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immoral-stranger · 2 months

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𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 // 𝐋𝐍𝟒

Summary: “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!” — Or, in which an accident-prone girl stumbles and falls for everything, including Lando.

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem! reader

Word count: 23.2k (grab a snack)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ❀ Angst: injuries, hospitals, surgery, scars, blood, dead parent, mention of car crash. Smut: penetrative sex, oral (f! receiving), body insecurities, very vanilla. Fluff: idiots to lovers, so much pining and scheming. Other: inaccurate timeline and made-up race results. it's fiction, folks!

A/N: Posting this then falling off the face of the earth, because this fandom is scary. Kinda unedited for now. English is not my first language! ♡

Melbourne, Australia

Lando didn’t recognise you at first. Granted, he wasn’t the best at remembering faces, but usually if he’d met someone, he would remember them the second time around. Although, this wasn’t his second time seeing you, he would later learn. It was probably close to the tenth time. It had just been some time since your last encounter. For a logical reason, he would also later learn.

Albert Park, 2024. Race day. That’s where he saw you this time. Walking down the paddock, next to Oscar and his girlfriend Jasmine, trying to keep up as the three of you made your way to the McLaren garage. Your hair getting messed up by the breeze, annoyingly sticking to your glossy lips, feet almost tripping on the seam of your baggy jeans. You were out of your element, putting on a brave smile — and Lando could tell.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring at you, from his seat on the steps up to his motorhome, until you were out of eyeshot again, somewhere in the garage. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why you were familiar and it was killing him. If you were Australian, maybe that would explain it, since Lando had no way of keeping track of all of Oscar’s old friends.

But you weren’t Australian. As he later walked into hospitality, he overheard a bubbly British accent talking to Jasmine and Oscar, an accent belonging to you. It confused him even more, really gnawed inside of him. He should know you, yet something wasn’t aligning, something wasn’t right. Oscar wouldn’t just fly anyone halfway across the globe.

It all came crashing down when he heard Jasmine ask you a simple question.

“Bunny, can you grab me a fork?”

Standing up from the table, you gave Lando a small smile as you caught his gaze, signalling that you at least knew who he was.

Bunny, Bunny, Bunny. The nickname finally made him realise, finally made him recognise you. But you weren’t the Bunny he’d met at multiple races before. You didn’t look like she did. Or, you didn’t look like you used to. Bunny was Jasmine’s childhood friend who had gotten sick, who had stopped traveling, who had stopped coming to races at all. The girl before him however, wasn’t sick. You didn’t look weak in any sense. Nervous, fidgety, and out of place, sure — but never weak.

As you were about to say a quiet hello to him as you walked past, Lando was already falling apart — socially that is. Words were stumbling out of his mouth before his brain had a chance to keep up. He cringed internally before he could even finish the sentence.

“Holy shit, I thought you were dead!”

He shocked you, that was obvious. Your eyes went wide as you struggled to say something in response.

“Lando, you can’t just say that to someone,” Oscar chuckled from a few metres back.

“I-I’m sorry, I just… didn’t recognise you,” Lando stuttered out as you still stood dumbfounded in front of him.

“You don’t think I would’ve told you if my best friend died?” Jasmine butted in, standing from the table, placing herself beside you.

She could tell that you didn’t know how to react, already expressing your nerves about how uncomfortable it would be to attend a race after not going for a very long time, afraid that people would ask too many questions.

“It’s alright, it’s been a long time,” you finally managed to say.

Then, an uncomfortable silence fell over the four of you. It was like you knew that you should explain why it had been such a long time, but you didn’t know how to do it —casually explaining the second most traumatic experience of your, thus far, relatively short life. It wasn’t casual at all, and you couldn’t even try to fake it.

“Ehm, I’ll go get that fork for you Jazz,” you broke the silence, swiftly excusing yourself to go back to the catering table.

Oscar couldn’t stop chuckling and Jasmine looked borderline offended, something she tended to do, a resting bitch-face of sorts. Lando felt like the stupidest, most socially inept person alive, mentally facepalming himself as he watched you leave. This was going to be a long day.

Lando’s race however, was frustratingly short.

You and Jasmine watched the race from the garage, surrounded by muddled mechanics, blinking monitors and loud noises. It really was a circus, a well-oiled machine, fascinating to watch. You’d forgotten how fun it could be. Also, how nerve-wracking it was to be standing next to Jasmine while her boyfriend — love of her life, light of her eye — was going 300 km/h, head to head with insanely competitive people, in big death traps.

The early races of the 2023 season that you had managed to catch in person hadn’t been too impressive, from McLaren’s standpoint. Your humble opinion was that anyone who even sat in one of those cars was more courageous and impressive than you would ever manage to be. As the last season went on, you had learnt to trust the process, but both you and Jasmine would be lying if you said that 2024 didn’t look like an even better year for the brightly papaya-coloured team you were rooting for.

With both drivers in good starting positions and Verstappen’s brakes catching fire on the third lap, Jasmine couldn’t contain her excitement, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet next to you. Ferrari’s in the lead and McLaren fighting for that glorious third spot. It wasn’t until Lando had a chance to pass Leclerc that the castle in the air came crumbling down. Ooh’s and aah’s filled the garage as you watched the scene unfold on a monitor.

“Oh, fuck,” you said under your breath, knowing that barely anyone would be able to hear you in the crowded space. “Is it over for him?”

Jasmine had been too busy squealing over Oscar going into third that she failed to realise that it was on the cost of Lando. That was until his car came rolling into the pit lane with irreparable damage from making contact with Leclerc.

You’d seen it happen before, but that didn’t change the feeling. Your heart basically lodges itself in your throat, making you unable to breathe for a couple seconds. And then it was the aftermath… Seeing the driver leave their car, head hung low, just wanting to scream at the world in frustration but bottling it all up inside.

Leclerc wouldn’t even get a penalty, it was just how racing worked sometimes. That didn’t change the feeling of complete utter failure for Lando. You could tell that as he, with assertive steps, made his way to his driver’s room, slamming the door shut so hard that it only flew back open again.

“Bunny.” Jasmine grabbed your arm to get your attention, leaning closer so that you would hear her. “One of us has to go ask if he’s alright. He doesn’t have anyone here with him.”

“Doesn’t he have an entire team to do that?” you wondered.

Surely, they didn’t send these drivers out without having enough support from the team when something went wrong. Surely, you thought. The look on Jasmine’s face told you the opposite. The fact that no one was running after Lando to his room was also quite telling. Or maybe… they knew better than to disturb him. Maybe Jasmine was setting you up for failure by asking you to comfort someone who didn’t want to be comforted.

“He’s gonna need someone who’s not obsessed with performance and profit. Trust me, the people on this team may be nice, but they are not human when it comes to things like this,” Jasmine explained, and you took her word for it.

“Am I the best option?”

You didn’t know him. And you were awkward. But so was he… Yet, you couldn’t even get your little brother to stop crying by making him laugh or comforting him — let alone a grown man, like Lando.

“Please,” she insisted, and you could tell that she was serious. There was no point in arguing with her. Seeing the rest of the race with Oscar battling to keep his podium position would be enough of a feat for her poor emotions. She wouldn’t be able to walk away from it.

You weren’t even sure if you were allowed to walk back there, but there was also no one stopping you when you did it. Your steps were the opposite to Lando’s assertive ones as you made your way to his driver’s room. You had no idea what to expect when you reached the already open door…

… but Lando, sat on his little bench, racing suit halfway off, lazily scrolling on his phone was not it.

“I understand that I’m most definitely not the person you would want to talk to right now, but Jasmine said that you were here alone and I just wanted to ask if you’re okay,” you rambled out way too quickly.

It got his attention, looking up from his phone, but he didn’t say a word. He was mostly shocked to see that you were the first person to come talk to him. He had expected Jasmine, or maybe someone from the team that he wouldn’t want to talk to anyway. But not you. You had no reason to even be nice to him after how weird he’d been.

“Uhm, so this is me asking that,” you reminded him when his silence got too much for you.

“I’m fine,” Lando sighed, dragging his fingers through his sweaty curls, getting flashbacks of what had happened all over again.

You could tell from the look on his face that he, in fact, was not fine.

It was toxic and harmful, that his first instinct when something like this happened was to immediately check his phone to see what people were saying about it online. But he had done it anyway. And sure enough, there were people blaming him — calling him reckless and a whiny little kid, finally getting what he deserved. There were also people calling Leclerc out, but Lando somehow couldn’t focus on it.

Because the thing he saw most of when he was scrolling through twitter was your face. Maybe that was why he was even more surprised to see that it was you standing in the doorway to his room and not someone else.

“Do you know that we’ve gone viral?” he asked you, referring to the phone in his hand. He couldn’t help but let out a little laugh under his breath.

“No?”

You looked confused as Lando scooted over to make space for you to sit down beside him. You didn’t have any social media, and Lando knew. He definitely hadn’t tried to look you up after your encounter earlier to see why on earth he hadn’t recognised you. It had gotten him nowhere. You had no accounts of your own and Jasmine hadn’t posted any photos of you. He had stopped himself before searching up old paddock photos. So, it wasn’t a surprise that you didn’t know about the video that was circulating around right now.

“Apparently, someone was filming when I said that I thought you had died. It’s quite a funny clip,” he clarified, tilting his phone to show you the screen.

He watched as you looked at the clip, a gentle giggle leaving your mouth at how ridiculous it was. Your smile then turned into concern, seeing the amount of interactions the post had earned.

“Is that not bad publicity for you?”

“I don’t care about that,” Lando said honestly. “But I am truly sorry for saying that to you.”

Thinking someone had died was a new low even for him, and saying it to your face was just unexplainable behaviour. Yet, he still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t recognised you. Sure, he knew that you had been sick and then… probably gotten well again? But did that change your appearance? Maybe he just hadn’t really looked at you before.

“I can’t blame you, Lando — I probably looked dead the last time you saw me,” you laughed.

You couldn’t remember exactly when it was, sometime mid last season. Right before it got really bad, but while your condition was stable enough for you to go to races. Maybe it was Silverstone. You had a vague memory of seeing Lando on that podium. You knew that you had looked horrible either way. When you thought about it, maybe Lando had never seen you completely healthy.

“There was something wrong with your lungs, right?” he asked, wondering if he was remembering things correctly.

“Just the left one. I had spontaneous pneumothorax three times in a year,” you explained, earning a confused look from Lando before adding, “Collapsed lung, basically air was leaking from the lung out into my chest.”

He raised his eyebrows as you spoke. You made it sound a lot more trivial than what he assumed it was.

It happening one time wasn’t actually that uncommon. Apparently, lungs collapsed right, left, and centre. It was usually a quite easy fix as well, not even something that required surgery. But when it happened to you, that third time — it was obvious that the problem was much larger. There was multiple surgeries and constant checkups. There were ugly scars and never-ending breathing exercises.

It was a lot, for anyone. Even worse for someone just about to graduate from their bachelor’s programme. Your life had fallen apart, to say the least, and it wasn’t something you gladly talked about, so making it sound trivial was your way of coping. If Lando realised that was another question.

“And I’m sat here moping about a DNF,” he heard himself mumble before realising how insensitive that might’ve come across. “But you’re okay now?”

“One final checkup left, practically as good as new,” you said, putting on a smile. “You do know that it’s not comparable though, right?”

Lando didn’t understand at first, so you kept on speaking.

“Me, having a life threatening medical condition — and you, having a bad day at work?”

Maybe you were the one sounding insensitive now, knowing full well that his work wasn’t normal in any way, shape, or form. But that was the opposite of your intentions, so you kept on rambling to try and save yourself.

“You’re allowed to be selfish and angry about something going wrong in your life without thinking about how other people might have it worse,” you added. “Because let’s be honest, someone is always going to be in a worse situation. That doesn’t take away from your right to feel things about what’s happening in your life.”

What had happened with Leclerc was shitty as fuck and if you were Lando, you’d be crying, cursing everyone and their mothers that even had a slight connection to Ferrari. But you weren’t a professional race car driver. You were an emotional young woman. What you were trying to say was that Lando had a right to even be a fraction more emotional than what he was showing right now.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lando answered simply after a moment of silence.

He wasn’t used to people telling him he had a right to be emotional. He’d been told since he was a child by people in the industry that being a whiny little kid would get him nowhere. Maybe you had a point. Whatever he was doing now to deal with his emotions (which was ignoring them completely), obviously wasn’t working with how he was feeling inside.

“You don’t have to say anything to me if you don’t want to, just allow yourself to feel, because even I can tell that you’re shutting yourself out and I don’t even know you.”

Your voice was soft as you spoke. Your accent reminded him of the people he grew up around. That was something he hadn’t realised before. He was starting to think that he had been completely self-absorbed all the other times he’d met you. You were almost… pretty, when you sat there next to him in ugly fluorescent lighting. Maybe it was the way you seemed to actually care that made his brain a little mushy.

You were scared to cross a line with him by saying too much, so you decided to retreat. Standing up from the bench, creating more space between you, you took a stance in the doorway again. It felt like you couldn’t breathe in his tiny little room.

“I should probably go back to see how Oscar is doing,” you said, signalling with your hand to the garage.

Lando looked up at you with big eyes, nodding understandingly. You could almost visibly see how he was holding back from telling you that he was, in fact, not okay.

You really had no business pushing him to say something to you. But, something inside of you was calling you a coward for not even giving it a try. For not even giving it a second chance, trying to make him feel better about himself. It all reminded you a little all too well of something that your mother always used to tell you. Fuck it.

“My mum taught me to always linger in doorways for a couple extra seconds before leaving someone,” you said, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the mere thought of how stupid this was. “That’s usually when people get to thinking about things they haven’t had the courage to say yet, since you never know when you’re next going to see the person.”

You were over-explaining it, pressing your nails into the soft skin of your palms as you got nervous. You were trying to say that you always resolved to leave people feeling better than they did before you talked to them.

Lando cracked a small smile as he watched you stumble over your words. He had now decided that you were pretty, standing in the doorway, your gaze oscillating between him and the floor.

“I’ll ask one more time and then I’ll go — Lando, are you okay?”

“No,” he sighed. He couldn’t hide it. “But I will be.”

“It’s never okay after something like that happens. I keep on blaming myself for things I have no power over, but that’s got to stop at some point, right? I have to learn at some point,” he continued, voice coming across as slightly defeated.

You recognised his mentality, Oscar usually said something similar after experiencing a setback. You still didn’t understand how he wasn’t more visibly upset, yet you now knew that he was harbouring it all inside. It made you feel better that he had actually said it out lout — that he wasn’t fine. You also felt a little bit worse, getting the feeling that his self-deprecation was far more severe than you originally thought. He blamed himself without good reason.

“I’m afraid I don’t know you well enough to say the right thing now, but for what it’s worth, I’m so impressed by you,” you admitted truthfully, hoping you weren’t showing pity. He was actually such an inspiration, such an idol. Even when he sat there, looking like he had run through hell and back, fighting his brain to not feel sorry for himself.

“Have I done enough lingering to make my mother proud, you think?” you joked, tilting your head while you looked at him.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I’ll join you out there in a minute.”

Oscar had secured his third position and his first home race podium. Getting to see him up on that podium, covered head to toe in champagne was so special to you. Even though you were Jasmine’s friend first, you had really grown to love Oscar during their years of dating. Although, Lando never managed to make his way to the celebrations, something that lingered in the back of your mind.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to say the right thing — to make him feel better about himself. That was more than most people did. He was used to people sucking up to him, but this was different. This was honest. You had no reason to be nice to him. You had no reason to even give him your time of day. But you did it anyway. Lando didn’t even think to say thank you before you left. He should’ve, because you were right. He didn’t know the next time he would see you, hell with your track record you might actually be dead tomorrow, and it was a shame if you didn’t know that your words had helped.

Lando wasn’t sure how long he stayed in his room, sitting on that uncomfortable little bench. Letting his thoughts get the best of him while simultaneously trying to think of what you’d said to him. That he should feel, that he should think this through. He was just hoping that what he was feeling was healing more than it was self-destructing.

He stopped spiralling when Oscar came back to his room to change, just next to Lando’s. He was covered in champagne, exuding pure joy of getting a home race podium. While Lando was happy for his teammate, trying his best to give him a heartfelt congratulations, he also couldn’t stop thinking about how that trophy could’ve been his. The first one of the season.

What Lando didn’t know was that Oscar was very much aware of all of this, having learnt how to read his teammate’s expressions quite well after spending so much time together. He knew that Lando took defeat harder, or at least he showed it more clearly than Oscar ever did. He also knew that he needed someone to… turn on the faucet for him, making him feel like it was okay to spew out feelings about how the race had gone, without judging him for what he might say.

“Did Jasmine come check on you?” Oscar asked, leaning in the doorway to Lando’s room.

Lando would never be able to look the same way at a person standing in a doorway without thinking about what you had said about lingering, staying for a couple extra seconds.

“No, uhm, Bunny did,” he replied, feeling himself smile for some reason. He felt odd using your nickname, as he had no idea where it originated from. Yet, it was just so you.

“What was that look?” Oscar laughed. Lando’s smile wasn’t just a normal one. Oscar could almost guess what had happened, that was just the kind of person you were.

“She’s different from when I last met her,” Lando explained, feeling heat rise to his face as he wondered just about how transparent his emotions actually were. “Oscar, she’s trouble.”

“This is about to be hilarious, isn’t it?”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Greater London, UK

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t have to wait long to see you again. On a week without racing, he decided on a whim to stay in England for a couple of days longer than planned after debriefing at the MTC. It was someone’s birthday — a mechanic, an engineer — he really didn’t know, but a bunch of people from the team ended up in a pub, drinking to their hearts’ content. It was nice, but most of all, it was relaxing. It wasn’t Monaco, where everyone had their eyes on him as soon as he stepped outside. He could blend in better with the masses here.

As could Oscar. Lando had never really seen Oscar drunk before. Apart from now. Putting him in a cab alone and sending him home wasn’t an option when the poor lad could barely stand on his own. That’s how Lando ended up in his and Jasmine’s shared flat. Even helping Oscar up the stairs had been a mission, especially since Lando wasn’t that sober either. It was alright, they were young and without responsibilities for the rest of that week at least. The team leaders didn’t even have to know…

“Bunny is in the guest room, but you can stay on the couch if you want,” he heard Jasmine say from the kitchen, getting Oscar a glass of water, as Lando had just watched her wrestle him to bed. Jasmine was a short woman, but when she set her mind to something, she could move mountains. Or, her boyfriend.

It took Lando’s inebriated brain a concerning amount of time to figure out that Bunny meant you. You were Bunny. And he liked you. Or he thought so. He liked the picture of you that he had built up in his head after your conversation in his driver’s room.

He wasn’t sure what you were doing here. Maybe you and Jasmine had a girls’ night when Oscar was away. He didn’t actually know that much about you, even less so when his brain was compromised by alcohol.

Lando thought he was being sneaky as he walked over to the guest room, where the door stood ajar, but the wooden floors creaked beneath his feet. He could spot your head of hair peeping out from under the sheets, shoulders covered by a papaya-coloured shirt that he assumed was originally Oscar’s. Your eyes were closed but you weren’t sleeping.

“Lando, I can feel you staring,” you almost whispered, cracking a smile but still not opening your eyes.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling ashamed.

You reached out to turn on the lamp that stood on the nightstand. Lando watched as you sat up in bed to get a better view of him, looking amused as soon as you caught his gaze. “Drunk?”

“A little.”

“Did you two have fun?”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen Oscar this drunk before,” Lando said, letting out a soft laugh. He’d been like Bambi on ice getting out of the cab and up the stairs. It was certainly a bonding experience between teammates. “Jasmine had to wrestle him to bed.”

The shirt looked huge on you, it was too big to even be Oscar’s. That was a nicer thought, for Lando. As you sat up, the sheets pooled at your waist, with a bare leg sticking out on the side. For a second, it struck him that you probably had no trousers on.

No, nope, look at her face Lando.

Your face was bare. If he stared long enough he would probably start counting your birthmarks and imperfections. It almost looked freshly washed. Maybe you and Jasmine had done face masks. He didn’t really know what a girls’ night entailed.

“Your hair is shorter.”

Lando said it out loud the moment he realised it. His drunk brain didn’t let him keep anything in.

“It was easier to manage while I was back at the hospital,” you explained, on instinct reaching up to touch it.

“Fuck, right, the surgery!”

Oscar had told him about it and Lando had somehow forgotten. He could blame the alcohol for now. You only having one checkup left and being practically as good as new had been too good to be true.

“Uh, how did it go?”

“Simple checkup turned into an emergency surgery and two weeks in a hospital bed.” You shrugged, as if you had told him what you had eaten for dinner, not showing any signs of how awful it had truly been. “But I survived.”

Lando nodded. “That’s good, I guess. Scary, but good that you’re good.”

How many times could he use the word ’good’ in one sentence?

The both of you turned silent after that, unsure of what to say next. You watched him as he stood in the doorway, his feet tentatively moving as his eyes flickered around the room. You started to smile as you realised what he was doing.

“Is this you lingering in the doorway?”

“I think so,” Lando shyly admitted. “Is it working?”

You chuckled, still smiling all sleepily at him like what he had said was funny, or special. It made Lando’s heart hurt and his cheeks burn.

Truth be told, you could’ve used some lingering right now. You had talked to your father and to Jasmine of course, but you still felt like you had this pressure over your chest for things you hadn’t said.

You could’ve told him about how you’d gone alone to the hospital because you’d thought it would be quick, but ended up getting prepped and rushed into surgery before anyone you knew even had time to make it there to be with you. There had been no one there to hold your hand.

You could’ve told him about the scar on your chest that was now worse than ever before. It was larger, more red, and way more noticeable. You’d cried trying on shirts before going to dinner with Jasmine tonight, which you hadn’t had the heart to tell her about. You’d wanted to cancel the entire thing, before sucking it up and putting on a turtleneck.

You could’ve talked about it for ages, knowing that maybe he would listen. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not right now. Not to him.

“I think we should both go to sleep, Lando,” you said, yawning comically loud as you turned off the light before falling back on the mattress.

Lando didn’t push you. Instead, he chuckled and said a soft goodnight. He knew he maybe should’ve pushed you to talk. He sensed that he could’ve done it. But it also didn’t feel like the right time. Not when he was drunk. Not when you were tired.

His eyes longed on you for a couple extra seconds, you looked adorable with the sheets practically swallowing you whole. He then walked back into the kitchen where Jasmine was standing, putting wine glasses into a display cabinet. Maybe you weren’t entirely sober either.

He took a seat at the kitchen island, slouching over as he rested his face in his hands. Jasmine smiled at him, tilting her head to the side as if to silently ask him if something was wrong.

“Jasmine, has she always looked like that?” Lando said, unsure of what he was even asking.

“Bunny?” Jasmine questioned, leaning her elbows on the counter, scrunching her eyebrows in confusion.

“She looks different from when I first met her.”

Maybe you just weren’t sick anymore. Maybe Lando had just been a right idiot the other times he’d met you and not properly cared to look at you. Maybe you had been shy and he had been self-obsessed. Maybe it didn’t matter what had happened before.

“Well, for a start, she has two working lungs now,” she argued, a laugh slipping out under her breath as if what she said was obvious. “Got the colour back in her skin and gained some healthy weight, I think.”

Lando hummed in response. It made sense. You did look different. That was the only sane explanation as to why you were constantly on his mind.

“Why did you ask?”

She looked at him for an answer, her eyes staring him down, searching for eye contact that he wasn’t able to hold. He couldn’t help but turn to the side so that she wouldn’t see how pink his face was.

“Holy shit, you like her!”

Jasmine let out a gasp as she realised, having to contain herself to not squeal and wake the entire building. Lando had nothing to say all of a sudden, his drunkenness not showing at all.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

He quickly stood up to go to the bathroom, ignoring her question and hiding his dumbstruck smile.

“Goodnight Jasmine.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt your hands grow sweaty against the stack of papers you held in them. The costume looked nice — almost too nice to be on your body. Beautiful, sparkly platform heels. Delicate lace and trims on the dress. The corset showed off a waist you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t you, so thank god you were acting like someone else.

