafia. he had a lisp for the first few months and would blackmail ppl if he did it in front of them

he hid his bad vision for a long time, but mori eventually noticed and forced him to get glasses too. he fucking hated wearing them and “accidentally” kept breaking each new pair mori got

after that, mori got him contacts but he would lie and throw them out just to be defiant (totally not bc they squicked him out)

he originally started wearing his bandages because no one would touch him bc of his ability

he has awful tan lines bc of his bandages, his face and hands are tanner than the rest of his body, but since the sun can permeate light clothing/bandages he also has random splotchiness all over his body, especially his shoulders, arms, & back

in 15, dazai got so excited he was 5 cm taller than chuuya bc he was always the one being bullied for being short/malnourished before they met

at 16, chuuya grew slightly faster than dazai and started teasing him. dazai freaked out and started wearing lifts for a brief period of time. he was researching poisoning techniques to reduce growth right before he finally got his own growth spurt <3

he has chronic insomnia and is a scarily light sleeper. usually gets anywhere from 3-6 hours of sleep a night

he constantly has dark circles under his eyes as a result

whenever he shares a bed with chuuya, he’ll sleep twice as long as normal. at first, chuuya would get mad bc he was a huge brat to try and wake up, but now he lets dazai sleep in as long as he wants

his sense of taste is abysmal, which is why he likes really salty/spicy food. they’re the only flavors he can actually taste

he doesn’t decorate or furnish his ADA apartment because he’s scared that once he gets attached to the place, it’ll get taken away

he constantly beats himself up for not thinking to take odasaku’s coat with him. he bought his current one because it looked similar

he refuses to touch any of his pm salary, so it’s just kept accruing interest and is actually obscene at this point. he asked ango to “handle it” and cover banking stuff under the condition he gets to take out any expenses he wants. it irritates ango to no end that dazai won’t do anything with it

the day kunikida finds out about dazai’s pm bank account will be dazai’s final day on this earth

when he was 15 he was unironically into screamo bc “it screams for me when i can’t.” thought linkin park was super hardcore & his favorite song was “numb” (fucking loser)

he NEVER brushes his hair. like he doesn’t even own a fucking hairbrush or comb until chuuya has a conniption over it and starts keeping one at his apartment

whenever chuuya tries to brush his hair, it’s like trying to wrangle a feral cat. they’ve gotten in physical fights over it that always end with dazai pouting for the next hour while chuuya laughs at how flat his head looks without the rat’s nest

uses dollar store 9-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/bodywash/motor oil. it’s ocean breeze scented! :)

he’s had the same fake driver’s license since he was 15 and never bothered to get a real one

he actually has decent medical training from spending so much time as mori’s apprentice. about the same level as a battle medic would have. capable of stitching wounds & performing surgery, but not as good as yosano even without her ability

yosano has tried to reach out and bond with him about their shared pasts a few times, but he always comes up with an excuse to leave. she eventually gave up on asking

one time, he got badly wounded and had to be treated by yosano. she had to sedate him because her ability doesn’t work on him, and he called her mori the whole time. he doesn’t remember, but she never forgot and stopped trying to spend time with him

[slasherscream]

A/N: shout-out to @abominableghostface, who was my beta reader and co-conspirator as usual.

CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + WHAT TYPE OF "LEAVING IN THE MORNING" PERSON ARE THEY

❥ we ride at dawn. try and survive ❥

Billy Loomis - The man with the plan. When he says morning he means we are going to be in the car and on the road by the time the sun rays begin to hit the earth. Granted, it's not a hectic morning by any means. He'll have made sure the two of you started packing days in advance. There’s no last minute rushing around. No wondering if you packed a toothbrush, or your favorite jacket. You double checked everything the night before, and then checked behind one another to make sure. But no matter how peaceful the waking, being dragged to your car at 4:30am will make you want to kill him. He passes you your favorite blanket that he threw in the dryer last minute, a cozy protection against the dewy chill of the night turning to morning. When he tells you to sleep until he finds somewhere decent to eat you hate him a little less.

Jordan Li - By nature Jordan is more of a night owl. Through pure necessity they’ve molded themself into something resembling a morning person. Sure, the way they don’t start smiling before 10am shows you it’s not at all a natural state of being, but they do it anyways. 

So used to starting the monotonous, average days bright and early they’re definitely not going to want to start a vacation late. They wake up to the sound of their alarm. They wake you up to soft kisses pressed into your skin. When you open your eyes, scowling at them anyways, they can’t help but laugh, “Yeah I know, I know, fuck off. But we gotta head out before traffic hits.” 

Knowing how you are in the mornings Jordan packed the car last night. When you roll over, intent on ignoring them they roll their eyes and shift, so that he can drag you from bed no matter how hard you try and make yourself dead weight. 

You’re still half asleep, leaned up against him beneath the spray of the shower, but wake up when he flicks water at your face.

“Fuck off.” You grumble. 

“Once we’re on the road I’ll fuck off for at least an hour. Then we’ll grab breakfast, yeah?” He pushes a loofah in your hand and grins once you take it. They shift again, nudging you out the way with her hip so you’re sharing the water instead of hogging it, “Wash my back so we can head out.” 

When they wake you up outside a diner two hours later instead of one you’re feeling much more agreeable, pulling them in for a kiss when they open your car door.

Sebastian Valmont - A chronic riser with the sun. It doesn’t matter what time he goes to sleep, he is going to wake up right as the sun rises. He has black out curtains and takes morning yoga classes. The bastard. His body simply enjoys being awake at six am. Thus, he sees absolutely no reason why leaving for your trip should come hours after that. He’s going to be the one driving anyways. The maids packed all your things, and the butler brought everything out to the car. All that’s left is to get you out of the house. Sebastian helps you put on your clothes, laughs at the way he has to push your arms into your shirt, and drag you to brush your teeth. When he tucks you into the passenger seat he knows you’ll be asleep again by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. He sneaks glances at you for the first few hours of the drive, quietly listening to music and the soft sound of your snoring, enjoying every second.

Stu Macher - Ball of energy that he is, Stu is awake bright and early, and does not need time to “wake up.” He unfortunately acts like this is a universal experience. The fact that he’s excited about the trip makes his typical lack of empathy towards night owls even more brutal than usual. You’re unceremoniously dragged from bed. He tickles you as you brush your teeth. If you seem a little extra groggy that morning he hops in the shower with you and turns it on cold to get your motor running. He acts completely baffled about why you’re still scowling by the time he’s back from his banishment of loading up the car while you try to dress yourself in peace. To make matters worse he wants to talk about anything and everything with you despite the fact that the sky is still that sleepy shade of blue that’s half night, half dawn. You stare at him hatefully from the corner of your eye, grunting answers at him until you pass a diner that’s open and you can get caffeine into your system. His excitement for the trip is cute once you’re awake.

Kevin Khatchadourian - Rises with the sun and is deeply irritated that you don’t. On a regular day he rarely let’s you sleep in. You’ll be lucky if he chooses to start his daily routine without you. On the mornings when he decides to practice archery, which is most, you’ll get an extra hour and a half. By the time he’s coming back inside he wants you both moving around one another, starting the rest of the routine. Brushing teeth, making food, the idle chatter of your voice. Considering he’s not fond of changing your routine, which is exactly what a vacation is, he doesn’t want to hear a single complaint about the hour he wakes you up to start the drive. He also doesn’t let you fall asleep when you get into the car, even though he’s the only one driving. You’re keeping him company no matter how tired you are.

Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - While he maintains a strict schedule of waking up early unless hungover he is by no means a morning person. He’ll wake you up as gently as he’s capable of if the shrillness of the alarm didn’t do the trick, rocking you by the shoulder until your eyes blink open. The two of you packed the car last night so there wouldn’t be anything to do or communicate with one another upon first waking up. Two non-morning people trying to talk to each other upon first waking up was a recipe for disaster. Especially if it was the pair of you. Quietly you go about your morning. Brushing your teeth side by side, bumping against each other every now and then instead of speaking. Ben grabs the green smoothies that he made for the two of you the night before, something to tide you over until you found a place he was willing to eat at (which was always an unnecessarily complicated task.) It’s thirty minutes of driving and radio playing softly before you’re caught in a bit of traffic and you’re awake enough to be sweet. You lean across the cupholder to kiss his cheek and he gives you a small smile,  “Morning, L/N.” The two of you are experts at sharing your mornings by now.

