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julietsf1 · 6 months ago

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A Technical Mistake - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: peaceful paddock mornings of stocking caps and shirts are flipped upside down when Franco Colapinto, a charming stranger she assumes is part of the AV crew, comes into her store and gives her weekend an unexpected turn. (7k words)

content: big misunderstanding; cute Franco; reader is a normal working girl

AN: I am such a sucker for stories with a little cinderella vibe! I was thinking of buying the blue Williams jacket on track in Brazil but it was so spenny! send me ur sugar daddies pls!

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The paddock was eerily quiet, an almost sacred calm before the storm of engines roaring, fans screaming, and journalists scrambling for the latest drama. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rubber—a smell I’d grown oddly fond of over the years.

This was my favorite time of the weekend. Before the rush, before the chaos of customers demanding sizes and colors we didn’t have, I could take a moment to breathe, to organize the merchandise store in peace.

“Me bajé del avión, voy corriendo para verte…” I sang softly, shimmying a little as I balanced a stack of Williams caps. The sound of Duki was the perfect soundtrack to my morning. The melody took over, and before I knew it, I was halfway moonwalking back to the Ferrari section, twirling a hanger between my fingers like I was starring in some kind of musical.

The song’s beat was about to drop when a voice cut through my impromptu performance.

“¿Y siempre bailás así mientras laburás, o es solo un show privado?” (Do you always dance like this while working, or is it just a private show?)

I froze mid-step, almost dropping the caps in my hands. Whipping around, my heart racing, I found myself face-to-face with a guy leaning against the doorframe. He had this ridiculous grin plastered across his face, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“¡Ah!” I yelped, clutching my chest. “Perdón, I didn’t—uh… ¿qué?” (Sorry, I didn’t—uh… what?)

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. “Te pregunté si siempre bailás así mientras laburás.” (I asked if you always dance like that while working.)

Heat crept up my neck, and I scrambled to pull myself together. “Oh, uh… sí. Quiero decir, no. Bueno, depende…” (Yes. I mean, no. Well, it depends…)

His grin widened. “No pensé que alguien en el paddock también escuchara a Duki. ¿Sabías que el último álbum es una obra maestra? La forma en que mezcla el trap con el reguetón es una locura—” (! I didn’t think anyone in the paddock listened to Duki too. Did you know his latest album is a masterpiece? The way he mixes trap with reggaeton is insane—)

“Eh, pará,” (Wait, hold up,), I interrupted, holding up a hand, feeling my brain short-circuit as I tried to keep up with his rapid Spanish. “Hablo un poco español… pero no muy bien.” (I speak a little spanish… but not very well.)

That gave him half a second of pause before he broke into laughter. “¿No muy bien? Pero me contestaste perfecto.” (Not very well? But you answered me perfectly.) His tone was teasing, but there was no malice—just genuine warmth. “Igual, perdón. A veces hablo mucho. Es que me emocioné.” (Sorry. Sometimes I talk too much. I just got excited.)

I blinked, thrown off by his sudden shift to sincerity. “No, no, está bien. Me gusta Duki también.” (No, no, it’s okay. I like Duki too.)

“¡Ah, viste!” (Ah, see!), he said, throwing his hands up in delight. “¿Cuál es tu canción favorita? Mirá, ‘Goteo’ siempre me pone de buen humor, pero ‘She Don’t Give a Fo’ es un clásico. Y si me decís que ‘Chico Estrella�� no te gusta, no sé si podemos ser amigos.” (What’s your favorite song? Look, ‘Goteo’ always puts me in a good mood, but ‘She Don’t Give a Fo’ is a classic. And if you tell me you don’t like ‘Chico Estrella,’ I don’t know if we can be friends.)

I stared at him, trying to decipher his rapid enthusiasm. I caught about half of what he said, but his energy was infectious. “Uh… ‘Chico Estrella’ es muy buena,” (‘Chico Estrella’ is very good,), I ventured cautiously, hoping I wasn’t completely misinterpreting him.

His hand went to his chest like I’d just said something profound. “Sabía que eras de las mías. Esto es destino.” (I knew you were one of mine. This is destiny.)

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “¿Siempre hablás tanto con gente que no conocés?” (Do you always talk this much to people you don’t know?)

“Solo con la gente que escucha buena música,” (Only with people who listen to good music,), he replied smoothly, then added with a wink, “Soy Franco, por cierto. Mucho gusto.” (I’m Franco, by the way. Nice to meet you.)

“Oh, eh… Y/N,” I said, shaking his outstretched hand briefly. “Mucho gusto.” (Nice to meet you.)

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was savoring the sound of it. “Bueno, ¿qué estás haciendo? ¿Preparando todo para el gran finde?” (So, what are you doing? Getting everything ready for the big weekend?)

“Sí.” I nodded, switching back to English because I knew I was about to run out of Spanish confidence. “I’m setting up the store. It’s… not super exciting.”

“¡Claro que sí!” (Of course it is!) he replied, not missing a beat. “Look at this—hats, shirts, models of cars. Very exciting.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Right. And what about you?”

“I’m here for the soundcheck,” he replied with a grin.

“Soundcheck?” I frowned. “Oh, like for the AV stuff?”

“Exactly.” His lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh. “The audio visual stuff. Very technical, very important. You know how it is.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “So why are you hanging out here instead of being ‘very technical’?”

“Because,” he said, his grin widening, “I heard someone singing Duki and thought, wow.”

“Oh my God.” I groaned, turning back to my work. “I wasn’t singing.”

“You were definitely singing.”

“And I wasn’t dancing,” I added quickly.

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “That little move you did with your feet? Totally not dancing.”

“Okay, fine!” I laughed, throwing my hands up. “I was dancing. But you’re not supposed to be here yet, so technically, you shouldn’t have seen it.”

“Technically, I shouldn’t be here at all,” he said with a shrug, “but aren’t you glad I am?”

“No, actually,” I deadpanned, though my grin gave me away.

Franco laughed, glancing at the pile of caps balanced precariously on the counter. “You’re doing heavy lifting, huh? Don’t knock over anything else.”

“That was an accident!” I protested. “The shelves are wobbly.”

“Right. The shelves are wobbly,” he nodded sagely. “Not because you panicked when someone caught you salsa dancing.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, just go do your soundcheck!”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. But seriously, next time I’m back, I expect a full choreography.”

Peeking through my fingers, I saw him give me a playful wave before stepping out. For a moment, I just stood there, trying—and failing—to fight the smile creeping onto my face.

…

The paddock was already alive with early risers: engineers carrying coffee cups larger than their heads, journalists muttering into their phones, and the occasional VIP wandering too close to restricted areas before being politely redirected. I tightened my jacket against the crisp morning air, balancing a tray of new Williams caps as I unlocked the shop.

Friday had been a whirlwind of chaos—overwhelming, exhausting, but honestly kind of fun. The memory of my unexpected visitor lingered, his laughter and that unmistakable grin replaying in my mind. Franco. I didn’t know why he stuck out so much.

I hummed as I worked, letting my playlist fill the silence of the shop. I was halfway through adjusting a tower of Ferrari shirts when his voice rang out again.

“Bizarrap now? Y/N where have you been all this time”

I jumped, narrowly avoiding knocking over the display. “Oh my God, you really need to stop sneaking up on me!”

Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, thermos in hand, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s not my fault you’re always in the middle of a dance routine when I show up.”

“Maybe if you showed up at a normal time, I wouldn’t be,” I shot back, though I couldn’t hide my grin.

“Nah, that’d be boring,” he said with a shrug, stepping inside like he belonged there. “And anyway, I was just passing by. Thought I’d check if my favorite shop manager was still here.”

“You mean the shop manager,” I corrected, setting the shirts down. “Unless you’re making house calls for all the merch shops on track now.”

Franco chuckled, unscrewing the lid of his thermos. “Only the best ones.”

My eyes flicked to the thermos, curiosity piqued. “Is that… for maté?”

“Yeah!” His face lit up like I’d just asked if he wanted to talk about his favorite thing in the world. “Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it,” I admitted. “Isn’t it like… tea?”

“Like tea?” He clutched his chest in mock offense. “You’re killing me. It’s more than tea. It’s life itself. It’s tradition. It’s community. It’s—”

“Okay, okay!” I laughed, holding up my hands. “So it is better than tea, I assume?”

Franco grinned, pulling out the gourd and bombilla. “I’m about to change your life. Want to try?”

“Sure,” I said, hesitating only briefly before taking the gourd he offered. I sipped cautiously, my expression shifting from surprise to delight. “Oh! This is actually really good.”

“See!” Franco said, looking far too pleased with himself. “I knew I liked you.”

“Right,” I said with a laugh. “Glad to have passed the test.”

“So, how was yesterday? Did the paddock treat you well?”

I groaned, leaning against the counter. “If you consider someone asking if I had Ferrari shirts in passionfruit purple treating me well, then sure.”

Franco choked on his sip, coughing through his laughter. “Passionfruit purple? What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up. “I tried to tell him we only have red, black, and white, and he told me that wasn’t his problem and I should go find some elsewhere.”

“Classic paddock VIP,” Franco said, shaking his head. “What else?”

“Oh, then there was this woman who wanted me to bedazzle her Red Bull polo. While she waited.”

“She expected you to add rhinestones? To a team shirt?” Franco asked, looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“That’s exactly what she thought,” I said, laughed. “When I said we can’t do that, she asked if I at least had Swarovski crystals on hand for her to do it herself, because she wasn’t going to her after party without extra sparkle.”

Franco joined in, leaning against the counter and shaking his head. “I don’t know how you put up with this.”

“And what about you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Any exciting AV work today?”

Franco paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You could say that. It’s a little more... hands-on today, you know?”

“Right,” I said, nodding as if I understood. “Lots of wires and soundboards, I bet. Very technical.”

“What can I say?” Franco replied, his grin widening. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly.” I gestured to the thermos. “Like carrying around fancy tea and converting clueless shop managers into maté fans.”

“Fancy tea again? Y/N, you’re killing me,” he said, clutching his chest.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Alright, alright. I’ll respect the maté. But only because it’s actually pretty good.”

“Good answer,” he said, giving me a wink.

For a moment, we just stood there, the comfortable silence punctuated by the distant hum of the paddock coming to life.

“You know,” Franco said finally, glancing at his watch, “I should probably get going. Qualifying’s not going to prepare itself.”

“Oh, right. Your very important AV duties,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Exactly.” He lingered for a second longer before turning toward the door. “Don’t let anyone ask you for passionfruit purple hats today.”

“No promises,” I called after him.

As the door swung shut behind him, I found myself smiling again. There was something about Franco—something easy and infectious—that made my day feel a little lighter.

…

In the evening the paddock got quiet, the hum of activity winding down as the sun dipped below the horizon. Most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving behind the faint sounds of tools clinking in garages and muted laughter from hospitality suites above.

I finished wiping down the counter, my eyes scanning the shelves for anything out of place. There was still inventory to complete, but for now, the stillness felt like a small victory.

I was halfway through adjusting a rack of shirts when a voice broke the silence.

“You haven’t closed the shop yet?”

I turned, heart skipping a beat, to see Franco leaning against the doorframe. His hoodie and cap cast his face in partial shadow, but his green eyes were unmistakable, glinting with mischief.

“You again?” I said, a laugh bubbling up despite my surprise. “What is this, your evening shift?”

“Exactly,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Someone’s gotta make sure everything’s in order.”

“Right,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Because you’re clearly the expert on retail management.”

Franco grinned, brushing past me to inspect the hats on display. “You’re doing a great job, by the way. Everything looks very... symmetrical.”

“Thanks for the expert feedback,” I said, laughing. “Shouldn’t you be doing something important right now? Like, I don’t know, AV things?”

“Done for the day,” he said, casually flipping a hat onto its stand. “And anyway, I couldn’t just walk by without saying hi.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed, though the warmth creeping into my cheeks betrayed me.

Franco leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping over my setup. “So, how’s it going? Any more requests for glitter shirts?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” I said, laughing. “Someone asked if I had a distressed Mercedes hoodie for them. ‘Rick Owens’ vibe was what they said, I believe.”

Franco snorted, shaking his head. “And what did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t think team-approved merch came pre-ripped,” I replied. “They asked if I had scissors.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “You’re a stronger person than me. I’d have handed them the scissors and said, ‘Go for it.’”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, grinning.

As we talked, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by the effortless rhythm of our banter. He had this way of making me feel at ease, even when I was convinced he was only here to tease me.

Eventually, I glanced at the clock. “Alright, I need to lock up.”

