#it's a real challenge to get back into work mode

[coffeegnomee]

I feel like in both s5 and s6 respectively, Spoke wanted something from Planet and the empire that he could never get from them. He...wanted them to be who Parrot was to him. He wanted them to "give" him what Parrot "gave" him during their time in past seasons team, but it's something nobody else could ever give him because nobody else is Parrot. Or maybe I'm just too obsessed with havocs, and it's not that deep. >_<

YES. no it is that deep. ahh im going to cry. Spoke misses Parrot dearly and is slowly facing the reality that nobody can ever be Parrot.

It's something I've been reflecting on a lot as new members are added and the iconic members of the past either leave or only long on three times a season.

Nobody is anybody else. And their absence is felt deeply and completely. We can't escape that nobody can fill the void that someone else leaves.

And yet the players keep hoping, wishing that the others were what they imagine they are. And none more than Spoke in this finale.

Bringing up exploits with the new owner, did he hope Minute would act like Parrot and let him exploit by his side while Parrot did his own content? All Spoke used to have to do was be excited about what Parrot was excited about, or present a content idea to Parrot and get him excited for it. And the two would go on grand adventures.

And you see that so much with Spoke in the convo with Zam too, the second he heard Zam wanted to keep spawn safe, he started caring about spawn. But then as he slowly realized it was a lot deeper than just an area to build in, his tone shifted and he got much more serious. Only then did he hype Zam up as being the hero of the server, that he believed in Zam. I wonder if before he hoped Zam would ask to join the team, and only at this point did he realize what Zam really needed was the reassurance that Spoke absolutely didn't want him on his team. And so he let Zam go.

In the havocs era, Parrot was always down for the chaos, he wouldn't break the rules himself, but he wouldn't stop Spoke from doing it, he even encouraged Spoke to break the rules in the first place at times. And the two would dance together, the chaos and the exploit god.

But not anymore. Mapicc believes the season ends the second a big exploit is revealed, he doesn't want to be involved if his only purpose is to watch someone else break the rules for him. Minute is diametrically opposed to exploits and would rather kill Spoke than play along for the game. Zam at least sees the story mode and understands they have a role to play and fills that role, but Spoke loves exploits and Zam hates them. Even they wouldn't work well in the long run. (if they end up teamed s7 and zam does exploit or pulls a parrot and just lets spoke exploit i am going to loose it)

Nobody is like Parrot. Not a soul.

Even s5 planet was like his avatar to be the world ender while spoke could not. He played the role of parrot, being owner and limited by that. But Planet never had it in him to be evil in the long run. Planet doesn't pull off long dastardly plots, he's more about the long devious plot that is lighthearted in the end. He would always fall back on changing the trajectory of another's life rather than place himself in the center of conflict where it all begins to feel too real, like they really hate each other.

Havocs never worried about others' opinions (ok, not true, and maybe that was part of parrot leaving, we will literally never know. And spoke needed his retirement to gain distance from the dastardliness he pulled in s4). In s4 they never cared about other's opinions. They just played the game for the love of the game. Anything for content.

I mean for goodness sake Parrot removed 4 of his echest slots for the challenge of it, didn't wear pants, was on 1 heart for a week and did a duel on 1 heart, moved wardens on 1 heart, got a pet with the hope someone would steal it, moved pangi's house into the air for the conflict, tried traps for the conflict, kept the tubbo hearts for the conflict, and basically did every other nerf and risk he could think of to instigate a challenge he could face just to see if he could. Adrenaline junkie in minecraft.

The only other member that is that unhinged in content is princezam. And honestly it's not that close. parrot was on a level nobody else dared go. Zam goes into situations knowing he'll die with a 10% chance to see if he can win anyway. Parrot made situations that were difficult to win, but were meant to be won. He just made the game harder for the fun of it.

It's a whimsy and intoxication that stole Spoke's heart.

Spoke's primary motivator is to do the impossible and that the most beautiful thing on lifesteal is when something grand happens. And with Parrot that was possible. But it hasn't been possible since.

I truly wonder where Spoke will go from here. my silly little heart thinks he will be more active next season, after all he said how he agreed with Mapicc that he didn't do enough to deserve to be the world ender. And if him and Zam team and Zam doesn't care about exploits, my goodness. What might happen from there. Probably not much lmao bc that is not a pvp team in the slightest they would just die. Then again nppp was not a pvp team either.