❥ we leave sometime before noon ❥

Jason Dean/JD - Will never wake you up before he thinks you’ve gotten all the rest you need. His favorite hobby is turning off your morning alarms if he thinks you set them unreasonably early in comparison to when you fell asleep. He’s certainly not going to break that pattern for the start of a vacation, when you should be resting. You’ll wake whenever you naturally wake up, JD still wrapped around you. You’ll shower, drink some coffee, do one last check of the luggage and then he’ll haul everything out to the car for you, no matter how much you both packed. He likes you to not lift a finger during your trips and it starts before you ever leave the house. It certainly puts you into a vacation mindset.

David Mccall - David himself is an early riser but likes to let you sleep in whenever he can. The start of a vacation is certainly one of those times. He spends the hours before you wake taking care of last minute things. He checks all the bags again, makes sure everything you could possibly need is packed, then loads up the car. He makes sure the house is clean so there’s no mess to come back to that you’ll stress yourself out over. Closer to the time he knows you’ll get up he starts making breakfast for you. He’s so focused on the task he jumps when your arms loop around his waist and you start to press grateful sleepy kisses to his back. You’ll be on the road in an hour or two, he’s in no rush. He wants you relaxed and enjoying yourself every step of the way.

Josh Washington - Due to his insomnia he is not falling asleep any earlier than one am most nights. To ask him to get up at dawn would be like killing a puppy. You both sleep in, wake up sometime just before noon. You like to be realistic about your expectations for yourselves, so there’s no rush. A late start was factored into the plans from the beginning. You packed everything into the car the night before, so all there’s left to do is hop in. You wake yourselves up with some music to start. Barely twenty minutes on the road you see a cute diner and stop for late breakfast. You smile at each other as the afternoon sun shines on both your faces, sleepily discussing what you’re most excited about doing when you arrive at your destination.

❥ secret third worse thing ❥

Nathan Prescott - Nathan likes your journeys to begin in the dead of night. Whether it’s heading to the airport or hopping in the car to start a long drive, a 9pm start time is the sweet spot for him. He doesn’t like waking up early to start trips in the morning. Nor does he like being stuck in the claustrophobic traffic of other human bodies or cars during the afternoon. You’ll be dead tired by the time you get wherever you’re going but having a good beginning to vacations is important. Especially for Nathan. When you start at night his anxiety tends to be lower for the whole trip. The things we do for love.

[shybluebirdninja]

FADED DAYS: PART 2

Summary: In a bleak world where Logan has lost his purpose, an unexpected connection with his nurse brings a spark of humanity back into his fading life as an Uber driver.

Pairing             : Uber-Driver!Logan Howlett x Nurse!Fem-reader

Genre              : Heavy Angst

You swipe the screen to clock out from your shift, feeling the heavy pull of exhaustion in your bones. It was one of those nights—sick patients, endless charts, and a doctor who looked at you like you’d just ruined his life every time you handed him a pen. You just want to go home, crawl under the covers, and sleep for a decade.

But the second you tap the Uber app, you see it.

Your driver: Logan. Estimated arrival: 4 minutes.

“Oh, hell no.”

You vaguely remember the grumpy old guy from last time, the one who looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from driving the car straight off a cliff. You sigh, rubbing your temples. The last thing you need is another ride full of awkward silences and death glares.

His car pulls up, same as before, creaking to a stop like it’s gasping for its last breath. You get in and immediately regret it. It smells faintly of...is that whiskey? And maybe motor oil? You’re not even sure anymore.

“Hey,” you say as you settle in. “Fancy seeing you again.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” he grunts, his voice sounding like it’s been dragged over sandpaper. No eye contact, just the same stoic stare out the windshield. The engine groans, and you wonder if the car’s going to make it through the ride—or if the driver will, for that matter.

The silence stretches out like an awkward third wheel in the backseat. You figure you might as well try to lighten the mood.

“So, Uber driver, huh? Is this, like, your dream job?” You flash a grin, hoping for at least a chuckle.

“Pays the bills,” he mutters. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Ouch. Guess humor isn’t his thing. Still, you push on.

“I dunno, man. You don’t really scream 'people person' to me. No offense, but I thought Uber drivers were supposed to be...uh, friendlier.”

He snorts. “I ain't here to be your friend.”

“Clearly,” you mumble under your breath. “Just trying to make conversation.”

Another snort, this one a little more amused, but still tinged with that world-weary, grumpy-old-man vibe. You’re not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him. He’s like the human version of a stray dog—ragged, angry, but you know deep down he’s just tired of being kicked around.

The car lurches forward as he merges onto the freeway, and you notice the deep lines on his hands again. The knuckles, those strange scars. You’ve seen your fair share of battle wounds in the hospital, but his look different. Old. Like he’s lived through something worse than just a bad day at work.

“Rough shift?” he asks suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is still gruff, but there’s something softer beneath it. Not exactly sympathy, but...close enough.

“Yeah,” you admit. “You could say that.”

He grunts again. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah?” You glance at him, eyebrow raised. “Like what?”

He doesn’t answer right away, but his grip on the wheel tightens. For a second, you think you’ve hit a nerve, but then he shrugs. “Nothing you’d believe.”

“Try me.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s going to brush you off. But then he glances at you, just for a split second. His eyes are tired, so tired. “You ever been shot six times in the chest?”

Your eyes widen. “Uh…no?”

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

You blink, unsure if he’s serious. Then he coughs—this raspy, painful sound—and you can’t help but laugh. It’s ridiculous. The whole situation is ridiculous. This grumpy, near-dead Uber driver who claims he’s been shot six times and lived to tell the tale.

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask, half-expecting him to say it’s a joke.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p in the most deadpan way possible. “Still hurts when it rains.”

There’s a beat of silence before you both laugh, his cough mingling with the sound. It’s not exactly a light-hearted moment, but it’s…something.

But as you look at him, the laughter fades. You see the deep, hollow weariness in his eyes again. The kind that no joke can really erase. And something tugs at your chest—a weird mix of sympathy and sadness.

You shake your head, changing the subject. “So, Uber wasn’t your first gig, huh? What’d you do before?”

“Stuff,” he says, evasively.

“Stuff? Very specific.”

“Stuff that ain’t your concern.” His tone is final, but there’s no malice in it. Just the same wall of grumpiness he’s clearly used to hiding behind.

When he pulls up to your place, you linger in the car for a second, wondering if you should say something more. Something...human. But instead, you just glance over at him one last time.

“Take care of yourself, Logan.”

For the first time, his eyes flick up to meet yours, and you swear there’s a flicker of something behind that grizzled exterior.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “You too.”

You step out, closing the door softly behind you. The car lingers for a moment, like he’s thinking about something. Then, with a groan of the engine, he’s gone, disappearing into the night.

As you walk up to your apartment, you can’t help but smile. Who knew a grumpy old Uber driver could leave you feeling this weird mix of sadness and warmth?

You’ll probably see him again. Something tells you he’ll be around.

[anythinggoesbutme]

First Place, Last Call

F1 Driver!Jameson Hawthorne x Avery Grambs

Warnings: Drinking/bar setting, Flirty banter, Public attention/fame dynamics, Light suggestiveness, Subtle hand touching / knee nudges

Synopsis: When a chance encounter pulls Avery into the world of Formula One’s brightest star, she finds herself swept up in a night of adrenaline, laughter, and quiet moments that feel like more than they should.

Song: “Shut Up and Drive” — Rihanna

Word Count: 1,865

Avery had learned early on that the trackside bar was a different kind of battlefield. The smell of burnt rubber mixed with stale beer clung to the air, a heavy perfume that made her nose wrinkle every time she walked through the swinging doors. The roar of engines was constant — a low growl vibrating through the concrete floor, rattling the wooden bar stools and threading into the chatter of drunk fans and racing enthusiasts crowding the cramped space. It was loud, chaotic, and suffocating in the best and worst ways.

She balanced a tray laden with drinks — cold cans of soda, foamy beers, and a couple of neon green energy drinks she still didn’t understand the appeal of — weaving through a tangle of legs and shouting voices. The sweat on her palms threatened to betray her as she maneuvered around a boisterous group of fans chanting some driver’s name she didn’t care to remember.