“Let me help,” Franco offered, already moving to grab a stray box of caps.

“You don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he said, flashing me a playful grin. “What kind of company would I be if I didn’t pitch in?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue, watching as he stacked the box neatly against the wall.

“Thanks,” I said as I double-checked the locks.

“No problem,” he replied, leaning casually against the door. “So... do you ever get to enjoy the race, or are you always stuck in here?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I can hear the cars and feel the atmosphere, which is cool, but I’m usually too busy to watch.”

He raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Wanna change that?”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase. “The garage should still be open.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “The garage? I don’t think I’m allowed over there. Are you even allowed there?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his grin widening. “You’re with me. No one’s going to stop us.”

“Franco…”

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Live a little.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I sighed and followed him, my heart racing as we crossed the paddock.

The Williams garage was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling paddock outside. The bright fluorescent lights highlighted every polished surface, and the sleek car sat in the middle of the space like a centerpiece in a gallery. It felt strangely intimate, with no engineers or team members left. I hesitated just outside the entrance, my nerves catching up with me now that we were here.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, clutching my bag tightly. “It’s... empty.”

“That’s the best part,” Franco replied, his grin widening as he gestured for me to follow him inside. “No one to stop us.”

I paused, glancing around the pristine space. “I don’t know... This feels like trespassing.”

“It’s not trespassing if I’m the one who brought you,” he said, walking backward as if to coax me forward. “Come on. Live a little.”

I sighed but couldn’t fight back my smile as I followed him in, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the shiny floor. The atmosphere was surreal, and the closer we got to the car, the more my awe grew. I’d seen Formula 1 cars on TV, in pictures, even on the paddock screens—but standing next to one was an entirely different experience.

Franco smirked, gesturing toward the car. “Look here,” he said, crouching slightly to point out the edge of the floorboard. “See how the side pods curve in? That’s for cooling. Air flows through there to keep the engine temperature stable. Without it, you’re toast by lap ten.”

I leaned closer, my brow furrowing as I followed his line of sight. “So... it’s like a high-tech air conditioner for the car?”

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening. “Though we call it aero. Sounds cooler, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Very fancy.”

Franco stood and walked toward the rear wing, beckoning me to follow. “And this—this is where all the magic happens.”

I trailed after him, folding my arms as he gestured to the intricate structure of the wing. “Let me guess. It’s, uh, what keeps the car from flying off the track?”

“Close,” Franco said, clearly enjoying my attempt. “It’s all about downforce. The rear wing pushes the car into the track so we can go faster through corners. Too little, and you’re skidding all over the place. Too much, and you’re slower on the straights. It’s a balancing act.”

My eyes flicked to the faintly scuffed surface of the wing. “Is that why it looks so... fragile? Like one bump and it’ll fall apart?”

Franco chuckled. “It’s tougher than it looks. But yeah, you don’t want to crash into someone—or something. The engineers would cry.”

I laughed, picturing an entire team of engineers in despair over a dented wing. “So, you actually know what all this stuff does?”

“Of course,” Franco said, his tone almost offended but playful.

“I mean, for an AV guy, you’re awfully... knowledgeable,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

He paused, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Let’s just say I pay attention.”

“This is insane,” I whispered, taking in all the intricate details of the car again. “It’s... beautiful.”

Franco chuckled. “That’s one way to describe it. Most people just say, ‘Fast.’”

“Well, it’s that too,” I said, shooting him a look. “But seriously... It’s like art.”

“Art that goes over 300 kilometers per hour,” he said, his grin softening. “Wanna sit in it?”

I froze, turning to him with wide eyes. “What? No. I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Franco said, already moving toward the cockpit. “Come on, it’s not going to bite.”

I hesitated, glancing between him and the car. There was something in his expression—playful, but also genuinely encouraging—that made me relent. “Fine. But if anyone finds out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, helping me climb in.

The cockpit was snug—far tighter than I’d expected—and I felt awkward as I tried to maneuver my legs into position. Once I was settled, I placed my hands on the steering wheel cautiously, my heart racing.

“This feels... surreal,” I said, staring at the wheel.

“You look like a pro already,” Franco said, crouching beside the car with his phone in hand.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned, catching the gleam in his eyes.

“Too late,” he said, snapping a picture before I could protest.

“Franco!”

“What?” he said innocently, holding up the photo for me to see. “Look, it’s a good angle. Very Instagram-worthy.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look cool,” he corrected, saving the photo. “But don’t worry—I’ll send it to you. For your mom, obviously.”

I laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Oh yeah, because my mom’s dying to see me breaking rules in the paddock.”

“She’ll be proud,” Franco said, standing up. “Here, try this.”

He handed me a helmet, which I reluctantly placed on my head. It was far too big, wobbling precariously as I adjusted the strap.

“Okay, this is worse,” I said, my voice muffled by the helmet. “I look like a bobblehead.”

Franco burst out laughing, doubling over as he tried to steady himself. “You’re not wrong, but it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

“Definitely,” he said, snapping another picture before I could stop him.

“You’re actually the worst, you know that?” I said, reaching to swat the phone from his hand, but he dodged easily.

“Admit it,” he teased, slipping the phone into his pocket. “You’re having fun.”

I paused, the weight of the helmet making me grin. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” Franco said, setting the phone down. “That’s the point.”

As we wandered back toward the front of the garage, I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder at the car one last time. It felt like I’d just stepped into another universe, one far removed from the chaos of my usual day.

“Thanks for this,” I said quietly. “It was... unexpected. In a good way.”

“Anytime,” Franco said, his smile genuine. “Next time, we’ll take it for a spin.”

I snorted. “Yeah, no thanks. I like having a license.”

…

My phone buzzed in my pocket as we reached the door to the paddock’s outer corridor. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen: my colleague’s name lighting up in bold letters.

“Oh shoot,” I said, answering quickly. “Hey, yeah, sorry! I’m on my way now.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently as I finished the call.

“Forgot I’m carpooling,” I explained as I tucked my phone away. “I’m supposed to meet my colleague Alicia in the parking lot, like... five minutes ago.”

“Lucky for you, I know the way,” Franco said with a grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, even as I fell into step beside him.

“I insist,” he said, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets. “It’s dangerous out there. You might get mobbed by someone asking for sapphire-blue polos again.”

I laughed. “Good point. Better bring backup.”

We walked together through the quiet paddock, the sounds of the race weekend fading into the background. Franco’s pace was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world, and I found myself relaxing despite the mild panic of running late.

“So,” Franco said after a beat, “what’s the plan? Dinner, sleep, and back to the chaos tomorrow?”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “I’ll probably be dreaming about misplaced hats and impossible customer requests.”

“Sounds thrilling,” he teased, glancing over at me.

“Oh, it’s a dream come true,” I joked.

When we reached the parking lot, I slowed, turning toward him. “Thanks for walking me. You didn’t have to, but... it was nice.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said easily, his grin softening. “Oh, before you go—what’s your Instagram?”

“My Instagram?” I repeated, blinking.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll send you the pictures. Besides, it’s a nice excuse to text you later.”

His tone was casual, but the glint in his eyes gave away the playful intent.

“Smooth,” I said, smiling as I typed my handle into his phone.

“What can I say?” he replied, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve got my moments.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I turned to leave. But before I’d even made it to Alicia’s car, my phone buzzed again.

I glanced down at the screen, expecting a message, but instead, I saw a follow request. Franco Colapinto.

Curious, I tapped on his profile—and froze.

There it was, plain as day: Williams Racing Driver.

My jaw dropped. I turned back toward him, still standing where we’d parted, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught me staring.

“You’re a driver?” I asked, loud enough for him to hear across the lot.

He sauntered closer, his grin widening. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“No!” I said, my cheeks warming. “You let me think you were just—”

“Just what?” he asked, his voice full of teasing amusement. “The AV guy?”

“Yes!”

Franco laughed, the sound warm and easy. “I never said that. You just assumed. I wasn’t about to ruin the fun.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped, caught off guard by the way he was looking at me—not smug, but something softer.

“You’re enjoying yourself way too much right now.”

“Can you blame me?” he said, his grin widening.

I felt my cheeks warm and quickly looked away, fiddling with a stray cap on the counter. “Well, excuse me for not keeping tabs on every random person who shows up in the paddock.”

“Random?” he gasped dramatically, leaning closer. “You wound me, Y/N.”

I tried to suppress a smile, focusing hard on arranging the caps. “You know what I mean.”

Franco’s teasing softened, and his voice lowered just enough to make my pulse quicken. “Don’t worry. I get it. I joined mid-season—no merch, no big fuss. Kind of nice, actually.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile as Alicia honked the car horn, impatient. I glanced over my shoulder, then back at Franco.

“Well, good luck tomorrow, driver,” I said, emphasizing the word with a playful grin.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping closer, his tone dipping into something more deliberate. “And if I score points, you’ll come celebrate, right?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know... What kind of celebration are we talking about?”

“The fun kind,” he said, his green eyes glinting. “Drinks, music... Maybe even some dancing, if you’re up for it.”

My cheeks warmed again, but this time I didn’t shy away. “Alright. If you score points, I’m in.”

“Good,” he said, stepping back with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I turned and headed to Alicia’s car, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the hurried pace. As I slid into the passenger seat, my phone buzzed again—a message from Franco.

You’re going to have fun tomorrow. Trust me. ;)

I couldn’t help but smile as I replied: You better deliver, Colapinto.

…

Franco had just wrapped up his post-race interviews, a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion coursing through him. Eighth place—points for Williams. It wasn’t a podium, but it felt like a win. The team’s hospitality suite loomed just ahead, buzzing with the chatter of staff, sponsors, and VIP guests waiting to congratulate him.

The Williams event manager was already gesturing for him to join the group. “Franco, let’s keep moving. You’re late for the team celebration.”

But Franco barely slowed his stride. His gaze flicked across the paddock and landed on the merchandise store. His grin widened.

“Give me a minute,” he said, waving her off.

“Franco—” she started, exasperated, but he was already heading toward the shop.

…

I was busy ringing up yet another Charles Leclerc cap when I felt the store’s energy shift. A hush swept over the customers, quickly replaced by murmurs.

“Is that...?” one whispered loudly.

“Oh my God, it’s Franco Colapinto!” another exclaimed.

I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat as Franco strolled in, still wearing his race suit, unzipped to reveal the Williams-branded undershirt beneath. His hair was slightly tousled, and he had that unmistakable post-race glow—the combination of effort and adrenaline that made him look annoyingly good. His green eyes scanned the shop before locking onto me.

He ignored the sudden buzz of whispers and phones being whipped out, walking straight to the counter with that easy confidence.

“Well?” he said, leaning on the counter with a grin.

“Well, what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as my heart raced.

“I delivered,” he said casually, though the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“Congratulations,” I said warmly, matching his grin despite myself. “Eighth place, right?”

“That’s right.” He leaned closer, his grin softening into something a little more intimate. “And now I’m here to confirm our deal.”

“Our deal?” I asked, feigning ignorance just to tease him.

Franco let out a mock groan, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You promised to celebrate if I scored points.”

“Did I?” I asked, my eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to send a flutter through my chest. “Don’t make me beg.”

Behind him, a small group of customers was watching the interaction with barely-contained excitement. One braver fan held up a notebook. “Franco! Can you sign this?”

Without even looking back, Franco waved a hand in polite dismissal. “Not now, amigo.”

Another fan piped up, “Are you actually in here to buy something?”

Franco turned his head slightly, smirking. “Nah, just confirming plans. Way more important.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing as the customers exchanged incredulous looks. Turning my attention back to him, I tilted my head. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep my word. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll send you the details later,” Franco said, standing up straight. His voice softened, a teasing glint in his eyes. “No backing out. You owe me one for carrying all those hats yesterday.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Good,” Franco said, stepping back with a wink.

Just as he turned to leave, the sharply-dressed Williams event manager appeared in the doorway, clipboard clutched tightly. “Franco! There you are. Hospitality, now. You’re already late.”

“On my way,” he said, before glancing back at me one last time. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“See you,” I replied, my voice light but sincere.

With one final wink, he spun on his heel and strode out of the store, leaving a trail of astonished fans and a flustered me in his wake. As the door swung shut behind him, I caught sight of him being hurried across the paddock by the event manager, his confident stride unshaken.

…

The rooftop lounge was bathed in golden light, the glittering city skyline providing a stunning backdrop. The hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and bursts of laughter filled the air, creating the perfect atmosphere for celebration. Franco had done it—points for Williams, a solid achievement for the team and a personal milestone for him.