“Go on, Magenta. Say your next line,” Jasmine urged you from her spot on the bed in your childhood room. The old canopy and fairy lights that decorated your bed made her look ethereal in a way.

There was something heartfelt, seeing your oldest friend in that room again, now a whole lot older than when the two of you would play with dolls on your floor. When you dropped out of university, you had to move back in with your dad and little brother. It hadn’t been awful, but not ideal either.

Magenta was the character you were playing in your local theatre's production of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You’d been part of the crew at the little theatre for most of your life and now, when you had no classes to worry about and no summer job lined up for you — being part of a musical over the summer seemed like the perfect waste of time. You were going back to university in the autumn, so you felt like you had a chance to have some fun this summer.

“…to sing and dance once more to your dark refrains. To take that step to the right...”

Magenta was the opposite of you. She was bold, and sexy. She had a sultry voice and was dressed in a stereotypical maid costume. Showing off both legs and cleavage. It was a fun change, but a scary one too.

“But it's the pelvic thrust… That really drives you insane?”

Jasmine couldn’t keep a straight face as she acted like your counterpart, starting to giggle like a schoolgirl, trying not to get told off by the teacher for laughing. The lines made no sense to her.

“And our World will do The Time Warp again — Jazz, you’re not focusing!” you exclaimed, joining her laugher as you fell on the bed next to her, ruffling the huge amount of decorative pillows you had on there.

“This was so much easier when you were doing Moulin Rouge, because then I at least understood the plot,” Jasmine scoffed as she looked over the manuscript, leaning into your shoulder as you both relaxed into the pile of pillows.

“What do you meeean your character is a maid who is also an alien? Babe, why are they going to space?” she continued, gesticulating wildly with her hands at the pages.

“It’s camp, Jazz. Or maybe just written by someone on acid,” you laughed.

Rocky Horror was not the simplest of musicals to explain to someone who had never heard of it before. It was camp, and queer, and rock’n’roll. There were aliens, and virgins, and a man in golden underwear. It was a nightmare — and the most fun thing one could imagine.

“Who have you invited for the opening night? I’m so sorry again that we can’t come,” Jasmine asked, turning over to lay on her back, staring up at the fairy lights.

The premiere was only weeks away at this point, but you had known for awhile that Oscar and her were busy celebrating her parents wedding anniversary on the same exact date. She had kept on apologising and you had kept on telling her that is wasn’t that big of a deal. They could come on the second weekend, or the third, or any weekend during the entire summer. It didn’t matter to you.

“Don’t apologise,” you reassured her. “I haven’t invited anyone. Dad has to go with Matteo to his first ever football game.”

Matteo was your little brother. He was the sweetest kid you knew, albeit biased. He was also the most anxious kid you knew, so you could already guess that performing well during his game would be important to him. Your father had to be there, even for your own sanity.

“But you need someone there, cheering you on. This is a big deal!”

It really wasn’t. You’d done it alone before.

“Jazz, Matteo is 10. He needs dad there more than I do,” you remarked.

“I didn’t just mean your dad. You need someone there in general, Bunny.”

You really didn’t. You’d done a lot of things without someone holding your hand along the way.

“Lando should be in England on that day, y’know, some MTC thing,” Jasmine hinted, her gaze catching yours.

You thought you heard her wrong at first. She never talked about Lando casually. From what you had gathered, he and Oscar hadn’t even been that close up until the start of this season. Now, you knew that they hung out, but what did that have to do with you and your little musical?

“Huh? That’s just absurd. He would hate it.”

If you were allowed to be judgmental for a moment, you would assume that Lando had never seen a musical in his life. Let alone something as weird as Rocky Horror. You also didn’t understand at all why he should come watch you, on his own. That would honestly just make you feel like the joke was on you.

“I think he likes you,” she commented plainly, as if it was clear as day and not at all something from her wildest imagination.

She might as well have been speaking Greek. You did not understand Greek.

“Why would he like me?” you squeaked, your eyes going wide.

“You’re hot and funny, maybe a bit odd, but people like that. Why wouldn’t he like you?”

“I’m sat here flipping pages of a manuscript, while he is flipping some model over in bed,” you expressed, throwing your copy of the script at her.

Maybe that was harsh. You didn’t know Lando well enough to say something like that with confidence. But, you did know yourself well enough to say that you weren’t his type.

“So, what? He could flip you over!”

You snorted in response, hiding your laugh. Jasmine was being ridiculous right now.

“It’s like you lost all your confidence when you got sick,” she said, her voice suddenly softened. “Remember our trip to Malaga? That Bunny would’ve jumped on his dick without thinking twice.”

It was crazy how she could make your trip to Malaga sound sentimental, or like an old memory of how you used to be. Malaga had been anything but orthodox. A group of teenage girls — too young to be drinking, making questionable decisions and racking up their body counts.

“I guess I grew up, Jasmine. I also shouldn’t do something reckless with Oscar’s teammate.” You shrugged, standing up, ready to be over with this conversation and to start rehearsing again.

“That is if he actually fancied me, which he does not,” you decided.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando didn’t know what he was doing. When he sneakily asked Oscar if he was doing something after their meetings, he had really been thinking about you. In his mind, maybe they could’ve done something the four of them, so it wouldn’t be as obvious that it was you he wanted to see again.

But Oscar had an anniversary dinner to go to with Jasmine. And you — you were in some off off-West End musical. He really had to get to know you better, because that was not something he would have ever imagined about you.

Not that he was imagining you doing things…

Oscar had told him to go. Lando had questioned his entire existence.

Yet, he still somehow ended up outside of the small theatre on a Friday night. He wasn’t even sure if he was technically still in London, that’s how remote the little community he was in felt. Going out clubbing with Max was his plan B, if this turned out to be as ridiculous as it sounded.

The Rocky Horror Picture Show — that was what the poster outside said. Nothing but a big pair of messily painted red lips were on it. He had no idea what he was in for and Google hadn’t been much help. It looked like a mixture of the story about Frankenstein’s monster and a drag queen show.

He was early, arriving right in the middle of the final dress rehearsal. Something that Oscar had recommended he did, to not get recognised as much and to be able to leave swiftly if he turned out to absolutely hate it. Lando wondered how much of an avid musical-goer Oscar was, or maybe he had just gone to yours.

The theatre was small, probably not more than a hundred seats. It was classic looking, with red velvet chairs and heavy curtains lining the stage. He slid into one of the seats at the very back, looking with anticipation at the stage. The room was maybe filled to one third with what he mostly assumed were the cast’s friends and family.

The stage was decorated with delicately handmade props. It showed a grand hall with checkered flooring, a wooden staircase at the back. Multiple odd sculptures and a wonky replica of the Mona Lisa. All under bright red lighting.

Lando didn’t even have time to take it all in before actors entered the stage.

“Are you having a party?” said a girl in a baby pink dress and a comically blonde wig. Her voice was so high and brittle that it was almost annoying.

“You’ve arrived on a rather special night. It’s one of the master’s affairs,” answered a man with a fake hunchback, his long white hair making him look nothing but creepy.

“Oh, lucky him,” said the girl again.

That’s when he heard a voice he recognised. A voice belonging to you. Sliding down the bannister of the stairs, you whipped an old-timey feather duster around.

“You're lucky. He's lucky. I'm lucky. We're all lucky!” you practically yelled as you made your way to the girl, who looked positively terrified by you. Her looser boyfriend (Lando assumed), who stood by her side looked even more frightened.

It had been two minutes and Lando already rooted for the weird people — meaning you and the man with the hunchback. You were in what he would call a… slutty maid costume. Except it wasn’t slutty; it was more artful. What was he even thinking?

Your wig was large and curly, the dark red colour of it suited you well. Your makeup was dramatic, and your entire costume was covered in silver sequins and glitter. You were not the nervous, out-of-her-element girl that he had seen in Australia a couple months ago. Right now, you were acting completely like someone else. And you were damn good at it.

Much like he imagined a musical to be, the conversation immediately turned into song. The Time Warp, he had heard of that one before. The stage flooded with an ensemble of dancers, dressed in tuxedos. The plot of this musical was still something completely alien. Maybe it barely had a plot.

Lando couldn’t decide if he loved it or hated it. He felt like maybe that was the entire point of the show. Like it was supposed to be annoying, but also so colourful and odd that you couldn’t help but be amazed by it.

Even with so much happening on stage, all he could focus on was you. You didn’t dance or sing like someone who’d injured her lungs not that long ago. You performed like you loved it, having a hard time hiding your smile even if your character was more of a moody type.

Lando, too, found himself smiling. He was astonished by how such a small production still could archive basically perfection. The singing, the choreography — it was like watching something prerecorded. It had to be a passion project for all of you, because he wasn’t sure small theatre productions were the most lucrative thing.

At the end of the number, the dance ended with everyone falling to the floor. That’s when it happened, when he for the first time in the performance, heard something that didn’t sound like perfection. No, that was the sound of someone in pain.

His eyes tried to find you in the pile of bodies on the stage.

You’d practiced it a million times. Falling over — gracefully that is — in high heels wasn’t the easiest of tasks. But never once before had it hurt like his. A stinging pain that never ended, so you couldn’t help but scream. It gathered everyone’s attention, quickly stopping the act and flicking on the normal lights.

A broken ankle. Your broken ankle and your yelping voice. It hurt like hell.

You could see how the people around you started to panic, talking about a first aid kit and getting a stand-in ready to take your place. You couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, your eyes filled up with tears, clouding your vision.

God, you would pass out if this pain didn’t stop.

Lando watched it all unfold from his seat. Seeing you sat in the middle of the stage, clenching your hands over your foot, tears falling down your cheeks, taking your mascara with them.

Ironically, something started to hurt inside of Lando, and he didn’t know how to react. Could he sneak out so you wouldn’t have known he was here? No, no. He was going to see if he could be of any help. That was the only right thing to do. In seconds, he had left his seat and started to march down to the stage.

“Lando?”

Your voice was pathetic. Your tears clogged your throat and you felt ashamed, so fucking ashamed.

You knew that Jasmine had talked to Oscar, and that Oscar had talked to Lando. But seeing him by the edge of the stage, a worried look on his face, wasn’t something you actually thought would happen. You did not understand why he would’ve wanted to come.

“Is your foot okay? The fall looked pretty bad,” Lando said as he crouched down in front of you, looking more at your face than at your ankle so as not to scare you more than what was already inevitable.

“You saw me fall? Oh fuck, why are you even here?” you groaned in pain.

You didn’t mean for it to come across as rude — you just didn’t have much of a choice over your emotions right now. It was nice that he was there, so fucking nice.

“Oscar told me to come — I mean, I wanted to come too,” he emphasised.

Lando didn’t exactly know how to help you now that he had waltzed up on the stage like some knight in shining armour. He looked around to see a man in his mid-thirties come forward with a bright red first aid kit. He tried not to raise his eyebrows too much at the man — dressed in his costume, looking like if Elvis Presley had been in a motorcycle gang.

The man tried not to look too much at Lando either — having known you most of your life and never once seen you bring a boy to the theatre.

“Darling, that’s broken,” the man said as soon as he got a view of your ankle.

Lando could’ve said the same thing.

“No, it’s not Eddie. Just bruised I think,” you tried to tell yourself, and Eddie.

Eddie, whose character in the musical coincidentally was also named Eddie, was your on-sight medic, working as a nurse when he was not busy acting and singing in his studded leather vest and greaser-like hairstyle.

Bruising meant you could suffer through it. Broken meant spending the summer in a cast and missing every single one of your performances. That’s what you got for wanting to have a fun, selfish summer for once in your life.

“Bunny, I don’t know how to tell you this in a nicer way — but it’s broken,” Eddie persisted, rummaging through the first aid kit for something to help with the pain.

“B-but the show…”

You said it quietly, but Lando heard. Your voice was heartbreaking.

It showed how much this meant to you, and he realised now that you were probably embarrassed. He drew parallels to his own life and career, and how much a clumsy mistake could leave its marks for a long time forward. Even if this was only a hobby, it was still important.

“I can wrap it up for you, but it won’t heal unless you go to a hospital,” he continued, not waiting for an answer before he began to gently move your foot.

You whimpered in pain, biting down on your lower lip to not scream as it shifted. Grasping for just about anything to hold on to, you found Lando’s hand. You didn’t have time to think it through, but Lando had a lifetime.

Your nails were painted black to match your costume, and your hand felt so small and cold in his own, yet you were strong as hell as you gripped his fingers in pain. He suffered through it, knowing that what you were feeling was a million times worse.

Eddie wrapped your ankle in a tight bandage. Lando could tell that he’d done it before. Some girl had found a bag of frozen peas in the staffroom freezer, that he then strapped over it to ease the pain. By the look on your face, it did absolutely nothing.

“I’ll drive you to A&E,” Lando offered without thinking twice. He could see Max some other time.

Then it was the trouble of getting you down the stage and out of the building. Eddie throwing you over his shoulder could’ve maybe worked, but you had this thing called dignity.

So, with one arm around Lando and the other one around Eddie, you hopped your way out of there on one foot, cursing Mother Earth herself every time you accidentally touched the ground with the injured one.

“You’re supposed to go to a UTC with broken bones,” you pointed out when you remembered it, feeling the need to correct Lando.

“You’ve broken a bone before?” Lando asked.

Eddie didn’t have to ask because he already knew about your history with hospitals.

“Twice. My wrist once from falling off a trampoline, and a finger from shutting a car door on it,” you explained.

“You’re a walking emergency, aren’t you?” Lando said, like he was joking.

It wasn’t really a joke to you anymore, though.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you mumbled, thinking he wouldn’t hear you.

But he did, and it got him thinking.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you got out to the parking lot. In your periphery, you could see how Eddie’s jaw dropped. A bright orange McLaren was not what you had expected to see, but then again, you couldn’t have said what you expected instead. The man was a Formula 1 driver, for Christ's sake.

Eddie kept his mouth shut, but the look he gave you said something along the lines of you have a lot to explain, young lady. You would have no idea how to explain how you ended up here, even if you wanted to tell him.

“Lando…” you said to get his attention. “I don’t think I can get in this car without it hurting like hell.”

“I borrowed it for the weekend. I didn’t think—” he stopped himself, unsure of how to continue.

I didn’t think you would break a bone and I’d have to drive you?

Yeah, no. He couldn’t say that.

“I was about to tell you to just shove me in the backseat, but it doesn’t even have one,” you tried to joke, earning small smiles from both Lando and Eddie.

Just as getting out of the building, slow and steady won the race. Only this time, you weren’t only cursing Mother Earth but Lando and Eddie too, blaming them for whenever your foot nudged something. You hoped they could take it lightheartedly because you weren’t angry or mad at them. You were angry at yourself.

“You, young man — take care of our best performer, okay?” Eddie said to Lando as he shut the door on your side.

You scoffed at his wording. He knew he didn’t need to take on the role as a protective older brother-like figure in your life, but you kind of liked it when he did. Lando probably met a lot of important and intimidating people with his choice of career, yet Eddie felt different. He had no actual influence, but he had a heart that cared for you. Lando couldn’t joke that away.

“I will, sir.”

The UTC was relatively calm for a Friday evening, so you didn’t have to wait long until you were rushed into a room to be assessed and treated. Nurse after nurse who saw your ankle said the same thing, get x-rays, evaluate, and hope it’s not surgical.

Lando didn’t say much, only helping you explain what had happened when your pain made you unable to form coherent sentences. He stayed by your side, though. You had half-expected him to leave as soon as you got there, making up some excuse about being busy.

But he never did.

You even had to convince him to leave to get your bag that you had left in his car. He was unsure about leaving you alone the first couple of times you mentioned it.

But you wanted to get your makeup off, and fix your hair which had been left a mess after you’d taken the wig off. You’d thought about that part, but the maid’s costume was still on your body. At least the nurses got a good laugh out of it — a barefoot, glittery maid with makeup smeared all over her face and a packet of peas strapped to her ankle.

When you were rolled off to get x-rays taken, Lando finally agreed to go outside and get it. It wasn’t like he was allowed to go with you anyway.

“Thank you,” you said as he handed you the bag. “The x-rays will take a while, but the doctor said it is most likely a simple fracture and I will only need a cast.”

You immediately took out a makeup wipe and a comb. The braids you had on under the wig were starting to feel very stiff, giving you a headache. Or maybe you were just tense because of all the other pain you were feeling.

“That’s good.” He nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed. “Did they give you anything for the pain?”

You giggled a little, rolling your eyes, overplaying how loopy you were. “Can you already tell?”

“Just a little.” He pinched his fingers, showing just how little. “Do you want help with that?”

“You don’t have to—” you tried to tell him, but his hands had already undone one of the hair ties, his fingers moving gently to separate the braided hair.

He scooted behind you to reach better as you continued to take off the makeup, the wipe quickly turning a messy mixture of red and black with how much product was actually on your face. Stage makeup was no joke. His fingers through your hair sent shivers down your spine, but you tried not to think too much about it. He was just being nice. That’s all he’d been the entire evening.

“You probably have better things to do on a Friday night,” you mumbled.

Lando shook his head, and then he figured you couldn’t see it as he sat behind you.

“I called Oscar when I went out. He said he would tell your parents.”

“Parent. My mother’s not alive,” you whispered. “But that’s good, I guess. Did Oscar say anything else?”

You didn’t give Lando any time to think or ask about what you had said. That was on purpose. He wouldn’t have known what to say anyway, with every possible sentence coming to mind feeling insensitive or way too pitiful.

“No, not really,” Lando replied.

That Oscar had made fun of him, for getting to play a knight in shining armour as you were a damsel in distress, was something he opted out of telling you.

“He didn’t say that this was typical of me?” you muttered, rubbing your face in obvious distress.

Lando was done undoing the braids so he could move to see your face again, seeing it streaky and glittery from you having wiped off the makeup without a mirror at hand. He reached for a clean wipe, his eyes silently asking you if it was okay if he helped.

“I just… I can’t fucking believe it.” You exhaled from your nose as he wiped your undereyes clean from glitter.

“It’s always like this,” you continued, showing frustration. “Whenever I’m about to accomplish something in life, I always get injured.”

“I don’t believe that—”

You cut him off by explaining, “Well, I fucked up my lungs right as I was about to graduate.”

“You didn’t fuck them up. Things like that just happen,” Lando interjected.

“I lost my voice on the second show the last time I did a musical. Had to give up a leading role for one that was just dancing, no singing,” you counter-argued, proving that it wasn’t just some one-time thing.

Lando looked at you, waiting to see if you could come up with more examples before he told you that it wasn’t fate that got you injured. They were coincidences.

“My wrist was broken when I took my A-level exams, that was hell on earth,” you said, raising a finger of conviction. “Oh, and I had appendicitis on my 18th birthday. Jasmine still hates me for that one because I ruined a girl’s trip.”

“Is there more?” he questioned, raising his eyebrows.

You snorted out a laugh as another one came to mind. “I got a nosebleed when I lost my virginity. It didn’t stop bleeding for like three hours.”

Lando pursed his lips to not laugh, but he couldn’t keep it in for long. “I’m sorry for laughing, but the picture in my head is really funny.”

In hindsight, it was quite funny. At the time, however, it was the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I was going to say that probably everyone experiences these sort of setbacks, but… I don’t know anymore,” he tried to comfort.

“I think I might just be cursed, Lando,” you huffed, locking eyes with him again.

You both went quiet for a couple seconds as he took in your expression. A gaze so hollow, it didn’t matter that you were trying to hide it with a smile. The smile was blacked out anyway.

He didn’t understand how you could talk to him and reassure him without making it sound like you were second-guessing things, or ever feeling unsure of what your words meant — but as soon as the subject was switched to regard yourself, you were suddenly cold. Or not really cold at all, but just not as warm as you were when you talked about other people.

Your staring contest was interrupted by a young boy saying your name. A man came shortly after him into the small hospital room. Lando assumed it was your father and little brother, as he stood up from the bed to introduce himself. And to make some space between the two of you, since you were sitting suspiciously close together.

The boy got shy as soon as he saw Lando. He looked a lot like you, with the same coloured hair and the same big doe eyes, only he was clad in a green football kit. Your father was wearing a matching one to show support.

“Hi Matteo,” you called out as your brother walked past Lando to immediately get to you. He was like that — shy with people he didn’t know and anxious to talk to them. So you saved him, by talking to him as you saw Lando shake your father’s hand. That wasn’t awkward at all.

“How did the game go?” you asked, ruffling his sweaty hair as you invited him to sit next to you on the bed.

Matteo started talking, all excited about how they’d won and that he had gotten an assist. Pretty solid for a first game, he thought. You were mostly glad that he had a good time and that he seemed to get along well with the other boys on the team. He didn’t have it easy making friends because of his shyness.

Lando overheard the conversation, taking notice of how you had asked him how it went and not if he had won. It was those little things that made you different, made the way you talked to people so much more worth it. You were so fucking lovely, and you seemed to have no idea about it.

Your father had recognised him, but Lando couldn’t tell if that was only because of Oscar or if he cared about racing.

With your family there, Lando started to feel excessive. He couldn’t exactly argue his case for wanting to stay right there in front of you, and your father. He guessed it wasn’t too late to still catch up with Max, but a part of him almost didn’t want to do it.

No, he had to leave. He couldn’t explain his reason out loud.

As he said his goodbye, he met your eyes from his position in the doorway. He didn’t have much to say to you, or maybe he had so much to say that his brain couldn’t find what was most important. His shoes almost felt sticky against the sterile hospital flooring, something glueing him to the spot.

“Will I see you at Silverstone?” Lando decided to ask before leaving.

“Uh… maybe? I’ll have to talk to Oscar,” you said unsure, still sat in the bed with your arm around Matteo.

“Can I come this time?” he whispered, looking up at you.

You were shocked by his question. He’d never asked to come before. But it wasn’t really up to you if he could or not. It was always someone else getting you race passes, so you were in no position to be greedy.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll sort you out,” Lando hurried to say, seeing the uncertainty on your face.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you… for everything.”

For showing up, for driving you, for staying. He’d done so much that he didn’t need to do. Maybe Jasmine was correct. Maybe he didn’t just see you as her friend that he had to be civil to. Or maybe, he’d been dealt really bad cards tonight and had no option but to comply. Otherwise, he would be seen as a complete dickhead.

Lando nodded, pursing his lips into a smile, staying in the doorway for a moment too long, before finally walking away. You didn’t notice him doing it, but someone else certainly did.

“Bunny…” your father said.

“Mm?” you mumbled, perking up your ears.

“Did that boy just linger in the doorway?”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Silverstone, UK

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“Are you avoiding me?”

Lando’s voice shocked you as he came up from behind. You’d seen him around during the day but kept your distance. You were technically his guest today, only ever having been invited by Oscar before. But you would be lying if you said that premise had made you more liberal with how you interacted with Lando. You stayed with Oscar and Jasmine, and your father and Matteo, because that was what you knew.

The paddock at Silverstone was a lot, even for you who had been to this rodeo before. Matteo and your dad, however, would fall asleep quickly tonight with how many new impressions they’d received today. You’d only managed to come on the Sunday, with you on crutches and Matteo being, well… Matteo. It was good enough of an experience anyway.

“No, there’s just a lot of people here to see you. I didn’t want to be a bother,” you explained, nervously laughing.

It was jam-packed with friends and family, sponsors, and celebrities. Every time he had a moment for himself, it could quickly turn into a meet-and-greet if he was at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Now, minutes before he had to make his way to the starting grid, it was finally sort of calm in the garage. You were standing in the viewing section, a papaya-coloured headset around your neck.

Lando shook his head and sighed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

You could not be a bother, even if you tried.

“So, it wasn’t a make-a-wish thing after you saw me fall on my face and break my ankle?”

“Would I’ve been your wish?” he asked, voice affected by laughter.

“No, sorry, I’d pick a broadway show over this any day,” you responded jokingly.

“How’s your ankle anyway?”