She told herself, Just one more hour. Just until the end of qualifying, then she could go home, take a long shower, and try not to think about Formula One until the next race. But fate, apparently, had other plans.

He came in without warning. Not like the rest — not like the other drivers who arrived surrounded by their entourages and flashing cameras. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne stepped inside like the entire bar belonged to him, like every person in the room was waiting for him to make the next move.

Avery’s breath hitched, and she nearly dropped the tray.

The man was everything the tabloids promised — sharp cheekbones, a mop of unruly curls, and eyes so blue they seemed to burn through the smoky air. His racing suit hung loose on his lean frame, unzipped halfway to reveal a white shirt soaked through with sweat and the scent of motor oil. He didn’t have a smile on his face — but when his gaze caught hers, that cocky grin bloomed like a challenge.

Avery jerked her head away, blinking, forcing her fingers to steady the tray. Don’t stare. But then, in the chaos of the crowded bar, her foot caught on a loose floorboard, and the tray tipped.

Drinks spilled. The world went into slow motion. Neon green energy drink sprayed like toxic paint, hitting Jameson’s chest. A warm splash of beer soaked his race suit, and the cans clattered to the floor.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see—”

Jameson stared down at the mess like it was a joke he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at or scowl over. Then he looked up, eyes sparkling with amusement, and laughed — a deep, genuine laugh that surprised her.

“Guess I needed to cool off,” he said, peeling the sticky glass from his chest. His wet fingers glistened in the harsh bar lights as he flicked droplets away without a care.

Avery bent down, grabbing napkins and trying desperately to mop up the damage. “I’m really sorry. I’m usually better than this.”

“Relax,” Jameson said, brushing off her apology with a lazy wave. “It’s not like you’re the first person to drench me.”

She glanced up, heart pounding, and noticed the way he was watching her — not like a celebrity being inconvenienced, but like a man genuinely interested.

“Name’s Jameson,” he said, like she didn’t already know, extending a hand.

“Avery,” she replied, tentatively shaking it.

The contact was electric. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed hers.

Without warning, Jameson smirked. “You’re coming to the race tomorrow.”

Avery’s brow furrowed. He didn’t even know her. “I don’t even— I mean, I’m working.”

“You’re off,” he said simply, voice low and commanding. “And I’m making sure of it.”

She laughed nervously. “That’s not how this works.”

Jameson’s grin widened. “Trust me, Avery. It is.”

The morning air was thick with anticipation and the smell of hot asphalt, sun-baked rubber, and exhaust fumes—a cocktail that made Avery’s pulse quicken with an odd mixture of excitement and nerves.

The grandstands around the circuit had already begun to fill with fans, their cheers and chants carrying faintly over the roar of engines warming up. Flags fluttered in the breeze, racing colors snapping sharply like the heartbeat of the day itself.

Avery stood near the edge of the pit lane, still clutching the oversized team jacket Jameson had pressed into her hands hours earlier. It hung loose on her, but somehow it made her feel like she belonged — a quiet, defiant part of this furious, dangerous world she barely understood.

The grid was a kaleidoscope of color and motion: mechanics darted back and forth, teams huddled around cars that gleamed under the high sun, and drivers adjusted helmets and suits with ritualistic precision. There was a tension here, electric and raw, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Avery’s eyes never left Jameson as he climbed into his cockpit — the sleek black-and-red Hawthorne Racing car, polished to a mirror shine, sat waiting like a wild animal ready to roar. She saw the tight set of his jaw, the focused glint in his eyes as the visor slid down, hiding the fire beneath.

The starter waved the green flag.

Engines ignited into a ferocious crescendo, a sound so loud and alive it shook Avery’s bones. Tires screamed against asphalt as the cars launched forward in a blur of speed and danger.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, mirroring the rhythm of the race — a frantic, unrelenting pulse that demanded total attention.

She followed the live screens and the crackling radio updates, but nothing compared to seeing Jameson live. His car was a sleek streak, hugging corners with razor precision, weaving through the pack like a predator. The pit crew worked in perfect choreography, swapping tires and refueling with breathtaking speed during the tense pit stops.

Every time Jameson’s car came into view, Avery caught the fierce intensity etched on his face — the concentration, the raw determination. She watched as he fought for every inch, his hands steady on the wheel despite the immense G-forces pushing against him.

Around her, the crowd’s roar surged and fell like waves — gasps at near misses, cheers at daring overtakes, and a rising crescendo as the laps dwindled.

With just a handful of laps left, Jameson was inching closer to the leader. The tension was unbearable, the atmosphere electric with possibility.

Then, with a move so sudden and perfect it stole her breath, Jameson slingshotted past his rival on the outside of the final corner, the car’s tires screeching against the tarmac.

The grandstands exploded.

Avery’s hands clenched the fabric of the jacket as the checkered flag waved, the noise of victory engulfing everything.

Jameson emerged from the cockpit, sweat and exhaustion etched across his face, but his eyes searched for her immediately.

He found her, and his smile was a wild, victorious thing — fierce and utterly unguarded.

She gulped, having to fight the urge of biting her lip.

In that moment, with the sun dipping low and the smell of victory thick in the air, Avery realized this wasn’t just a race. It was a glimpse into a world of passion, risk, and raw humanity. And somehow, she was caught in its pull.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Avery’s ears as Jameson led her away from the track’s edge, weaving through the throng of photographers and team members congratulating him. The cool air smelled faintly of sweat and champagne, mixed with the lingering tang of burnt rubber and motor oil.

“You’re coming with us,” Jameson said, his tone firm but not unkind, like it was a favor he was insisting she accept.

Avery blinked, caught off guard. “I—I’m not part of the team.”

He shrugged with that same half-smile that made her heart flutter. “Doesn’t matter. I want you there.”

The bar they ended up in was loud, packed with fans and crew members, the air thick with spilled beer and cigarette smoke. Music thumped through the cracked speakers, a bass line that made the walls vibrate and the glasses on the tables tremble. The team had claimed a whole corner of the place — shots lining the bar top, half the mechanics already shouting over each other about the best overtake of the race.

But Jameson and Avery had peeled away from the chaos, slipping into a booth half-hidden in the back, where the lighting was low and the world felt a little softer. The red vinyl of the seat squeaked as Avery shifted, tucking one knee up, her fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

Jameson leaned in, his elbows braced on the table, a crooked grin playing at his lips. His hair was still damp from the celebratory champagne shower, curls sticking to his forehead in wild directions. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows, collar undone just enough that the chain at his throat glinted in the dim light.

“Did you expect this?” he asked, voice low to keep it just between them, as if he couldn’t care less about the noise around them. “The victory, the chaos, the drunken pit crew?”

Avery laughed, the sound surprising herself — light and unguarded. “I didn’t expect any of this. Least of all you dragging me here like I belong.”

“You do,” Jameson said, softer now, like the words carried weight. His knee nudged hers under the table, gentle but deliberate. “You do tonight, at least.”

Around them, bottles clinked, someone spilled a tray of drinks, and the team erupted in another round of laughter at some joke Avery didn’t hear. But in their little booth, it felt quiet, like the rest of the world had been turned down so she could just focus on the way Jameson’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her.

She shook her head, amused. “This isn’t real life. This is some fever dream.”

“Then let’s not wake up yet,” Jameson said, his grin softening, his thumb brushing the rim of his glass but his gaze locked on her, like he’d already decided nothing else mattered tonight.

They talked like that for what felt like hours — about everything and nothing. He asked about her favorite books, and she teased him for being shocked that she read. She made him admit he was terrible at cooking, and he confessed, in a conspiratorial whisper, that he once set fire to a toaster.

At some point, his hand found hers on the table, fingers brushing, not quite holding, just resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Neither of them noticed when the team began to stumble out, voices slurred with drink, too drunk to care about the star driver who’d disappeared into a booth with the girl no one knew.

And for once, Jameson didn’t care about the cameras that might catch them, or the headlines that might follow. All that mattered was the girl across from him, who accidentally drenched him the day previous, laughing quietly in the dim light, making him feel like himself again.

[chaos-potat]

Childhood Dreams: Lost...