I hesitated as I stepped onto the terrace, smoothing down my black dress. The outfit wasn’t anything too fancy, but it felt a world apart from my usual paddock uniform. My nerves buzzed, not because of the party but because of who had insisted I come.

I spotted Franco near the balcony, his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a drink in hand as he nodded politely at something a sponsor was saying. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes flicked over the crowd with purpose. When his gaze landed on me, his grin spread instantly, bright and unmistakably boyish.

“Excuse me,” he said abruptly to the group around him, his voice cutting through their chatter. Without waiting for their response, he made his way toward me, weaving through the crowd with ease.

“You made it,” he said, stopping in front of me, his green eyes scanning me like he was committing every detail to memory.

“I did,” I replied, my voice light. “And you’re not exactly hard to find.”

“I try to be memorable,” he teased, though his grin softened into something warmer. He took a step back, his gaze lingering. “You look... wow.”

“Wow?” I raised an eyebrow, though my cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

“Yeah, wow,” he said earnestly, as if the word itself wasn’t enough. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Is that your way of saying I usually look terrible?” I joked, tilting my head.

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I mean—no. You always look great, but this is... different. Amazing.”

My cheeks flushed even more, and I let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I clean up when I have to,” he replied, his grin widening.

We stood near the edge of the terrace, the noise of the party fading into the background. Franco didn’t seem to notice the occasional glances or murmurs from other guests. His focus was entirely on me, his posture relaxed yet intent.

“So, what’s the verdict on this party?” I asked, gesturing slightly to the scene around us.

“Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “But it just got better.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re too much.”

Before he could reply, someone called his name from across the terrace. Franco turned briefly, offering a polite wave, but his attention snapped back to me almost instantly.

“Busy man,” I teased, my eyes sparkling.

“Not tonight,” he replied firmly.

But the interruptions kept coming. A Williams team member approached with a clipboard, another guest hovered nearby with a congratulatory drink in hand, and a photographer gestured for Franco to join a group photo. Each time, he handled it quickly, his attention darting back to me as soon as he could.

“Sorry,” he said after the third interruption, shaking his head. “That’s the last one. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, my tone teasing but understanding.

“Not really,” he admitted, his grin sheepish. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

My chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, but before I could respond, another call of his name rang out. Franco sighed, glancing briefly toward the source.

“Want a drink?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost intimate amidst the bustling terrace.

“Sure,” I said, nodding.

Franco led me to the bar, keeping close as we moved through the crowd. He ordered for both of us without hesitation, handing me a glass of sparkling water when I mentioned I wasn’t drinking.

“To today,” he said, raising his glass.

“To eighth place,” I replied, clinking mine lightly against his.

“And to making this the best part of the night,” he added, his grin softening as he looked at me over the rim of his glass.

As we lingered by the bar, the interruptions became harder to ignore. A sponsor insisted on pulling Franco into another photo, while a team member gestured impatiently for him to join a group near the balcony. He handled each one politely but quickly, his focus always returning to me.

“You know,” I said after a particularly persistent interruption, “you’re kind of in demand tonight.”

“Let them wait,” he replied, his voice steady.

“They don’t seem like the waiting type,” I teased.

“Too bad,” he said, his grin unwavering. “I’ve got better company.”

My heart skipped at the conviction in his tone, but before I could respond, yet another call of his name rang out. This time, Franco sighed audibly, shaking his head.

“I think that’s my cue,” he said, glancing back at me. “To suggest we sneak out.”

“Sneak out of your own party?” I repeated, my brow lifting slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin returning. “Somewhere quieter. Just us.”

I hesitated, glancing around the bustling terrace. “Won’t people notice?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I don’t really care.”

The quiet certainty in his voice made me smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

Franco led me toward a side exit at the edge of the terrace, his hand lightly brushing my back as we weaved through the thinning crowd. The rooftop celebrations carried on without a hitch, the laughter and clinking of glasses fading into the background as we slipped through the door.

“This way,” he said, holding the door open for me with a mischievous grin.

I stepped into a narrow stairwell, the dim emergency lights casting soft shadows on the walls. “We’re really doing this?”

“Of course,” Franco said, closing the door behind us. “What’s a celebration without a little adventure?”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “This feels so dramatic. What, no rooftop helicopter getaway?”

“Next time,” he quipped, his grin widening as he started down the stairs.

The faint creak of the metal staircase echoed with each step, the quiet amplifying the flutter in my chest. By the time we reached the fire escape at ground level, the cool night air rushed in, refreshing and grounding.

“This is... a little ridiculous,” I said, glancing around at the empty alleyway we’d stepped into.

“Ridiculously fun,” Franco corrected, offering me his hand to help me down the last step.

I rolled my eyes but took it, his grip warm and steady. “Alright, what now?”

“Trust me,” he said, his green eyes glinting in the dim light. “I know the perfect spot.”

…

The city streets were quieter than I’d expected, the buzz of the race weekend giving way to a more subdued hum of nightlife. Franco walked beside me, his hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried.

“Any preferences?” he asked, tilting his head toward me.

I shrugged, smiling. “Surprise me.”

He led me down a narrow side street, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the cobblestones. We stopped in front of a small, cozy shop with large windows and shelves of colorful bottles displayed inside.

“This place,” Franco said, nodding toward the door. “Best snacks and drinks you’ll find this late.”

The warm scent of freshly fried food greeted us as we stepped inside. Franco approached the counter like a man on a mission, ordering two plates of dumplings and two bottles of Ramune without hesitation.

I watched as he expertly popped the marble stopper on one of the sodas, the sound crisp and satisfying. He handed it to me with a grin. “Here. Best part of the whole drink.”

“You make it sound like magic,” I said, laughing as I took the bottle.

“It kind of is,” he replied, popping the second bottle for himself.

We carried our food and drinks outside, settling on a low wall just across the street. The city lights sparkled in the distance, the occasional hum of a passing car filling the quiet.

I picked up a dumpling, steam curling from its surface. “You really know how to celebrate, huh?”

“Hey, who needs champagne when you’ve got gyoza and Ramune?” Franco said, holding up his bottle in a mock toast.

I laughed, clinking my bottle lightly against his. “Cheers to that.”

The quiet of the street wrapped around us, a comforting hum of distant city life providing a soft backdrop as we lingered outside the noodle shop. Our conversation had slowed, dipping into a comfortable silence as we finished our meal. Franco turned his soda bottle in his hand, the faint clink of the marble stopper breaking the stillness.

He glanced at me, his gaze lingering a little too long. When I met his eyes, there was something unspoken there—warmth, maybe, or a kind of vulnerability that caught me off guard.

“What?” I asked softly, tilting my head.

“Nothing,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then he hesitated, his fingers tightening around the bottle before he set it down beside him. “Actually... not nothing.”

My brow furrowed slightly as I waited, the weight of his pause pulling my attention fully to him.

“You ever feel like...” He trailed off, letting out a soft laugh, almost like he was laughing at himself. “Like you’re doing something incredible, something people would kill to do, but... it still feels like something’s missing?”

His words hit me with unexpected bluntness, the rawness in his tone making my chest tighten. I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. It’s like... you’re proud of it, but it’s not the whole picture. It’s not everything.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Don’t get me wrong, I love driving. It’s my dream, always has been. But...” He exhaled, his eyes dropping briefly before flicking back to mine. “It can be... lonely sometimes. You’re surrounded by people, always moving, but you don’t really get to... connect. Not like this.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his gaze steady on mine. “This. Talking to someone who isn’t asking about lap times or tire strategy. Someone who actually listens. It’s... rare.”

My chest tightened at his words, and I shifted slightly, my fingers toying with the edge of my sleeve. “It’s not just you,” I admitted, my voice quiet but steady. “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Like you’re doing something amazing, but... it’s still missing something.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the soda bottle in my hand. “I love working in F1. I really do. But... I miss my friends back home sometimes. Even though my colleagues are nice, it’s not the same. It’s hard to meet people you really connect with when you’re constantly on the move.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening. “Yeah. That’s it exactly.”

“I guess I never really expected to meet someone here...” I paused, searching for the right words. “...who it suddenly feels so easy with.”

He didn’t look away, his expression steady as if he understood exactly what I meant. “I get it,” he said softly. “More than you know.”

The air between us felt heavier now, thick with unspoken understanding. I met his eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was something grounding in the way he looked at me, like he wasn’t just hearing me but seeing me completely.

…

When we reached the hotel, I slowed to a stop, turning to face Franco just outside the entrance. He mirrored me, his hands slipping from his pockets as he stood a little closer than before.

“Well,” I said, tilting my head slightly, “this is me.”

“So it is,” he replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

There was a beat of silence, the soft hum of the city filling the space between us. He looked at me, his green eyes studying my face like he was memorizing every detail.

“I wish I didn’t have to say goodnight,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to something softer, almost vulnerable.

My breath caught, the simplicity of his words hitting me harder than I expected. I opened my mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes—the way his usual teasing warmth had melted into something so unguarded—rendered me speechless.

“I mean it,” he continued, his lips twitching into a small, self-deprecating smile. “This... tonight... I don’t want it to end.”

My chest tightened, a warmth spreading through me that I couldn’t quite name. “Franco...”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off gently. His grin softened as he glanced down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “It’s just... it’s been a while since I felt this way. Since someone made me feel this way.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and unfiltered. My cheeks flushed, my heart pounding as the distance between us suddenly felt too much. I took a small step closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say goodnight just yet.”

The tension in the air thickened, the playful energy we’d carried through the evening now replaced by something deeper, heavier, and undeniable. Franco’s hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing against my cheek as though he was afraid to break the moment. His touch was light, tentative, but the warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine.

He closed the remaining distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was soft at first, careful, like he was savoring a moment he didn’t want to rush. The hesitation melted away almost instantly, replaced by something warmer, deeper.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as his other hand rested lightly on my waist. The kiss deepened, unhurried but intense, a perfect balance of passion and tenderness. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my palms as my hands rested against his chest.

Franco tilted his head slightly, his lips moving against mine with a certainty that made my knees feel unsteady. Every movement felt deliberate, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every emotion he couldn’t quite articulate, into the kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, the world felt quieter, as though the night had paused just for us.

Franco’s thumb brushed against my cheek as he studied my face, his green eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name but didn’t need to.

“See you at the next race?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with hope and certainty all at once.

“For sure,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper but steady.

His lips curved into a slow, almost disbelieving smile, his hand lingering on my waist for a moment longer before he stepped back.

As I turned and stepped inside the hotel, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down, my cheeks still warm. A message from Franco lit up my screen:

You’ve completely ruined me, you know that? Best night ever.

I smiled to myself, my heart still racing as the elevator doors closed.

…

I groggily blinked awake, the sunlight peeking through the hotel curtains. My head felt heavy, and for a moment, I debated rolling over and falling right back asleep. But then my phone buzzed on the nightstand, the faint vibration pulling me from the haze of sleep. I reached over, squinting at the screen as I unlocked it.

Three missed calls. A text from Alicia, my colleague, stood out at the top of the notifications.

Why the hell are you on Franco Colapinto’s Instagram story eating dumplings with him on the pavement???

I frowned, propping myself up slightly against the headboard. What?

My thumb hovered over the message before tapping it, and an attached screenshot filled the screen. I blinked at it, then blinked again, sitting up straighter.

There it was, in all its glory: a grainy yet oddly endearing photo of Franco and me, still dressed from last night, sitting on the street outside the noodle shop. Plates of gyoza were scattered between us, the remnants of our late-night feast. My laughter was frozen mid-moment, one hand holding one of the little snacks while the other gestured animatedly. Franco was grinning at me, his green eyes glinting under the dim streetlights.

The caption read: Late-night dining, five stars.

I groaned, half in disbelief, half in embarrassment, as I clicked out of the screenshot and into Instagram itself. Sure enough, Franco’s story was still live. I stared at it for a moment, heat rising to my cheeks, before my phone buzzed again.

Another text from Alicia.

Is this what you do when you “stay late to lock up”? GIRL. DETAILS. NOW.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as I set the phone down. The embarrassment I’d expected to feel never fully settled in. Instead, a warmth bloomed in my chest, the memory of last night—the dumplings, the laughter, the kiss—playing back in my mind.

I sat back against the pillows, staring at the sunlight filtering through the curtains. My phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t a notification or a frantic message from Alicia. It was Franco.

Hope you’re not mad about the dumpling photo. Just wanted to remember the best night I’ve had in a while.

I smiled, the warmth in my chest spreading as I typed out a reply.

Not mad. But you owe me breakfast for making me Instagram famous.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Deal. I’ll pick you up in 30.