The cast and the crutches you were leaning on didn’t look too dramatic. It just looked like you had broken your ankle and were now dealing with it to the best of your ability.

“It’s healing just fine,” you nodded, leaning to rest on one crutch to show Lando your palm. “The worst thing right now is the heat and the crutches giving me callouses.”

As you reached out your hand, Lando couldn’t help but gently grab your fingers to take a closer look. He was practically holding your hand. Sure, you held his when Eddie was wrapping your foot, but you were in an immense amount of pain at the time. This was something different. The callouses weren’t even that bad.

Why was he holding your hand?

In the same moment you could overthink it, he let go.

“Have you been hopping around the paddock all day? You should’ve told me, I could’ve gotten you a golf cart or something,” Lando wondered, feeling kind of bad.

He hadn’t thought about your broken ankle when he’d asked you to come.

“It’s alright. Matteo’s been having a blast all day, so… thank you,” you shrugged.

You could deal with being uncomfortable for a day if it meant that Matteo got a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

His McLaren cap was signed, and he had ice cream in his belly. He’d even gotten a wave from Sir Lewis Hamilton himself, and if that wasn’t enough to make him school ground royalty for at least a week, you didn’t know what was. Maybe you took your big sister duty too seriously, but literally nothing could make you stop caring for that kid.

“And your dad?” Lando asked.

You looked over your shoulder to see what he was doing. With Matteo in front of him, practically hiding into his side, you could see him talking to someone and smiling. You understood that he was mostly doing this for you and Matteo, but there was some underlying fascination that middle-aged men had with fast cars that you knew he was trying to hide.

“He appears to be smiling, that’s always positive.”

“He’s talking to my dad,” he revealed. That wasn’t awkward at all.

Lando hesitated, unsure of asking you what was on his mind, but soon enough, words were falling out of his mouth anyway. You seemed to have that effect on him.

“I need to get ready, but can I see you afterwards? Maybe you can come back like you did in Melbourne.”

You smiled, agreeing before adding, “I’ll watch you get on the podium first.”

The race started with both Lando and Oscar in good positions, which probably led to a false sense of security. Your gut feeling was unsure of it all.

Matteo held on to your hand during the entire start, you could tell that it was mixed emotions of excitement and anxiety. His headset was big on his little head, and he looked positively adorable as he tried to understand what was going on.

“Lando is third right now,” you explained to him, pointing to a monitor. “And Oscar is fifth, you remember them, right?”

Matteo nodded. “Lando broke your foot, and Oscar talks funny.”

“I broke my own foot, but you’re right about Oscar,” you laughed.

It was you that had to hold onto Matteo for a moment during the race when it really looked like both Oscar and Lando had a chance at winning. But after some godawful strategic calls, you realised that the podium wasn’t as secure as you thought. Hamilton was steady in the lead, and Verstappen was chasing Lando like there was no tomorrow.

You were so focused on the leaders that you didn’t even realise what was happening at the bottom of the grid. Pictures of two cars making contact flashed over the screens, and Matteo tensed up beside you.

“What happened?” he worriedly asked, clinging to your arm. “Did they get hurt?”

“No, no, it was just a little love tap,” you reassured him. They probably didn’t even have any damage — that was how minimal it was. “Like when I reversed into grandma’s postbox.”

“That was you?” your dad laughed.

“Be quiet, I’m trying to watch the race,” you hushed him, eyes back on the leaderboard.

Verstappen ended up catching Lando. P3 was the bittersweet consolation prize that Lando would have to act like he was happy about. Parade around the podium, covered in champagne, as if he wasn’t completely gutted inside. You could see on his face that he was acting happy as they celebrated. He wasn’t that good of an actor, if you were to be honest.

If only they had put on different tyres for his last stint.

Afterwards, you made your way back to his driver’s room — just as he’d asked. You could have overthought that question a million times, but you decided to just go for it. It was crowded with people, both staff and guests, rushing to congratulate him. Or maybe to comfort him. Your guess would be on the latter.

At last, the hallway cleared, and you hopped to stand in the doorway, finally seeing him.

“P3, baby!” you joked cheerfully.

Lando stared at you blankly, shaking his head as he snorted out a laugh.

“Yeah, no, that was frustrating to watch. I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

He had no words. Already having had to put on such a fake façade to everyone else he had met after the race. He didn’t want to do that to you. So, he ended up speechless.

“Should I leave you alone?” you whispered, breaking the silence.

“No!” he hurried to say. “Uhm… please, sit.”

With some struggle, you managed to sit next to him on the bench in his room. Much like Melbourne. It was, however, a lot more difficult to move in the little room while on crutches.

He sighed as you sat down, helping you rest the crutches against the wall so they wouldn’t fall to the floor. His racing suit was halfway off and filled the room with a scent of champagne. You tried to look him in the eye, but ended up focusing on how his helmet had left red imprints on his cheeks — like a gorgeous mark of endurance.

“I just… I don’t know what to say, or what to feel. It’s always so fucking close, and then I lose it.” Lando’s voice was stern and measured, his face blank.

It was a forced expression, though. He could cry if his tear ducks would’ve allowed him to. Some mental barrier stopped him from doing it. He almost wanted to do it so that you would see his true emotions.

Your heart broke a little, seeing him be so harsh on himself. Because, with your mentality, he had just done something miraculous. He’d done something mere mortals couldn’t accomplish.

“I’m impressed you get out of that car alive every weekend, so I might be the wrong person to complain to,” you softly told him.

Lando had heard those sorts of words before, how he was superhuman for even getting in the car. He’d felt the same way when he started, and maybe he’d lost that initial spark he used to have.

Your words didn’t mean that you didn’t want him to complain. He should vent, to the people that it mattered to. Get it out of his system, so that he could be sensible in front of the media.

It was funny how the sport worked that way. That he was somehow less happy in third, than Sargeant was in eleventh. That the people on the second and third steps of the podium were the biggest losers. And, they were expected to be robotic about it, otherwise, they would be deemed erratic and emotional.

What was the crime in being emotional anyway?

“I think you drove a perfect race,” you complimented him. “And then I think there were some strategic… mishaps that you’re not to blame for. Overall, this race was like the coolest one I’ve ever witnessed, and Oscar didn’t even get a podium. He’s my favourite driver!”

You tried so hard to get him to laugh again, but he wouldn’t budge. He had to tell himself not to. It actually kind of annoyed him that Oscar was your favourite. He knew he didn’t know you well enough to be your favourite, yet.

“I don’t get how you’re not proud of yourself,” you finally sighed, gesticulating with your hands as you spoke. “You have every right to be proud, annoyingly so.”

Lando knew he had to let his guard down. That was the only way he would feel better about this. This wasn’t like Australia, when it hadn’t been his fault for the bad result. He’d still blamed himself, but let it go after a couple of hours. This time, a good result was somehow his fault. It was insane, the mental game he was playing with himself. And he couldn’t let this go without talking it through.

“I’ll be that later, I just need to feel sorry for myself for a couple of hours first,” he scoffed.

It was Silverstone, after all. He’d gotten a podium on home soil. That was an accomplishment to be proud of. Last year, he was over the moon over his Silverstone race, but maybe that was because the car hadn’t been that great. This time he had a great car, but was somehow a worse driver. It didn’t make any sense to him.

His spiralling thoughts were stopped when he heard his phone continuously vibrate from the other side of the room, somewhere hidden under a pile of clothes.

“Are people blowing up your phone with congratulations?” you asked amusingly.

“No, it’s the PR team,” he said as he looked over his notifications, a confused look on his face. “We’ve gone viral again. It looks like I held your hand when you showed me the callouses from the crutches.”

You did technically hold my hand, was what you wanted to say. You decided that staying quiet felt better.

Lando regretted his wording as soon as he said it. He held your hand in a garage filled with cameras. He knew that. He was to blame for that. But was any harm done?

“I don’t get how it’s always with you that it happens,” he mumbled nervously.

He sat back down beside you, giving you a view of his phone screen. The photos were cute, if you were to be honest. But also blurry and obviously taken by someone who wanted to be sneaky.

“Always? Meaning once before?” you questioned.

That showed how little you were on social media. You didn’t know about anything other than the video from Melbourne.

“No, there were also photos of me at the hospital when you broke your ankle,” Lando explained.

The photos had been everywhere. He, and that orange car, at a hospital parking lot on a Friday evening. It was quite the headline for news outlets and gossip accounts.

“Oh…” you said, visibly surprised. “I’m so sorry if it caused you problems to be seen with a girl in a slutty maid costume.”

For a second there, Lando could watch you go through the five stages of grief, all through your facial expressions.

“You weren’t in the photos. It was just me and that… obnoxious car when I went back to get your bag,” he quickly added, calming your nerves.

You nodded understandingly, feeling yourself get less tense. “Did you have to explain it to anyone?”

“Thankfully not, I’m such a bad liar.”

What would he need to lie about?

Then you realised that someone like him probably couldn't just say that they drove a friend who had injured themselves. That would only lead to a million more questions. And, if he had said something — people would’ve been able to put two and two together as you showed up to the paddock with a cast and crutches. Maybe he was protecting you.

You didn’t know what else to say to him now, meeting his bright eyes once again. They had this way of shining, even though he was sad. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but you were starting to wonder if you’d overstayed your welcome.

Then Lando spoke again, his voice in a happier tone. “Has Jasmine mentioned Italy to you?”

“Monza?”

“No, now before Hungary,” he replied. “Oscar and I have to represent McLaren at some charity auction, and I thought about inviting you as my plus one so that Jasmine doesn’t have to be alone if we have to work a lot.”

The invitation was carefully phrased, and you recognised that. If you had been more sure about Jasmine’s ridiculous idea that Lando liked you, you would’ve made fun of him for dragging in Jasmine in his way of asking you to come with him.

“Oh,” you mused. “I’d be a fool to say no, but there has to be other people that you’d rather go with.”

Lando looked at you in confusion.

“Like, don’t invite me just to do Jasmine a favour,” you continued.

He finally broke into a smile, not being able to contain it anymore. You were clueless, and Lando found that hilarious. “It’s not like I hate your company, y’know?”

You chuckled. You hadn’t expected him to say something so direct.

“Can I talk to Jazz about it first, before I decide?”

Lando nodded softly. “Sure, I mean, the invite is yours anyway. If you don’t want to come, I’ll just go alone.”

You turned quiet again, looking him in the eyes as you took in what he’d said. The invitation was yours. He hadn’t ever thought of bringing someone else. Maybe he truly was doing Jasmine a favour. Maybe this was him sneakily making a move. He’d have to be a lot more upfront for you to catch on, though.

A tension settled over the room, an eternity passing without anyone saying anything. The mood switched, and you both could tell. It was probably time for you to leave, yet the expectation to say that last little thing was there. The little thing that would leave him feeling better about himself. You wanted to linger in the doorway, or linger on the bench, you guessed. You wanted to say so much more.

Oscar intruded by softly knocking on the already open door.

“Oscar, hi!” you squeaked out of surprise, straightening your back to make space between you and Lando.

“Your dad’s looking for you,” he explained, chuckling.

“I guess I better go,” you said, standing up, finding balance with the help of your crutches. “You both should be proud of yourselves today, or every day for that matter.”

Lando looked down at the floor as you left. He knew that whatever face Oscar put on or whatever sentence he formed, it would accuse Lando of being down bad for you.

“Did you invite her to Italy?”

“Yeah, she said she’ll talk to Jazz about it,” Lando mumbled, hiding his smile.

You hadn’t immediately said yes, but that was almost his plan by dragging Jasmine into it. She wasn’t even supposed to come with them to Italy at first. But Lando wanted the four of them to do it together. It was a foolproof plan to get to spend some more time with you that wasn’t in a paddock nor in a hospital.

“On another note,” Oscar said while he remembered it. “How the hell did you get her dad to come to a race?”

“I don’t know… I just sent Bunny three passes?”

“I’ve invited him to races since I was in F3 and he’s never once shown up,” Oscar began explaining.

Lando scrunched his nose, unsure of where Oscar was going with his reasoning.

“He’s a good man, funny even — but he does not like racing, at all,” he continued.

Was Lando being stupid for not getting Oscar’s point? Lando couldn’t tell if he was being stupid. He probably was.

Then, it finally clicked for Oscar. “You don’t know how her mum died, do you?”

Lando could do nothing but slowly shake his head, his mouth slightly open out of confusion. He could tell that Oscar hesitated to tell him. Maybe he shouldn’t be telling your story, but he trusted Lando.

“Alone, in a car crash. She died on impact. Bunny was 15 or so when it happened,” Oscar said gently, his face showing pity with a downturned smile. “Her dad has always told her not to come to races, in case someone crashes and it brings up bad memories for her.”

Now, Lando was definitely being stupid, because it still didn’t click for him. It made him understand your mentality more — that you’d said you were impressed he got out of that car alive every weekend. Because you had, close up, lived through someone not making it out of a car — a car going nowhere near as fast. But what did that have to do with your father attending a race?

“I think Bunny must’ve convinced him to come see you, specifically,” Oscar finally said.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lombardia, Italia

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” you sighed, looking from the balcony out to the beautiful garden.

Fruit trees, pink oleander, and pungent lavender. Beautiful limestone houses. It looked picturesque, like something out of a movie. Yet, you were unsure if you belonged there.

“You’re spending the weekend in an Italian villa. That is what you’re doing,” Jasmine insisted, wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

The house was gorgeous. The area was gorgeous. Everything was just perfect. And you felt undeserving of it. You’d gotten to take off your cast just in time for the trip. This was your moment to be selfish this summer.

So, why the hell did you keep on questioning yourself?

“You’d have no stories to tell from this summer if it wasn’t for this trip. You need things to talk about when you go back to university, otherwise, you’ll make no new friends,” she then pointed out.

You hadn’t even thought of that. All your other friends had graduated. You still had six months of classes left because of your stupid lungs. You didn’t want to make new friends. You wanted to keep your old ones.

You crossed your arms, looking up at your best friend with a pout. “I’ll let you know that me and Jane Austen have had a riveting summer thus far in my dad’s hammock.”

Doing just about anything with a broken ankle was impossible, so reading in the garden it was.

“While you travel the world and go to races, I will always entertain you with hilarious Goodreads reviews,” you added.

Jasmine shook her head disapprovingly. “I really don’t need to know even more nasty things that you would do to Mr. Darcy.”

Deep down, you knew she got a giggle out of getting a notification on her phone with a five star review only saying Mr. Darcy could raw me and nothing more.

“Isn’t this going to be awkward though? It’s like we’re double dating all weekend!”

“Would that be so bad?” Jasmine laughed, thinking that it was probably Lando’s plan all along.

You realised quite quickly that Lando hadn’t lied about them having to work. During the day, they were off to the manor house that was hosting the auction, doing lord knows what. It was something about cars being auctioned off and sucking up to millionaires.

You didn’t understand why this type of event even existed. It felt like the 2011 classic Monte Carlo with Selena Gomez. That was at least your only experience with auctions for rich people.

While this one was for charity, it still only felt like a way for these millionaires to seem humble. They would’ve bought the cars anyway, it was only for their own conscience that the charities even mattered. Maybe you were being harsh.

You and Jasmine at least got to spend some quality time with each other in the villa. You ate a long breakfast, cycled down to the city centre to try odd flavours of gelato, and went into cute little boutiques to find her a pair of heels to wear with her gown for the auction.

Your dress was black, and so were your heels. That was how fun you were going to be.

Truth be told, it was a prom dress that you hadn’t gotten to wear because of covid, so maybe you were a little excited to get all dolled up tomorrow night.

When the boys got home for the day, they decided you all should take the bikes to a nearby lake. You didn’t have much of a say, packing a basket with antipasti for dinner. It was unbearably hot even though the sun had started to settle, so maybe going for a swim wasn’t the worst thing.

As the four of you swooshed down Italian country roads on rusty borrowed bikes, Lando and you ended up in front of Jasmine and Oscar, going much faster than they did. Everything wasn’t a race, but some things definitely were.

Oscar cycled closer to his girlfriend, asking her a question he’d been dying to ask all day. “Do we tell them something about how they are both madly infatuated with each other or will they figure it out on their own?”

“I tried to tell Bunny, but she wouldn’t believe me. It’s like she doesn’t understand that people still find her attractive after she got sick,” Jasmine said.

She didn’t know if she should sigh or laugh at your behaviour recently. She understood that your life had changed completely, but falling in love, or even just dating, shouldn’t be something to be scared about. Not when you had a boy acting like a fool right in front of your eyes.

“So, we let Lando try and awkwardly flirt with her by himself? And watch Bunny be clueless about it?” Oscar laughed

“He has to be upfront at some point, right?” she responded.

They probably wouldn’t have to wait long until Lando would scream in your face that he liked you. He had no filter left when it came to you.

The lake was small, surrounded by a pebble beach. The water looked almost artificially teal, like natural sources of water tended to do. You’d never been to Italy before, but it was quickly becoming one of your favourite destinations. It was idyllic in ways you couldn’t have dreamt of.

You threw the bikes in the grass and put out your beach towels close to the water. Feeling the pebbles under your bare feet and the sweet smell of sunscreen, you and Jasmine started to pack up your picnic basket.

There were almost no other people there, only seeing a family with children taking an evening swim on the other side of the lake.

After eating a little, the boys tested the water, groaning about how cold it was, yet somehow getting in anyway. You still didn’t know what they had done during the day, but with their lifestyles, you guessed they always needed to find ways to relax.

Jasmine rested on her towel with her nose in a book, recognising it as one you had rated highly on Goodreads. See, you knew she loved your reviews. She mumbled something about how the protagonist reminded her of you when you asked her if she was enjoying it. You took that as a good sign.

You went down to the waterside, only dipping your toes in before deciding that it was way too cold for you to want to swim in it. Instead, you crouched down to look at the rocks, all round and polished from the water, in pretty green and coral shades. You’d already gotten Matteo a local football shirt as a souvenir, but you could definitely fit some cool rocks in your suitcase as well.

Lando, zoning out from whatever Oscar was talking about next to him in the still water, tried to secretly keep his eye on you. He could catch a glimpse of a bright red bikini underneath the long, sheer white shirt you had on. His fondness had grown so large that even watching you pick pebbles warmed his heart. Or maybe that was the bikini’s doing.

Jasmine could watch it all happen through the darkness of her sunglasses, having lost focus from her book. She furrowed her brows with concern. “Bunny, aren’t you warm?”

Your hand subconsciously traced the edge of the your shirt collar, a faint smile forming on your lips. “Yeah, but I’ll scare the children away if I show the scar on my chest,” you replied, your tone light yet tinged with an undercurrent of insecurity.

“It’s not that bad,” she said, promising, her eyes meeting yours as she tipped down her shades.

You laughed a little in disbelief. “You haven’t seen it since they reopened it.” You were talking so loud that the boys in the water definitely could hear you. “I also hate touching it, so I don’t want to put sunscreen on.”

Jasmine remembered the first time she saw your scar, a jagged reminder of the surgery that had saved your life. A long red line, right on your sternum, that had faded over time. But she hadn’t seen the new scar, the one left by the recent, unexpected procedure.

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Jasmine urged, getting up from the towel, a bottle of sunscreen in her hand. “Get your shirt off and I’ll do it.”

She knew you well enough to push you to do it. You would never get over this mental hurdle without people telling you that you looked fine. People had scars. That was the way life worked.

You sighed, slowly fumbling with the shirt buttons as you tried to decipher Jasmine’s reaction. “See? It’s awful.”

She shook her head, trying to keep a neutral face. It was worse than she thought, but she could never tell you that, because it hurt more than it helped. And it wasn’t like the scar tainted your entire being. You were still a gorgeous woman, in Baywatch-esque red bikini. That was an unstoppable combo.

“It’s really not bad. It needs some more time to fade, that’s all,” Jasmine reassured you, having no problem with touching the uneven skin to apply sunscreen.

You didn’t want to look at her hand as she did it, so you looked out over the lake, catching Lando’s surprisingly… odd gaze as he stood in the water next to Oscar.

You hadn’t wanted to stare too much at him earlier, knowing that your head would get messed up if you saw him shirtless in swim shorts. But now, you couldn’t disregard the look on his face.

“Lando, I saw that look. Just tell me that it’s bad,” you said, clearly still frustrated over the entire thing.

Lando was shocked you were talking to him, struggling to find the words.

“He’s staring at your tits, it’s totally different,” Oscar suddenly said, having kept quiet for too long.

You almost didn’t know if you had heard him correctly, but Jasmine’s ringing laughter told you that it was true. Lando sternly said Oscar’s name before drenching him in water, a playful fight breaking out between the two of them, overshadowing what had just happened.

That didn’t mean it left your mind, though.

It was dark by the time you got back to the villa, stars hanging above you in the night sky. You knew it was the same sky as you had home in England, yet there was something much more magical about it this time.

Jasmine and Oscar went to bed, but you had a few things to prepare for the auction. You wanted to paint your nails and do a face mask; maybe even get in an everything-shower to save time tomorrow.

The night was still warm as you made your way out to the balcony in your nightgown, deciding that you might as well take advantage of the view while you painted your nails. The balcony felt like a secluded little sanctuary, bathed in a soft glow from the outdoor lighting and wafting in the breeze of the Italian countryside.

Behind you, the glass door slid open with a soft creak, and you turned to see Lando stepping out onto the balcony, carrying what looked like a cup of tea. You’d thought he was asleep, the villa eerily quiet.

He had an easy confidence about him — something you admired. Clad in a soft cotton t-shirt and sweatpants, the kind that looked threadbare and like the most comfortable fabric ever. His eyes silently asked you if it was okay for him to join you, and you nodded. He sat down across from you at the outdoor dining table.

“Orange?” Lando asked softly, seeing the colour of the nail polish.

“I thought it was papaya,” you joked, biting your tongue to not get it on your cuticles as you continued to paint. “I bought it for Silverstone but forgot to wear it.”

Lando didn’t care. At least he told himself that he didn’t. You were just representing his team by carefully painting your nails orange. There was no need to get all mushy inside because of it. It wasn’t like it was permanent. Only a week or so of you thinking of him every time you saw your own hands. Maybe that was wishful thinking. Maybe you didn’t think of him.

“I should’ve told you earlier, but you look great today,” he said like it was nothing, raising his cup to take a sip.

He could tell that you were slightly baffled, a line forming between your eyebrows as you scrunched your nose in disbelief. “Scar and all?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Oscar had maybe been right about what Lando was looking at when you had asked him about the scar. They had overheard the entire conversation you had with Jasmine, so when he caught a glimpse of the scar, he had imagined something much worse. It truly wasn’t that bad. It at least didn’t steal his attention when you were standing in front of him in a bikini.

For a moment, neither spoke, the silence filled only by the sounds of the night. Cicadas, a distant car, and birds chirping. Lights from neighbouring houses twinkled like scattered diamonds.

“I don’t know if you wanted me to know, but Oscar told me about your mother,” Lando’s voice trembled, confessing it to you. His eyes searched your face for a reaction, a mixture of concern and vulnerability painted across his features.

You stared down at your painted nails, adding one last stroke before closing the bottle of polish. You were scared to look at him, unsure of how this conversation would play out.

“It’s not really a secret, just a hard thing to tell people,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

You somehow felt the warmth from Lando’s body even though there was a table’s length between you. His presence wasn’t uncomfortable to you, but the conversation certainly was.

“Don’t pity me like I’m some motherless child. It’s really not that bad,” you continued, trying to keep your composure, the familiar ache in your chest making it hard to breathe.

In moments like these, it was like you could feel your scar glowing, how the tight skin wanted to rip right open to help you take full breaths.

A flicker of frustration crossed Lando’s face.

He hated how you had said it — how you tried to downplay everything that had happened in your life. He understood that it was your way of coping, but your entire being basically screamed for the emotions to be let out. You were hypocritical, and he was tired.

“It’s allowed to be bad. You were the one that told me that in Australia. You’re allowed to feel bad about things that are shit,” he insisted, his voice carrying a firmness that contrasted with the tenderness in his eyes.

His raw honesty sliced through your defenses. Your view of him blurred as tears filled your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Clearing your throat, you calmed yourself down.