Raph sat alone in his room, just staring at the ceiling from his bed, his hands behind his head and his legs crossed. His position was relaxed. He'd had a long week of running around the city and fighting. It was fun for him, but too much fun was tiring, and he was glad to be having this sort of break. He needed a break, he’d been running around without his sai, he had to use nunchucks, Splinter may as well have just asked him to learn a new language. It didn’t matter, they had swapped their weapons back and forgot to swap again when they got home, the idiots got caught red handed and their weapons taken.

His eyelids grew heavier and began to slowly close as his train of thought quietly stuttered off into a relaxing stop, suddenly Donnie slammed the door open, causing him to be torn from his relaxation with a startled jump.

“Timothy’s in trouble, he called and acted upset about something, he hung up before I could ask–” Donatello spoke quickly, seeming panicked. Raph groaned.

“He’s probably fine, Tim’s just an emotional guy.” Raph put an arm over his eyes to block the light coming from the open door and hide his rolling eyes.

Donatello sounded a bit frustrated that he wasn’t being heard out. “No, he sounded like he was panicking, like he was going to cry or something, he didn’t tell me what was going on, he just stopped suddenly... the line just cut out.” Donnie tapped his foot on the floor anxiously. He was understandably worried about his friend, who always made sure Donatello was okay. He felt guilty that he couldn’t remember the last time he asked if Tim was okay. Had he missed something perhaps? Were there signs? Tim wore his heart on his sleeve, or so he thought–he didn’t know what was going on and he didn’t like it.

Raph couldn’t brush it off. He was only really friends with Casey, even then it was on and off, but he knew Tim was worth that worry, even if he was a little strange to Raph. Raph sighed and sat up, he was hoping they didn’t need to fight anyone, for once. “I’m sure he’s okay, but let’s go and check it out, just in case.” Donatello nodded. He looked prepared but worried. He looked at his phone to make sure Tim’s location was on his map now, but the movement was clearly a faster vehicle, not the ice cream truck Tim drove. It was too fast. Donnie was even more worried now. “We should hurry then.”

. . .

Tim sat nervously. The roads were so bumpy he had almost slipped into them several times. The rope tying him to the back of the bike was too loose for his comfort. He clenched his teeth and curled his legs to hold on as he scooted closer to the driver of the bike. He had never seen these mutants before, but he had heard of them from Donnie—he had described the fish and dog, but he had failed to convey how terrifying they really were. Tim tried to lighten the mood a bit but he wasn’t feeling his best after the fight with his mom.

Tim laughed nervously. “So, is being a, uh, mutant very fun?” He had to raise his voice a bit to be heard over the motor.

The large dog mutant driving the motorcycle looked back at him with a piercing glare. “In some ways, it’s easier to recruit people like this.”

Tim smiled as normal as he could, but even he knew his fear was showing. “Recruit?”

The large fish smiled back at him with his wide mouth and sharp teeth taking up more of his face than anything else as he slowed his bike to be beside him. “More like force into submission, you will see how it is being a mutant yourself soon.” The fish chuckled as he glanced at Tim’s barely hidden terrified expression.

“What do you mean by that?” Tim’s voice quivered slightly, his smile faltering. He had always wanted to be a mutant. It seemed like fun to be visibly different since he always felt like it—if it showed he’d feel more justified for his struggles, and maybe he’d get some sort of power to wash away his fears. But he had seen Donnie’s struggle with it for years…it sounded so lonely, and he hated the stories of people running from Raph and Donnie in fear, sometimes trying to hurt them.

The dog mutant growled at the fish, snapping Tim from his thoughts. “Xever, don’t tell him, I wanted to see his face when he realized what’s going on, I can’t look at him while I drive.” The dog huffed and stared at the road with a scowl. Xever rolled his eyes and kept driving his own bike, catching up to the dog mutant’s speed. “You are so dramatic, calm down, Bradford, you’ll still see the mutation, that is enough for you.”

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Full fic

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I was super excited about this one, I'm already writing more and this one's going to take a loooong time to get out. I'm a bit nervous since I haven't shown any of my writing on the internet before, I haven't really done any writing in years either. I had it proof read and edited by someone else so hopefully there aren't many errors in here Hopefully y'all enjoy this change tho!

[spicyclover]

The Racer's Victory

Y/n awaits her boyfriend Max and their desire ignites. In his private room, she undresses, teases herself, and welcomes his touch. Their sexual tension explodes in a powerful, intimate union.

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

Y/n's heart was racing, her anticipation building as she awaited the arrival of her boyfriend, Max. The young woman, with her vibrant hair, piercing blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose, had spent the entire day at the race track, but her mind hadn't been solely focused on the competition. All she could think about was Max, his strong physique encased in his racing suit, and the promise of his muscular body against hers.

As the trophy ceremony concluded, signaling Max's victory in the race, Y/n made her way to his designated driver's room, a private sanctuary amidst the bustling track. The room was dimly lit, with a subtle scent of motor oil lingering in the air. She knew Max would be brimming with adrenaline and excitement, and she intended to channel that energy into something far more intimate.

She couldn't wait any longer. The anticipation was killing her. With a mischievous smile, Y/n approached the massage table, her eyes scanning the room to ensure she was alone. Her hands trailed along the smooth surface of the table, her fingers tracing the edges as she imagined Max's powerful hands working on her body.

Slipping out of her dress, she revealed her curvaceous figure, her skin flushed with desire. She climbed onto the table, her bare skin caressing the soft surface. Her hands roamed over her body, cupping her full breasts, pinching her pink nipples until they hardened further. She let out a soft moan, her fingers dipping lower, sliding through her moist curls to find her throbbing clit.

Y/n began to rub herself against the table, her hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm. Her fingers worked their magic, circling her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She bit her lip, her breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coursed through her body. Her moans filled the room, a mixture of desire and frustration as she longed for Max's touch.

Just as her pleasure peaked, she heard the door open. It was Max, his face still flushed with victory, his dark eyes sparkling with desire as he took in the sight before him. Y/n made no move to hide herself, instead spreading her legs wider, inviting him to join her.

Max wasted no time. He strode across the room, his race suit still on, and placed his hand firmly on her pussy, feeling the heat radiating from her. He growled softly, his voice hoarse with need. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you, baby?"

Y/n nodded, her eyes locked on his. "I need you, Max. I've been dying to feel your dick inside me all day."

With swift movements, Max unzipped his suit, revealing his broad chest and toned abs. He lowered his fireproof underwear, his thick cock springing free, already hard and straining towards her. He positioned himself between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips as he guided himself into her wet heat.

He thrust into her with one powerful stroke, filling her completely. Y/n cried out, her back arching off the table as she welcomed him inside. Max pounded into her, his hips moving in a relentless rhythm, the table creaking beneath them. His breath came in hot pants, his lips brushing her neck, his beard tickling her sensitive skin.

"You feel so fucking good," he grunted, his voice raw with passion. "I love hearing you moan, Y/n."

Y/n's hands clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she matched his rhythm. She could feel her orgasm building, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge. Max's lips found her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel that tight pussy squeezing my cock."

His words sent her over the edge. Y/n's body trembled as she climaxed, her pussy clenching around him, milking his cock. Max groaned, his own release building as he thrust harder, faster, until he buried himself deep within her.

As their hearts slowed and their breathing returned to normal, Max gently disengaged from her, his cock sliding out with a wet sound. He helped Y/n off the table, his hands roaming over her body, caressing her curves. "Let's take this to the couch," he whispered, his eyes dark with desire.

Y/n smiled, her body still buzzing with post-orgasmic bliss. She led him to the small couch in the corner of the room, her movements graceful despite her wobbly knees. She straddled him, her hands resting on his broad shoulders as she lowered herself onto his hard shaft.

This time, Y/n was in control. She set a slow, teasing pace, rising and falling on his cock, her pussy gripping him tightly. Max's hands moved to her hips, guiding her movements, but she set the rhythm, her eyes never leaving his. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her lips finding his in a passionate kiss.

As she felt his cock twitch within her, signaling his impending release, Y/n had a playful idea. She tightened her thighs around him, locking him in place, and stopped moving. Max's eyes flew open, his breath catching in his throat. "What...?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse.

"Shh..." Y/n whispered, her lips close to his ear. "I want to feel you beg for it."

Max's eyes widened, his cock throbbing inside her. "Please... baby, please move," he begged, his pride momentarily forgotten. "I need to cum so bad."