I laughed softly, setting my phone down on the bedside table. Outside, the city was waking up, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was rushing to keep up with it. Instead, I let myself sink into the quiet, a lingering sense of joy wrapping around me like a blanket.

#f1 x reader #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #f1 fanfic #franco colapinto oneshot #franco colapinto x you

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jbbuckybarnes · 8 days ago

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Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lando norris fanfic #f1 fanfic #soulmate au #papaya boys #mine

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maxlarens · 1 year ago

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just a really short oscar x driver!reader thing based on this ask!!! as usual the driving/race events are based totally off vibes and i cannot guarantee any kind of accuracy there.

You don't even see it.

It's a blink and you'll miss it crash.

There's a mess of Ferrari, McLaren and inexplicably a Haas in front of you. Someone goes wide, gets squeezed into a corner, then Leclerc is clipping the back of Oscar's MCL38 and he's in a tailspin.

Ka-thunk. His front end into the barrier.

Leclerc and Hulkenberg whiz around him, spared from a crash, but you can see red pieces of livery already on the track. Could be either of them, or both of them maybe. You respond like lightning, rocketing around Oscar's smouldering car— into the next corner, onto the next straight—

Smoke. There was smoke.

Your heart is beating fast as it is, crashes on track are like that, but you're thinking fire smoke Oscar and suddenly your heart is thundering in your chest. Your hands shake slightly as you press the radio button on your steering wheel.

"Is he okay? Is Oscar okay?", your voice is shaky, from the shuddering of the car, from panic.

You already know a snippet of your radio is going to be on Sky News, or F1 TV. You decide you don't care. Knowing Oscar is okay is vastly more important than potentially betraying something private to the world. You force yourself to breathe. In out. In out.

The seconds you wait for Rachel's reply feel like hours.

Crackle, "That's a red flag. Come in."

You know it's a red flag. You'd already passed the Haas in the gravel, bits of car on the track. Oscar's in the wall. Of course it's a red flag.

"Rachel," you bark, panic clawing up your throat as you slow the car down to a crawl, "Is he okay?"

Crackle. Milliseconds tick by at an unbearable pace. You're heading into the pit lane now, you really need an answer before you get out of the car. Otherwise you're prone to grab the first engineer you can find and demand an answer from them. Or to sprint down to McLaren to check. That would be embarrassing on live television. Plus you'd probably get a fucking fine from the FIA.

"He's okay. He's out of the car."

You roll to a stop in the pit lane outside the Mercedes garage, let out a ragged breath to yourself as the car is spun around and pulled in. In out. In out. He's fine. You're fine. Oscar's fine.

There's the phantom smell of smoke in your nostrils, you almost feel the heat of fire at your back. A memory of something past. Your heart thuds rapidly in your chest, despite the lack of real danger.

God, what you would give right now to see him. Touch him. Put your hands on his face to make sure he's real and alive and here.

send me a prompt/req + driver and i'll write something. please check if my requests are open first 💖

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x driver!reader #f1 x reader #💫drabbles #drabbles:op81 #driver!reader

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maxillness · 9 months ago

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F1 drivers (Current/Retired) kinks

(Another math class I’m bored in)

Feat (in order) :: Logan Sargeant, Mark Webber, Daniel Ricciardo, Sebastian Vettel, Nico Rosberg, Michael Schumacher, Kimi Räikkonen, Sergio Perez, Fernando Alonso, Mika Häkkinen, Charles Leclerc, Lance Stroll, Kevin Magnussen, Jenson Button, Nico Hülkenberg, Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Oscar Piastri

- Logan

This man LOVES pegging

Especially if he rides you with his front facing a mirror 😍🫶

He loves seeing himself as the mess you made him

- Mark

Varies

If you’re Sebastian’s sister, he’d have the BIGGEST breeding kink

If you’re Oscar’s sister, he’d have a corruption kink; loves to fuck the innocence out of you

(Age gap is a must)

- Daniel

Anything to do with toys, really

*cough* Virgin Verstappen!reader gives extra points *cough*

- Sebastian

BMW!Sebastian would LOVE a dominant partner

RBR!Sebastian has a breeding kink, change my mind

Ferrari!Sebastian would fuck Charles’ sister. That’s it

AM!Sebastian loves the thought of potentially getting caught

- Nico R.

Hamilton!Reader… Wolff!Reader… Schumacher!Reader

Anything to do with teammates family member, honestly

- Michael

Benetton!Michael needs somebody to teach him sex. Man was a virgin back then- you can’t change my mind

Ferrari!Schumacher would pound you so hard that if the team didn’t watch the race, they’d know he won anyways

Mercedes!Michael loves the sounds you make when you’re trying to stay quiet

- Kimi

Drunk sex… Or inappropriate use of ice cubes

- Sergio

He gives off… Secret relationship vibes. Engineer!Reader I think

- Fernando

Loves to dirty talk you in Spanish, even if you don’t understand it

- Mika

Coulthard/Schumacher!Reader would mysteriously have hickies all over their body after a race weekend for some reason 🤷‍♀️

- Charles

As well as Logan; man would BEG you to peg him, especially when he drove for Alfa Romeo

- Lance

If it was male!reader; secret relationship and fucking quietly while visiting Lawrence

If female!reader, he’d love for her to leave hickies and various bruises over his body, making sure everybody knows he’s not available

- Kevin

Kitchen sex, especially if you had just baked or cooked

- Jenson

I can see him loving car sex for some reason, as well as messy sex, where y’all need an hour long bath afterwards

- Nico H.

Loves when you call him his full name. Not just Nico, nah-ah. If you call this Man Nicolas, he’d have you bent over the nearest surface

- Max

Would have Leclerc/Perez!Reader dominate him to his core. LOVES to be sore days after

- Lewis

Loves to see his hand around your throat, especially if you’re riding him and your front is faced a mirror

- Carlos

McLaren!Carlos would fuck the shit out of Norris!Reader and won’t even be subtle about it

- Oscar

He loves when you tug at his hair, making him do what you want him to do

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lost-in-fandoms · 5 months ago

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Daniel takes sugar baby!Max for a spin on a very nice car. This comes from nowhere and goes nowhere. 700 words of no plot just vibes. (Disclaimer: I don't know anything about cars).

"This is...a car."

Max wishes he could take back his words as soon as they're out of his mouth, but in his defense he was asleep until 5 minutes ago and now he's standing in front of a 1963 Ferrari Spider that looks like right out of a movie. And he hasn't even brushed his teeth.

Daniel laughs, pushing his sunglasses up into his tousled hair, one arm draped over the back of the free seat to lean towards Max, the picture of perfect relaxation.

"Sure is, baby! Are you coming for a spin?"

It's only because Max knows him that he feels the doubt hiding right under the light tone of his voice, and it's yet another ridiculous thing Daniel does. As if Max would ever say no to him.

"Give me a second," he says, because he's insane, instead of jumping straight into the car.

He rushes back upstairs, thanking his reflexes for reminding him to grab the keys while he had been stumbling out of the door, still blinking sleep out of his eyes, Daniel's voice saying come down, baby, I've got something to show you! ringing in his ears.

He brushes his teeth as quickly as he can while hunting for some clothes that aren't the faded t-shirt and shorts he wore to bed, and then attempts to flattens his hair while tugging a sweater on. Two minutes later he's flying down the stairs again, still pocketing his wallet and keys, one shoe untied.

Daniel is on the phone when Max closes the building's door behind his back, but he smiles brightly, gesturing at him to get in the car.

Max takes one extra second to just run his hand along the passenger side door before opening it, sinking in the leather seat with a sigh. Everything feels expensive. He feels expensive.

It's not the first time he's been this close to this amount of money since he's started this...thing with Daniel, but he doesn't love helicopters and fancy meals as much as he loves cars.

"Ready to go, or do you need one more minute?" Daniel's voice startles him from where he'd been staring at the details on the dashboard, and he feels himself blush, feeling once again way too dumb to be allowed outside. He hadn't even realised Daniel had finished his phone call.

"Fuck off," he says, automatic, before blushing deeper. Daniel only laughs though, and reaches for his leg, squeezing his thigh.

"We have time baby, don't worry," he jokes. There's something in his voice though that tells Max that if he was to ask for ten more minutes idling at the curb just to be able to stare at every piece of the car, Daniel would be happy to say yes.

It knocks the breath from his lungs more than the car had. Well, maybe not more, but close enough.

"Where are we going?" he asks, finally buckling in and turning his head to meet Daniel's eyes through the sunglasses that have been lowered again.

"Just for a drive, and then if you still have time for me, for lunch."

Again, as if Max would say no.

When the car comes to life, Max shivers, the purr of the engine making his spine tingle, and Daniel laughs again.

"Knew you'd like it," he says.

Max doesn't reply, too scared to open his mouth and have a moan come out instead of words. Daniel's hand returns to his thigh, higher than before, and Max knows it's impossible to hide how he's half hard. He shivers again.

"Do me a favor?"

Max looks at Daniel again, already nodding, and grabbing his phone when the other points at it.

"What am I doing?" he asks, unlocking Daniel's phone without having to ask for the password, his fingerprint working giving him yet another satisfied thrill.

"Find me the fastest route to go somewhere isolated in the hills, will you?"

Max frowns, confused, but navigates to the maps app obediently.

"How isolated?"

"Isolated enough that I can fuck you on the car's hood."

Max drops the phone.

#maxiel #my writing #was listening to a song and this appeared in my brain #so it doesn't matter if it's nothing because it wasn't meant to be anything in the first place

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endofthelinexx · 5 months ago

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Driven to You | 1

Pairing: Female!Student!Reader x Lewis Hamilton

TW: Language, fake friend

Rating: Mature, 18+

AN: soooo im back pt 5. I got hit with some inspiration and I'm so excited to start writing again. I'm hyped af for this series, its going to be soooo good and lewis omg he's looking so fine in that brand new red I just had to write about him! comment to be added to the taglist!

Word count: 1.7k

Mini Summary: Lena Carter is just a sorority girl from Texas with big dreams of designing cars, not getting caught up in the spotlight. But when a Ferrari guest lecturer turns out to be none other than Formula 1 legend Lewis Hamilton, her world is thrown into chaos. Between stolen glances, secret encounters, and the growing tension that neither of them can ignore, Lena finds herself racing toward a life she never imagined—one where the stakes are higher than ever.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of it, and claiming it as your own.

| chapter 1 |

Lena's POV

Lena Carter, a senior in college, was an interior design major with a love for Formula 1. She wasn’t shy about the fact that her Sundays were spent glued to the television, watching races and wishing she had a passion for engineering, but unfortunately, she hates physics with a passion. Her roommates, Jade and Amelia, didn’t quite share the same enthusiasm, but they loved teasing her about her obsession.

“Lena, are you seriously watching another race highlight?” Amelia groaned, leaning against the kitchen counter as she stirred her coffee.

“It’s not just a highlight,” Lena replied, rolling her eyes. “It’s an analysis video. There’s a difference.”

“Okay, well, whatever it is, can you pause it and help me make our breakfast so we can make it to studio on time?” Jade begged, hands together sarcastically. Lena nodded and jumped up, walking into the kitchen to help.

The three girls worked in harmony, laughing and joking as they prepped breakfast. Their apartment, a cozy off-campus rental, was filled with the smell of fresh coffee and sizzling eggs.

“So, what’s the plan for today? Do you think Ethan will actually show up to class this time?” Lena teased, glancing at Jade as she popped a strawberry into her mouth.

Ethan was Jade's boyfriend, he was an architecture major, so he was in the same building as them, just on the arrogant side. He was of course in a frat, Jade has yet to learn her lesson about dating frat boys, which annoyed Lena since she was always hugging Jade while she cried about them. They’d been dating a few months and honestly, Lena got bad vibes, she didn’t know what it was, but she was sure all the pieces would fall into place sooner rather than later.

Jade groaned, flipping the eggs in the pan with more force than necessary. “I told him last night that if he doesn’t get his act together, I’m done. But you know Ethan—he’s all talk and no action.”

Amelia smirked over the rim of her coffee mug. “Are we still pretending he’s going to change? Because, honestly, I don’t think he even knows where his studio is.”

Lena laughed, tossing a few blueberries at Amelia, who squealed and dodged them. “You two are the worst,” Jade muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

As the girls sat down to eat, the conversation shifted to what their studio project might be. She was hoping it had something to do with car interiors since that is what they’ve been doing their work on recently, but they wouldn’t know for another week or two.