Lando wasn’t actually frustrated with you. It was more at the circumstances. He didn’t want to push you, and you didn’t want to upset him. It was just a very difficult conversation to have.

“Do you ever have nightmares about crashing?” you asked, whispering.

“No, not really,” he admitted.

If he was thinking about what might go wrong all the time, he wouldn't be able to continue driving. Racing showed some people horrible fates of life. The abundant success that could be archived was harvested by others.

It was all about finding a balance, about showing respect for the thing they put themselves through, but also overcoming it by showing no fear.

Maybe it was different for you, Lando thought. Maybe you had already given in to the fear, because you’d get no success out of it no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t get your mum back anyway.

You took a deep breath before confessing. “I do. All the time.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

The early morning sun filtered through his bedroom windows as Lando got out of bed. He’d slept like a king. The countryside was so quiet compared to Monaco and the cities he raced in. He stretched as he drew back the curtains, getting a view of the garden, and you.

The conversation you had yesterday had left the both of you unsatisfied. Yet, neither wanted to push the other to really get to the bottom of the problem,

This morning, however, you were waltzing through the garden on bare feet, a big bowl in one hand and a small ladder in the other one. The summer dress you were wearing blew with the breeze. You looked free. And slightly out of your mind, climbing a ladder to reach the fruit trees, without anyone keeping an eye on you.

Not that you needed supervision, but climbing a ladder could be dangerous. That was what Lando told himself as he rushed outside.

“Oh god, please don’t fall down,” he said, voice laced with concern as he almost ran through the garden to get to you, keeping his steady hands on the ladder.

You glanced down at him, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “It’s a stepladder, Lando. I’m one metre above the ground,” you reassured him.

“Still, you should be careful,” he insisted.

“I’ll break your nose if you look up my dress,” you warned. You weren’t serious, but Lando felt his cheeks flush anyway. “Do you want one?” you asked, referring to the fruit you were picking.

“What is it even?”

“I thought peaches at first, but they’re not hairy. Not small enough to be apricots but maybe hard enough to be nectarines, so that would be my guess.”

You examined the fruit as you stepped down from the ladder, tossing one in the air before catching it again and placing it in the bowl.

“Are you sure you’re still talking about fruit?”

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed, rolling your eyes at the innuendo.

You picked up a nectarine and took a bite, the sweet juice dribbling down your chin. “I made breakfast, but I assume you’re on the same diet as Oscar?” you asked, voice muffled by the mouthful of fruit.

Lando stared at you in awe, taking way too long before nodding.

“Well then, I guess you can watch me eat while you stick to oatmeal,” you replied playfully.

As the sun rose above the horizon, casting a warm amber glow over the cosy balcony, you and Lando sat by the outdoor furniture, eating your breakfast. The air filled with a scent of fresh coffee and the sweet nectarines. You ate them with yoghurt and honey, and Lando was totally jealous.

You didn’t say much to each other. It wasn’t really necessary. The world around you started to wake up, but on that little balcony, it felt like time had slowed down just for you two.

Lando turned to you, curiosity in his eyes. “Why do people call you Bunny?” He’d wanted to ask you that for quite some time.

“It’s quite a sad story, to be honest,” you began, swallowing what was left of your breakfast.

He almost regretted his question immediately. He hadn’t even thought about how a cute nickname like yours could be from a sad memory. You watched as Lando’s expression softened, his eyes encouraging you to continue.

“Matteo stayed a lot at our grandparent’s house after mum died, because… well, life happened,” you explained, your orange fingernails tracing the rim of your coffee mug. “Since he was so young, he hadn’t really understood the fact that I was his sister, so I instead became the girl he would visit from time to time who owned a pet bunny.”

Lando leant his elbows on the table, captivated by your way of talking, his interest piqued.

“And Bunny was easier for him to pronounce than my actual name,” you continued, a faint smile forming on your lips.

“You had a bunny?”

“Yeah, his name was Taco,” you laughed, your smile growing more genuine.

He chuckled softly at the name. You would name a pet Taco, that was just the kind of person you were.

“Do you like having it as a nickname?” Lando inquired, his tone gentle again.

“I don’t mind it,” you shook your head. “Matteo doesn’t say it anymore, but it’s… it’s different when other people say it.”

It’s different when you say it, Lando.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

“You’re drooling, mate,” Oscar’s voice laughed from behind him as they got out of the cars.

“I am not,” Lando protested, but Oscar only shook his head.

He wasn’t fooling anyone as he watched you and Jasmine step out on the front porch, dressed to the nines, ready for the auction.

Oscar and him had picked up the two cars that were being auctioned off while you got ready. It was important that they were seen driving the cars up to the manor house as they arrived, and you and Jasmine were supposed to be arm candy. It felt both below and above your worth.

You laughed as you saw the cars, shiny and polished McLaren’s. You didn’t care enough to know the models, you just knew they were worth millions.

Jasmine walked down to Oscar with ease in her high heels, a beautiful burnt orange satin gown on her body. You watched as he greeted her with a kiss, feeling both a sense of pride and also some loneliness in your stomach.

Your feet already hurt from your own heels. Something wasn’t entirely right since you broke your ankle, but you would have to suffer through it.

Lando walked up to the porch, casually keeping his hands in the pockets of his well-fitted black suit. The white shirt he had on underneath probably had one too many buttons undone. Not that you were complaining, it looked gorgeous in contrast with his tan skin. He looked gorgeous.

You were dressed in all black, apart from your orange nail polish. Your gown with a perfectly poofy tulle skirt and a flattering balconette corset top. You looked delectable, and Lando had a hard time hiding that.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said seriously to him.

“Like what?” Lando replied, feigning innocence as he took your hand to help you down the front porch stairs.

Like you’re falling in love with me.

“Like this is some early 2000s rom-com and I’m the nerdy girl who’s just gotten a makeover by a more popular girl,” you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

He gave a genuine laugh, the kind that could only bring a smile to your face. He wanted to respond with some cliché statement about how it was only fitting since you looked like a movie star, but he remained silent.

Lando helped you into the car like a real gentleman, while Oscar and Jasmine got into the other one. The drive was two minutes at most.

“Did you have a dress like that lying around?” he asked, fastening his seatbelt.

You nodded, moving your hands over your lap to smooth out the fabric. “It’s a prom dress that I never got to use because of covid.”

A spark lit up in Lando’s eyes. “I never got to have a prom either, y’know.”

A moment of silence passed between them, the weight of missed milestones hanging heavy in the air. You assumed it was because he hadn’t really gone to school like a normal kid, too busy with karting. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, Lando revved the engine.

“Come on, let’s treat this night like prom.”

The manor house was bigger than anything you’d ever seen before. You couldn’t grasp it — the multiple stories, the annex buildings, the beautiful and meticulous gardens. It was all too much for you.

Lando pulled up to park the car next to the grand entrance, handing the keys to the valet before coming to open the door for you. You were met with camera flashes as soon as you stepped out. It wasn’t paparazzi, thank god — only photographers hired for the event.

Lando didn’t dare to hold your hand in front of the cameras, this time. He settled with a hand on your lower back as you made your way inside after Jasmine and Oscar.

The auction was held in a grand hall — no, a conservatory. It had a glass roof. It was filled with decorations, floral arrangements, and candle lights. A stage was built by the end of the room, which you assumed would be where they auctioned things off.

It was also filled with people, dressed in sharp suits and colourful gowns. It looked photoshopped with how perfect it was. Not a thing out of place nor a person behaving oddly. Except for you, of course. You did not belong here.

“What are they compensating for? Tiny cocks?” you whispered for only Jasmine to hear as you took in the room. This was bonkers.

“The tiniest of cocks,” she snorted under her breath.

Oscar and Lando did have to work — work the room that was, mingling and sucking up to people with big wallets.

You and Jasmine made your way around as well, albeit much slower and with less intention. You talked to some people, drank some champagne, and eyed the canapés being served around. It didn’t look like anyone was eating, so you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You already were. So, now you were both odd and starving.

You also eyed the objects up for auction. It was jewellery, cars, and destination vacations in places you’d never heard of. All in favour of some charity that was hardly mentioned once. Was this just a rich person shopping spree without the guilt of overconsumption?

Lando kept looking across the room for you, his eyes always seeming to find you within seconds. And you found him to, sharing smiles or joking faces, saying get me out of here.

It wasn’t possessive — it was more of a secret bond that existed right there in time and space, going unnoticed by everyone but the two of you.

The bond was broken when a man approached you. Lando didn’t recognise him, but he already despised him. He was flirting with you; that would be obvious to anyone but you. You didn’t necessarily look uncomfortable. It seemed more like you found the conversation he tried to have with you pointless.

You were so oblivious to the impact you had on men, or maybe on all people in general. It made him want to set himself on fire. The itchy feeling inside of him, telling him to scream for everyone in the room to hear — that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that you should be talking to him, and only him. Not some suave-looking asshole in an ill-fitting suit. God, you made him stupid. More stupid than normal.

As Lando’s thoughts spiralled, you somehow got out of the conversation, swiftly making your way across the room and out of a door that he thought led to the garden. Or one of the gardens. This place was huge.

He had things to do inside, people to talk to — but for a moment, he came to his senses and said fuck it. He needed to know if you were alright.

His assumption that the door led to a garden was correct. The evening light cast a silvery glow over it, a tranquil contrast to the busy ballroom. From a distance, he saw you take a seat in an old stone gazebo, covered with ivy. You bent down to unclasp your heels.

Lord, was he about to risk it all.

His steps over the gravel path made you hear him, and he couldn’t help but feel busted.

“Mind if I sit down?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

You shook your head, gesturing with your hand to the space beside you. He sat down, shyly looking at his hands in his lap. On the bench, he saw what he thought was the reason you had come out here, besides that man talking to you. Dessert. Two of them in little ramekins, but only one spoon.

Lando breathed in the silence before hastily asking you what had been on his mind.

“Who was the man you were talking to?”

“Some stuck up think-tank-bitcoin-billionaire,” you huffed. “He asked me if my company was up for auction.”

It wasn’t company as in a business. It was company as in your time of day. Or time of night more likely. He was asking to spend the night with you. Would audibly gagging be too improper of a reaction? Lando had to fight himself to not do it.

“What was your answer?” he wondered, trying to keep his cool.

Your lips turned into a smug smile. “That it’s free for people who deserve it, and then I walked away.”

Lando chuckled, liking the fact that you showed a sense of pride with your actions. “Do I deserve your company?”

“Haven’t asked you to leave yet, that should tell you something,” you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders.

Lando nodded, scrunching his nose, a pink tint on his cheeks forming from the crisp air.

No, he was blushing. It wasn’t even cold outside.

“Have you had fun otherwise?” He cleared his throat, making the conversation about something else.

“I don’t know. I feel like a fraud, like I don’t belong,” you shrugged, fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I think I might have convinced multiple people in there that I’m a communist, just because I was raised with a working-class perspective on things.”

Lando suppressed his laughter for it to not be too loud. You saw his eyes crinkle at the corners.

“This entire thing just feels performative to me,” you added.

“Oh, it totally is,” he agreed.

You glanced back at the manor, hearing the sound of voices in the distance. Your face reflected a mixture of amazement and discomfort. “And don’t get me started on the way people look,” you began again. “My mascara smudged and my dress got wrinkled the minute I stepped into that humid room, yet everyone else continues to look flawless.”

Lando thought about interrupting you, saying that you still looked flawless to him. Or maybe you didn’t, and that was the best part. He understood your point fully, though.

You shook your head as you continued, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. “And I can’t walk in heels since I broke my ankle, and my dress shows my scar, and I’m just… being a miserable little twat.”

You dropped your shoulders, looking down at your bare feet as your heels were on the ground next to them. It hadn’t even crossed Lando’s mind, the shoes nor the scar, but it made sense that you didn’t feel confident about it. That he thought you should be confident wouldn’t exactly change your mind.

“Oh! And they don’t eat,” you hastily pointed out. “They just hold the food and look pretty.”

That was definitely true. He knew that you couldn’t eat yourself full at functions like this. His own empty stomach was a testament to that.

“Is that why you came out here with two desserts and one spoon?” he questioned, containing his laughter to not come across as judgmental.

You giggled. “Have you seen Amélie?”

Lando shook his head no.

“It’s a movie. It doesn’t really matter, but one of the main character’s favourite things in life is cracking the sugar on a crème brûlée, and I… think I agree with that,” you explained, grabbing one of the ramekins and carefully smashing the caramelised surface.

It made a slight sound. Your eyes lit up as you looked at it. “See? Did you hear that?”

He couldn’t help but grin at your reaction.

“Try the other one,” you urged, handing him the spoon.

He had tried crème brûlée before but never in this way. Never with someone telling him about how it was the best thing in life. As he cracked the sugar, he laughed so hard he felt his chest vibrate.

He knew he couldn’t eat the dessert because of his diet, but seeing you take a spoonful was almost satisfactory enough.

“Your mind is so… special,” he smiled in disbelief. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore, he just knew he needed you to hear it. “I don’t get how the universe could’ve created you.”

Your smile faded as your laughter turned quiet. “Is that a compliment?”

“In the highest form, Bunny,” Lando insisted.

He didn’t know how to read your reaction, your sudden silence was a shock for him. Had he ruined a perfect moment by saying too much? That’s when he saw it, the tears pooling in your waterline as you fought with yourself to not let them fall.

Lando was a soft mess in seconds. “A-are you crying because I complimented you?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to laugh but your voice came out hoarse.

“Don’t cry, it’s alright,” Lando said softly, reaching out to wipe the tears away from your face, gently cupping your cheek with his palm.

He crossed a line as he did, moving closer to you than ever before.

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

“I just…” You were full on crying now. “I have no idea who I am, and this environment really showed me that.”

Your lack of confidence broke his heart. Things had really piled up on top of each other to now finally get to you. A stupid auction being your downfall, the thing that made you realise how much your life had put you through.

“I can’t get a degree, I can’t do musicals, and I definitely cannot fit in here. I have no way of being the girl that you want me to be, Lando,” you sobbed, your breathing picking up as your hands gesticulated out of pure panic.

Your words hung heavy over the garden, suffocatingly, as you honestly believed them to be painfully true.

“Hey… don’t say that,” Lando tried to comfort, grabbing ahold of your hands to stop you moving, centering your focus. “You have no idea what I want from you.”

“I want to hear you laugh at my stupid jokes. I want to feel your painted nails when you hold my hand. I want to see you get all giddy over a crème brûlée,” he listed things as they came to mind.

The warmth from his hands surrounded you as you let yourself relax, exhaling loudly.

“I want you to linger in every possible goddamned doorway you can find,” Lando continued, looking you deeply in the eyes. “That’s all. Nothing more.”

You were so close that he could see how colours reflected in your eyes. He liked you in ways he didn’t know was possible — for the little things that he’d never thought about before with other people. He couldn’t think clearly anymore. He didn’t want to think clearly. Lando hesitated, his eyes searching yours, as if seeking permission.

You knew where this was going, and you weren’t prepared for it at all.

He scanned your face, his gaze finally landing on your lips. You were waiting for him to move, for him to lean in, because you were too scared to do it yourself. But you wanted him to do it. You wanted it more than anything else.

But all of a sudden, the lust in his expression turned into concern, and you felt something wet drip down on your upper lip. Blood.

“Oh, fuck.” Your hands flew to your face, trying to stop the blood from dripping further.

Of course this would happen now. You were cursed, after all. What were you thinking? A pretty boy could not just kiss you. The universe had decided that happiness wasn’t for you.

“Let me help—” Lando said, trying to get a hold of you to stay still, but you had already stood up.

You moved to pick up your shoes, and Lando sat frozen in his spot. “I’m gonna walk back to the villa, you stay and do your rich person duties,” your voice cracked as you said it, taking a step back to avoid his proximity. You had panic written all over your face and blood on your hands.

Lando’s emotions finally caught up with him as he too stood up to try and stop you. “Bunny, please! Don’t go, let’s talk about this,” he pleaded, hearing how pathetic he sounded. But he felt like he had no choice.

You recoiled further away from him, your eyes glistening with tears as you started to walk, your bare feet over gravel, heels swinging from your hands.

He couldn’t understand — how you’d gone from laughing about crème brûlées, to crying, to almost kissing each other, and then to you getting a nosebleed. He also couldn’t understand how he had let you get away. Fuck, was he stupid.

His thoughts got interrupted by the sound of someone running on the gravel. He met Jasmine’s worried eyes, contemplating if she should just murder Lando now.

“Did she just leave? What did you do?”

Lando could only shake his head, running a hand through his hair, the gesture portraying his inner turmoil. “I didn’t do anything…” he muttered, sighing loudly. “I was about to kiss her, and then she got a nosebleed all of a sudden.”

Oscar came walking after Jasmine, just close enough to hear what Lando said. “That’s so typical of her,” he breathed out, baffled at how you always managed to almost comically mess things up.

Jasmine rubbed her temples. “Are the two of you actually fucking stupid?” she questioned angrily before yelling, “Lando, don’t just stand there. Go after her!”

“To do what? Get rejected again?” he gesticulated with his hands in defeat, feeling his voice crack. His own tears had started to form.

Jasmine looked back at him like he was stupid. Lando was stupid. That was a fact he now knew.

“To clean up the blood and then actually fucking kiss her — because she did not reject you, she’s just scared!” Jasmine shot back, an intensity in her eyes that made Lando listen. “All she knows is fear, and falling in love with you hasn’t exactly helped with that.”

He was stuck, his feet glued to the floor, the weight of Jasmine’s words hit him like a punch in the stomach. Falling in love — that was what the two of you were doing. Lando had been too blinded by his own infatuation to realise that you were scared of it — scared of that stability because your life hadn’t been stable for years. You truly believed yourself to be cursed.

Fuck, was he stupid. He needed to fix this, and that was quick.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

He left the auction, Oscar assuring him that he could handle the rest of the night alone. The villa was quiet when Lando returned. He didn’t know what he should say when he saw you. He didn’t even know what kind of mood you’d be in.

For a moment, he stopped in the hallway with all the bedrooms. Your door was open, a faint yellow light seeping through. He heard you moving around, the tap running in your en suite bathroom. That made him dare to move, to stand in your doorway.

Your room was a bit messy from earlier when you were getting ready, your suitcase basically turned inside out. Your dress was tossed on the floor, next to your heels. A small red stain could be seen on the beige soles.

Suddenly, you exited the bathroom. Your face was washed clean from makeup and blood, and you were wearing an oversized sleep shirt, reaching your mid-thigh.

You stopped abruptly when you saw him, first shocked, then annoyed. He had no right to use your own methods against you, even though you knew he was right. Whatever he’d said to you, he would be right.

“Now is not the time to be lingering in some fucking doorway, Norris,” you snapped, more to mask your own panic than anything else.

You walked up to the door with determined steps, your fingers hovering over the doorknob. Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as you clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms.

“I’m not letting you close that door, Bunny,” he said softly, but with an edge of determination, placing his hand on the door so it couldn’t move.

“I don’t want to hear what you have to say,” you insisted, shaking your head as if to physically ward off his words.

Lando’s eyes softened, the frustration melting away to reveal an expression of raw sincerity. “Doesn’t that defy the point? Your mother’s entire idea with teaching you to linger?”

“Don’t,” you whispered. He had no right to bring up your mother.

“We might be dead tomorrow, but you won’t hear me out?”

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded through gritted teeth, tightly closing your eyes to even bear with your emotions.

“Why won’t you let me tell you that I like you?”

He dropped the bomb. He had no option but to confess it to you. It was the scariest thing he’d ever done, yet when it was out there in the open, a weight was off his shoulders. This was meant to go this way.

You opened your eyes. “Because I’ll screw this up like I always do!” you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. “I got a nosebleed when you tried to kiss me. I told you — it’s like I’m fucking cursed!”

“Something always gets in the way of me and good things,” you continued.

“I’m a good thing?” he whispered, but it almost echoed in the quiet room.

“That’s what you got from that?” you cried, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. “You don’t understand. Everything good that comes into my life, I mess up. I can’t even be normal around you because I’m so afraid of ruining it!”

“Because that’s the only thing that matters — that we like each other, that our feelings are mutual,” Lando explained like it was simple. “You’re not cursed. You’re just human. And so am I. We’re allowed to mess up, to be scared, to get nosebleeds at the worst possible moments.”

He took your hand, basically shaking as he held it. You didn’t move away. You let him hold you. You let him closer.

“Or… if you are cursed, then I’ll start carrying a first aid kit,” Lando continued with a small smile, moving his free hand to wipe your cheek clean from tears.

You let out a surprised snort, the sound mingling with your sobs. It was a ridiculous notion, yet somehow, it made perfect sense.

“Can I try kissing you again?” he softly wondered, a semblance of hope in his voice.

Lando watched as you started to smile at the question, nodding slowly. “Please, kiss me.”

He brought both his hands up to your cheeks, your eyes intensely locking for a moment before he softly leant closer, his lips meeting yours in a featherlight connection.

The kiss was sweet. Softer than what you would’ve expected. It was also quite telling of all the emotions that you both harboured inside, finally being set free.

Lando kissed you like it was important, like his life depended on you knowing how much it meant to him — like the two of you would never need another form of communication to tell each other things. This was for you to know that calling yourself cursed was just stupid. You were scared, that’s all. But you didn’t have to be scared anymore.

He was the one to break the kiss, his breath hot against your face as he grinned. “See? Not cursed.”

That was enough to get you laughing, turning your head down to lean against his chest as you let out a pathetic giggle. No blood, no broken bones, no compromised breathing. Okay, maybe your breathing was a little off, but that was to be expected after kissing someone.

For a long, hazy moment, the two of you simply stare into each other’s eyes. How you ended up on the bed passed in a blur, the only thing your mind could focus on was Lando’s hands on your body. His lips back on yours.

The kissing quickly grew fevered and devoted, his tongue exploring your mouth, neck, and chest as you melted against him and the soft mattress, your fingers clutching around him. He took away all of your thoughts, every lingering worry or doubt completely removed. Insecurities too, gone with the wind.

He was breathless when he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. You fiddled with your fingers to undo the buttons on his shirt, revealing a landscape of freckled tan skin before your eyes. His palms moved over your hips, up your waist, cupping the underside of your breasts through the thin cotton of your t-shirt.

As he moved to take off your shirt, you froze. Lando stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to say something.

“The scar,” you said. “It makes me feel… weak, and I don’t want you to treat me like I’m weak.”

Weak was the last word Lando would use to describe you. But he also understood.

“I don’t have to see it. It’s alright like this if that’s what makes you comfortable,” he explained softly.

You nodded, deciding on keeping your shirt on as you watched Lando remove his own. He was perfect, and you were you. Maybe that was enough.

Lando caged you beneath him again, crawling over you, leaving sloppy kisses on your face, arms, and over the fabric of your shirt. The kisses ended with him biting your lower lip as his hands found home in a tight grip on your hips, the lace edge of your underwear tickling his palms.

“Can I go down on you?” he whispered. His eyes looked for permission to continue, and you nodded, messily kissing him back.

He lowered back down your body again, his strong hands absentmindedly massaging the plush skin of your thighs, before finding the waistband of your panties, pulling them off you in a slow motion. He nestled between your legs, not breaking eye contact.

You almost felt cold by being naked, even though the room was delightfully warm. You wanted to cringe at what his sight of you must be like, but he didn’t give you a chance to do so, a string of praise words falling from his mouth.

As each word was said, he spread your wetness through your folds with a feathery movement of his fingers. Lando brushed your clit with a light touch, taking in your reaction before dipping his fingers into the pooling wetness.

“P-please, Lando, oh fuck—” Your voice was wrecked as you grew desperate for more.

He grinned at your words as his face met your heat, leaving kisses around it before finally touching the part where you needed him the most. “So pretty,” he mumbled against you, kissing your clit. That made your brain short circuit.

You reached down to push the curls of his forehead as he delved in, softly bringing you pleasure. Sucking on your clit with intention while his fingers curled deeper into you, his free hand gripping at your thigh, certain to leave crescent-shaped imprints from his fingernails as your soft skin spilled out between his fingers.