Squiddo matches Spoke's chaos, and she's gotten to a point where she is willing to be that chaos with just a little encouragement. But idk if they work well long term.

He's tried Ash many times, and they work well together, but the timezones kill them every time.

Mane would be Interesting. now that's a chaos matchup. But is it too chaotic. Mane seems like he wants to do what he has decided is the right thing to do and doesn't effectively embrace other's ideas as his own, unless he thinks it's the right play. Like i can see more conflict than synergy there. but i would love to be proven wrong.

But like I said, nobody will ever be Parrot.

[immortalsins]

my internship is paying me £20 an hour but i’ve got no limits on how much or how little i should work. also no guidance on how to record how much work i get done. so as much as i’d like to get this very generous cash from the eu it’s one of the most difficult discipline challenges so far

[snoopyracing]

rivals — ln4 & op81

pairing: lando norris x reader x oscar piastri word count: 30k warnings: sexual situations (foreplay, making out, groping) drinking, swearing, descriptions of a crash & the aftermath, thoughts of death/depression, and infidelity. includes: driver!reader, maneater!reader, asshole!lando, submissive!oscar, oscarxlando, drama and more drama. summary: challengers!au…. when ferarri’s princess is forced to retire at the peak of her career she finds herself lost with no purpose. racing was all she had ever known and it was ripped right out from under her with no warning. feeling hopeless she pours her passion back into mentoring oscar piastri— mclaren’s reigning champion. old feelings emerge, rivalries reach their breaking point, and ex-teammates show up when oscar least expects it. yet all y/n wants to see is some good fucking racing. a/n: ahhh!!! ok here she is in all her 30k words of glory! please enjoy and let me know your thoughts :)

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Italian Grand Prix 2023

The rumble of twenty V6 engines, pit crews and TV presenters talking, last minute checks over the car, fans roaring– it’s all background noise as you’re sat snugly in the cockpit of your race car, waiting for the formation lap to start. You close your eyes and take a couple deep breaths, grounding yourself as you try to prepare for the next heart pounding adrenaline inducing two hours. Your body relaxes and you allow yourself to enter racing mode, your senses are heightened, mind sharper than a tack. When you open your eyes you only see a clear track in front of you and a navy blue Red Bull to the left of you. 

It was time.

If the giant Rolex branded clock didn’t confirm it for you then that static in your ear piece followed by 30 seconds till formation from your race engineer Alice did. You’re second on the starting grid, with Verstappen in front of you and your teammate Leclerc right behind him, you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. Not to mention that you’re in Monza this weekend, so a Ferrari 1-2 is the ultimate goal. Your visor comes down and your hands grip the wheel as the formation lap starts. 

When you line back up on the grid you take one last final breath and wait for the famous five lights. The little red lights that let you know it’s time to unleash every ounce of talent, of wheel knowledge, everything you’ve got to be the first one to see the checkered flag waving. 

The lights go out and away you go.

It’s an amazing start off the line from you and you’re able to quickly get past Max and become the new race leader, an advantage that you’re glad to have had considering Monza isn’t the easiest track to overtake on.

Beautiful Y/N - your race engineer's soothing voice fills your ears and for a second you can breathe, but it doesn’t last long because you know you’ve got Max Verstappen behind you. The man who will make a move if he sees the slightest opportunity and you know you’ve got to defend this position with your life. It makes you feel a little better knowing he’s got Charles behind him to keep him busy, but this is Formula 1 and things could change in the blink of an eye. 

You’d held the lead beautifully for a quarter of the race, but on lap 15 of 53 you hear box box over the radio. 

Seriously? You question back, knowing this was not the plan you’d gone with in your meeting this morning– or the other five million that Ferrari insisted on having. You wonder if maybe you’d been pushing too hard and ate away at the tires, but you knew that wasn’t true. Tire whisperer was your middle name and from what you could tell you still had a good amount of laps left on these babies. 

Yes, box now. Alice’s voice is firm and the pit lane is fast approaching, so you obey orders and pull into the pit lane entry. It’s an insanely fast pit stop, but when you come back out onto the track and see that you’d been undercut by Max you’re immediately pressing the radio button. 

Real nice pit stop timing– plan C is what I want now. 