They went to studio, it was nothing of interest, just desk critiques and feedback. Lena and Jade sat next to each other, of course; they talked as they did their work. Unfortunately for Amelia, she sat a row down from them, but she had another friend, Natalia. Natalia was, honestly, a bitch—which was why Jade and Lena sat away from them.

Lena was doing some research on car interior materials when she felt her phone buzz on her desk. She absentmindedly glanced at the screen, expecting another generic school notification or maybe a tiktok from Jade. But what she saw instead made her heart skip a beat.

“Guest Lecture Series: Lewis Hamilton - Formula 1 Champion and Advocate for Innovation in Design.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she tapped the notification to read the full details. The lecture was scheduled for next Tuesday at the auditorium on campus. It didn’t feel real. Lewis Hamilton? Here? On her campus?

“Lena?” Jade nudged her, frowning when she noticed the look on her friend’s face. “You good?”

“Uh...” Lena’s voice wavered as she struggled to find the words. She turned her phone to Jade, showing her the announcement.

Jade’s eyes widened, “Lewis Hamilton? Isn’t he that hot dude that does your racing shit? What does he know about design?”

“I don’t really care what he knows about design, I’m going to that damn lecture,” Lena grinned as she spoke, already getting excited.

Jade couldn’t help but laugh a little, “Okay okay, no one is stopping you girl. What if he notices you and falls immediately in love?”

“This isn’t a Wattpad one direction fanfiction Jade, this is real life, that won't happen, but I will get to see him, maybe even meet him!” She rolled her eyes at Jade. “I have to ask him a question too!”

As the studio session dragged on, Lena found it impossible to focus. Her mind kept drifting back to the announcement, to Lewis Hamilton, to the idea of seeing him in person. Would she get to ask him a question? Would he actually take time to talk to her?

Lewis' POV

Lewis Hamilton leaned back in his chair, his phone resting face-up on the marble kitchen counter of his Monaco apartment. The gentle hum of an espresso machine filled the space as his assistant, Rebecca, stood by the window, flipping through his packed schedule for the upcoming week.

“So, Tuesday,” Rebecca began, glancing at her tablet. “You’ve got that guest lecture at that university in America. Design innovation, sustainability, and motorsport—your usual talking points. Should be straightforward.”

Lewis nodded, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Yeah, straightforward for you maybe. I’ve got to convince a room full of students that what we do in F1 has relevance outside the paddock.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Lewis, they invited you. Most of those kids are probably just showing up to fangirl over you, not sustainability trends.”

He laughed, setting his mug down. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I hope at least a few of them are serious about design.” He leaned forward, glancing at her tablet. “What time’s the lecture again?”

“Afternoon. You’ve got a private jet booked the night before to get you there in time. And don’t forget the meet-and-greet after. The university’s design department specifically requested it. They’re big on networking.”

Lewis ran a hand through his messy curls, leaning back again. “It’ll be fine. It’s important to me, you know?”

Rebecca smiled. “I know, Lewis. It’s why you’re perfect for this.”

As she continued running through his itinerary, his thoughts drifted. The last few weeks had been relentless: races, training, meetings, sponsor obligations. He barely had time to breathe, let alone think about how much he enjoyed moments like these—engaging with people outside the motorsport bubble.

Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging doubt that always crept in before events like this. Would the students care about sustainability? Would they see beyond the celebrity and focus on the message? He wanted to inspire them, sure, but he also wanted to connect with them, to plant the seed that their work could have real impact.

“…and that’s it for next week,” Rebecca finished, snapping him out of his thoughts. She shot him a pointed look. “Try not to overthink it, yeah? They’ll love you.”

“Overthinking? Me?” Lewis smirked, lifting his mug again. “Never.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and walked out, leaving Lewis alone with his thoughts. He picked up his phone and opened the university’s email again, scrolling through the details of the event. A lecture in a quiet town in the south—it wasn’t exactly glamorous compared to the glitz of Monaco, but maybe that was the point.

Lena’s POV

Lena stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the hem of her blouse. The lecture was in a few hours, and she was running through her outfit choices in her head. She wanted to look professional—after all, this wasn’t some random event, but a lecture by Lewis Hamilton himself. But she also wanted to look... well, hot. She knew how to balance both.

She settled on a blue button up top, unbuttoning the top few buttons to show a little bit of the black lace bra she wore with it. The top gave her the professional edge she wanted, but the bra underneath was something she knew could catch his attention if he chose to look her way at all. The dark jeans she paired it with had just the right fit, and a pair of low, sleek heels added a bit of height. She glanced at herself one last time, pulling her hair into a low bun with a few strands left to frame her face. She took a deep breath, sprayed her YSL perfume and headed out of the house.

When she arrived at the auditorium, she moved as quick as she could to get to one of the front rows, smiling and knowing maybe she’d have a chance of making eye contact with him. She took out her notebook to take notes with and glanced around the room, noticing it being filled with mostly girls, some of which not being dressed professionally at all, it looked more like they were going to the bars after. She shook her head, not very surprised. All of a sudden the light dimmed and out walked Lewis Hamilton, her eyes went wide. She didn’t fully realize how close she was to the stage until he walked out and was standing probably within 20 feet of her. Everyone clapped as he waved and made his way to sit down on a couch set up on the stage. It went quiet as he began to speak.

His outfit was simple, all black, dressed professionally, his hair braided like usual, and he had a smile on his face as he spoke. She took notes of course, listened to what he had to say, but every now and then she couldn’t help but stare. As the lecture wrapped up, Lena couldn’t wait to ask a question. She had thought about it all day, rehearsing in her mind how to sound confident without being too forward. She had to make this moment count. When the Q&A session opened, she raised her hand without hesitation.

His attention turned to her hand first, pointing at it, “yes, what’s your question?”

Her eyes widened as they met his, but she had to keep her cool, everyone was looking at her. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to ask the question.

Taglist:

@lh44girl

next chapter >>

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #f1 x reader #driventoyou

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vorfreudevortex · 8 months ago

Text

4. breathe

a street racer!ino takuma x f!reader fic

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 3 // next: chapter 5

warnings // 6.3k words - swearing, alcohol, smoking, reckless driving (duh), all characters in college or recently graduated, mount hakone's details are not accurate for the sake of the story so pls don't try to clown me for it, descriptions of blood (cut from glass) mdni - small smut scene in a car (towards the end), fingering, handjob, clit stimulation, nipple stimulation, praise, nipple play, dry humping, multiple orgasms, petnames, whiny ino who's kinda obsessed with you lmao

if you can spot the ford vs. ferrari reference, i'll marry you rn

the vibes for chapter four

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

the next morning you’re pouncing on suguru’s bed, anxious to get him awake and back to the mountain. “go back to sleep,” he groans, burying himself deeper beneath the blankets. his face is barely visible beneath his bedhead, and his morning voice is deep and hoarse.

“please, sugu?” you pull out his childhood nickname in your softest, sweetest voice. he just huffs.

“call toru or ken. i’ll meet you out there later.”

“how much later?”

“dunno…” he’s already drifting back to sleep.

fine, then. after breakfast with your papa, you group facetime the boys. ken answers right away and immediately asks if everything is alright, already awake and dressed. toru answers on the last ring from bed, obviously woken up by his blaring phone. his white hair lays flat against his forehead and eye boogers hang from his long lashes.

“what do you want…” he hisses with a pouty frown. unlike suguru, satoru’s morning voice is light and whiny.

“ew, toru! your eye boogies are huge!” you laugh. you see the corners of kento’s lips twitch up as well.

“i’ve got something even bigger,” satoru’s mind works in mysterious ways.

“oh my god, you pervert—”

“—truly disgusting behavior,” kento adds.

“i was calling to tell you to meet me at mount hakone right away, but i’m rethinking it since i don’t wanna catch chlamydia from potential contact with you.”

“wow— okay, first of all, i don’t have any diseases,” satoru rolls his eyes. “and it’s not like suguru would let me anywhere near you in the first place—”

“—as he should,” kento frowns.

“get out of bed or i’m telling him you said that!”

“tell him what? i didn’t say anything,” satoru scoffs.

“i’ll tell him what you insinuated—”

“—okay, relax,” he interrupts with a huff. “i’m getting dressed right now.”

✰✰✰✰✰

you end up spending the entire day tearing through the pass, anxious to keep shaving down your time and memorize each remaining detail of the roads. it’s completely empty when you first arrive, except for kento leaning against the back fender of his car waiting for you. he very thoroughly checks your motor and brakes for you before agreeing to ride along during your first turn.

“would you like me to keep an eye on the handbrake for you?”

“nah, i got it,” you respond, pulling the helmet over your head. you don’t want to wear it but you know that kento will say something if you don’t. “just time me, please.”

he gives you gentle advice and reminders during the 8.5 miles, you make sure to soak up every word. kento might not race anymore, but he can read a road and engine better than anyone else, aside from your brother. he can still keep up with suguru and satoru if he chooses to.

8:40:22 — just one second slower than inumaki.

satoru rolls in by the time you’re ready for your second turn. he lazily slouches in the passenger seat but reaches up to grip the door handle when you shoot off the starting line.

“where’d you learn to drive so aggressively?” he asks. “there’s no way you picked this up from me.”

“maybe i did,” your voice is slightly muffled beneath the roaring motor and the cushioned helmet. “i’m trying to concentrate, please stop talking.”

you tear your helmet off and kento pulls you out of the car — 8:40:52.

“how did i manage to go slower that time?!” you whine.

“don’t worry too much about it,” kento reassures. he notices your trembling frame, adrenaline pumping viciously through your veins from the drives. “take a break now.”

by the time suguru arrives with gas and lunch, you’re itching to go again. he makes satoru race beside you so you can get more comfortable with another car on the road. on your 5th time back, a few others including okkotsu, inumaki, takuma and his team are parked on the shoulder. he wears his rough demeanor now, shoulders hunched and missing a smile. it’s completely different from the giddy attitude he had with you at the skate park. but his back straightens when he spots you, unable to hide the lively look in his eyes.

“what’s all this?” takuma’s playful voice rings out as he approaches the phantoms with his friends in tow.

“clutch got a new ride,” satoru sings, placing a hand on each of your shoulders as you sheepishly smile. “and it’s twice as fast as yours.”

“i don’t doubt it,” he smiles, and lets his eyes fall on you. you can feel both kento and suguru’s sharp glares in the back of your head.

“damn, these are some nice wheels,” choso comments as he crouches down to get a better look at them.

“this wide body kit was installed well,” todo nods. megumi just stands silently with his hands in his pockets beside takuma, letting his eyes rake over your silvia. he doesn’t have to say anything for you to know he approves.

“what do you need, ino?” your brother asks.

“just came to talk with gojo and run a few before the race tonight,” takuma shrugs.

“then go somewhere else and do it,” suguru waves him off. “my sister runs first.”

“are you’re racing tonight?” takuma’s eyes widen as they land back on you. “who?”

“toge inumaki,” your brother answers you before you can. in suguru’s mind, takuma does not need to be talking to his sister directly. “the one who just pulled up in the s13.”

“ah, he’s not too bad. i’ve seen him around,” he glances across the way at him and okkotsu, who watch your conversation and wait for you from afar. takuma turns back to you with another sweet smile. “good luck tonight, clutch! i know you’ll do—”

“—get the fuck out of here, ino.”

your face is bright red when takuma walks away. suguru angrily mutters something about the the inappropriate use of your nickname before lighting a cigarette, and kento looks away when you meet his gaze. you don’t dare say a word. for an unknown reason, in the depths of your brain, you like when takuma's cheekiness riles up your brother.

“fucking prick,” suguru mumbles through puffs of smoke, before putting the helmet back in your hands. “put this on and go before he comes over here again.”

✰✰✰✰✰

takuma ino: i see why u been busy this past week

you: i’m so sorry, i’ve barely been on my phone

takuma ino: don’t even worry bout it :) it was worth the wait ur silvia looks sick af takuma ino: ur gonna kick ass tonight too i just know it!!

you: i’m sososososo nervous you: do you think you’ll beat toru tonight?

takuma ino: no doubt about it takuma ino: are u still down to go out tonight after? for ur bday?

you: yes!! i already have my outfit picked out!!

takuma ino: i can’t wait.. i know ur gonna look so pretty takuma ino: u better not bail if u don’t win ur race

you: i won’t!

takuma ino: good i’ve missed u :) good luck tonight pretty

you: good luck kuma!!

✰✰✰✰✰

you sit back on your hands with your knees bent up, letting the cool road attempt to ease the boiling blood in your veins. your toes wiggle in your white converse, and your nails pick at ashphalt. shoko sits beside you, puffing on a cigarette, letting you sneak a hit or two when suguru isn’t looking to help calm your nerves. the chattering crowd and booming subwoofers on the shoulders are nothing more than a murmur in your ears, you’re too anxious to focus on anything except your upcoming race.