You truly did look pretty, though — through Lando’s eyes. With the evening glow of the sun shining through the windows and the white linen bedding surrounding your body, you looked angelic. As your shirt rode up, your stomach was revealed. He loved seeing your skin. Nipples pebbled through the t-shirt, hair dishevelled, skin gleaming from a thin layer of sweat. You made him painfully hard by just lying there, letting him taste you.

“I’m—” You couldn’t get the words out, voice choking on your own moans, but Lando knew to increase the intensity.

You were a fucking mess when you finished, letting that hazy feeling completely take over, whimpering his name out like it was the sweetest thing. He kept on babying your clit with the tip of his tongue until you tugged at his hair, lifting his face. He could’ve gone on forever if you’d let him.

“Come up here,” you urged him, your voice shaky. You watched him lick his glossy lips, running a hand up your body in a soothing manner before collapsing next to you.

“You should see how breathtaking you look right now,” he exhaled, looking at you with your face flushed and your eyes glossed over. You stared at him so deeply, catching your breath, as you realised you couldn’t decide what eye colour he had. They shifted from green, to blue, to brown. Fuck, you were spent.

You thought for a while, and Lando could see it on your face, a mischievous grin forming on your lips before your hands moved down his stomach, stopping by his belt buckle. He let you undo it, your bottom lip nestled between your teeth as you teasingly looked up at him.

Already worked up from before, he moaned as you started to palm him over his trousers.

“I’m not gonna last if you do that,” Lando gasped, holding your hand still with a tight grip around your wrist.

“Take them off, then,” you simply answered, earning a laugh.

He couldn’t say no to that, moving awkwardly to get both trousers and underwear off as quickly as possible. He then settled closer to you, having you basically wrap your legs around him, clinging like a koala. You shared a look between each other, making sure that this was okay. It was so much more than okay. This felt necessary, like you were meant to do it.

“I’m on the pill, so this is fine by me,” you explained to him, a tremble in your voice by having him so close to you.

He kissed you before he did anything else, settling your nerves. Feeling your bodies mould together, creating a common heat. He glided himself through your folds, touching your already stimulated clit. As an act of desperation, you moved your hips lower, grinding against him.

“You okay?” he chuckled.

You hummed against the skin on his shoulder, playfully nibbling as you kissed him all over. His eyes met yours as he pushed into you, waiting patiently to see your reaction to the light stretch. You nodded, your breath hitching as he began moving more purposefully.

The slow drags set of sparks of pleasure within you, so intense your eyes rolled back. You weren’t sure what kind of noises left your body, uncontrollable with the pleasure. Hearing Lando moan deeply into your ears made you feel less unsure.

Completely intoxicated, you tried your best to take it all in. You focused on the golden shimmer in his eyes, the scattered freckles on his face, and the scar on his nose. It was so warm, and wet, feeling him thrust inside of you. You didn’t know what to do with your hands again, just desperately spreading them over his back to his shoulders. Your sharp nails were destined to leave claw marks.

“Faster, baby,” you breathed out, ready for more.

You felt Lando grin against your cheek as he heard the pet name. It had completely slipped out on accident, but that didn’t mean it drove him any less crazy. You felt him grip your body harder as he fucked up into you.

“Doing so well for me,” he moaned out your name. “C’mon, Bunny, let me see how pretty you are when you come again.”

A litany of moans filled the room, from the both of you. That, along with the sounds of your bodies crashing together, made you fucking delirious. You were close, so close. You wanted to feel that feeling again, of him bringing you to the end.

You shamelessly used him as you felt the familiar fire spread through your veins. He wasn’t long after, almost lifting your body to get you closer to him as he finished. His moans were slow and shaky as he rested his lips on your forehead.

His hips lost all rhythm as he spilled into you, his cock twitching inside you while he slowly pumped you full of his release, thrusting several times as he rode it out. You wanted to memorise the guttural sounds and the tremble of his face muscles as he reached the ultimate high.

“We’re a mess,” he commented, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You let out a small chuckle. “Stay still for a second,” you ordered him as you relaxed in his hold. Both of you sighed at the sensation of him filling you up completely. You would enjoy this feeling of having him as close as humanly possible for as long as he let you.

“I don’t ever want to move.” he murmured against your hair.

You caught your breaths in unity, staying close together without saying much more. You didn’t need to. Lando knew that all his future dreams would take place here, lying quietly next to you, in your own sacred heaven. You two, sharing heavy breathing and sighs, after delicately bruising each other’s bodies.

He looked you deep in your eyes, seeing how tired you were, but solidifying what was once a doubt for you. He looked at you like you were a risk worth taking. A river worth wading. A river worth drowning in.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Lando woke up the morning after feeling well rested, in a bed that was warm and the sheets scented by you. He felt you moving next to him as he came out of his slumber, mumbling something about it being too hot and how you had forgotten to open the window before falling asleep.

He didn’t understand how you felt hot when all he felt was ice cold as you left him alone in bed. The room got brighter as you moved the curtains, opening a window to let in the outside air. He opened his eyes to see you, back turned against him, stretching your body to wake up. A grin plastered on his face. He was painfully happy.

You moved to wrap your arms around yourself, lifting the hem of the shirt you’d slept in. As you pulled it over your body, Lando got a view of your entire being. He was certainly awake now. Naked, your skin glowed golden technicolour from the sunlight, in stark contrast to the white room.

You knew exactly what you were doing as you slowly turned around.

“Just look at you…” Lando exhaled. “Fucking gorgeous, Bunny.”

In seconds, you were back in bed next to him, pulling the bedding up to hide your face.

“Gonna act all shy now?” he teased, chuckling.

As you peeked back out, Lando was quick to get closer to you. He hovered over you as his hands found your body.

He didn’t even have to tell you — your lips already parting as his thumb caressed your cheek, moving closer to your mouth. You took his thumb in your mouth, softly sucking as it rested on your tongue. You saw how his eyes fluttered at the feeling, gently removing it to press a passionate kiss to your wet lips.

Lando was hesitant to let his hands wander lower, softly cupping your breasts and littering your sternum with open-mouthed kisses. His fingertips lightly pinched the sensitive peaks of your nipples, as he looked up at you through tired eyes, always wanting your reassurance, as his lips got close to the scar.

You nodded gently, allowing him to kiss it. You didn’t like touching the scar, but somehow, you had no issue when his mouth did it. He kissed it gently before moving to kiss your nipple. He smiled with pride at the breathy gasp you let out as he placed his mouth on you. You were practically whining at the pressure of him sucking at your skin.

He released you after a moment, lying down next to you. He felt your heartbeat through your chest as his head rested on top of your breast, softly padded by the plush skin. You looked down at him with joy, placing a finger under his chin so he was looking right back at you.

Slowly, your fingers traced his face. He smiled at your orange nail polish. You took your time tracing the bridge of his nose, stopping when you got to the little mark he had right across it. He had his scars too.

“My heart hurts,” you groaned quietly, as you ran your fingers through his hair.

“Huh? Are you serious?” he mumbled against the skin of your chest.

“It’s a dull ache, a desire almost,” you explained, and Lando understood your point.

“I think it’s contagious,” Lando smiled. He let the words linger in the air before adding, “You should come with me to Hungary after this.”

You sighed, realising how hard it would be to say no to him in the future. “I don’t go back to uni for another couple of weeks, so…”

“I’m buying you a plane ticket right now,” he said, reaching for his phone, but your hands stopped him.

“No,” you said.

For a second, Lando started to second-guess everything.

“Join me in the shower first.”

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

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pucksandpower · 5 months

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Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.��s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

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logansdoll · 2 months

Text

ivy, l. howlett

typically saturdays are for relaxation... not treating car crash victims.

CW: canon typical violence, gore, guns, mutation, profanity, innuendos, mature themes, mentions of sex, y/n is very poison ivy-esque, jean grey exists but is not present, etc.

The longer you lived in the mansion, the quicker you realized you'd never get a true day to yourself again.

You tied up your hair with a heavy sigh, the click of your heels loud against the steady beep of the man's EKG.

Calmly, you glanced at the monitor, soft eyes combing over his QRS complex in an attempt to double check for any abnormalities.

His mutation was one you had never seen before, and you wanted to make sure it didn't affect the efficacy of your data.

Despite being a victim of a nasty car accident, his heartbeat, along with his many other vitals, were ones of a person with a perfect bill of health.

'A healing ability along with his claws?'

Looking up, you held your hand out to the small philodendron across the room, using your power to grow one of its stems and reach toward the table, grabbing the parts for a syringe and bringing it to you.

"Thank you, Phil," you hummed, carefully returning him to his pot.

What would really back up your hunch would be a blood sample...

Expertly, you assembled the injector, doing so with perfect ease as if you'd done it a hundred times before—which you had.

Once it was done, you gently slid your hand under his arm, turning it over to reveal the veins near the crease of his elbow.

You held the needle at the ready, just inches away from pricking his skin, before thoughtlessly glancing up at his face.

For about the sixtieth time in the hour.

'Damn...'

He was absolutely, positively gorgeous—the handsomest man you had ever seen.

Rugged, hunky features with sexy facial hair to match, paired with thick arms, delicious pectorals, and abs carved out of stone.

'You've had a chance to gawk... now back to business.'

Clearing your throat, you quickly shook yourself out of it, refocusing on the task at hand and pressing the needle against his skin.

Big mistake.

In an instant, he was awake and jumping off the table, the shock forcing you to drop the needle as he grabbed you, slinging his arm around your neck.

Eyes wide, you quickly reached out to Phil, the small plant quickly growing humongous right before your eyes.

The mystery man stared at it, brows furrowed in confusion, until one of its newly acquired vines shot straight for his head, forcing him to let go of you and dive out of the way.

Gasping for air, you thankfully clutched your throat, attempting to catch your breath as Phil's limbs chased the man out into the hall.

'The professor'll stop him from hurting anyone upstairs... hopefully Phil can grab him before then...'

Slowly starting to recover, you grasped the table's edge, using it to hoist yourself back up on your feet, grumbling to yourself about how rough he was.

Suddenly, the vines began to recede, one of them resting on your shoulder and blooming a flower.

"He made it to the elevator?" you parroted, turning to the plant and catching the blossom as it gracefully fell into your palm, reporting the new development.

You let out a knowing sigh, already able to foresee the scolding you were about to receive from the team's leader.

"Scott's gonna kill me..."

Why did shit like this always happen to him?

It was beginning to become routine for Logan to wake up in unknown places, with people he's never seen before, yet people who seemed to know everything about him.

"I'm Charles Xavier. Would you like some breakfast?" the old man in the wheelchair asked, cool as a cucumber despite the strange man standing in his office.

"Where am I?" Logan asked, brows furrowed and eyes flicking around the room in an attempt to find some sort of clue.

"Westchester, New York," Xavier answered, wheeling out from behind his desk. "You were attacked. My people brought you here for medical attention."

"I don't need medical attention."

The old man made a small smile, "Yes, of course."

He seemed to have an answer for everything...

Suddenly, the memory of a little stowaway popped into Logan's head, reminding him of the precarious situation she was in.

"Where's the girl?" he asked again, still looking around.

"Rogue? She's here. She's fine."

"Really?"

Just then, the door opened, a woman with stark white hair strutting in with a man—who had the weirdest sunglasses in the world—at her side.

"Ah, Logan, I'd like you to meet Ororo Monroe, also called Storm," Xavier introduced, Ororo greeting him with a soft hello, "Along with Scott Summers, also called Cyclops."

Scott held out his hand to shake, but was met with a suspicious glare that held little to no warmth at all.

"They saved your life."

That is... until you came walking in after.

"And I believe you've already met Dr. (y/n) (l/n)."

His eyes flicked to yours, and there he saw the most beautiful woman he had seen in a long time—and trust, he had seen plenty.

The way your curls framed your face...

The way your clothes accentuated your figure...

The way your skin seemed to glow, despite being indoors...

You looked like you stepped out the pages of a beauty magazine, or the screen of a blockbuster movie.

'Damn...'

He wasn't one to stare, but you made it hard not to.

"You're in my school for the gifted. For mutants," Xavier continued, stealing away his attention. "You'll be safe away from Magneto."

"What's a Magneto?"

"A very powerful mutant who believes that a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I've been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth?" Logan raised a brow, amused.

The professor nodded, and Logan quickly turned to Ororo, pointing, "Storm," he clicked his tongue.

He faced Xavier again, donning what seemed like a rarely occurring smile.

"What do they call you? Wheels?"

Letting out a dry laugh, he started toward the door, done with the conversation.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

But Scott didn't move out of his way, instead standing firm in his place.

"Cyclops, right?" Logan grabbed him by the shirt, roughly. "You wanna get out of my way?"

"Logan, it's been almost fifteen years, hasn't it?" Xavier stopped him. "Living from day to day, moving from place to place, with no memory of who or what you are."

Logan whipped around, facing the professor with a sharp glare, "Shut up."

"Give me a chance... I may be able to help you find some answers."

"How do you know?"

On cue, Xavier's voice began to echo in his mind, whispering words that didn't seem to come out of his mouth.

'The hell...'

"What is this place?"

By the professor's powers of persuasion, he managed to calm Logan down, filling him in on everything about Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters and convincing him to compromise long enough for you to finish your tests.

Which was why he was now back on your work bench, staring up at you intensely as you removed the small, plastic patches from his skin.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, seemingly out of nowhere—but he honestly felt guilty for nearly strangling you to death.

You knew that... but you wanted to hear him say it.

"Sorry for what?" you asked, innocently, as you plucked off the last few.

"If I hurt you," he clarified, pointing to your neck.

Pleased, you gave him a warm nod, flashing a small smile before turning and starting up the MRI.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all...

"So... you couldn't wait to get my shirt off again, huh?"

'Never mind.'

You glanced back at him, letting out a soft scoff at his gall before pressing the button and sending him sliding into chamber, abruptly.

Once he was fully in, you headed over to the viewing room next door, where the others waited for you to explain what they were seeing.

"The metal is an alloy called adamantium. Supposedly indestructible," you started, looking at the X-rays of his skeleton. "It's been surgically grafted to his entire skeleton."

"How could he have survived a procedure like that?" Ororo asked, concerned.

"His mutation," you answered. "He has uncharted regenerative capability, which enables him to heal rapidly."

You crossed your arms over your chest.

"This also makes his age impossible to determine. He could very well be older than you, Professor."

"Who did this to him?" Scott asked.

"He doesn't know, nor does he remember anything about his life before it happened."

"Experimentation on mutants," Xavier sighed, thoughtfully. "It's not unheard of... but I've never seen anything like this before."

"What do you think Magneto wants with him?" you asked, worried.

A face off with him would spell doom for Logan.

He could very well just rip the metal bones right out of him, form a skewer, and impale him with his own skeleton.

'Gross...'

The thought made your stomach churn.

"I'm not entirely sure it's him Magneto wants..."

#wolverine x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #james howlett #mcu x reader #mcu #x men x reader #x men

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callsigns-haze · 29 days

Note

I love your Tyler stuff! I have so many ideas in my head I just suck at writing lol

Could you write something where tyler and reader are married and They are out filming having a good time there and the reader who normally rides in the front seat with tyler switched to go with Lilly last second so javi could join tyler and the tornado shifted out of nowhere and reader and Lilly were right in the path. Reader gets hurt from the the car flipping over and it takes awhile for the rest of the crew to find them and the whole time tyler is freaking out and almost in tears. They finally find them and you can end it how you want.

Not so cruising

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: During a storm chase, Y/N and Lilly are caught in a tornado after a last-minute seat swap, leading to a harrowing rescue by Tyler and the team, with Y/N injured but eventually safe.

Chapter Warning: Intense storm danger, car accident, and graphic descriptions of injuries.

The open road stretched out under the vast Oklahoma sky, the sun dipping low on the horizon as Y/N and Tyler cruised along, the truck’s engine humming steadily. The storm they’d been tracking all day was finally forming, and the anticipation in the air was electric. This was the thrill that had brought them together—two storm chasers with a passion for capturing nature’s most powerful and unpredictable displays.

Y/N normally rode shotgun with Tyler, the two of them an unstoppable team. But today, their crew had grown with the addition of Javi, an old friend and fellow chaser. Y/N noticed Lilly, their new meteorologist, looking a bit tense in the backseat. She decided to switch things up.

“You know what, Ty?” Y/N said with a grin. “I think I’ll keep Lilly company in the other car. Javi can ride with you.”

Tyler glanced over, surprised, but nodded. “Sure, if that’s what you want. Just be careful, okay?”

Y/N leaned in for a quick kiss before hopping out and heading over to the other SUV where Lilly was prepping her equipment. Javi climbed into the front seat of Tyler’s truck, the two men exchanging a few words before pulling away to follow the storm.

Y/N slid into the passenger seat next to Lilly, who smiled gratefully. “Thanks for joining me. I was feeling a little out of my depth with this one.”

“No problem,” Y/N replied, fastening her seatbelt. “Let’s go catch this beast.”

As they sped down the road, the sky above them began to churn. The storm had grown rapidly, dark clouds swirling ominously as lightning flashed in the distance. The radio crackled with updates from Tyler and Javi, who were just ahead, urging everyone to stay alert.

“We’ve got rotation,” Tyler’s voice came over the radio. “It’s starting to drop. Be ready to reposition.”

Lilly’s hands tightened on the wheel as she drove, following the lead vehicle closely. Y/N could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins—the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of capturing something incredible.

But as they continued, the storm suddenly shifted, the tornado’s path veering unexpectedly. Y/N looked up, her eyes widening in horror as she realized the funnel was now headed directly toward them.

“Lilly, we need to move!” Y/N shouted, her voice edged with urgency.

Lilly swerved, trying to steer the SUV out of the tornado’s path, but it was too late. The powerful winds hit them with full force, lifting the vehicle off the ground. The world outside became a blur of chaos as the SUV flipped over, tumbling violently. Y/N felt a searing pain as she was thrown against the door, her vision going dark for a moment before everything went still.

Tyler’s heart stopped when he heard the crash over the radio. Javi, sensing the gravity of the situation, immediately tried to raise Y/N and Lilly, but there was no response. Tyler’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

“Y/N, Lilly—do you copy? Y/N!” Tyler’s voice was thick with fear, almost breaking. When there was no answer, panic clawed at his chest.

“Ty, we have to go back!” Javi urged, his voice tense. “They could be in serious trouble.”

Tyler didn’t need convincing. He whipped the truck around, tires screeching on the wet pavement, and gunned it back toward where Y/N and Lilly had been. The wind howled around them, debris flying across the road as the storm raged on.

Minutes felt like hours as they raced against the tornado, Tyler’s mind filled with images of Y/N hurt—or worse. He could barely breathe, the fear suffocating him. He’d never felt so helpless, the thought of losing her driving him to the brink of despair.

Finally, they spotted the overturned SUV in a field, half-buried in mud and debris. The tornado had moved on, leaving behind a path of destruction, but Tyler’s focus was solely on the wrecked vehicle and the two people inside.

He barely registered Javi’s voice as they jumped out of the truck and ran to the SUV. Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he frantically yanked at the door, which was jammed from the impact. With Javi’s help, they managed to pry it open, revealing a grim scene inside.

Lilly was conscious, dazed but moving. She was bruised and shaken but seemed otherwise okay. Y/N, however, was slumped against the door, her face pale and a gash on her forehead bleeding steadily. Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he reached out, his hands trembling.

“Y/N… Y/N, please…” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion as he gently cupped her face.

She stirred at his touch, her eyelids fluttering open. “Tyler…?”

Relief flooded through him so intensely that he almost collapsed. “I’m here, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Javi was already on the phone with emergency services, coordinating their location. Tyler carefully unbuckled Y/N and pulled her from the wreckage, holding her close as she winced in pain.

“Just hang on, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice shaking. “Help’s on the way.”

She leaned against him, too weak to speak, but she clung to his hand as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. Tyler could feel his tears welling up, but he held them back, focusing on keeping Y/N conscious and calm.

Lilly, despite her own injuries, managed to climb out of the SUV with Javi’s help. She was shaken but coherent, and she sat down on the grass beside Y/N, checking her over with what first-aid knowledge she had.

“Tyler,” Lilly said softly, her voice filled with sympathy. “She’s going to be okay. You got here in time.”

Tyler nodded, though the lump in his throat made it hard to speak. He didn’t trust himself to say anything without breaking down completely. Instead, he just held Y/N tightly, whispering reassurances and promises that everything would be okay.

The sound of approaching sirens was a welcome relief, and soon, paramedics were there, carefully taking Y/N from Tyler’s arms and loading her onto a stretcher. Tyler refused to leave her side, climbing into the ambulance with her, his hand never leaving hers.

As the ambulance sped toward the hospital, Tyler finally allowed himself to breathe. Y/N was alive, and she was going to get the care she needed. The fear that had gripped him so tightly began to ease, replaced by an overwhelming gratitude that they had found her in time.

Hours later, after what felt like an eternity in the hospital waiting room, Tyler was allowed to see Y/N. She was resting in a hospital bed, her head bandaged and her arm in a sling, but when she saw him, she managed a small, tired smile.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice weak but full of warmth.

Tyler moved to her side, sitting down and taking her hand in his. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” she admitted, wincing slightly. “But I’ll be okay. They said nothing’s broken, just a lot of bruises and a concussion.”

Tyler nodded, his eyes brimming with tears he could no longer hold back. “I was so scared, Y/N. I thought… I thought I was going to lose you.”

She squeezed his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a comforting gesture. “I’m still here, Ty. Thanks to you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the day’s events settling over them. But now, in the safety of the hospital, with Y/N by his side, Tyler felt an immense sense of relief. They had faced the storm, and though they had come out battered and bruised, they were still together.

“I love you,” Tyler whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, her voice soft but sure. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

As they held each other close, the storm outside finally began to calm, the winds dying down as the skies cleared. The danger had passed, and now, all that mattered was that they were safe, together, and ready to face whatever came next—side by side.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens #twisters fanfiction #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens smut #dad!tyler owens

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luveline · 8 months

Note

for a heavy request, maybe the marauders after you've been in a car accident, no heavy injuries if you don't want to, but just them worrying? ily <3

love u <;3

“I always thought it would be me,” James says when he sees you, his backpack falling down his shoulder as he rushes to your side. His eyes go glassy when he sees the cut on your cheek. “Oh, no way. Look at your poor cheek. Look at your arm!” He frowns, a deep wrinkle crinkling the skin between his eyebrows. “Sweetheart.”

You shudder as he takes your face into his hands. “You’re really cold,” you mumble.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yeah, Jamie.” You smile as best as you can. He looks so worried. “They pulled a lot of glass out of my arm.”

He eyes the length of your arm wrapped in white bandages. “Yeah? How many stitches?”

“Twenty two.”

“Okay. Twenty two presents, then.”

James helps you settle into your hospital bed. The crash wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but it was still too much to walk off. He fluffs your pillow and helps you lay back, pulls a blanket over your legs, and then tracks down a nurse for another when your shivering doesn’t calm. His hair tickles your arms and your face as he tucks you in, kisses your cheek, the smell of his cologne a nice familiarity to cut the clinical sting of disinfectant.

He looks like he might cry when he’s staring at you, but he doesn’t crack. “That’s better,” he says, taking your hand as he sits in the vinyl wrapped chair beside you. “They’ll be here with your things any minute now, and we can get you out of your flirty dress.”

“It’s a hospital gown,” you mumble through a smile. You’d laugh if you had the energy.

“Yeah, babe. You’re practically naked.”

“Am not.”

He kisses your knuckles. “Agree to disagree.”

Remus and Sirius arrive trying to push through the door at the same time. Sirius wins, willing to roughhouse where Remus isn’t, propelling himself toward your bed in a rush. “What the fuck happened?” he asks.

“They went through a red light,” you say, relieved to see them both. Sirius shocks you when he goes in for a hug, quick but careful, his hair smushed into your forehead as he covers the back of your head protectively. “I didn’t see them coming. I was just sitting there and they hit me.”