Y/n smiled, her pussy muscles clenching and releasing around his sensitive cock. "Do you like that? Feeling my pussy pull on your dick?" She whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

"Fuck, yes!" Max groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "I love it... Oh, god, Y/n..."

Unable to resist any longer, Y/n began to move again, her hips rolling in slow circles, driving him wild. Max's hands found her breasts, squeezing and kneading them as he thrust up to meet her. With a final, desperate growl, he climaxed, his cock pulsating as he filled her with his hot cum.

Feeling his release, Y/n's own orgasm crashed over her. She cried out, her body shaking as waves of pleasure rippled through her. She collapsed onto his chest, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, their hearts pounding in unison.

Max chuckled softly, his hands stroking her hair. "That was incredible, but I'm not done with you yet," he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead. "I promise to take you well tonight, baby."

With a final, lingering kiss, Max stood, his cock slipping out of her with a satisfying pop. He grabbed a towel, gently cleaning her up, his touch tender and loving. "I'll be back soon," he said, his eyes holding hers. "I just need to take care of a few things."

Y/n smiled, her body sated and satisfied, as Max left the room, already planning their next passionate encounter.

[eksvaized]

Part Five

[ Previous  ]

Ghost reached across to fasten your seatbelt. He took a moment to double-check it was secure, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the buckle. His old, worn leather jacket, a second skin that had seen better days, was removed from his broad shoulders. The material carried the faint scent of motor oil, smoke, and his cologne. He gently draped it over your slender shoulders, the leather slightly rough against your skin.

His brown eyes tried to meet yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze, a silent plea for you to meet his eyes. But you stubbornly refused to look at him, choosing instead to keep your gaze fixed on the speckled night sky, the twinkling stars offering a temporary escape from the tense atmosphere.

Eventually, he conceded defeat, his shoulders sagging as he let out an inaudible sigh. He muttered something under his breath - the words indistinct and laced with an undercurrent of frustration that you chose to ignore.

With one last glance in your direction, he climbed into the driver’s seat. The door closed with a harsh, echoing slam that cut through the silent night, leaving a ringing in your ears. He started the engine, and the truck roared to life.

In the midst of the palpable tension, you felt an undeniable reluctance to be the one to shatter the silence that wrapped around you like a cocoon. The world seemed to whirl and spin dizzyingly around you. Your mind was a tumultuous sea, still reeling, overflowing with a torrent of unanswered questions that incessantly screamed for answers. It was an avalanche of emotions, too much to comprehend, too overwhelming to fully digest.

Amid your inner chaos, Ghost seemed to become aware of your discomfort. His rough, battle-hardened hand found its way to your thigh, the icy chill of your skin seeping into his touch. Without uttering a single word, he stretched his hand, his fingers grazing away from your leg, reaching over to the dashboard, and turned on the heat.

“You are not getting out of this truck until we speak,” he declared, his voice stern but laced with concern, before shifting the vehicle into gear and starting driving, the hum of the engine serving as a steady background noise.

You pressed your lips together tightly—a clear symbol of your stubborn resistance. His words echoed in your mind as you watched him from the corner of your eye. You made a silent vow to yourself to remain mute, to not let a single sentence escape your lips. A vow to keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself, locked away where they couldn’t be scrutinized or judged.

But even as you stubbornly clung to your silence, you found it hard to ignore him entirely. The man sitting next to you, his presence, was too commanding, too overwhelming, too difficult to overlook. His frame seemed to fill the inside of the truck, making it impossible for you to forget that he was there, igniting a sense of awareness you wished you could dismiss. His existence was a force you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried.

His hands were firmly clasped around the steering wheel, fingers pressing into the worn leather as he maneuvered the vehicle through the gravel roads. He rolled down the window, the cool breeze of the night slipping in to replace the previously stagnant air. Reaching into his pants’ pocket, he retrieved a pack of cigarettes, drawing out a single, well-rolled stick.

The warm glow of his lighter momentarily illuminated the inside of the truck, casting shadows across his concentrated features. His eyebrows were furrowed, lips parted slightly as he brought the flame to the end of the cigarette, lighting it with a soft sizzle. He inhaled deeply, drawing the smoke into his lungs and flooding his senses with the familiar, comforting taste. The smoke danced and twirled in the small, enclosed space, curling up towards the roof.

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, his gaze drifting towards the open window. He exhaled, releasing the smoke and watching as the wind swept away it. Your hand extended towards him, a silent request hanging in the air between you. Your eyes met, locking onto each other.

He held your gaze, his full attention now directed at you. His eyes were intense, almost captivating, and you found yourself glancing away, towards the front window. Your heart raced within your chest, your anxiety peaking as you ensured the truck was still moving in a straight line.

Only then, with a small, teasing smirk playing on his lips, did he pass the cigarette to you. His fingers brushed against yours, the touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary before he peeled his eyes away from your gaze and turned his attention back to the road.

“Is what you said at the bar true?” Ghost asked, his eyes piercing you as you avoided his gaze. A moment of intense deliberation followed, your mind engaged in an internal tug-of-war over the correct response. You found yourself torn between wanting to lie and knowing you couldn’t do it convincingly. Persuading him that your words weren’t just the drunken ramblings of someone who’d had too much to drink seemed impossible. You knew no amount of eloquent reasoning or earnest pleading would convince him. So instead, you chose for a nonverbal response, nodding your head in confirmation while still remaining steadfast in your silence.

You had finished smoking your cigarette—the one you stole from him—yet the nicotine hadn’t done enough to quell your jangled nerves. One stick was simply not enough. So, you turned to face him, your hand seeking his leg for stability as you fished the pack of smokes from his pocket. He looked down at you, a look of bafflement etched on his face, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Ghost produced a lighter and lit the cigarette for you once you’d placed it between your lips.

“If you want to get over me, you should first try to get under me,” Ghost suggested, his words catching you off guard. “You are doing things backwards, doll.”

In that moment, you blinked in surprise, your mind racing and scrambling in an attempt to process the words you’d just heard. Could you have possibly heard him correctly? You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat as you inhaled another long drag. The smoke filled your lungs. You could feel his eyes on you, boring into the side of your head with an intensity that was almost too much to bear. His impatience for your response was palpable, hanging in the air between you like a thick fog. Yet, he didn’t care about the potential consequences of his words.

He was well aware that his forwardness may have crossed an unseen line, that he might have ventured into territory that was not his to claim. He knew that there was a very real chance you might lash out at him. But the truth was, he didn’t care. He was prepared to face any backlash, any storm that might come his way. You could have called him any name, accused him of any wrongdoing, and he would have accepted it all. Because in the end, all he wanted was to hear your voice again, to let the sound of it fill the silence that had stretched out for far too long.

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” you finally found the strength to respond, your voice barely audible, breaking the silence that had settled between you. It was a whisper, trembling in the air, carrying more emotion than you ever thought possible.

The hope you had tried so hard to crush, to discard as nothing more than a delusion, rekindled inside you. It was a small flame, barely visible, but it was there - flickering, dancing, warming your insides. It churned your stomach, twisted your thoughts, and caused an unsettling flutter in your heart. It suggested, whispered in the smallest voice, that perhaps you were wrong. Perhaps you had misunderstood his sentiments, misinterpreted his intentions. Maybe, just maybe, his feelings for you were not as indifferent as you had previously thought.

Ghost maneuvered the truck into a desolate and seemingly abandoned parking lot. The deafening sound of the tires crunching against the loose gravel resonated in the silent night as the vehicle came to an abrupt, jarring stop, sending a ripple of unease through your body. A wrinkle formed on your forehead as you furrowed your brows, your eyes darting around the unfamiliar, eerily quiet area.

Your confusion was etched clearly on your face, impossible to hide, as you turned to face him. His inscrutable expression gave nothing away, adding to your rising anxiety. Your mind raced, trying to piece together his puzzling actions and figure out his intentions. You were trapped in a whirlwind of curiosity and apprehension, trying to understand why he had brought you to such a desolate place.

He unlocked the doors with a soft click; the sound echoing in the night. Seizing the moment, you reached down to retrieve your discarded heels from the truck’s floor and put them back on. Without hesitation, you swung open the heavy door, which creaked slightly from the movement. Stepping out onto the cold, gravel-strewn concrete, you felt the full brunt of the biting chill of the wind. It was like a slap to your senses, the icy gusts a stark contrast to the warm interior of the truck you had just left behind.