“you’ll do great,” shoko smiles. “i heard that people are betting for you.”

“really? betting on me?”

“uh huh. the streets say that there’s no way you’re slower.” even if shoko’s just making it up to make you feel better, it’s working.

you’ve spotted takuma and the shadows a couple times. his face is stern, he doesn’t even look at anyone else. the phantoms are bent over your engine, feet on top of the starting line. kento checks, double checks, triple checks everything while suguru nosily watches over his shoulder, ensuring he doesn’t miss anything. he knows he won’t. satoru yaps about everything and nothing at all. he’s not nervous for his race with ino, he’s raced him a handful of times before. he’s both won and lost, and tonight there’s money on the line.

suguru helps you to your feet when inumaki’s headlights come over the hill, but you don’t hear any of the words coming out of his mouth. your mind is far away. inumaki parks beside you, the nose of the car placed just before the starting line. he’s right on time.

inumaki doesn’t wear his mask tonight. the floodlights reveal his flushed, tattooed cheeks as he steps out of his car. the boys start talking with okkotsu, and inumaki points to you before holding his palms face down in front of him with a gentle shake.

“am i… nervous?” you question, and he nods.

“uh, yeah… i’m pretty nervous,” your voice shakes. he points to himself, then holds up two fingers. me too. his slender fingers fly gracefully in the air through his dumbed-down version of sign language for you. you will do great!

“you, too!” you smile, and your stomach starts to flip in on itself as the boys finish helping okkotsu check over inumaki’s engine. you’ll be off any minute now. kento closes inumaki’s hood with a loud wham and the boys close in around you.

suguru looks nice tonight, with the top half his hair pulled up in a neat bun, black jeans, and a deep purple oversized hoodie over a plain white shirt. he comes over and picks a piece of lint from the fabric of your top before brushing his fingers through your hair, silently calming your tension with ease.

“ready?” suguru asks.

“ready,” you smile, holding your hand out for inumaki to shake. he graciously accepts it with a wide grin and a polite bow. you settle in the silvia, all four of the group hanging their heads in through the windows.

“we talked to okkotsu,” satoru chirps. “they won’t do anything stupid.”

“relax, girl. you’re gonna do great,” shoko says.

“remember to breathe,” kento reminds. “drive safely.”

“put this on and do not take it off,” suguru pushes the helmet into the car as the others leave. he pecks your cheek before you pull it over your hair. “as long as you do the same thing you’ve been doing, you’ll win.”

“i’m nervous, nii-chan.”

“you have nothing to be nervous about,” he fastens the chin strap, pulling twice to check. “listen to what your gut is telling you, don’t try to fight it.”

“which marker will you be at again?” your shaky fingers fumble with the seatbelt.

“mile 4,” suguru’s voice is smooth and light, the solidity you need right now. your mind whirs as he helps you with the harness, tugging another two times. “ken’s at 2 and toru’s at 3 so we can be here when you get back, don’t worry.”

“what if something goes wrong?” every possible concern you've had is now bubbling out, you can’t quiet it.

“sshhh,” suguru hushes. “that’s what your radio is for. keep it tuned to what ken set it on and use the walkie-talkie in your console if you need help. your phone won’t work well out there. you’re gonna be just fine.”

you nod under the helmet and turn the ignition. you shift uncomfortably in your seat as it comes to life, humming and purring under the hood.

“listen to me,” he turns your head to face him. “you’re gonna do great. you’re faster than inumaki. you’ll win, no doubt about it. drive just like i taught you, okay?”

“okay.”

“i’m proud of you, clutch. drive safe. i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

with a handsome grin, he taps the side of the door and leaves. you look to your left, inumaki smiles at you through his window and holds up a sign. good luck. you return the gesture with a trembling hand. the flag girl takes her place between the cars. your heart pounds relentlessly. you spot takuma and his team, they made sure to park close. takuma waves with a warm smile, and you return it since the boys have disappeared into the mountain, unable to see the forbidden interaction.

the flag girl raises her arms. your sweating hands grip and release around the wheel, over and over again. just feel it. your feet press into the pedals. your tires spin. she throws her arms down. without a hesitation, the brake is released. the silvia lurches forward, finally free to run. your cloudy mind completely clears as you tear through the straight. inumaki is right by your side as your approach the first turn.

downshift. brake. you slow down first. inumaki starts to lead. damn it. breathe. the rear tires lose traction, you feel it.

turn, turn, turn— feather, feather, feather— not too much, not too little.

you both shoot out of the corner, the nose of the car practically touching inumaki’s back fender. breathe. focus.

“mile 1, inumaki in the lead,” okkotsu’s voice barely registers in your ears. do it again, better this time. you veer beside him.

downshift. brake. inumaki slows first. do you take him over? do you wait? kento’s warning echoes through your hazy thoughts… you’ll wait this time, you’ll be safe.

you slow as well, he’s still ahead. downshift. brake. feel. breathe. both cars’ tires scream into the night, their sounds almost harmonizing.

turn. feather. the gauge violently redlines, trembling on the dash. it’s exactly where it should be. it’s better than last time. breathe.

your roaring silvia and inumaki’s s13 enter a small patch of straight highway. this is your chance. throwing it back into gear, you attempt to push your way ahead of inumaki. he tries to chase you. the third turn, the hairpin, flies towards you. it’s too fast, you feel it. slow it down. brake. breathe.

“mile 2, inumaki in the lead,” kento’s voice calls out through your radio, you barely notice his blurry silhouette as you fly by him.

icy air blasts from the vents. your hair is crammed and damp under the helmet, but your bare arms have a shield of goosebumps. your trembling hand grips the shifter, the leather wet from your sweaty palms. breathe.

hard brake. downshift. brake. it’s coming. it’s coming. not quite… it doesn’t feel right… almost—

now.

you clamp your fist around the handbrake, yanking it towards you in one swift, smooth motion. the familiar feeling of the rear tires locking up surges through the car and into your bones. rubber screeches and the motor sings as it redlines. the back end swings around, almost farther ahead than the nose, but not quite.

just like your contorting body on takuma’s skateboard, the car teeters on the edge of losing control. unlike that balmy evening with your hands clamped to his soft shirt, tonight your hands are clammy around the stiff steering wheel.

and unlike the skateboard, letting the car slip away from your control is simply not an option.

you’re practically weightless, floating through the air like a haunting ghost, and you’re once again addicted to the feeling. breathe, just one more split second of bliss to savor—

“clutch leads into mile 3!” satoru’s giddy voice fills your ears. focus— you didn’t even notice how you had squeezed between the guardrails and inumaki’s wide drift to slip in front.

turn, feather. handbrake down, upshift. breathe.

you glance down at the dashboard and gauges. everything kento and papa taught you about them looks exactly how they should. the silvia craves more, you feel it. you do, too. inumaki is only a few feet behind you, but you’re gradually gaining more and more on him. you're winning, it sends another rush of thrill through your bones.

with one hand, you flip open the center console and snatch the walkie-talkie. a finger fumbles around on the side of your helmet until it finds the button. the visor pops up, letting cool air hit your burning face. your palm is back on the gear shifter with your thumb and pointer holding the ‘talk’ button against it, a beep rings out— everyone will hear your next words.

“suguru!” you call.

“clutch?! what’s wrong?” his voice crackles back to you over the radio.

“nothing’s wrong,” you can’t help but belly laugh, your mind dizzy with adrenaline and happiness.

“what?!”

“watch me, sugu!” you smile. “watch this steeze!”

you know takuma heard you, copying his goofy slang from that blissful night at the skate park, and you can imagine his smooth laugh ringing out around the other listeners so clearly in your mind.

you throw the radio to the floor of the passenger seat and fly into the next hairpin, mimicking your previous actions exactly. you let each rumble and veer of the car lead your timing and intuition. inumaki is a whole car length behind you now, both cars smoking past your brother and out of the drift.

“mile 4, clutch in the lead,” suguru says. “you stress me out, little shithead.”

and for some reason unknown to you, the world suddenly grows quiet.

your muscles relax, your mind empties. inumaki’s threatening headlights in your rearview mirror no longer lingers in your thoughts. the uncomfortable touch of the sweaty hair stuck to your forehead disappears. the echo of your uneven breaths under the thick helmet turn steady.

you take a deep breath, tasting the burning rubber and wafts of exhaust as you inhale. the machine around you becomes weightless.

you feel it.

you are simply just driving now, a body moving through time and space—

it feels so good.

✰✰✰✰✰

you’re not really sure what happened after that. but at the same time, you somehow remember every detail so vividly. since the moment everything clicked after that last hairpin, you’ve been in a drugless, dreaming daze.

you know that you won— 8:29:41— an incredible 11 seconds faster than your most recent pass through hakone. you were 2 full car lengths ahead of inumaki as you passed over the finish line.

you know that suguru was at your door as soon as you yanked the silvia in park, pulling you out and ripping off the helmet, smiling and laughing with utter pride. inumaki’s hands had waved excitedly in front of him before he hugged you with a smile that made his tattoo tightly stretch over his red cheeks.

you know that kento had shown you another rare grin with teeth, and satoru had once again thrown you over his shoulder. you had seen takuma’s huge smile between the faces of the excited crowd around you.

you failed to notice the brooding onlookers that stayed on the shoulder.

you were still catching your breath when satoru and takuma took off into the mountains, and you remember that takuma had won by just a few feet. it left satoru pissed and pouting, and about ¥30,000 poorer than he came. there was no fight this time.

suguru didn’t seem to mind when you told him you were going out again this weekend, he was going to the bar with the boys anyways. so when you got home, you pulled a black, off-the-shoulder mini dress over your buzzing body before fixing your hair and makeup. you knew you’d regret wearing thigh-high stockings and uncomfortable, black platform heels when you took off in your mustang, deciding to leave the silvia to rest in the garage.

the underground felt like it was empty with every bit of your attention focused on takuma. he had literally melted when he saw you, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off you all night. megumi, yuji, choso, and aoi were nowhere to be seen as you danced with takuma, shot after shot and song after song, still reeling from both your victories.

there was never a moment takuma let your body sway against his without a searing touch on your skin— the glaring red eyes from across the room needed to know you were with him and him only.

you know at one point, you were back in the shadows’ booth, utterly drunk and sat between takuma’s thighs. you remember his hand around your waist and a finger just under the hem of your thin black stockings. you remember the way his intoxicated breathe felt in your ear and the way it sent chills down your spine when he had mumbled, “we should go, it’s too loud in here.”

“go where?” you had asked.

“anywhere but here.”

✰✰✰✰✰

the daze is suddenly over as you find yourself underneath takuma ino in the backseat of his car.

you can barely see a thing around you in the dark, empty corner of the parking garage, but you can feel everything as his calloused hands roam your body and thighs, which hook around his waist, as he grasps at the soft fabric of your dress.

you hold his face in your hands, teeth and noses clicking and bumping as you attack each other’s lips. your fingers travel to his soft, brown hair and lightly tug when he meets his tongue with yours. the taste of vodka, tobacco, and your own sweet lip gloss mix between your mouths.

takuma’s hips come down to meet yours, the cool metal of his belt and the rough, black material of his jeans grind against your core so deliciously that you can’t help but let out a small gasp. he grips your thigh as the other hand gently cradles your nape upwards, exposing your neck and jaw for him to plant hot, wet kisses on as your eyes close with a flutter. it’s really not fair how the hard length beneath his jeans continues to roll into you, the pressure of it shooting desperate need through your bones.

"you're so fucking beautiful," takuma pants against your skin. "you know that, right?"

the rising temperature of the car and your melding bodies leaves you both breathless as takuma sits up to tear off his shirt. every coherent thought he has left in his brain vanishes when he finally registers the scene below him— your messy hair and lidded eyes staring at his toned figure, your swollen lips and heaving chest.

"oh," takuma damn near chokes on his own spit when he sees that your dress has bunched up just above your hips from his groping, legs spread around him to reveal cherry red panties against the straining tent below his belt. he’s completely losing it—

“my shoes…” you finally manage to say.

“what?” he thickly swallows. “o-oh, yeah. your shoes.” he lifts your legs and does his best, tipsy job to fumble open the buckles of your heels. your dress lifts higher, and takuma prays you don’t notice the pink tinge on his cheeks as your shoes fall to the floor of the car.