They drove their car thirty miles per hour into the passenger side, which then pushed you into oncoming traffic. Sudden and then done. You closed your eyes to brave and opened them to find yourself covered in glass and blood with a bruise like a lash down your chest. Explaining it, remembering it again so soon, your eyes fill with tears that you choke around as Remus grabs your leg.

“You’re okay,” James says, giving your hand a good squeeze.

“Yeah, you’re okay,” Sirius says, quieter, his lips cold on your face.

Sirius lets you go after a quick appraisal of your face and lets Remus crowd you. He hugs you for far longer than the other two, not because he likes you more or anything, but because he’s very, very tactile, and because you need it. He sits on the side of the bed and uses his height over you to wrap you up, avoiding your arm but otherwise smothering you in a soft affection. “It’s okay,” he repeats the sentiment of the others, kneading the top of your arm.

Remus looks pale in the bright white fluorescents, but he doesn’t falter nor shake. He has a remarkable talent for turning everything off when he needs to. You shudder like a kid through tears, your arm a constant pang of pain. The whiplash is suffocating. Each breath you takes doesn’t feel like enough.

Remus counts you through big breaths. “Just do it with me, hm? Nice slow breaths. You got it.”

“I’ll get you some water,” James says.

Sirius opens the bag they’d first ignored to unveil a shoving of things, including a water bottle and a three pack of juice cartons. “We brought choices.”

He pierces the carton with a straw for you and hands it over. You sip at it feebly through panicked pants, the straw pushed between your teeth. Remus runs your arm with his thumb encouragingly. “Sorry,” you say.

Three voices chime in at one. “Don’t be sorry!” Remus says, as James and Sirius both say, “No.”

“It was really scary,” you confess, tears slinking off of your lashes as you blink.

“I bet it was,” Remus says, “but you’re okay. We’re gonna get you fixed up and back home so quickly, dove, you don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” —James winces visibly at your shaky voice and reaches over to rub your thighs— “I just didn’t know what was happening.”

“It must’ve been so scary,” James sympathises.

You look for Sirius through their embraces. He’s frowning, nearly glaring, his gaze on your bandaged arm. “We’ll sort everything out,” he promises, raising his head. “Promise.”

You nod quickly and then slower. “Yeah, I know.”

You’re bathed in hugs for a while. The nurse comes back to see how you are and giggles at your company. “Such handsome boys,” she says, “who’s the lucky one?”

To which they all say, “Me.” She declares them the funniest bunch of boys she’s ever met.

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cheriladycl01 · 1 month

Note

Would you write a Carlos or Max x reader please where she’s a driver too. They’re always worried about her when she races but they’re not prepared when she gets into a serious crash just running errands to the store. They get a call from her caller ID expecting her to have forgotten something but it’s a police officer or paramedic telling them she’s been in an accident. Thank you!

Is this Mr Sainz? - Carlos Sainz x Driver! Verstappen Reader x (Brother) Max Verstappen

Plot: You get into a car crash when shopping for the first food shop before a race weekend.

You were used to driving, it was literally your job at a professional level as a driver in Formula One driver. And you were good too, having 3 wins under your belt in only your third year in the sport.

Sometimes it felt like you only had your seat because you were a Verstappen, but racing was in your blood and you were becoming just as much of a menance as your brother on track.

You also had your boyfriend Carlos who you’d been dating since you were in F2. You never thoughtyou’d make it as far as F1, but after proving yourself in your F2 season, and not struggling too much without power steering, you were promoted.

Having Carlos and Max on track with you was so fun as you were always teasing and making jokes with each other especially in interviews and on Thursday media days.

Carlos and Max however hated the fact that they had to race you and track an that you were good enough to actually fight for position with the pair of them. They were both pretty worried about you before they got into the car. Once they were on track they both tried to consider you as just another car, but admitidly that was pretty hard.

They never thought about you normally driving… it was such a mundane thing compared to driving round tracks at around 250mph.

“Hello is this Mr Sainz?” the call came through whilst Carlos, Max, Lando, Oscar, Charles and Pierre were all in the hotel lobby just waiting around having drinks and talking. It was your caller ID so Carlos didnt think anything off it when he picked it up to here … well not you on the other end.

You were out, getting some snacks for in the hotel room. Everyone had sent you their orders and you’d gone out by yourself wanting some time alone ahead of the race weekend.

You were walking around the large shop, picking out what was given from the list before heading to the checkout. It was getting kind of late, and it was media day tomorrow so you wanted to go back as soon as possible.

“Hi, how are you?” You smile at check out lady who looks shocked to see you before starting to scan your items.

“I’m okay! How are you?” she asks back still looking over you in shock and you try not to chuckle at her reaction.

“I’m pretty good, just shopping for some snacks for my friends. This was the nearest place, its really nice in here” you smile as you take the items off her and pack them into one of your reusable bags.

“That’s gonna set you back $82.52” she says, her American accent coming through. You smile and shake your head.

“On snacks, my god I forgot how many people I was buying for” you chuckle handing over your black card and putting the food back into the trolley.

“Thank you so much! You’ve been so helpful!” you smile before you walk outside going to the car you had rented and loading up the boot of the car.

“Yes this is he” he says with a confused look, furrowing across his brows as he glances a the group who are also looking over to him.

“You are listed here as the emerency contact for a Y/N Verstappen yes?” the voice asks and Carlos feels his heart skip a beat. He looked over to Max, who was now chatting and joking around with Lando.

“Hold for one second please” he says before muting the call.

“Max, come outside. Now…” Carlos says gruffy, before walking outside to a quiet area where there arent any people to interrupt.

“Yes I am the emergency contact for Y/N Verstappen” Carlos sighs and Max freezes.

“She’s been in an accident and we are requesting you and a Max Vertsappen, her second emergency contact at he hospital immedielty” he explains and Max and Carlos share a look.

“What happened?” Max asks, a pause from the officer slighty confused at the different accent change.

“Whos this?”

“I’m her brother Max Vertsappen” he says, his tone cold.

“Well, it looks like she was coming back from the shops and a drunk driver ran through a red light and went into the side of her car crossing the road. She’s in surgery right now but that’s all i can confirm right now” he offers and tears build up in Carlos’ eyes. Max is sort of frozen in shock before he shakes himself out of it.

“We’ll be there as soon as possible, St David’s I’m guessing?” he asks and gets cofirmation from the officer before hanging up Carlos’ phone for him.

“Carlos come on” Max says pulling at his fellow drivers wrist who is now the frozen one with a blank look on his face.

“I-“ he starts but cant say anything.

“Carlos come on, this cant wait!” Max exclaims before the older man wakes himself up from his daze and follows Max to the lobby where their friends are waiting.

“Can one of you drive us to the hospital, we’re both to irratic to be behind the wheel right now” Max asks, looking at everyone who’d stopped their convrsations the minute the absent duo had come back in.

“What? What’s happened are you. okay?” Charles asks standing up.

“It’s Y/N she got into a car crash, drunk driver or something and she’s in the hospital right now” Carlos explains to the group.

“I’ll drive!” Lando agrees quickly, before taking them out to his McLaren, Carlos sat next to him while Max sat in the back.

“Whoever did this is going to pay” Max spits out angrily, tapping against the back of Lando’s seat.

“She’ll be okay, she’s like the strongest person i know” Lando replies looking in the rear view mirror at Max before concentrating back on the road.

They get to the hospital in record time running into the emergency department trying to look for Y/N.

“I’m going to go get some flowers and chocolate for her, you guys let me know the room shes in yeah?” Lando says knowing that they just want to ask and see how she is.

They nod the younger driver off before hounding the receptionist with questions.

“Is Y/N Verstappen here?” Carlos asks.

“She was in a car crash, an officer said she was in surgery?” Max asks.

“She’s an F1 Driver has her team been informed about the accident, what about her family?” Carlos asks.

“Slow down. I unfortunaltley dont have the answer to any of those questions but the first. She’s here, I’m not sure if she’s out of surgry yet but I will. page her doctor to come see you both. Please in the meantime take a seat” she directs them to the smaller and more privte waiting area.

Carlos takes a seat first his head in his hands while Max starts to make calls to his mum and dad and ther sister letting them know what was going on and telling them the limited knowlege he had on the situation.

In the time they’d been waiting, it had gotten out to h general public that you’d been in a car crash and articles and posts had been made online regarding the situation.

“For Y/N Verstappen?” a lady calls in a longwhite coat clipbaord in hand. Carlos’ head lifts up from his hands and he steps up towards the lady as Max hangs up.

“Yes?” Max asks looking over to the doctor.

“Your sister Y/N is out of surgery, it was hard work but she’ll make a full recovery in time. She’s a fighter and we really thought we’d lost her for a second. She’s asleep right now but you can visit” she smiles offering to guide them through the area.

“Thank you” Carlos’ cries pulling Max in for a hug, leaning agaisnt his shoulder before they follow the doctor through to your room.

You were asleep on the hospital bed, some wires and other medical tech strapped up to you and Max never thought he’d see you like this, he’s prayed you’d never ever be in this situation. He hated seeing you, looking so fragile and vulnerable.

Eventually your anesthetic wore off and you were woken up to voices lightly talking and rays of sun bursting through the window. The first thing you notice is how relaxed your body is. Not that you knew right now but the morphine you were on for pain was making you very woozy.

“Mmmmmm” you groan as you try to move.

“Hey baby” you hear lightly from next to you, your eyes fluttering open to meet your boyfriends.

“Hi Carlos” you smile soflty looking at him and the worried look on his face.

That’s when yourmind becomes a little less fuzzy and you realsise you are neither at home or in the hotel.

“You were in a car crash, you had us worried” you hear your brother admit.

“Mmmm Max?” you asklooking around the room seeing the various flowers and cards and noticing it was a hospital room.

“We’re here” he smiles coming to stand the other side of the bed.

“We’ll always be here for you” Carlos adds, holding your hand.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

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kirishwima · 3 months

Note

Ohhh pookie i meant to say like they get mad (maybe yell) at her and she starts crying and starts ignoring them for a week i love angst BOOKIE 😩💔🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️❗❗❗❗‼️‼️‼️

+ shiu kong & toji they fine ass mfs 😩‼️

not u putting Mahito up there looking SO YUMMY (pls. i know hes an asshole but he's my guilty pleasure)

anyway, I love this kinda angst, and I've already written a kinda-adjacent smau, so...here's a drabble instead!

JJK guys arguing with you when you tell them you crashed their car

Gojo is pissed. He runs his hand through his hair, and not even his blindfold can protect you from the seething glare he shoots your way.

"You what?!"

You try to explain it away-it was an accident, you didn't mean to, it won't happen again! But you know that though the guy has a dozen different sports cars, the one you borrowed was his prized possession, one he only let you drive because it's you, and well, you're his other most prized possession, in a way.

You expected him to be irritated, to maybe say a word too many while fueled with anger.

What you didn't expect was the yelling. The cussing, all of it reaching a deafening crescendo when he, exasperated, huffs out;

"God, can't you do anything right?"

It felt like the world came crashing down on you, tears welling up in your eyes before you even realized it. Satoru saw that, of course he did, his anger that was boiling and spilling over now freezing cold, his hands reaching out towards you, hovering at your sides.

"Wait I don't-I mean I didn't mean it like that-"

But it's too late, as you shy away from him, wiping tears with closed fists.

He's never been good at comforting you, never knows what to say...he can usually take your mind off of whatever upset you with silly jokes and his trademark humor, but what can he do when he's the cause of it? He simply doesn't know. So he pulls away, lets his hands drop to his sides, mad at you partly, yes, but most of all mad at himself for taking a petty argument too far.

He doesn't talk to you for days. Grabs his pillow and heads to the spare bedroom before you can even suggest doing so yourself, will use the excuse of missions to stay away from you, anything he can do to give you space. He doesn't know how to fix this, you've always been the one urging him to talk about his feelings in this relationship, to stop repressing all he has to say, but without your guidance he's just a lost boy, hurt and uncertain.

He doesn't know what to do-so he does what he does best. Repress, and suppress. Even if the guilt eats him up from the inside.

Geto doesn't say anything at first. He looks to the scratch on his car, arms crossed over his chest, as you helplessly try to explain how it happened, standing right beside him with a pleading look.

He only listens to you half-heartedly, for the most part lost in his own mind, trying to repress the anger threatening to push out of his chest, red and bubbling up to his neck like a witch's cauldron over heat. He knows how scary he can be when he's mad, and as upset as he is with you, the last thing he wants to do is scare you.

"Suguru please...talk to me?" you ask him, meek and quiet and all he can do is offer you a side-eyed glare, expression icy cold.

He doesn't say anything-instead turns and walks away, leaving you to stand there by yourself, tearing up at the thought of him leaving over this. He didn't say a word, nothing-does he just not care enough to argue with you? Was this the final straw in a long list of stupid arguments you've been having lately?

For a week, he barely talks to you. There's nothing but silence between you when you're both at home, though that's a rare occurrence in itself, most of his time spent outside the house-presumably to stay away from you. You buy paint to fix the scratch on the car, only to find out he's already gotten it fixed, without telling you.

For a couple nights you slept in the same bed, backs turned to each other, even if it got uncomfortable, even if your whole body itched with the need to turn around and bury your face against his chest.

He thought he was protecting you by acting this way-he had no clue it'd drive a wedge even further into your relationship.

The third day you got out of bed when you thought he was asleep, grabbed your pillow and a blanket and slept on the couch. Yet somehow in the morning, you woke up in bed again. This kept happening for a few days, though neither of you ever brought it up.

Suguru wanted to talk to you, fix things-he wanted to so bad, but the thought of you potentially looking to him with disdain, or even worse-with fear in your eyes, was too much for him to bear. So he stayed away. He'll continue to do so, unless you make the first move.

Nanami sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose-like a father tired of having to scold his child. And he plays the part, makes you feel so small as he chastises you over the mishap, his tone never rising, not really, though irritation quite clearly seeps into his voice.

"Kento, I know I made a mistake-" you start, trying to show him your point of view, but he quickly shuts you down with an annoyed glare.

"A mistake would be one thing. This is just plain stupid."

And you feel your very heart clam up, seeing the man you love assess you so coolly. He doesn't say much else after that, merely that 'he'll get it fixed' before getting up, leaving you alone in the living room, your knuckles turning white with the way you dug your fingers onto your lap to keep from screaming.

He's not exactly...distant, but he's definitely colder in the upcoming days. Nanami's never been a fan of PDA, so on the surface, things look relatively normal. But at home? He avoids your touch expertly, like he would when maneuvering away from a cursed spirit's attack, he sleeps on the very edge of the bed-yet stubbornly continues to sleep in the same bed as you, toying between the lines of anger and care that has you pulling at your own hair.

You'd think he'd be more mature-he has that vibe about him, is always so responsible. And yet he never knows how to handle his own emotions, especially not when it comes to you. He'll have dinner ready for you on the kitchen counter when you get home from work, yet he won't take a seat and eat with you like he usually would. He'll do the laundry when it's his turn to do so, expertly fold it and store your clothes at their exact usual place, yet won't have a single conversation with you on the matter. He's the best roommate you could have-but as a boyfriend, that's a whole other story.

You know he cares, deep down he still loves you...but he's stubborn, always has been, and won't breech the topic unless you do, first.

Toji is a dick.

He really is. He lent you his car, the best up, old Honda Civic with the rearview mirror missing, the one he's crashed about a dozen times. Yet when you 'fess up to him that you scratched it, he gets so mean.

"You're a dumbass, don't you know how to fuckin' drive?!" he yells, and yells, and yells. Even with tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, he doesn't stop, keeps at it-until he raises a hand to emphasize his point, and you flinch.

He knows he's an asshole. He does, but for you to think he could ever hurt you...he freezes, arm slowly dropping back down, finally quiet.

Toji doesn't know how to apologize. He's never had to before, more used to leaving a difficult situation than bother facing it. But he doesn't want to leave this, leave you-so he stays there, a long moment, noticing the tears in your eyes, the way you avoid his gaze.

He doesn't know why he acts this way, he fucking wishes he did. He knows he loves you, knows he cares so, so much, so why? Why does he act like a feral dog, when he wants you to be his leash so badly?

You're the one that walks away first, turning your back as you exit the room, slamming the door behind you. And for his part, he lets you, afraid he'd bare his fangs and bite if he followed you, even if he doesn't want to. He's left every good thing he ever found in his life, knowing that if he'd stay he'd mess it up, break it beyond repair.

God, he hopes so desperately he didn't ruin you, too. Perhaps he should leave. Before it's too late.

#asks #jjk #jjk drabble #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk angst #i love writing arguments heheh 🥰#sorry i didnt write for shiu to be completely honest i didnt really feel like it lol

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yandere-fetish · 5 months

Text

Yandere Patient X Female Reader

Part One

warnings: disrespect, rude, slow burn

Yandere Patient is a highly dignified CEO on his way to one of his many companies from the vast countryside. He's reading the newspaper and catching up on the latest magazines, detailing the latest hot topics and debates. The indifferent expression paired with wire framed glasses only made his handsome face more attractive.

The driver comes to a stop at a stop sign while looking both ways. There's no one around. He turns right to drive towards the city.

Yandere Patient reaches for a small drink out of the mini fridge, then the car jerks.

*SKIIIRRRTT*

*CRASH*

Yandere Patient is knocked out as his legs are disfigured in a gory way. The pain was unbearable, but Yandere Patient was in no condition to feel the pain due to the concussion. His eyes flutter shut as the driver is crawling out the front seat, attempting to check on his master.

Yandere Patient scowls at his uncle's suggestion. He doesn't need anyone to take care of him. He doesn't need an extra person supervising the way he moves or watching his every breath.

Yandere Patient didn't need a babysitter. He's a damn grown man, for God's sake!

"They're not a babysitter. They would live in the servants quarters and tend to your needs. Just treat them like a maid. They would only aid you when you need them to—"

"*scowls* And I won't need them!"

"*sigh* Nephew, there's just some things you need to understand in life, mainly that there's no 'I' in 'team'. You cannot do everything by yourself."

"Tch. Watch me! *wheels away in his new wheelchair*"

"Jenna, *sighs and stares at a picture of his sister* what am I going to do with this kid?"

This is where you come in.

You show up at noon, ready to meet your newly appointed patient after hearing so many coworkers complain about how aggressive and snarky this patient has been since joining their agency as a client.

You really hadn't wanted to take this patient under your wing but since the agency was willing to fire anyone who didn't at least try, so you had to.

The sooner you come, the sooner you can leave.

So, here you are, standing on the doorstep of a luxurious mansion with a thirty-foot driveway. You'd never dream of living in a place such as this, let alone working in one.

Funny how you'd be doing both for a while.

When the door opens, you're greeted by a tall and broad-shouldered with a friendly smile. He welcomes you in while telling you, in detail, about his nephew's accident and his.. preferences.

At first, you're shocked and confused, but nonetheless you agree.

"I'm (Y/N) (L/N) from True Home Care. It's nice to meet you, Mister—"

"*scowls and ignores you* I thought they sent the last one?"

"Now, now, nephew. She's come all the way here. The least you can do is try her out for a day."

"I told you and that cheap company that I don't need anyone's help! I'll be fine on my own!"

"Just give her a chance. I'm certain it'll work out this time—"

*glares at his uncle and wheels away*

"*sighs* I apologize, Mrs. (L/N). He's moody, as you can tell. He should come around with some coaxing."

"I.. I'm sure he's not very open to strangers. I'd feel uncomfortable opening my home to one, especially several. And it's Miss— I'm not married. *smiles*"

"You're not? *clicks his tongue at the thought of an idea* I apologize again. Let me show you to your room for the time being."

It's been a a week since you first arrived at Yandere Patient's home. You've quickly become used to your room that's the size of a living room with a comfy as fuck bed to go with it. The 65" TV was definitely a nice addition, and let's not get started on the en suite bathroom and the walk-in closet.

To say you were happy was an understatement.

Now, though, you had wished you were still in your comfy bed instead of in the kitchen, gathering Yandere Patient's favorite tea.

In the sitting room was Yandere Patient and his uncle. They were once again discussing your presence in the mansion, as if you weren't in the other room. The loud noises made you flinch from time to time, but you just reminded yourself that whatever happens will happen. You've done your job well and that's all that matters.

When you're finished with the tea, you serve Yandere Patient, silently keeping yourself to the side while the two argue again.

After the uncle strikes a nerve into Yandere Patient, he walks out of the house. Yandere Patient is so pissed that he slams his hands on the table, making the teacup jump. You flinch as Yandere Patient fists his hands, his muscular arms flexing in anger as he suddenly begins to try to stand.

You're too late; Yandere Patient is all ready on the floor. He slams his fists into the hardwood, bruising them severely.

You're careful to go to his side, helping him up. Yet, the moment you touch his arm, Yandere Patient automatically shoves you away from him with a scowl.

You end up running into a sharp, marble vase table with nothing on it, luckily.

"Get the hell out of here! You're not wanted, nor needed here!"

"*on the verge of tears* You know what? Fuck you!"

"*bewildered at your sudden back talk* What..?"

"You think I want to take care of some selfish, inconsiderate twenty-some year old brat who only calls his uncle when he has a problem? I'd rather lay on my back and give birth to a child to take care of instead of someone like you! If it wasn't for the high pay, I wouldn't even be here taking this damn abuse! I work damn hard everyday to make sure your needs are met, and what do I get in return? Verbally ridiculed and now physically abused! I don't give a mother fuck if you're rich, handsome, or have power; my job is to take care of you and to only take care of you! If I wanted to care for a whiny and stubborn man, I'd go online and get myself a boyfriend!"

*stares wide eyed at you as you're huffing from anger and pain*

"Now, let me help you get up and to the bath so that I can take a fucking break, Sir."

After wheeling him into the bathroom and helping him undress, Yandere Patient is extremely docile and quiet. There's no protest or stubbornness coming from him, much to your relief.

Yandere Patient, on the other hand, notices how you skim over his body but you don't linger anywhere at all. He frowns, not really understanding why. Looking away as both of you help Yandere Patient into his wide garden tub, you silently tend to his needs.

Yandere Patient apologizes, to which you scoff at but accept his apology.

It's silent while you're helping him dry off and get dressed. Even while you're wheeling him to his bed.

But when you begin to aid him into bed, Yandere Patient notices the bruise from earlier forming into a nasty one.

Since your scrubs were moving to reveal your skin when you bend at an angle, he could see how clearly he had hurt you. Something churns in his heart at the memory of pushing you out of anger, embarrassment, and frustration.

Yandere Patient doesn't realize what he's doing until he's gently touching the bruise on your side.

"*flinches while standing up* What are you doing?"

"I didn't mean to hurt you.."

"It's.. it's all right. I'm not bleeding so there's nothing to worry about."

"*furrows his brows* It's not okay. I went too far. Let me make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it, Sir. There's nothing you need to make up for."

"I insist. I'll treat you to a meal, or a day at the spa? Girls care about their skin, right?"

"*smiles* It's not necessary, Sir. Have a good night. I'll be down the hall if you need anything."

*after you've left*

"I'll make it up to you, somehow.. someway."

Part Two?

#yandere #yandere smut #yandere x female reader #male yandere #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere aesthetic #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere x darling #romance #yandere romance #fantasy romance

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amakumos · 8 months

Text

MEET ME IN MONTE CARLO. — jake sim. (teaser)

SYNOPSIS. As a Formula 1 driver, being competitive is just in Ferrari driver Jake Sim's blood. Perhaps Jake cares about winning too much though, because during his conquest for the world title, he loses you. It isn't until 2 years later when you show up at the Monaco Grand Prix with his main rival, Red Bull driver Park Sunghoon, when Jake finds himself determined to not only fight for the championship, but also to fight for you.