His jacket, which was draped over your frame, was the only barrier against the relentless, biting chill of the wind. The thick material felt heavy and comforting around your shoulders, a protective layer between you and the harsh elements. You pulled it tighter around yourself, the aroma of his cologne still lingering on the fabric. The leather material, worn and familiar, provided a small but welcome shield from the frigid gusts.

 “What are we doing here?” You asked, your voice barely audible over the howling wind. The vow you had made to yourself to maintain silence had already been shattered, and you reasoned that one more question wouldn’t make much of a difference.

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on you as you made your way around the truck. You positioned yourself in front of its blinding headlights, their radiant glow casting long shadows behind you. The question hung in the air once more, ringing in the vast emptiness of the lot. “Why did we stop, Ghost?”

Exhaustion was starting to set in. The events of the day had drained you physically and mentally, and all you longed for was the comfort of your bed and the escape sleep would provide. However, it seemed Ghost had other plans, and your desired rest would have to wait.

Out of nowhere, as if materializing from the shadows, Ghost appeared behind you. His chest collided with your back. His calloused, yet warm hands navigated to the small of your waist, their presence both comforting and alarming. As his leather jacket slid off your shoulders, his body leaned in closer, the smell of his cologne mingling with the crisp night air. His breath, cool against your heated skin, sent shivers down your spine before he placed a soft, tantalizing kiss on your exposed shoulder, the sensation leaving you breathless.

His mouth then began a slow, torturous journey upward, his lips brushing your skin so lightly it was as if he was barely there, each touch igniting your nerves like a match to dry tinder. His fingers dug into the fabric of your dress, their grip firm yet not overly so. You were left speechless, your mind racing to comprehend what had sparked this sudden change in his usually reserved demeanor. Yet, as your heart pounded in your chest, you realized you didn’t want this moment to end. You remained rooted to the spot, frozen by the fear that any sudden movement on your part would cause him to withdraw. You held your breath, not daring to so much as twitch a muscle, captivated by the electrifying tension.

“The overwhelming urge to feel the warmth of your skin against my own made it impossible for me to continue driving,” he confessed in a hushed whisper, his voice husky with desire. One of his hands drifted upward, tucking a stray lock of your hair behind your ear gently. “I know you want to get over me, but we’ve already established that you’re going about it all wrong, doll. So I decided to help and show you the correct way to do it.”

He spun you around. His hands slipped down the curve of your sides, tracing the outline of your figure before settling on your thighs. Your body reacted to his touch, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. In one swift, calculated movement, he lifted you up. The sudden action caused your arms to instinctively wrap around his broad shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his shirt for support. His strength was evident in the ease with which he held you, his muscles rippling beneath your touch.

He took a couple of steps forward. His destination was the parked truck, illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon. He gently placed you on the cool, metallic surface of the truck’s hood, the cold seeping into your flesh, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Despite the change in position, he continued to stand between your legs. His tall figure casting a shadow over you. His eyes, so intense and full of emotion, never left your face, as if he was trying to memorize every feature.

His calloused fingers cupped your chin, tilting your head up so your eyes met his. His gaze was soft yet unwavering, a silent promise of his intentions. It was as if the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you in this moment.

“Before you make any hasty decisions, let me give you a small taste of what you’ll be giving up if you decide to cast me aside.” His gaze lowered, focusing intently on your lips. “I bet I can make you change your mind.”

Caught in a state of stunned silence, you could do nothing more than offer a head nod. His fingers traced a path along your jaw, their trail continuing down to graze lightly against your neck. His other hand remained firmly placed on your thigh, subtly pushing up the fabric of your dress, causing it to gather just slightly higher than before.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you reached up with trembling fingers and carefully pushed his balaclava up over his face. You didn’t dare to remove it fully, choosing instead to expose only his lips and the bridge of his nose. It was a testament to the lingering traces of your apprehension.

Ghost was tempted, desperate to make the first move, to claim your lips with a kiss that was long overdue. However, as much as he yearned to do so, he held back his urge, electing instead to let you dictate the pace. He was resolute in not rushing anything, adamant to let the moment unfold naturally, organically between the two of you, as if time itself had slowed down for this very instance.

As he kept his gaze steady, his eyes locked onto yours. You slowly leaned in, bridging the distance between the two of you. His scent wafted into your nostrils - a peculiar yet intoxicating blend of cigarettes, the familiar smell of worn leather, and a hint of mint. This unique concoction sent your senses spiraling, your head spinning in a delightful swirl of emotions.

As you reached out to touch his face, your fingers gently cupping his cheeks, he responded with a few slow, deliberate blinks. His eyes, once a piercing gaze, darkened noticeably - as if your cool touch had ignited a spark deep within the recesses of his soul, awakening something profound and previously dormant.

Leaning in even closer, your lips brushed against his, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. “Don’t play with me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice holding a firm yet gentle tone. It took all of his strength not to close the remaining distance between you two.

“Don’t be desperate, Simon,” you retorted, a playful smirk gracing your lips. It was the first time you had addressed him by his name, and the way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue made him ache to hear it again.

In the depths of his mind, his thoughts began to spiral, swirling with vivid imagery and intense anticipation. He found himself lost in a daydream, envisioning the sound of your voice. He imagined how it would echo softly through his room, tangled between the sheets of his bed. The mere thought of you calling out his name, in those quiet hushed whispers and breathy moans, sent shivers down his spine. You’d be there, with him, not caring about the world beyond the four walls of his room, not bothering about who might hear your shared euphoria. His name, spoken by you, would be the only sound that mattered.

You finally yielded and pressed your lips against his. The kiss started softly, like a gentle whisper, with a sweetness that lingered in the air. Time seemed to slow down even more, as you both savored each moment. The hunger within you grew, igniting a desperate longing. As your bodies pressed closer, the intensity heightened. His hands slid beneath your jacket, exploring every curve, searching for the spots that made you tremble beneath his fingertips. The kiss only ended when the need for air became overwhelming, your lungs burning for release. Ghost would have never pulled away if it weren’t for you.

You pressed your forehead against his. Your eyes were shut tight, as if trying to keep the outside world at bay, while you internally battled to regulate your breathing.

The impending conversation was inevitable. You had to confront the elephant in the room and discuss the question that had been lingering in the air - ‘what are we now?’. You knew avoidance was not an option. But this kiss had to mean something, right? It couldn’t have been just a spur-of-the-moment thing. It was too intense, too real.

But after what had just happened, the line had been crossed, and there was no turning back—there was no way either of you could ever go back to being ... just friends.

A/N: thank you for reading this story! it was the first cod fanfic I ever wrote, so it was very fun to edit and rewrite it. :) i'd love to see what you think about it, whether you loved it or hated haha. & thank you for everyone who previously commented--all the feedback kept me motivated to work!! <3

[nurse-floyd]

Heatwaves

Request: Danny x reader who’s also a driver and she’s sick but doesn’t want anyone to know because she doesn’t want to sit out. Danny finds out and doesn’t want her to race but she pushes through and races anyway. Maybe something like the Quatar GP where the heat makes her sick? Thank you!!

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Warnings: mentions of throwing up, sickness, car crash, minor hospital mention.

The sun was fucking hot, like hell level burning and sweating hot. The sun beat down on the track and you wondered how the hell you were all going to compete if the warm weather kept up throughout the weekend. You walked into the paddock hand in hand with Danny, waving at the photographers and journalists that were there to capture all the drivers arriving for Qualifying. Despite your appearance and demeanor, you felt awful. You’d felt sick the last few days but pushed it to the side and managed to get through the first few free practices, thinking it was either something you’d eaten or jet lag.

Danny had noticed despite your best efforts to hide it. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine Danny,” you insisted as you made your way to your motor home for the weekend. “I’m just tired, this jet lag is killer.”

He glanced at you for a moment longer as he studied you, “all I’m saying is, maybe just consider sitting out for the rest of the weekend if you still feel like this tomorrow, yeah?”

You gave him a small smack for even thinking that, “yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. Besides, the teams counting on me,” you replied as you went about unpacking your things.

Despite you pushing him off, Danny still made the effort to check on between the last of his team meetings and media duties, unable to shake off his concern. He found you curled up on the sofa of your driver's room, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead despite the cool air conditioning blowing in the room, completely drained from qualifying. He knelt by your side and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, “sweetheart?”