“fuck, you’re so pretty,” he breathes, returning his lips to yours. he just can’t stop himself from grinding into you repeatedly as he grows more desperate to ease the ache in his jeans. “is this okay?” one hand finds your breast, the other slides beneath the hem of your dress to the bare skin of your waist.

as soon as you nod he’s back to your mouth while your fingertips roam his shoulders and back. a thumb rolls over your covered nipple right as he rolls into your core, the angle and pressure just right enough to make you gasp again.

“m-more, please?” you ask so sweetly, takuma knows he could never deny you.

“more?” he begins to pull the top of your dress down. “like this?”

“yeah… please?”

takuma squeezes your hardened nipple and the fat of your hip at the same time, earning another sharp gasp from you. he smiles at that, eager as hell to learn every sign and signal of your body. he plants another wet kiss on your collarbone before hovering his lips over your other breast, letting the heat of his breath tease it for just a moment.

“can i—”

“—yes.” you pant, and his tongue is wrapped around your bud immediately. the insistence of his hips against yours combined with pulling tugs and sucking lips on your tits has your fingers tightening in his hair and back arching up, and the first candied moan finally escapes from your throat.

god help him— takuma swears he could cum in his pants just from the sound of it alone. he can’t believe he’s managed to get you here, splayed out so erotically underneath him in the backseat of his car, lucky enough to be the one to make you produce such a beautiful noise. he doesn’t dare stop his movements, savoring the privilege of having his own tongue swirling over your nipples just to hear you sing again.

it only takes a few minutes until takuma is drunk off your gasps and moans, drunker than he was before, and you’re starting to writhe under him. he plays with the band of your panties as your thighs squeeze around his waist.

“kuma, if you keep going,” you pant. “i’ll… oh, i’m gonna…”

“you want me to stop?”

“no, more.”

“more where?” a hand comes to rest on top of your pelvis, a finger dangerously close to where you need it most as he asks for permission. you nod frantically. takuma rests a thumb over your panties at the peak of your aching clit, “here?”

“y-yes, please,” you moan. your back arches and all muscles tense as he presses gentle circles into your bud. he groans around the nipple under his tongue when he finally feels for himself just how wet he’s made your lingerie.

takuma still can’t control his desperate grinds as he’s hunched over you, the only thing separating his twitching length and your burning cunt being your clothing and his thumb. his teeth softly clamp around the peak of your breast and you call out his name, sending him spiraling.

“oh— kuma!”

“cum for me,” he pleads, dark and needy brown eyes boring straight into yours. “please, pretty? i want to see you cum for me.”

you clench around nothing at his words, making takuma groan as you pull harshly on his hair and clamp your eyes shut. "please please please, just for me," he prattles helplessly.

you suck in a sharp breathe and let your head fall back into the soft seat. it’s silent for a moment as your entire body tightens into the peak of your orgasm. it has to be the most beautiful thing takuma’s ever seen. you start to fall over the edge, crying out in pure pleasure as your legs shake at the lightning that courses through you.

“fuuuck, baby,” takuma moans at the sight of you, not daring to stop his ministrations for a single moment to extend your orgasm as long as he can. he’s utterly addicted, he wants to see it over and over and over again. you wish you could say something, anything, but the burning fire rooting from your clit takes over all your senses. “so pretty, so so so fucking pretty.”

your chest heaves beneath his as you choke and gasp. “breathe, baby,” takuma softly reminds you, moving his lips to your tingling neck. you whimper and pant as you come down, takuma’s slamming his mouth back onto yours. “so beautiful,” he mindlessly mumbles against your lips. “thank you, baby. so good, so pretty.”

a playful giggle is the first thing to leave your mouth when your body settles. “what are you laughing at?” takuma smiles, he can’t help but chuckle along with you. you both feel light and airy, bright red blushes smear across your cheeks.

“i just…” you blink repeatedly with a sheepish smile, clearing through the lustful haze in your eyes to try and look at the boy above you. “i’m not very experienced, and that was, um, kind of… my best?”

“your best?” takuma looks at you with wide eyes. “i can do better.”

“…show me?”

takuma’s face flickers with an unrecognizable look. you playfully shriek when he pulls you up by the waist to straddle over his lap. his muscular thighs are spread apart across the backseat and your sensitive core meets his jeans once again.

“much better,” he grins, kneading the fat of your thighs. he looks down at your stockings with parted lips and darting eyes— his touch feels heavenly. “these are… dangerous.”

“you can take them off, if you want,” you mumble shyly, hooking your arms around his neck and pulling yourself closer into his bare chest.

“no, no, no. they stay on.” he prefers to be buried with the image of you over him like this, cheeks flushed and enticing eyes.

“okay, kuma,” you laugh. “whatever you want.”

“whatever i want?” his middle finger finds the path back to your soaking clit, gently pressing for permission. “what about what you want?”

“i want…” your eyes dart down his sculpted chest and abs, and over the soft chestnut happy trail that disappears beneath his jeans. you thought you had reined your head back in place, but the thought of that path of hair leading straight to takuma’s throbbing length suddenly has you fumbling mindlessly with his belt buckle. “fingers,” you blurt, remembering he had asked you a question. “i want your fingers.”

takuma doesn’t waste any time attaching his lips to yours, circling your soaking heat once again. you tear open takuma’s button and zipper, revealing just a peek of the angry red tip that hides beneath the waistband of his boxers. he lets out a beautiful, deep groan that reverberates down your throat when you palm him over the fabric.

“i need to,” he tugs at the edge of your underwear, pleading for entrance. "i need it, please?" the second you nod he’s pulling them to the side, both of you whining at the touch of his long fingers spreading the slick up your drooling cunt. you shudder against his chest, the pleasure being tenfold what it was over your lingerie. the sensitivity of your clit leaving you clenching and tense.

“f-fuck,” takuma whines when you reach past his boxers and squeeze your soft fist around his raging cockhead. you’re grinding desperately against the palm of his hand, he pushes a finger past that first ring of resistance and into your gummy walls. you moan and pant as he pumps steadily, relishing how your pussy squeezes and clenches around him.

“kuma!” you squeal as he easily pushes a second finger in your squelching cunt, curling into a spot that has your vision blurring. his head drops to plant wet, open-mouth kisses to your throat. you cradle his head against your chest as you swipe over the slit of his head, making him jerk with a whimper as his gushing precum coats your digits.

you’d be embarrassed that your second peak was already approaching after just minutes of his obsessive attack on your pussy if it didn’t feel so fucking good. the inhibition of your brother finding out about your whereabouts has completely vanished. any hesitation you had of takuma’s rumored wrongdoings is completely forgotten as you fist his long, pretty cock…

“shit,” he pants, atrociously enamored by a thin streak of your slick that appears from under your dress and trickles down your thigh until it soaks into the material of your stockings. “you’re so so good to me, too good for me, baby.”

the grip around his dick has him going ballistic, he knows he could cum immediately as long as it’s your voice asking him to. if angels are real, he thinks they’d sound like your sloshing cunt around his fingers and your saccharine moans in his ear.

“i’m gonna—” you gasp, snapping takuma out of his trance. “k-kumaaa…”

“you gonna cum again for me, pretty?” his cock twitches in your palm at the thought of it, this time around his nimble fingers. you subconsciously start pumping him faster, your numbed body so desperate for more of him.

“yes, i’m sorry!” you whimper, almost ashamed. takuma clenches his jaw with a sharp groan when you swipe against a particularly sensitive area near his leaking head, his own peak rapidly nearing. the perfume on your bare chest makes him even dizzier, he’s nipping at your breasts without thought.

“you’re gonna make c-cum, too.” good god, he’s obsessed with you. takuma can’t be bothered to care about how his pathetic whining and stuttering sounds to you. “cum for me. p-please, pretty?”

you’re a fucking mess straddled over takuma, a fistful of his shaggy hair in one hand as you’re veins start to run hot. you tremble as you start to peak once more, messily rolling your hips harder into the palm that he’s been grinding so delectably into your clit. takuma isn’t any better, jutting and jerking his cock farther into your hand. words pour out of his throat, babbling and groaning your name.

“oh, fuck— fuck, you’re so good to me, baby. cum with me, please? please… sh-shit, i—” takuma throws his head back and digs his nails into the fat of your hip as his pretty length spews hot ribbons of white over his clenching stomach. the sounds of his hoarse moans repeating your name, thanking you, and his fingers curled tight against your squelching walls is enough to send you over the edge right after.

you cum with a sharp cry, eyes rolling back into your head as takuma’s whining, drunk voice praises you through your orgasm. “breathe, pretty girl,” he reminds as you’re once again gasping for air. “good girl, that’s it. god, you look so pretty cumming on my fingers like this…”

takuma gifts you with gentle, slow circles over your nub to come down with, holding you close against him as he presses loving kisses over your jaw and neck. completely pussydrunk, he can’t get himself to shut up as he continues to stream out a steady flow of compliments and praises for you.

it’s when the car is quiet, except for both your panting, when you realize your phone is vibrating incessantly. abandoned at some point on the floor of takuma’s car along with your shoes, suguru’s name lights up the screen.

“shit…” you breathe.

sugu: lmk when you’re otw home please sugu: everything ok? sugu: 1 missed call sugu: text me back soon ok? wanna make sure you’re safe

toru: text ur brother back dumbass. he’s tweaking out in the bar rn lmao

sugu: clutch sugu: 1 missed call

ken: your brother is worried about you, it’s very late. you should give him a call when you see this.

sugu: i’m getting worried, did something happen?? sugu: call me back asap please sugu: 1 missed call

your heart drops. suguru texting or calling you a few times to make sure you’re okay is nothing new, but satoru and kento reaching out worries you.

“kuma, i’m sorry. i need to get home,” you apologize.

“can you stay just a few more minutes, please?” those big brown eyes of his are so hard to say no to.

“i’m so sorry, suguru’s freaking out. i… don’t want him coming to find me,” takuma must see the stress in your expression, because his pleading eyes disappear as his thumbs rub comforting circles around your waist.

“don’t feel bad, i get it,” he smiles. “we’ll get you home safe and sound for him.”

✰✰✰✰✰

you keep the shop lights off as you park your mustang. you’ve already probably woken up the entire neighborhood with your car, you don’t need to blind them as well. the cold linoleum floor of the garage feels nice on your socked feet as you walk with your heels in your hand to the door that leads to the kitchen, barely visible.

suguru will be waiting for you in your room, but you know he’ll simply help you into bed and tell you to get some sleep instead of reprimanding you, despite his concerning texts. that’s what he always does.

your cheeks still feel hot and your knees weak from your time in takuma’s backseat, but your mind is disoriented and giddy. his handsome smile and sweet moans are still fresh in your mind, you can still feel his warm touch over the skin of your waist and hips. you know you’re a mess right now; eye bags, tousled hair, smeared makeup, and your socks falling halfway down your legs… but you can’t seem to care.

there’s a small crunch, and the sole of your foot screams out in pain. you stumble backwards in the dark as you bite your lip against the searing feeling until you can turn on the flashlight of your phone. the bottom of your foot drips bright red blood onto the clean, ashy grey tiles.

you’re nothing except confused at the smalls shards of glass lodged in your foot. the light of your phone pans to the floor before you, covered in more glittering glass, and up to the driver’s door of the car in front of you.

it’s your silvia. you stare in disbelief as you realize the driver’s side window is completely gone, blue and green shining fragments covering the seat you raced in just hours ago. the passenger window is shattered but intact, with a singular bullet hole through the center. you scramble to the kitchen door, heart beating out of your chest and blood smearing your path. as soon as you grab hold of the knob, it flies open on its own.

“where the hell have you been? it’s 4 in the fucking morning!”

it’s suguru, shirtless and barefoot from being in bed. he looks disheveled with fretful and bloodshot eyes, his ebony hair frizzy and flat. he had obviously just been woken up from the sound of the garage door creaking open through the house.

“what’s going on, clutch?” he demands, grabbing your arm to pull you inside. but you’re unable to form words, tears streaming down your cheeks as you resist him. you fumble desperately at the wall for the shop lights, the fluorescent blinding you both when they snap on. the horrifying sight of your car makes you gasp, clutching onto suguru as you take in the scene.