GENRE. fluff, angst, exes to enemies (one-sided ish) to lovers

PAIRING. formula 1 driver! jake x fem! reader

WARNINGS. none in the teaser. in the fic, cursing, mentions of car crashes and accidents

ESTIMATED RELEASE DATE. late march, early april

WORD COUNT. 20k ish, teaser is 883 words

AUTHOR'S NOTE. well... this will be my second to last fic for the meantime! i'm excited to drop this one. i've been working on it for quite a while now. here's a formula 1 fic starring our very own jake sim :) i hope you enjoy this little teaser, and the taglist is open so just pop in an ask if you'd like to be tagged when i post this <3

TAGLIST IS OPEN, send in an ask if you’d like to be added!

You were the first person that Jake Sim ever loved. You were there at his first Formula 1 race, you were there at his first race win, and you were there for his first world title win. A series of firsts.

But, Jake Sim has first breakup on the list as well.

He always regrets how things ended between you two – it was messy, it was awful, and it left him crying at 3 in the morning in his apartment.

Jake isn’t certain about many things in his life. But what Jake is 100% certain of, is that the breakup was all his fault.

You had screamed at him, and he knew that he deserved it. You were slowly slipping away from his grasp, and Jake allowed that to happen as he chased another world title so desperately. So desperately to the point that he would end up neglecting you.

Forgotten dates, forgotten anniversaries, and forgotten birthdays. Text messages would be left unread for days when he was in some other unfamiliar city, as you walked to your lectures with a heavy heart and the stream of his race playing in the back of your phone as you waited for a response. You wore red every time he had a race, for Ferrari, for him, even as your relationship was crumbling.

“I’m sorry,” he had choked out. “It is difficult.”

You looked at him with bloodshot eyes and shaking fists. “It is. And you’re chasing your dreams, but… I can’t be with you if it’s like this. The past few months have been like we weren’t even dating in the first place.”

Jake gulps. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I want to try,” you had said with an exasperated sigh, and Jake knows that you’re tired. He’s going at maximum speed, and you’re left trailing behind him. He’s so far ahead, and you know you’ve lost all hope of catching up. But you say those words anyway. “Please tell me you’ll try.”

Jake doesn’t say a word. Because he knows that he won’t be able to. He wants to say yes, so badly. He wants to hug you, he wants to kiss you, and he wants to commit. Just as he commits to his races, to the championship, to Ferrari.

But he can’t. Not a single word leaves his lips, and his silence is enough of an answer for you. “Oh,” you say, and Jake doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers, and your lower lip trembles. You’re dressed in red, Ferrari’s colour – his colour. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” he told you.

“It’s important to you.” you pressed your lips together in a thin line. “I understand.”

You say that, but Jake knows that you don’t. He knows nobody would ever be able to understand choosing to win over choosing someone you love. But Jake is committed to racing. He is committed to win.

Yet, he’s not committed to you. The one who’s been with him through thick and thin, the one who’d catch red-eye flights to find him in some unfamiliar city to watch him win, the one who’d go through hell and back for him if it meant that he’d be happy.

He can’t do the same for you, and he hates that.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and you simply shook your head. You don’t have anything more to say to him, so you quietly pack your things. “I’m sorry.”

Before you opened the door to leave, you took one last look at Jake. “I hope you figure out whatever’s going on in your life.” You don’t say anything more, and that is the last time Jake Sim ever sees you again.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing either, because you’d deleted your Instagram account, starting a new one where none of his fans could keep up to date with you. The only way he knows how you’re doing is updates from Heeseung's girlfriend Yoona, who goes on trips with you often. He sees his fans constantly wondering if you’re doing well, and Jake finds it funny how he’s got the same exact question.

He drowns himself further in training, in racing, in wanting to become the best after the split. He wins, he wins, and he wins again – and that feeling of euphoria when he stands on the podium never leaves. It fills him with a joy like no other, and it reminds Jake why he does this. He wants to win. He wants to be the best – no, he is the best.

Winning means the world to Jake Sim. Racing is in his blood – he does it to hear the crowds scream his name, he does it to lift that trophy on the top step of the podium, and he does it to feel the overwhelming pride in his chest when he crosses that chequered flag first.

But he’s been so focused on winning, and he’s lost his everything.

His everything is the girl who went to his first race. His everything is the girl who would tire herself by studying during the day, and catching long flights to the cities where he’d race in to support him.

And his everything had left him 2 years ago in his apartment in Monte Carlo, Monaco, with teary eyes and a red dress.

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imaginaryf1shots · 2 months

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Slow-Speed to the Finish Line

WC: 2.6K

Fernando x driver!reader

Summery: "You drive me insane, you know that, I can't seem to get you out of my mind." + "my chest... hurts."

Warning: Crash, injuries, curse words

A part of my 1K celebration

Masterlist

Fernando Masterlist

You've been in Formula 1 for so long, coming into the sport as a female was met with opposition from fans and some officials alike. But you've proven everyone wrong with an amazing rookie year and almost beating the 2 times world champion Fernando Alonso as his teammate. You have a very good relationship with all the drivers who've come into Formula 1 through the years. The media had their say on that, but you didn't care. It's not a bad thing to be close to your colleagues. At the end of the day, they're the only ones who can relate to you on so many things. You've become closest with Lewis due to the two of you working together to get more women into formula 1 to have the sport be more exclusive.

Maybe that's the reason why Fernando hated you so much. He and Lewis have been rivals since day one, just like you and him. From day one, he's been against you for some reason, didn't like you or approve of you. It irked you to no end, but you took it out on track. The battles you both share are a fan favourite. Even when you changed teams and were no longer teammates, you still were always at each other's throats. It's a wonder you've never crashed into each

other, you've pushed each other off track more times than you can count. Don't get me started on when you qualify on the same row. The first corner always gets spicey, but never to the point of crashing. You've been in your fair share of accidents on track, but none were because of Fernando.

"You know, there's a reason they do best when they're close to each other." Nico Rosberg once said in an interview, when he was asked about an incident between you and Fernando, that saw you two pushing each other off track both getting penalties for that race. "They push each other to the limit. They just have to learn when to stop."

"They've been in the sport long enough to have learnt." Jensen said, and Nico agreed. "It seems to me that when it comes to each other, it's like they're rookies again."

That race specifically was fire-y between the two of you on track. You found yourself in the FIA section in the paddock, after the race, where all the drivers get weighed and there's a screen showing some parts of the race. Both of your teams were standing side to side as the watched the two of you, the clashing of team kits making this all the more obvious, the rivalry between the two of you. You stand facing each other, your voices cutting through the noise of the garage, a storm is brewing. The air

between you is filled with tension.

"If you haven't pushed me off track, we would've both finished in the points." You say through gritted teeth, your arms crossed and your eyes blazing. "What were you thinking, Alonso?"

"Spare me the lecture." Fernando's tone is icy, and he steps closer. "Maybe if you learned how to defend properly, you wouldn't have ended up in the gravel."

"Defend properly?" You scoff. "That's rich coming from someone who dives into every corner like a maniac, this isn't bumper cars, Alonso."

"You've always been like this." Fernando waves his hand around.

"Like what?"

"You waltz in here and act like you own the place, you've still got a lot to learn about racing, and respect is one of them, maybe start with that." His fists clench.

"Respect?" You laugh sarcastically, taking a step closer, matching his intensity. "I don't need a lesson in respect from someone who thinks he's the king of the track, your arrogance is unbelievable."

"Come on, both of you this is enough." Your team principal arrives on scene and tries to calm you down, his voice was firm, he's sick and tired of having to always break the two of you off. "It's been years and you're still at it.”

You and Fernando glare at each other, both unwilling to back down.

"Just stay out of my way, or you'll regret it." Fernando says with venom in his voice.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing." You say coldly and wip around your ponytail hitting him in the face, that's how close you two were standing, and walk away.

Now this race was no different, you qualified on the third row with Fernando, there were some things said between the two of you before the race that left your blood boiling. Fernando is only like this with you and you don't know why. You qualified higher than him, but he's on the good side of the track so the start is very important for the trajectory of the race.

When lights go out you press the paddle down, and away you go. You maintain you lead on Fernando overtaking two cars by the first lap, but with one look in your rearview mirror you know that Fernando is behind you.

"Why is he always so close to me?" You ask yourself and focus on the cars in front of you, the track is short so by the third lap cars are still close together and with a yellow sector because of one of the Alpines, everyone is getting even closer. Once the yellow flag is back to green, it happens. You don't know what happened, was it Fernando trying to overtake you while you were trying to over take the car in front of you? Has it finally happened? Did Fernando crash into you?

All you know is that you touch the gravel at a corner and your car is slipping, skidding and flipping a few times before it hits the barrier. You felt the G-force from the hit in your core. Thankfully the car landed on the wheels and you weren't upside down.

A car came up behind Fernando and hit his tire, giving him a puncture at the start of the corner making his car hit yours, the impact into your car, made his car only slide on the gravel before it stopped.

In a few seconds Fernando was out of the car, he caught glimpses of your car as it rolled, the car was totaled, bits and pieces of carbon fibre littered the gravel. It looked like the car was chewed up and spit out, that's the only way for him to describe it. Fernando's feet carried him at a speed he didn't know he possessed. Reaching the car, or what was left of it, he saw your shaking hands as you tried to take off the wheel. Fernando leans in and takes it out for you, he threw it to the side. You seem to be struggling even more, so Fernando steady's himself on the side of the car, gets his arms over the halo and under your armpits and pulls you up. It's a struggle, he felt like you put no weight into it. But you're still conscious so that's a good thing. He knows your family is watching, seeing you out and moving will be a great relief to them.

“I-uh, I.” You struggle to speak, Fernando leads you a bit away from the car before he sets you down, he removes his helmet in super speed to be able to see you better. “I can’t breathe.” You choke out. He lefts you head and unbuckles your helmet and removes it and pulls off your balaclava. Your hands press against your chest.

”What hurts?” He asks in such a tender tone, you haven’t heard before. You try and curl into yourself from the pain, but you only manage to move a bit with a whine and whimper.

”My chest… hurts.”

”Shit!” Fernando looks around and sees the medical car just rounding the corner. “HURRY THE FUCK UP!” He turns back to you, tears gather in your eyes as you struggle to breathe. “It’s okay, they're here, the medics are here.”

Your hand clenches his forearm tightly as if it’s your lifeline, his eyes don’t stray from yours, a look of panic fills yours, it’s a look he’s never seen before.

”You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.” Fernando stresses, he doesn’t know how he’s comforting, you or himself. only when the medics arrive and pull him away does he move. He stands to the side and watches as they quickly assess you. The ambulance arrives seconds later and you’re carried to the back of it, he doesn’t think twice before he jumps in after you. There’s an oxygen mask placed on your face, as the medic does his check ups, you wince when he touches your chest. But then he presses a spot that had you let out a short strained scream, being unable to breathe properly Meant you didn't have enough air in your lungs to scream so that let to coughing.

“Wah, what's happening?” Fernando panicked as the medic tried to calm you down.

Thankfully it doesn't take long to teach the medbay, you're wheeled out of the ambulance and inside. Fernando is taken for check ups but a few doctors go with you. He's half focused as he goes through the motions.

Your race suit is unzipped and pulled down your arms the fireproofs are cut down the middle. The nurse pauses when she sees your chest, it's all bruised up. The doctor takes a look at you, and he's calling for the ambulance to take you to the hospital.

Fernando finds you after his test, he looks at the frantic medic.

“What's going on?” He asks the doctor.

“She has to go to the hospital.” The doctor tells him while he checks your chest and ribs once more, they put some pain killers in an IV, since you were still feeling a lot of pain.

“Why?” Fernando’s heart dropped once more, this means it’s a bigger problem than he originally thought.

“We need to do some scans.” The doctor told him and they start rolling you out of the make shift medbay and back into the ambulance.

“I'm going.” Fernando says, no one of your team has reached the medbay yet, and he doesn’t like the idea of you going alone.

“What? no you-“ The doctor says as you’re rolled in, Fernando hops in the ambulance and glares at the doctor.

“I wasn’t asking.” His tone left no room for arguments.

“O-okay.”

You’re rushed to the hospital and Fernando stays by your side as much as he was allowed to, one of your team and one of his team arrive, he changes into his street clothes, but still refuses to leave you. Even when you tell him to go, he just says.

”After we know what happened.”

You’ve never seen Fernando this worried and if you weren’t in pain you’d have found it endearing.

“Fernando.” Your trainer calls the driver’s name with his phone pressed to his ear, the spaniard looks up. “The FIA looked at the photoage of the crash-“

”Was it my fault?” Fernando cuts him off, his tone already guilty, maybe he wasn’t pushed after all, and it was his fault all along.

”No, they uh, did you unbuckle y/n’s belt?” He asks him and Fernando frowns, thinking back to when he got you out of the car, it dawns on him now.

”No, I didn’t.” You share a look with the driver before you look at your trainer.

”Guess we know now why my chest is all bruised up.” You mumble.

Just then the doctor walks in with a couple nurses. They have your scans with them, the doctor looks at your trainer and Fernando before he looks back at you.

”It’s alright, we already have our theories.” You tell him to just say what they found.

The doctor says a bunch of things, but all you focus on is, bruised lung, cracked rib and and another three bruised ribs. Your trainer is back on the phone informing the team with your diagnosis.

“Why are you still here?” You ask Fernando when you’re alone in your room.

”I can leave if you want to.” Fernando stands up and heads towards the door when you stop him.

”Why did you come in the first place?” That stops him in his tracks and he turns to look at you, there’s a long moment of silence. “I thought you’d be happy, I’ll be out of the car for a while.”

”I’m not cruel.” Fernando spits out, he’s offended you’d think him so heartless.

”No, but you hate me.” You fire back at him, though your tone is much softer, weaker.

”I don’t… I don’t hate you.” Fernando’s tone waver, he takes a few steps toward your bed.

”Could’ve fooled me.” You scoff and play with the irritating hospital blanket.

”You’re not really all sunshine and rainbows.”

”But what did I do in my first year, you’ve hated me since then.” You frown, this is beyond confusing, Fernando stays silent, and you chuckle dryly. “That’s what I thought, you know, I was so happy to be your teammate, I have no idea why you’re so cold towards me, I’ve never been the instigator to anything that has ever happened between us, maybe on track but nothing to ever warnt this much hate from you, I was so happy to be teammates with the great Fernando Alonso but you’ve made it so hard and -“

”Can you please shut up! You drive me insane, you know that!” Your lips close tight at his admission, his tone turned desperate like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I can't seem to get you out of my mind, and I feel guilty about it."

“Guilty? Why are you guilty?”

”You choose to ignore everything and focus on that?” Fernando puts a hand on his waist and the other pinches between his eyes. “You’re the only female in the sport, what would be like if I showed that I liked you, that I want to be with you, that you’ve consumed my every thought and my every dream? Huh? It’s not fair to you, to have your colleague want to date you.”

”You know you’re such a child.” You glare at Fernando and he scoffs. “So what? You have a crush on a girl and instead of telling her you’re mean to her?”

”What else was I supposed to do?” He throws his arms up.

”Fucking tell me!” You’re angry and rightfully so.

”And then what? You’ll reject me and then it’ll be uncomfortable for you.”

“Who said I’d reject you?” Fernando’s eyes snaps to yours, your voice is much softer now, void of the anger.

“W-What?”

”I would’ve gladly gone out with you.” Your voice is barely over a whisper, Fernando moves closer, he’s standing right next to you. “I still would, even though you’re an asshole.”

”Would you?”

”mhmm.” You mumble and give him the smallest smile.

“I’m such an asshole.” Fernando mutters and you grin.

”That you are, but you can start making it up to me, by taking me out on a date.” You say and raise an eyebrow teasing him. “It seems like I’ll be have time off from my job.”

”Anywhere you like.” He promises and takes your hand in his, raising it up to his lips where he presses a soft kiss there.

”It’s a deal then, Fernando.” He closes his eyes and groans. “What?”

”This is the first time you called me Fernando.” You giggle and shake your head softly.

”Get used to it then.”

Main Taglist:

@gnatthefly . @mochimommy2002 . @llando4norris . @mrswolffs-blog . @barcelonaloverf1life . @c-losur3 . @xoscar03 . @schniti-is-in-the-house .

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musaslullaby · 23 days

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I was so scared

Kimi Antonelli x fem reader

Summary: during Kimi's debut there was a small accident.

Warning: fluff

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Saying I was excited would be an understatement; I was bursting with anticipation. I couldn't comprehend how Kimi and his father could remain so focused and composed in the face of a Formula 1 debut.

As soon as we entered the paddock, I started to realize just how many people were there, just to watch a practice session. Everywhere I turned, there was something dedicated to Kimi—whether it was a banner or a chorus of people chanting his name. I knew it was just a debut, but I couldn't help imagining how incredible it would be when he was announced as a Mercedes driver, and how many people would celebrate and support him in all his races.

"Love, is everything okay?" Kimi asked, intertwining his fingers with mine in a gentle, reassuring grip.

"Oh, yes, I should be asking you that," I replied, slightly embarrassed, as my cheeks turned pink. He responded with a laugh, pulling me closer to him.

"Everything's fine, thank you."

In no time, we arrived at the Mercedes garage. My heart was racing; I could hardly wait. I had been given the opportunity to stand in the garage right next to Toto Wolff and George Russell himself. My hands were sweating, and as soon as Toto introduced himself with his charismatic smile and extended his hand, I froze for a few seconds. George was standing beside him, and I must say, he was even more handsome in person, with his eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

Kimi nudged me gently with his elbow, bringing me back to reality. I looked at him, slightly surprised, then remembered where I was. With an embarrassed smile, I shook hands with both of them.

"I'm sorry, I'm just really excited," I mumbled, thinking I had made a terrible impression. But instead, they both gave me a reassuring smile and led us inside the garage.

The three guys started talking about technical stuff while I looked around in awe. It felt like a dream, everything was so incredible, and then there was the car Kimi would be driving, the one used by Russell. Instinctively, I moved closer and touched the wing with my finger. It was smooth and cold. Suddenly, I felt hands around my waist, hugging me from behind.

"Do you like it?" asked a voice to my right.

"It's beautiful," I said with loving eyes, admiring the car's color, which reminded me of the sky.

"I know, it's my car," came a voice with a strong British accent from my left. I turned my head and saw George Russell smiling playfully at me.

Kimi tightened his grip on my waist and kissed me on the cheek. "I'll see you later," he whispered in my ear before heading off to get ready to enter the car.

The practice session was going well. I was standing close to George Russell while watching the race. It seemed so surreal to see Kimi in a Formula 1 car, finally making his debut.

"YN, are you nervous?" the Brit asked, noticing that I kept playing nervously with the rings on my fingers. I was happy, yes, but a small shiver of anxiety ran through my body. A string of "what ifs…" started to race through my mind.

George placed a hand on my shoulder. "Everything will be fine, he's been doing great." But he didn't even have time to finish that sentence before Kimi lost control of the car and, accelerating, crashed into the wall. A thick cloud of smoke rose around the car. My eyes stung, and I felt a tight knot in my stomach. I was scared, very scared.

"Is he okay?" I asked quickly, looking anxiously between Toto and George.

"They're taking him to the medical station, but he's fine," Toto replied gently.

"I want to go to him," I said desperately. I could only imagine how he must have felt at that moment. I wanted to be there for him, to comfort him and tell him everything would be alright.

"Hey, hey, YN, you can't go. Wait here with us, I promise he's fine," George said, looking at me with a serious expression on his face.

Defeated, I sat back down. I tortured my hands and bit my nails while waiting. Time passed slowly, and my body was filled with worry. When I finally saw on a camera that Kimi was returning to the garage, I jumped up from my chair. Toto tried to stop me, but I didn't care. I ran as fast as I could; the hot air burned my lungs, and when I saw him in front of me, safe and sound, I threw myself into his arms.

His arms immediately wrapped around me, holding me tightly, and relief washed over me like a wave. I couldn't hold back the tears, which started to stream silently down my cheeks. I could feel Kimi's heart beating strongly against my chest, and I knew he must have been shaken too, despite his usual calm demeanor.

"Hey, it's all okay," he whispered, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm here, I'm safe."

I pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. His blue eyes, usually as cold as ice, were now filled with a warmth that melted my heart. Despite everything, he always managed to keep his composure, even when things seemed to be falling apart.

"Kimi, I was so scared," I said, my voice breaking as I lowered my gaze to hide my vulnerability. "When I saw you hit the wall… I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to be there for you."

He smiled slightly, taking my face in his hands and making me look at him. "I know, I know. But I'm here, with you. And that's all that matters."

In that moment, I realized just how important he was to me. He wasn't just a driver, a guy chasing his dream. He was also the man I loved, the person I wanted to protect at all costs, even though I knew that, in reality, he was the one protecting me.

Ci fu un momento di silenzio tra noi, rotto solo dai suoni lontani del paddock e dal ronzio dei tecnici che lavoravano intorno a noi. Poi, Kimi mi diede un altro bacio, questa volta più lungo, più intenso. Un bacio che disse tutto quello che non eravamo riusciti a dire a parole.

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #fanfiiction #f1 x reader #andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #ka12

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megalony · 8 months

Text

Get My Husband

This is an Eddie Diaz request, I hope you all will like it I'm happy with how it turned out. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and thank you all for the requests I'm trying to work my way through them.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @topguncultleader @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts

911 Masterlist

Summary: While Eddie is out on shift during a terrible storm, (Y/n) goes into labour and she has to wait, cut off and alone until she can get a signal to call for help.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Raising her hand to her lips, (Y/n) bit down on her thumb nail as her arms crossed over her expanded stomach. Her elbows pressed into her waist and she tilted her head up as she took a step closer to the window.

All day, it had looked like the middle of the night. No trace of sunshine, no speck of light casting down the street. Just bleak, varying shades of grey and black with the occasional hint of blue smeared across the dark sky. Cars blurred past, lights on full beam to shine through the blackness, although there weren't many cars out in this weather.

(Y/n) could hear the forecast blaring from the tv and it was telling people to stay inside unless they urgently had to leave the house. People were advised not to drive in this weather, buses were being delayed and stopped. Emergency services were stretching thin from the amount of accidents being called in.

God, (Y/n) was thankful she wasn't at work now.

From the moment the pregnancy test turned up positive, (Y/n) had been put on restricted duties at the station.

They had to assess each call that came in to determine whether she was allowed to go out on the call or not. She was reduced to a spare, helping hand as a medic. She would go in and help if they were out on little calls such as someone having a fall or a seizure or needing a trip to the hospital.

Fires, collapsing buildings and other high level call outs meant (Y/n) hung back at the station and tidied up, cleaned, re-organised and cooked. Once she hit six and a half months, she couldn't leave the station and at seven months, she was off on maternity leave.

(Y/n) didn't want to be stuck at home. She wanted to be out on calls with her team. Her husband and brother were out there each day and she was waiting around at home, desperate for the baby to arrive now so she had someone else to look after and something to focus on. But it meant there was always someone around to watch and look after Chris. He was pleasantly thrilled at having one parent at home at all times.

She was relieved not to be out in this weather though. (Y/n) didn't dare think about how many car crashes, floods, slips, trips and falls the team were going to be called to for the next two days.

"You okay mi amor?"

A smile tugged at (Y/n)'s lips when she felt a set of familiar arms curve around her waist and a tense chest press up against her back. She shivered and squirmed in his grip when Eddie's cold hands slipped beneath her shirt and pressed against her stomach making her jump.

"We're fine,"

Eddie pressed his lips to the side of her head, grinning into her skin while his eyes darted around the living room.

He quite liked how cosy the house felt with the lamps on and the candles (Y/n) had lit earlier. There were over ten candles spread around the living room, dotted in front of the tv, on the coffee table and along the shelves on the wall. If they experienced a power cut today at least they would be alright and not basked in darkness.

"I'm not looking forward to working this afternoon," Eddie mumbled the words against the side of her head while he smoothed his hands along her lower abdomen. His thumb brushed up and down her skin while his fingertips pressed down a little harder into her stomach to feel the sudden onset of kicking against his hand.

"You will be careful, won't you?" (Y/n) leaned her head to the left, nuzzling into his touch while she lowered her arms to clamp her hands down on his wrists.