You stirred from your sleep, your eyes fluttering open as you saw Danny leaning over you, “what are you doing here?”

“Checking in on you and I’m glad I did, you look awful,” he replied, concern evident in his voice.

You tried to push him off once more, moving to sit up but as soon as you moved a wave of nausea came over you and had you running to the trash can in the corner of the room. You just about made it there before you were violently throwing up and retching.

Danny was close behind you, holding your hair out of your face and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Sweetheart, you need to rest. The team will understand.”

Tears of frustration welled in your eyes as you leaned back against Danny, utterly exhausted, “but…they’re counting on me,” you gasped between sobs. Usually you weren’t so emotional. You blamed the illness.

Danny looked down at you in his arms, his eyes filled with concern. “Your health comes first. Not your team. I can talk to them, but you’re not driving in this condition. This is why we have reserve drivers.”

You knew there was no point in arguing with him and truth be told, you knew he was right. Danny left you on the sofa as he went to speak to your team manager and came straight back to your room to get you back to the hotel to rest. You were frustrated, but you knew he was right and who knew, maybe you’d feel better after a good night's sleep.

As it turned out, after a cool shower, some food and a good night sleep you felt a million times better. Your nausea was almost gone and you were determined to prove yourself on the track. After a message with your team manager informing them you’d be racing. Danny, although still apprehensive about you competing in the race was relieved to at least see you looking more like yourself.

“Promise me you won’t overdo it today,” he warns with a kiss to your cheek as you both got ready to go your separate ways and get ready for the day.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips, “promise” you hold your pinky out for him to shake, something you’d always done when you promised each other something.

At the track you both separated and went about your duties for the day, you met up again for the track walk and for the national anthem, standing next to him as the music played.

As the race began, you quickly found yourself falling into the familiar rhythm of the track. You focussed on the beeps and voices of your engineer in your ear and the track ahead. That, along with the adrenaline from the race pushed all feelings of discomfort or illness out of your mind. You were in your element, wanting nothing more than to push yourself and be on that podium.

As the laps wore on, the adrenaline seemed to fade. The heat was unbareable. The familiar fatigue and nausea came creeping back in and your vision blurred slightly at the edges, but you shook it off.

“Y/N, how’re you holding up?” Your engineers voice came through your earpieces.

“Uh, fine for now,” you lied.

“Seargent is out. Heatstroke. Albon and Tsunoda are struggling too.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking hot out here. How can we race like this?” you complained.

It was true, it was excruciatingly hot outside, let alone in the cockpit with the heat of the engine. The final few laps were agony, you could feel the sweat dripping in your helmet as your condition deteriorated further. Your breathing was laboured and you could just about make out your engineers voice through the haze. The dark spots at the edge of your vision encroached further. The grip on your steering wheel weakened but you knew you had to push on, just a few more laps and you’d be in that ice bath.

As you rounded a tight corner of the track, your car skidded and you failed to keep control of the vehicle as the tires screeched and you careened into the wall. It felt as though the world was in slow motion as your car slammed into the barriers and came to a jarring halt.

“Y/N, are you okay?” your engineers voice crackled through the radio.

But you just couldn’t gather the strength to reply.

Meanwhile, Danny had been having a good race. He was struggling in the heat along with the other drivers but being Australian and suffering through many heatwaves and summers, for once it was playing in his favor.

“Red flag, Daniel. Red flag,” came his race engineer's voice.

“Who?” He responded, already feeling a pit in his stomach, instinctively knowing it was you.

“Y/N…” came his engineers response.

He wanted nothing more than to speed around the track to find you, but pulled into the pit lane to join the other divers. Danny scrambled out of his car and ran towards your team's garage to watch on the screens and get any news he could about your condition.

The medical team had already pulled up at your side, the lead medic climbing on top of your car to check you were still alive. You just about managed to give him a thumbs up before the last of your energy was sapped and you drifted into unconsciousness.

Moments later the team had you extricated from the wreckage and you were rushed towards the medical center. Danny pushed through the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest as he raced to be by your side.

Once you’d been finally cleared by the medics, Danny was allowed back to see you. He sighed, his eyes brimming with tears as he saw you attached to monitors and drips, you looked so small and fragile lying in that bed.

‘Severe heat exhaustion,’ the doctor had informed him.

You were lucky. Lucky you weren’t worse off from the heat stroke and lucky the crash wasn’t any worse. He took the seat by your side and took your hand, squeezing your hand, “I’m here sweetheart.”

The first thing you registered through the haze was a warm hand in yours. Slowly, you blinked your eyes open, squinting against the harsh and bright lights of the room. Your eyes met Danny’s, god he looked utterly exhausted.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out, a single tear rolled down your cheek as you looked at him.

“Don’t be,” came his reply, his voice filled with emotion, “you’re okay and that’s all that matters.”

“What happened?” you asked, unclear of the events. You didn’t remember much after the first few laps and the extreme heat of the cockpit.

“The conditions out there were brutal. We shouldn’t have been racing, it wasn’t safe for any of us.

“I thought it was because I was sick?”

“The heat was the main issue, the doctor said you have heatstroke. Any longer and it could have been a lot worse. Besides, you’re not the only one, Logan’s being treated for severe dehydration, Pierre threw up in his helmet and a few of the others look like shit after that race.”

You grimaced a little, “well at least I didn’t do that.”

That caused him to let out a chuckle. ”You tried your best and that is all anyone could have asked of you. The main thing is, you’re safe.”

You nodded weakly, “thank you, for being here and putting up with me and my stubborn ass.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

With him by your side you could rest easy, you’d make that podium next time.

[theloveoffootball10]

sᴛɪᴄᴋᴡɪᴛᴜ - ᴛ ᴡ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʏ ɴ ɪ ɴ ᴇ

s e r i e s m a s t e r l i s t / c o m p l e t e m a s t e r l i s t

ᴛ ᴡ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʏ ɴ ɪ ɴ ᴇ

Falling asleep and waking up with Lando are probably two of my favourite things in the world. The warmth of his body next to me. His arm lazily resting across my hip. His soft snores when he's not talking in his sleep. It all feels very normal. When we're in bed like this he's just Lando. He's not the formula one driver everyone loves to have an opinion about. He's just my Lando.

"You have that look on your face what you pull when you're thinking. What's on your mind?" Lando mumbles one eye half open.

"You. I just love when we're like this. It's just us and there's no expectations. I get to just enjoy being with you and no one needing your attention for anything else" I knew what I was getting into with Lando, I've never been oblivious to that but when so many people demand his attention for media or fans or whatever it may be on a daily basis I appreciate being able to have these moments alone.

"I know you aren't a morning person but it's nice to just relax and not have a reason to get out of bed. It's been amazing having you in Monaco, I didn't realise how much I needed it until you were stood in my apartment. It wasn't a hotel. It wasn't a motor home or drivers room. It's my home and that means more to me than anything else".

"Lando I'll be here as much as you want me to be here. I've loved being here with you as well. It just feels like it's meant to be. I would love to stay in bed with you but we have a busy day. I need to arrange everything for Liv and Max's gender reveal" after brainstormings for a few hours I came up with what I think is the perfect way for them to find out if their baby is a boy or girl. I have the envelope so I could technically look but I want to find out with them.

"I still can't believe they're having a baby its wild"

"I know! Who would have thought them meeting in Belgium would lead to this. I need to shower and get ready for today I'll be as quick as I can" walking into Lando's bathroom I lock the door knowing Lando is likely to follow me. Normally I'd happily share a shower with him but I am a woman on a mission today. I loosely curl my hair and apply my make up in the bathroom before opening the door to allow Lando in.

"Fuck me baby you look stunning" Lando looks genuinely surprised at my appearance and I have no idea why. I've done nothing different.

"Thanks babe. You seem surprised" I stand leaning against the door frame of the bathroom as Lando brushes his teeth.

"I'm not surprised, you always look stunning but there's just something about the way you look today" feeling Lando pick me up and throw me over his should I can't help but laugh as I'm thrown on the bed "I need you. You've given me a semi just looking as good as you do"

"Lando..." I can't even argue as I feel Lando's lips on mine. He's always affectionate but I don't know what has got into him today.