“oh my fucking god,” suguru has never woken up faster. “get in the house. now.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

redline masterlist // previous: chapter 3 // next: chapter 5

ongoing tag list // @stillnotherapy @rieamena @magiamad0ka @mawhoreagaa

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cherrari · 9 days ago

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hi minah i am so embarrassed to be asking this at this point in the season when we’ve been hearing so much about it but what is lico? i’ve heard it used as both a verb and a noun and i think it has something to do with plank wear but im not 100% sure.

i hope you are doing well!! sending you good vibes thru the ether <3

don't be embarrassed...! lico -> lift and coast ("li"ft and "co"ast) it is both a noun ("lico") and a verb ("lifting")

it's a technique where they lift off the throttle before braking and allow the car to coast on its momentum rather than active input. it used to be done primarily for fuel saving but now we also see it quite frequently for managing temperatures (brakes, engine, or tires) or less frequently for managing plank wear.

for like three years now ferrari has had a lot of issues with managing brake temperatures (montreal), and this year with plank wear (barcelona), where they need to lift notably more than the other teams. certain tracks, in hot areas or with heavy braking zones, make this issue more prominent: montreal, brazil, mexico, etc.

#9.75 fm #charles sometimes pronounces it as lee-co which i find really cute...

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cheriladycl01 · 1 year ago

Text

2026 Rewind - Grid x AudiDriver! Reader

Plot: After some devastating deaths within the F1 industry from unmistakable names in 2025, the FIA decide to make a plan to race at all of the old tracks that are iconic but haven’t been on the grid for a while.

A/N: this is racing heavy with only drivers name dropped, but if you want cool Ted and Crofty with Y/N vibes while learning more about some of the FIA Grade 1 Tracks, have a read!

“So Ted, let’s talk about this years line up. It’s just so iconic that I can’t bear it!” David Croft says as they are in the commentator box at pre-season testing.

“Yeah Crofty, obviously it’s so unfortunate the reason behind what we are calling the 2026 rewind because of some losses we had in the industry and this was the way the FIA decided to pay tribute to those people!" Ted explains before the onscreen for the year comes up.

"So, lets go through the year together and analyze it. We're starting of the season strong in the lovely Kuwait, here at Kuwait Motor Town, this is where we are kick starting off this season. It's a high speed track here just north of where we would typically start in Bahrain. This is a track consisting of 20 turns, and is 5.609km of racing ahead. I'm very excited as no-one in F1 history has raced here in an F1 car. Who do you think's going to do well here Ted?"

"Well, there's some really nice corners, and it's a similar temp to Bahrain so i think it's difficult to tell but I can imagine the Audi with Y/N now having done her rookie season learning all those key values about the F1 car and how it works. McLaren will also be good here, really tightening up the constructors championship this year!" Ted offers looking at all the onboard footage.

"Yes I agree, I think Red Bull tend to be quiet strong a the start of the year naturally and its a game for the other teams to be playing catch up!" Crofty agrees.

"Okay, then after Kuwait, we'll be travelling to and correct me if I'm saying this wrong but the Kyalami Circuit in South Africa near the wonderful capital Johannesburg. It's in replacement of the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, we haven't raced in South Africa since 1993 and what a beautiful circuit this is, its got some really high speed corners and yeah, I think the Ferrari will really be great on those long straights." Ted says analysis the data of the cars in testing.

"And now here we have with us, Y/N Y/L/N Audi F1 driver here to talk through the rest of the tracks!" David says and points to the camera for you to smile and wave before he pulls out the microphone in front of you.

"Hello!" you grin and David and Ted both burst out laughing.

"What did I miss, I'm really sorry i was late!" you smile looking between them and they both nod in understanding of how tight the weekend schedule could be, they are shocked they actually have your time right now.

"It's completely okay, we understand! We've only introduced Kuwait and South Africa, we are about to move onto the changed Australia track! Your thoughts?" he exclaims and you smile.

"Yeah, obviously it's going to be exciting with all these new tracks that none of us have driven, so of course there was a lot of testing in the sims... but yeah its great to be here in Kuwait, and I'm excited to go to South Africa as well!" you smile.

"Yes, and how do you feel about Australia being changed from Albert Park in Melbourne to the Adelaide Street Circuit?" Ted asks with a grin on his face knowing how you felt about the Australian races.

"Well, after the spider incident in 2022, I've always been so scared to drive in Australia" you giggle, before Crofty pulls up the video of you in P4 of the Australian Grand Prix in 2022.

Y/N - Theres a fucking tarantula in my car Race Engineer - Copy that Y/N - No i dont think you guys get it, its on me

"And you ended up pitting there was no time to get it out of the car because of where it was, you were crying for the rest of the race and you were going so quick so you could just finish that you actually ended up winning your first race here and overtaking Charles Leclerc in, what back then was an Alfa Romeo." Crofty smiles and you nod.

"Yeah, so where ever that race is in Australia I know ill be on edge the whole time, I'll have my crew do like 6 inspections on my car before each session to make sure. It was traumatizing i tell you!" you admit.

"So after what will hopefully be a spider free stint in Adelaide on their street circuit we move on to south east Asia where we will exchange Suzuka Japan, for the Fuji SpeedWay, a truly iconic track before going back to an old favorite of some of the older driver on the grid like Lewis and Fernando in South Korea at the Korea International Circuit!" Ted says showing the line up for the races after Australia.

"I'm really excited for these, the atmosphere of the fans is always amazing and the tracks here are great I think Audi thrive on these sort of tracks and yeah, I'm excited to see what we can do there!" you smile, looking at the spinning track layout that popped up on screen.

You move on to Miami's replacement being the iconic Californian Long Beach Street Circuit.

"And we've been tipped of, by a certain Cash App driver that he'll be taking you to DisneyLand while out there?" he asks looking at you.

"Yes, Liam has already been once and when I said about wanting to go to radiator springs he and Daniel jumped on the opportunity to go, which then Yuki and Max wanted to come so it's now turned into this whole massive group trip!" you laugh knowing that half the grid would come with you guys.

"And of course much like the UK Italy is another pinnacle of Motorsport and we've had to change out two of the iconic track Monza and Imola. So for the first change of Italy we've changed it to the iconic Mugello track which I just really love, don't you Y/N?" Ted asks looking at you.

"Yeah I think Lando and Osc will be really strong there, I'd like to think me and Carlos are as well with the Audi this year... so yeah I'm excited for Mugello! Obviously they raced here in 2020 so it's the most recent of all the races this year to make a return so its only really me, Oscar, Logan, Fred, Theo and Kimi who haven't raced there" you smile analyzing the twisty track up on the screen.

"Yes, then we'll be moving onto, what was probably one of the toughest decisions of this year which was switching out Monaco and what to switch out such an exciting race with, so they didn't its the only race on the calendar this year that has remained unchanged!" David explains making you nod.

"I think, where this year is to show the history of F1 and what it means to all of us, the teams and the fans. And by keeping Monaco on there where its such a historic track, i think that's actually staying true to a rewind year!" you smile, you'd always loved the vibes in Monaco, from the fans to the track to how your car performed there.

"Yeah i agree i think it was the right choice keeping Monaco!" Ted exclaims also loving the vibes at Monaco.

"Okay, then moving all the way to the west, we'll be in Canada moving from Montreal over to Quebec at the second oldest track, the Mont-Tremblant Circuit!" David shows the new Canadian circuit on screen.

"Then after Canada we've got a really special double header with two Spanish Grand Prix's at different locations. We have the Valencia Street Circuit and Del Jarama Circuit. Both very exciting and it will be a long weekend in Spain!"

"I'm excited to see a street circuit in Spain, obviously we had Madrid for the last two years after Barcelona, so I'm excited for both Valencia as a street circuit and Jarama which is such an iconic track because of those tights turns and yeah I'm really excited for this one!" you smile.

"Obviously next one was another tough one, Silverstone again another iconic track and the UK has so many other iconic tracks that its hard to choose, there was talks of Aintree, Watkins Glen and Donington Park but ultimately they went with Brands Hatch what do you think on this?" Ted asks looking over to you, holding up a page showing all the different UK tracks.

"Yeah, I think there's some really iconic tracks in the UK, its my home so i grew up racing on a lot of those tracks in different motorsport categories, I think there's ones that are arguably better for Formula one, which is why Silverstone is the main circuit as it gives for the most interesting race, however for me it would have been a call between Brands Hatch and Watkins Glen so I'm glad that they chose Brands Hatch, I've got some great memories there at testing and showcasing the car or working with the Top Gear team, so I'm excited to race there!" you explain, the United Kingdom is the like Monaco in being both a founder and royalty when it comes to Motorsport.

"I 100% agree with that, however I just love Aintree so much and am gutted we wont see it!" David Croft admits.

"So after Brands Hatch we move to Monsanta in Portugal which we haven't raced in Portugal since 2021 because of the COVID restrictions but that was in Algarve so it'll be interesting to see the difference!" Ted offers looking at the next circuit floating on their screen as he zoom's in on turn 4.

"Then, again there another track we hate to see go even if its for one year but Spa, its so iconic and its one of the most dangerous circuits we race now and it's being swapped out for Circuit Zolder on the other side of Belgium! Thoughts?" David asks out in the open.

"I" you start.

"Well I think" Ted also starts and you both look at each other in shock before laughing. You let Ted go first to say his piece.

"Well, I think it's no where near interesting as Spa, and especially where its the last race before a break... I think it's going to be way more uneventful than Spa!"

"Y/N?" Crofty asks looking at you.

"I actually think the opposite most of the tracks have been very high risk with lost of turns and chicanes and hairpins that really catch you out, however this reminds me of the simplicity of Monza and everyone, everyone loves Monza. So i think it will really even out the mid field cars" you says observing the track that had nice long straights and minimal turns.

"I agree with you there Y/N! Next after Zolder we head over to the heavily missed Nurburgring in Germany, the last time we saw it was 2019 so again, up until our 2019 rookies would have driven there how'd you feel about this track Y/N?" David asks.

"Well, it's such an iconic track for so many reasons I really wanted to race there after I watched Lando, George and Alex all race there in 2019, I was actually there in the paddock that year with Ferrari as a part of their driver development programme" you nod, explaining to them how excited you were for it.

"Now next in the place of Monza which we just mentioned we have a complete wild card of the Scandinavian Raceway in Sweden! Now this, this is one I'm excited for it's a beautiful track and has the coldest track temps we'll probably get all season! So it'll be a real fight to see who can protect their tyres and manage them well!" Ted explains and you nod, knowing it would be an exciting race.

"Then after that we travel to France where we haven't been for a while, however the Bugatti Au Mans Track in France is iconic, there are so many great tracks in France like Paul-Ricard or the Charade Circuit or Dijon de Prenois, all of them are great but the Bugatti hasn't been done is so long and really means a lot historically to the sport" David offers, showing you one of the only tracks you didn't feel too excited a lean towards.

"Then, we move back across to Aisa, going to an age of favorite of the age old Sepang International Circuit in Malasiya which is one fans have been wanting to see back on the race calendar for a while so i wonder if this will stay into 2027!" Ted takes over, and you nod.

"I'm also very excited for Sepang! After Malaysia we move onto the first ever FIA grade 1 race track the Chang Circuit in Thailand, how to we feel about this?" David asks directly looking at you.

"Not only is it a beautiful track, but it means that Alex now has a chance to race at his home track while racing under his home flag and I think he's really excited for it. He's in a great car, the Williams has come leaps and bounds and are top midfield contenders and definitely will be up there fighting for race wins!" you smile, knowing Alex was so happy to have this opportunity to race in his home country.

"I agree Alex Albon to win in Chang Circuit, I've put my money on it! Our next circuit it one that NASCAR share with us in F1 taking it back to the Indianapolis Speedway, on the lower F1 circuit of course rather than the Oval that the NASCAR drivers use!" Ted explains.

"Yeah, that lower track is great, you got the nice curve and we'll be able to get to those really high speeds. It's an iconic US track just like COTA!" you admit, taking a sip of the water you'd brought with you.

"After Indi, we'll make our way a little further down south to the Rio de Janiro International Track in Brazil, which is instead of Sao Paulo" David explains looking at the second F1 track in Brazil, it was a nice track but Sao Paulo had been on the roster for so long.

"Then, we are back in Las Vegas, but not on the Strp track that was created in 2023, no we are going back to the Ceaser's Palace Track and I know many people complain about these Las Vegas Grand Prix's because of the timings and the drivers not really liking driving at 12pm!"

"Yeah, i agree they are really strenuous just like Qatar for the heat but I love the vibe Las Vegas brings and I like the whole weekend with all the activities in the fan zone and yeah I'm excited they used Ceaser's Palace rather than the Pheonix Street Circuit which i know they were considering.

"I agree. Our last two races, then consist of the Buddah International Circuit in India and rounding off instead of in Yas Marina in the Dubai Autodrome, which will be a really nice round off" David exclaims.

Slowly you end the interview up, needing to go down to the track to get into the car for you leg of pre-season testing.

What a year it would be.

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