"Do I look as reckless as your brother?" He tilted his head down a little more to press a sloppy kiss against (Y/n)'s cheek, grinning into her skin when she rolled her eyes.

It wasn't Eddie she had to worry about. Evan was the one who always acted before he could think things through and although he did it with the best intentions, it wasn't always the right thing to do. Evan was a people pleaser and tended to put himself in harms way to help people when he didn't always have to.

Eddie was calm, rational and careful, much like Bobby. (Y/n) had more reason to worry about her brother in this weather than her husband.

"I'm serious. I don't want a call from Bobby saying you've had some kind of accident-"

"Stop worrying, mi amor. I'll be careful, I promise. Twenty four hours and my work will be done for a month, just you, me and the boys." Eddie kept one arm around her waist while he moved his other hand to cup her jaw. His thumb brushed across her chin as he tilted her head up so he could peck her lips.

This was his last shift and he was clearly going to go out with a bang on a tiresome, drastic shift.

After this shift, Eddie would officially be off on leave because (Y/n) had her due date in two weeks. Eddie needed to be off so he could be there when their baby boy was born. He had been with Shannon when she gave birth to Chris and he wasn't about to miss the birth of his second son. They would have a week, maybe two if they were lucky to relax and get things ready, then their boy would be born and they would have two weeks at home together before Eddie would have to start back at work again.

(Y/n) had a desireable urge to add 'and Buck' onto the end of Eddie's sentence just to watch the way he would roll his eyes and grimace. They hadn't voiced it yet, but both of them knew exactly what Evan was going to be like once (Y/n) had the baby.

Her big brother was going to be round their house even more than he already was now. He would be stealing both their boys away from them, waking the baby up just so he could coo and soothe him back to sleep.

Evan was going to be a menace.

And she didn't dare think what Maddie was going to be like. She was also going to be round to try and snatch some babysitting duties. Her and Evan seemed to have been competing this year to see who could take Chris out more and be his favourite.

"Dad! Yucky."

A grin broke out on Chris's face as he raised his hands to cover his eyes while he moved and flopped down on the sofa.

Eddie brushed his thumb across (Y/n)'s jaw when she leaned forward to tuck her face into his neck. He could feel her smiling into his neck as she pressed a tender kiss there. His arm tightened around her waist and he turned to look over his shoulder, arching a brow as he looked over at Chris.

"Bossy," He muttered with a grin but when he twisted his wrist to check his watch, he clicked his tongue and sighed. "I gotta go. Right, if you need me call me."

(Y/n) nodded. She knew the drill. She knew how busy Eddie was going to be today and the chances were he wasn't going to be able to answer his phone to her even if she did call or text him for anything. But he had some leniency. No one was going to judge or tell him off if, when he got a moment to spare, he checked his phone. His wife was eight months pregnant, he needed his phone on him for emergencies.

And Eddie wanted (Y/n) to know she could message or ring him for anything, he didn't want her sitting and panicking or wallowing on her own. She worked at the station too so she knew how to get hold of him during an emergency.

"I love you."

Her lips curved up into a smile and she reached up to cup Eddie's face in her hands, grinning when she tugged him down for another kiss.

His hands squeezed her hips and he smiled into the kiss, nipping at her lower lip before he eventually pulled back. Eddie leaned down so he could kiss the top of her stomach, whispering a quiet 'be good' because he knew their boy had been moving a lot lately.

"Come here bud," Moving towards the sofa, Eddie leaned down and wrapped his arms around Chris. "Love you, be good for your mum. I'll see you both tomorrow night."

One more day. One more shift, then home for a month.

***

Reaching her hand down, (Y/n) slowly dragged her fingers through Chris's hair, de-tangling the few knots he had in his curls. Her lips formed into a soft smile and she leaned her head back on the sofa, pushing back to click her spine into place.

She tried not to move round too much and disturb Chris, he was nicely settled tucked up into her side. He had his head on her upper chest and an arm draped over her stomach. He had been thrilled at the idea of a baby sibling until he realised it meant (Y/n) would have an expanded stomach. He could no longer properly hug the person he had come to call his mum. The baby was now in the way.

Chris had his knees pulled up on the sofa beneath a blanket and he was almost asleep. It was a Friday night so he could stay up late and watch movies with (Y/n). It was a good coincidence that this storm was happening tonight.

He wasn't keen on storms, little noises always kept Chris awake and right now, the wind was howling and clattering against the windows. The rain was pouring down so fast it felt like they were in a boat in the middle of an ocean storm. And thunder clapped through the air every now and then.

When her stomach twinged, (Y/n) shimmied around and scraped her heels against the coffee table she had propped her ankles up on.

A wince pulled at (Y/n)'s face and distorted her lips when the baby moved and sent a pang jolting down her spine. Why did her baby boy have to wake up now when it was time to sleep?

At this rate, once Chris was tucked up in bed, (Y/n) would be laid in the bath for an hour or so. She wasn't getting very comfy at night now, every time she finally felt like she was about to fall asleep, the baby woke up with glee and (Y/n) found herself awake and angry.

Two nights ago she had been awake until four in the morning and Eddie woke up to her sat on the end of the bed, crying that she hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time for three days. Eddie had run the bath and they spent almost two hours laid in the bath because that was the only place their baby boy seemed to settle.

(Y/n) lifted her head up off the sofa, jolting forward when the tv suddenly turned itself off. She thought for a moment that it had just timed itself out and shut down as it had been on for a few hours now. But when she looked to the right and realised the table lamp near the window had also suddenly gone off, her heart sank.

"No… oh no."

The storm had taken out the electrics.

"Baby, I think it's time for bed." She moved her hand down from Chris's arm to brush her fingers up and down his arm to try and wake him up as he was almost falling asleep.

"Can I stay with you?" When he tilted his head up and grinned at her in that tired yet cheeky way, (Y/n) couldn't exactly say no. She didn't sleep well when Eddie worked the nights and Chris didn't like sleeping during storms. Something told (Y/n) she wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight so Chris could stay in her and Eddie's bed if he wanted.

"Sure, baby… go get ready then."

When Chris tiredly shuffled off the sofa and headed down the hall, (Y/n) gripped the edge of the sofa to give herself some momentum to get up. She had gotten far too used to Eddie pulling and giving her pushes to get to her feet.

She could feel an ache burning in her lower back when she tried to straighten up, but it was the twinge in her abdomen that made her groan.

Her hand stayed on her stomach as she rounded the sofa and shuffled towards the hallway.

A gasp burned at the back of (Y/n)'s throat and her hand clutched her abdomen as her body tilted to the left to lean against the wall for support. Her head snapped down to look at her legs and fear bubbled up in the back of her throat and swelled in her lungs.

Her water broke.

She was going into labour. Early. Eddie wasn't home. There was a storm raging outside that had just taken out the power. She was going to have to call the emergency line to get through to her family.

"Mum! Finished."

"O-okay," Rolling her lips together, (Y/n) gritted her teeth and slowly walked down the hall. She would have to put Chris to bed and make sure he was settled before she tried to call anyone.

She followed him when he tiredly wandered out the bathroom and made his way to her and Eddie's room. She couldn't have been more thankful that Chris was tired tonight. On school nights Chris usually wanted a story before he went to bed and if he was very unsettled, he had a minimum of three stories to get him calm and ready to sleep.

Not tonight. He had stayed up late to watch tv and tired himself out, he wouldn't want a story tonight.

"Mum, light's not working." He bashed his hand against the light switch a few times until (Y/n) gently held his hand to make him stop.

"The power's out, baby. Come on, into bed." He wouldn't have noticed in the bathroom, they had an emergency battery light above the mirror.

Chris moved towards the bed while (Y/n) closed the curtains and turned on her reading lamp which was battery operated. When a pain tore through her stomach, she leaned forward and planted her hands down on the mattress, arching her back out to try and relieve the tension.

A little groan slipped past her lips between deep breaths and she switched her weight from foot to foot.

"Shall I l-leave the light on for you?" Her reading lamp gave off a soft orange glow which might comfort Chris because now, (Y/n) couldn't lay in bed and read or watch tv with him while he slept. She was going to have to confine herself to the living room so she didn't scare or unsettle him with her contractions. The light would settle him if the storm became too loud.

He nodded, smiling despite the fact that he couldn't keep his eyes open for long. He snuffled down in the middle of the bed, leaning more on Eddie's pillow because he knew it was a feathered pillow like his.

"I'll be in soon. Goodnight baby, love you."

Reaching across, (Y/n) swiped his glasses from around his neck and put them on the side table before she kissed his temple. She managed a smile when he kissed her cheek and whispered 'love you' before he snuggled down.

Pain radiated throughout her lower back when she shuffled over to the chest of drawers near the window. Her hand curled into a fist around a pair of Eddie's pyjama shorts and she leaned forward like her stomach was weighing her down to the floor as she shuffled out the room.

"Fuck." Tears welled in her eyes and her knees started to wobble as she hobbled across into the bathroom. "Why are you doing this to me now?" She muttered, pain etched into her wobbling voice as she glared daggers into her stomach and shimmied out of her pyjama bottoms and underwear. She kicked them near the bath and tossed her shirt along in the pile before she doubled over.

It took a lot of strain and effort to drag Eddie's shorts up her trembling legs and sit them just beneath her bump. Shorts and a bra was going to have to do for now.

Both her hands moved to her waist and she closed her eyes rubbing in deep, slow motions back and forth over her stomach like Eddie did when he was home. His touch was a natural remedy, he always calmed her down.

When the pain subsided, (Y/n) took it as her chance to move as fast as she could and hobble back down the hall towards the living room. It was a good job she had lit all the candles early in the afternoon or else she wouldn't of had the energy to raid around to find and light them all.

Her phone was exactly where she left it on the arm of the sofa and it made her lips twitch in relief.

"No… no please! Don't do this to me!"

A strangled cry fought against her lips that she snapped closed so Chris wouldn't hear her. Why didn't she have any signal? Not even one bar. How was she supposed to call for help with no signal? She only had twenty percent battery left and there was no power to charge her phone.

Her trembling hands clicked on Eddie's contact and she typed a message. With no signal it wouldn't send, but the moment her signal came back, the message would send through to Eddie. Whether that be in a few minutes or maybe an hour, she still needed him to find out.

My water broke, baby's coming! Now!

With that done, (Y/n) started to pray as she tried the emergency line. Shouldn't it work with no signal? What was the point if in an emergency with no signal, no one could call the emergency line? It didn't work.

Her broken sob squeaked past her lips and (Y/n) slumped her chest forward onto the back of the sofa. Her arms flopped forward, her nails scratching into the cushion as her bum arched out and her knees locked in place.

She was going to have to wait until the storm started to lessen and see if she could find some more signal somewhere else around the house in a little while. She had to be able to call for help somehow.

Chris was in bed, it was past eight o'clock at night and there was no way (Y/n) could drive out in this storm, in this state.

She had to be able to call for help. Somehow. Soon.

***

Agony tore through (Y/n) in waves like the ocean rolling across the sand. Burning her stomach, lighting a fire up her back, tearing each muscle apart as slowly and horrendously as possible.

When another contraction hit, (Y/n) waved a shaking hand out and found the tea towel she had confiscated earlier. She hastily rolled it up and pressed it between her lips, sinking her teeth down so hard her jaw started to tingle and the pain burst up into her ears.

Her hands gripped the arms of the chair she was crouched down in front of. Her knees had gone numb from pushing down into the laminate floor, her lower back felt like it had been broken and disconnected from the rest of her body. And her thighs were burning along with her lower stomach.

Tears drenched her already sodden face that was laced with salt water and sweat and made the loose hairs around her ears stick to her cheeks and forehead. Her body was trembling and going through a cold sweat that contradicted the fever she knew she was burning.

A horrid scream gurgled at the back of her throat and became morphed into the towel stuffed into her mouth to muffle her sounds. She couldn't risk waking Chris up and having him panic about the situation.

Tilting her head down, (Y/n) meshed her forehead into the seat cushion and smothered herself until spots danced behind her eyelids and her head started to fill with air. She could feel her hands losing their grip on the arm rests and she waved forward and let her body flop against the lower part of the chair, sending a different kind of pain pulsing into her stomach.

She wanted Eddie. Where was he?

Why couldn't she get any signal? Why wasn't this storm relenting?

Couldn't their baby have held off for twenty four hours? One measly, little day would have made all the difference. Eddie would have been home with her if this happened at the same time tomorrow night. He would have been by her side, there would have been no raging storm outside and no risk of (Y/n) giving birth alone and Eddie being stuck out on a call somewhere else. One day wasn't too much to ask.

When the contraction subsided, (Y/n) lifted her head and slumped her cheek against her arm.

Deep, wheezing breaths spat through against the towel and her eyes shifted from left to right to try and focus on anything to distract herself. The storm outside was providing a good background noise which partially worked to distract her each time a contraction wore off.

And the candles gave a lovely, calming atmosphere. But it all served to remind (Y/n) that she was isolated, home alone, with no way of reaching out for help.

"Oh, Eddie…" A quiet sob spat past her lips when she dropped the tea towel down on the chair and let go with one hand to reach for her phone. "Ahh!"

(Y/n) choked on her breath and lifted her head up from her arm when she looked at her screen. Even though she was now down to fourteen percent from the amount of times she had been checking her phone over the last few hours, a spark of light lit up the screen.

One bar.

She had one measly, little bar of service in the right hand corner of her screen. Surely that would be enough to get a call through to 911? That had to be enough. (Y/n) wasn't going to get any more than this tonight, she could tell. And if she didn't try now and this signal went, she would be giving birth at home. Alone. She didn't want that.

Her finger punched in the three digits and when she held the phone to her ear, (Y/n) smothered her face down and cried out in relief when it began to ring.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Oh, Maddie! Help!" Tears stained down (Y/n)'s face and a broken sound left her wet, froffing lips when she heard her sister's voice on the other end of the line.

She had gotten through to her big sister. Her eldest sibling. Maddie would be able to help her. And even if the line cut out in a second or a minute, she knew (Y/n)'s address and would be able to get help down to (Y/n). She also knew Eddie was at work and would be able to send a message to him.

"(Y/n)? Where are you, what's happening?"

"Ooh,"

Not again. Not again. She was splitting at the seams, surely her muscles couldn't stretch any further?

Tilting her head to the left, (Y/n) clenched her hand down tighter on the chair and before she could stop herself, she pressed her mouth against her upper arm. Her teeth sank down into the soft flesh of her bicep and she screamed into her skin, focusing on the feeling of her teeth tearing through the first few layers of skin to distract herself from the agony in her abdomen.

Blood welled around her teeth and trickled onto her tongue but she didn't care. She had to stop herself from screaming loud enough to scare or wake Chris. She had to look after her boy and put him first.

"(Y/n), talk to me. Have you had a fall?"

"Oh, the baby- I'm in labour!" Her voice broke as blood and spit dribbled from her lips.

Her head tilted back to look up at the ceiling as she sniffed. Eddie wasn't going to be pleased when he saw her arm. She'd bitten deep enough to bruise the skin and split it apart and something told (Y/n) the wound would get a lot worse if her husband didn't get home soon.

"Please tell me you're at home?"

"Four hours! I- I've been like this for f-four hours. No signal, n-no power- oow- Get my fucking husband!"

"Don't worry sweetie, I'm going to re-route the one-eighteen to you right now and I'll let them know what's going on. Meanwhile, you stay on the line with me and I'll walk you through this. Everything's under control, I've got you now."

Maddie clicked her sister's call onto mute just as her sister's horrid yet somewhat muffled scream tore through her ears. With two clicks, she joined onto the radio feed for the one-eighteen. They were on their way to a car crash but Maddie could redirect them to (Y/n) and get the two-twenty five team to take over the crash. It was only a three car pile up at a junction and no one was in drastic danger.

(Y/n) was a high priority. She was one of the team, one of their own and she was in labour. This was her first baby and she was home alone, she needed someone to be there with her and she needed Eddie by her side.

"Dispatch to one-eighteen?"

"This is Captain Nash, go ahead."

"I'm re-routing you to a high priority call in Park's Close. (Y/n)'s on the line, she's gone into labour."

Eddie's head jerked up from where he had been slumped against the window and a rush of adrenaline fluttered through his stomach. He couldn't be hearing this right. He had left home what, seven hours ago? Seven hours ago (Y/n) had been perfectly fine with him. No twinges, no extra or unusual pains or discomfort and no sign of contractions.

How could she be in labour now?

Why was she in labour now? Why did it have to be now when they were in the middle of a storm and Eddie was on his last shift?

Reaching his hand out, Eddie braced his left hand against the window to try and steady himself and stop the sudden dizziness from taking over. He could feel his breaths wheezing past his lips and tingling sensations sparked in his stomach when his blood started to rush up his neck towards his head. His other hand moved to grip the radio attached to his left shoulder and he tilted his head down.

"Is she okay?!"

"Very distressed, she thinks she's nearly fully dilated."

"Go, go!" Reaching his hand up, Eddie slammed his fist against the roof and pushed back briskly in his seat. His fingers moved to curl in his hair and he closed his eyes, holding his breath for as long as he could to try and regulate his system.

He was supposed to be there when (Y/n) went into labour, from start to finish Eddie was supposed to be at her side. And now he had missed half of her labour by being on shift. He'd left his wife home alone during a storm. They needed to hurry before she gave birth on her own and he missed it.

He could see Evan trying his best not to jump and fidget in his seat and the worried smile on his face gave away everything. He was excited. Evan thought he would be either on shift or at home when Eddie called him to say (Y/n) was going into labour and had had the baby. He didn't think he would get to be there when his little sister had her first baby.

Eddie had never been more relieved that Bobby was the one driving the truck tonight. The captain was by far the best driver during an emergency and bad weather like this and he had gone as fast as safely possible to get to Eddie's address.

The truck didn't come to a stop before Eddie flung off his belt and headset and was jumping down into the street that looked more like a river in these weather conditions.

Water rose up to his ankles around his thick boots and rain pelted down and dampened his hair which stuck to his forehead.

He didn't bother trying to grab a medic bag from the truck, the rest of the team would do that. Eddie bolted up the path to the front door and tore off his gloves so he could trace his hand above the ledge for the spare key. His keys were in his bag back at the station in his locker and he doubted (Y/n) was going to be in any fit state to come unlock the door for them.

"Baby? Baby we're here!" Eddie shrugged off his florescent jacket and dumped it on the floor before he bolted down the hall. He was relieved (Y/n) had lit all those candles earlier. With the power out, the house would have been daunting in the dark and he would of had to rummage through the drawers for lights and torches.

"Eddie!" (Y/n) sobbed his name and let her head slump back onto her left arm, allowing the relief she felt to cloud her head that was about to explode.

Tears blurred her vision and obscured her view of her husband bolting across the floor towards her. Her body shuddered when his knees thumped against the floor as he collapsed down beside her.

In an instant, Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back, brushing his thumbs beneath her eyes to clear away her tears. He leaned forward and pressed his lips bruisingly to her temple, reeling her close so he could move his hand to cup the back of her neck and coil her into his chest.

"Oh baby… God, I made it!" He felt her hands scratch at his upper back and her trembling seemed to vibrate through him and make him shake along with her. But it was her sobbing in his neck that made tears well up in his eyes. "It's okay mi amor, you're not alone now. I'm here."

(Y/n) couldn't help the way she cried. She couldn't help sobbing and gasping into Eddie's neck when she finally felt his arms around her. Her phone had lost battery a few minutes ago and cut off her call with her sister. She had been disconnected and isolated again until Eddie burst through the door.

"Cavalry's here sis! How you doing?" Evan came from down the hall with a bundle of towels and flannels in his hands. He knew his way around their house blindfolded from the amount of times he had stayed over and Hen had instructed him to go and get towels ready. He placed them on the chair and crouched down behind (Y/n) as Hen and Bobby hurried over with medic bags on their shoulders.

Evan reached out to rest his hand on (Y/n)'s lower back when she suddenly doubled over. Her head moved down to bury into Eddie's chest and she hunkered down with her stomach tensed and merging into her thighs as she screamed.

"Can someone check on Chris?"

"I'm on it." Chimney jogged down the hall to go and stay with Chris, it was likely that he was awake now and they couldn't have him wandering into the living room and seeing everything.

"Okay (Y/n), how do you want to do this? Shall we sit you down on the floor?"

Pursing her lips, (Y/n) nodded at Hen's question and kept her eyes closed. She wanted to stay hunched over like this but she knew it was going to be easier for them all if she sat down rather than crouched like this. She let Evan hover behind her and Eddie moved her arms to loop them around his neck before he grabbed her hips and started to stand up, pulling her along with him.

Eddie shuffled a few feet from the armchair but when he was about to turn (Y/n) around in his arms, he stopped short. His hand moved from her hip and suddenly grabbed her elbow so he could tug her arm closer to his face.

"Baby what have you done?"

His fingers pinched into her skin and his jaw locked so tightly his teeth felt like they were going to shatter. He inspected her upper arm with anger radiating through him and pain pulsing through his veins. He should have stayed home. He should have been here with her to sort things out and look after her. She might not have taken a chunk out of her arm if he'd of been home.

There was a horrid, deep bite mark into her bicep that was swelling up and had been deep enough to draw blood that was smeared across her arm.

With a growl and a shake of his head, Eddie dropped her arm and went back to holding her hips so he could turn her around and mould his chest into her back. (Y/n) reached out and grabbed her brother's arms to steady herself and when she dared to open her eyes, she found Evan smiling down at her comfortingly as they both helped lower her down to the floor.

She slumped back into Eddie's chest and tipped her head back onto his shoulder while his arms cocooned around her waist. His chin perched on her shoulder and made a shudder run through her skin.

"Let's have a look," Hen grabbed one of the towels and placed it over (Y/n)'s knees that she brought up as close as she could to her stomach.

"Not you!" (Y/n) snapped as she lashed her hand out against Evan's shoulder. Her fingers curled into his shirt and she dragged him until he got the hint and moved to kneel beside her and Eddie rather than next to Hen between her legs. (Y/n) was not having her brother watch her give birth from that angle and she wasn't having him intervine and deliver the baby either. As good as her brother was at delivering children, he was not delivering this one.

"You're crowning already, keep pushing. You've been doing just fine without us."

When a crack of thunder tore through the sky, (Y/n) jumped back into Eddie's chest which seemed to absorb her shock. His arms tightened around her waist and he kissed the side of her head, letting her nails pierce into his wrist while she took Evan's hand in her other one.

"I can't." (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed and tucked her face into Eddie's neck, letting him curl around her like a blanket and smile against her temple.

"You're so close now, mi amor. You've done the worst part, come on, he really wants to meet us, hm?"

Eddie's name tore from her lips, along with a broken scream as she pushed forward and felt Eddie shuffle up behind her to keep her sitting upright and prop her up. He peppered his lips along her neck and over her cheek while he looked over her shoulder, grinning through tears when Hen grabbed a towel for the baby.

"Head's out, one more push."

(Y/n) could see stars twinkling in front of her eyes and all the blood seemed to pool around her head until she was blacking out. Her pupils became unfocused and her head dropped forward as tremors rattled through her body.

"Good girl, you've done it. Come here," Eddie cupped his hand beneath her chin and gently lifted her head and let it fall into the crook of his neck. He pressed his lips against her temple and brushed his thumb up and down her cheek when he felt all the tension leave her body. She slumped down into his chest and the only movement was her trembling frame jerking back and forth in his arms.

Evan kept tight hold of her hand and rubbed his free hand up and down her arm to try and stimulate her and bring her back around.

(Y/n) tried to quirk her lips into a smile when the spots began to fade and she could see everything coming back to her.

She uncurled her trembling hand from her brother's tight grip and flopped both arms out when Hen carefully eased her baby boy onto her chest. She could barely hear his cries from the static pulsing through her ears but she could feel his hands batting down on her chest and his cries vibrating through her chest.

A breathless, wet laugh left her lips as Eddie reached his hand around to brush his fingers over the back of their boy's head.

"He's finally here,"

#eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #imagine #911 imagine #pregnant! reader #pregnancy #eddie diaz

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