"Baby I just need to eat you out" who turned my boyfriend into a teenage boy? Feeling my legs spread and my underwear pulled to the side I don't stop Lando. I have a list as long as my arm to do today but I want this from Lando as much as he wants to give it.

"Please Lando, I need you" my words are all it takes to feel Lando's fingers tracing my slit and his tongue teasing my clit. He's holding me down with his spare hand leaving me a moaning mess on the bed underneath him.

"You two are so loud when you start" Liv says to me as we're stood in Lando's kitchen ready to leave and my cheeks heat up with embarrassment "it's a wonder that I'm the pregnant one not you"

"I'm so sorry. You didn't need to hear any of that" I would say it'll never happen again but I'm never going to be quiet when Lando is giving me multiple orgasms with his fingers and tongue alone.

"It's nice to see you so in love so I'm not going to complain just don't wake me up when you're so loud and we're good. Plus Lando had let us stay here so I can’t complain" Liv says with a laugh knowing I'm dying inside. We all know it happens but no one wants to hear anyone having sex.

"Are you okay driving? You know where we're going and I know you hate when I drive" I ask Lando as he joins us in the kitchen knowing how dramatic he is when I drive us anywhere.

"Yeah I'm driving. I don't think I'd survive a car journey in Monaco with you" rolling my eyes I hand Lando the keys to his Lamborghini Urus so we can all travel together.

"Okay drama queen. Liv are you both ready?" I ask picking my phone and bag up knowing we need to leave soon.

"Yeah we're both ready. I'm nervous to find out" Liv tells me as we walk to the car and I can only imagine how she feels.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?" I ask knowing everyone usually has a preference.

"I honestly don't think I'm bothered Lucía. I think I'll be happy with either but I know Max would love a boy but I think that's just a man thing isn't it? Did you look in the envelope?"

"Nope. I was tempted but then I changed my mind. I want to find out with you and Max" our conversation continues as Lando drives us through the streets of Monaco towards Monte Carlo golf club. I know Liv and Max are both confused as no one is dressed for golf and neither of the boys have their golf clubs.

"Are we playing golf mate? You could have said!" Max is gutted I can tell.

"Max he didn't know. I only told him when we left the apartment where we were going. He has no idea what I have planned" I can't let Max blame Lando for the lack of golf prep considering he didn't know. Today isn't about them playing a round of golf.

As Lando parks the car we pile out and into a golf cart. I may have had to pull the Alonso card and possibly the Lando card to pull this off but it's going to be worth it. The golf club have closed a section of the course for us that is out of everyone else's way. I want this to be about our friends, not people realising Lando is at the golf course.

"Why are you driving?" Lando asks expecting me to let him drive the golf cart "You're never allowed to drive when we're together"

"You drove here but now I'm the only one who knows where we need to be" I say with a shrug as I drive us around the course.

"This is almost criminal driving around the course and not playing a round of golf" Max complains as we pass every hole on the course.

"Max don't complain, you have no golf clubs with you. We're here for a purpose" I say pulling up to the quietest spot on the golf course where the team have absolutely nailed my vision in such a short space of time.

I didn't want anything too over the top but the small set up of a golf cart cut out, pink and blue balloons with a backdrop reading 'boy or girl with will our caddy be?' Is perfect. It's big enough for us to make a celebration but not too over the top when it's only the four of us here. The views behind us are incredible of the sea in the distance and the sun is shining.

"This is perfect! It looks so good! Lucía you've pulled this off to a point I didn't think you would! I was thinking just a balloon with confetti when I asked you to arrange something"

"Liv I've never done things by halves, I'm not about to start now" walking behind the back drop I grab the golf club that is now engraved with 'baby Fewtrell' handing it to Max "you have a few practice shots first then the golf ball printed with the baby footprints is the one that has coloured powder in it. I have my phone on the tripod recording, go ahead whenever you're both ready" leaving Max and Liv to have a few moments with each other I feel Lando wrap his arms around me from behind.

"You've done amazing to pull this off. It looks incredible, we're all lucky to have you in our lives you know that right?"

"I've only done what Liv would have done for me if it was the other way around. What do you think, boy or girl?" I turn my head to look at Lando as I'm stood in his arms. I know regardless he's going to be an amazing uncle. He's already amazing with Mila and Athena and they adore him.

"I think girl. I can see Max being a girl dad but I know he'd love a boy as well"

"I think boy but you know my thoughts on girls" I say with a laugh as we join Liv and Max who are ready for their moment.

"Go on mate it's your chance to shine" Lando tells Max as he lines up the ball. He takes a few practice swings away from the ball before getting into position with Liv by his side. As the golf club hits the 2 inch ball I scream with joy in Lando's arms as blue power explodes around us.

"No fucking way!" Max and Liv both shout as they embrace in a hug. Our best friends are having a baby boy!

"I'm so happy for you!" I say hugging Liv then Max once they pull away from each other.

"I wanted a boy so bad I didn't want to admit it. I almost convinced myself it was a girl so I wasn't disappointed if I ended up having a girl" Liv tells us as we take in the blue power spread across the green below us "honestly Lucía I'm so thankful you arranged this for us. It's been perfect. I can't wait to share the video with my mum"

“Her and Noah are going to be so happy” hugging Liv I try not to cry and ruin my makeup. I didn’t realise just how happy I could be for someone.

A few days later we’re in Austin and it’s media day. My time in Monaco has gone so quickly I almost don’t want to return to the UK after the race. Lando and I have fallen into a perfect routine together and call me insane but I could see myself living with him. I know I have to go home after this weekend as much as I don’t want to but right now I’m joining Lando for the interviews that are open to fans.

Standing at the back of the room I want to keep out of the way and let Lando’s fans get closer to the front but I still want to be here. I’m savouring every minute I have left with him and that means being by his side at all times except when he’s in the car. As the interviewer fires quick this or that questions at Lando one in particular catches my attention.

"Do you prefer blondes or brunettes?" The interviewer asks Lando oblivious to the fact I'm in the audience.

"Blondes" Lando says with a slight laugh barely able to get his words out before the crowd around me goes wild "my girlfriend is blonde and she's in the audience so I have to say blonde or she'll kill me" this is the first time Lando has said in public that he has a girlfriend which sends the audience into meltdown and I can't help but smile at him from my place at the back of the room. A few fans have realised I'm stood where I am and smile at me but my eyes are on the man at the front of the room. My man.

“And is it true your girlfriend is Fernando Alonso’s daughter?”

“Yeah it’s true, Lucía is Fernando’s daughter” I’m interested to see where this interview is going considering it’s taken a detour from rapid fire questions.

“How does he feel about you being in a relationship with his daughter?” Talk about digging for an exclusive! Lando already knows I’m happy for him to talk about me in public but I can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t want to give too much away. We’re both enjoying our relationship as it is and we don’t want anything to change.

“He’s happy for me. I think. He hasn’t pushed me off track yet which is a good thing I guess” Lando explains making the crowd in front of him laugh. He’s got them on a string. He could say anything and they’d believe him “I’ve known Fernando a long time and I’ve always looked up to him. Hopefully he knows by now I’m a good person and will always treat Lucía with the love and respect she deserves”

“You sound like the kind of guy every dad wants for their daughter”

“I have my flaws just ask Lucía she’ll give you a list” Lando says with a laugh as he winks at me. Never mind the audience being held on a string, the man has me hanging on his every word. As the interview wraps up Lando works his way around the room taking photos with the fans until he gets to me.

“I love you y’know”’ I say wrapping ay around Lando’s neck kissing him softly.

“I know and I love you”

landonorris

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landonorris LFG! Austin I’m coming for ya 🇺🇸

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esmelucia if anyone wondered what it's like to be on your knees for Lando its a similar view to this 🤤

↪️ landonorris seriously Lu 😅

↪️ esmelucia I'm so fucking horny

↪️ landonorris you're the only one

oscarpiastri I have a girlfriend and you two make me feel single

↪️ esmelucia sucks to be u

user93 Lando and Lucía quoting Sabrina Carpenter to each other is iconic!

↪️ user68 imagine the bed chem between them!

↪️ emselucia it's even better than in my head

↪️ user93 what an absolute queen!

• • •

This isn’t proof read and it’s shockingly bad but I’m sorry it’s taken forever for me to post. I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to sit and write 🫣