We don’t think that’s possible at this moment.

Well I’m making it possible.

Even though Max had undercut you, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re not winning this race. You were leading this championship for a reason– you were the best and it was as simple as that. A little undercut wasn’t going to ruin this race, especially when these tires were going to last you for the remaining 38 laps. 

It was crazy, you know, but taking risks was something you had to do in the world of Formula 1. So, you grip the steering wheel, take a deep breath as best as you can, flip Max the bird as you pass him and become one with your car. 

On lap 45 of 53 you no longer see Max Verstappen in a Red Bull behind you in your mirrors, but the all too familiar red colored car reflecting back at you. As the laps wind down you can actually start to hear how loud the crowd is and when you’re the first to see the checkered flag you know tonight is going to be a night you won’t forget. 

The crowd is electric, actually it’s more than electric. It's indescribable as you step out of the cockpit and carefully onto the top of the car that’s parked in front of the P1 placard. Your pointer finger proudly showing off your number one position to the multiple cameras pointed in your direction. Waves and kisses are blown towards the crowd before you’re quickly running over to your team and jumping into their arms over the barricades that are set up. Praises fill the air and when Charles finally comes over to the team it’s an even bigger celebration. You embrace your teammate, both of you congratulating each other before focusing back on the people who make all of this possible.

The cool water that awaits you at your pedestal feels better than winning for a brief second, your helmet and extra gear already ripped off you as you chug it down like liquid gold. 

“You’re one crazy motherfucker you know that?” A familiar Dutch accent fills your ears as he pats you on the back. 

“Just a casual Sunday drive for me.” You shrug your shoulders at Max, a smirk splayed across your lips as the bottle of water hovers near your mouth. 

A team member directs you towards the area where the pre podium interviews will be held before you can discuss anymore with Max. A Ferrari cap sits atop your sweaty head as you speak with David Coulthard— your smile beaming as the adrenaline still courses through your veins. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say about your drive out there today. Was a one stop the plan all along or was that something you just ended up doing?”  

The crowd is so loud you can barely hear him, the massive Ferrari flag waving in the grandstands behind him only adds to the atmosphere. “Yeah, I mean it wasn’t anyone’s favorite plan, but I knew when I came back out onto the track that these tires were gonna last me till I saw that checkered flag wave and they did. So I think that speaks for itself don’t you?” 

He asks a few more general questions, but all you can think about is that podium and the feeling of the biggest trophy in your hands. “Always a pleasure talking to you and seeing you on that top step. Congratulations again Y/N.” 

You give him a kert thank you before booking it to the cool down room and preparing yourself for the impending celebrations. 

In the McLaren garage Lando watches the podium from the monitors. He knows he should be in the media pen, answering the same questions over and over again and he pretends not to hear his publicity agent holler his name. In his defense the TIFOSI are celebrating not that far away– it’s hard to hear anything over them and the Italian anthem filling the air. He’s experienced a podium in Monza once, but as a McLaren driver it’s never as special as if he were a Ferrari driver.

The monitor that’s still playing the podium celebration is his only focus at this point and he doesn’t even notice Oscar coming up beside him. Lando’s too busy watching you get sprayed with champagne and the way you look with the said champagne dripping off of you. The way you look like you were meant to be up there with the thousands of fans screaming for you down below. The biggest trophy held high above your head as you smile out at the crowd. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” 

Lando jumps slightly at the sound of Oscar’s voice, yet his gaze never wanders from the screen. The Australian shuffles his feet to stand next to Lando, his eyes joining in on the spectacle on the monitor in front of them. 

“Yeah she is.” Lando mumbles. 

Truth be told you’re more than just something. You were a prodigy– a generational talent. People knew you’d be talked about as one of the greats forty years from now. It took blood sweat and tears and then some to become the first female Formula 1 driver in decades, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be some mediocre driver who barely made it into the points every race.

You were here to win– to be the best and that’s what you are. Another twenty five points added to your championship lead and perhaps after you win the championship you’ll no longer be the Princess of Ferrari, but the Queen. 

Lando watches as you grip the champagne bottle by its neck, lifting to your lips and taking a long swig from it. “I’d let her fuck me with that bottle.” He doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud until he hears Oscar scoff from beside him. 

“Of course you would.” 

Oscar would too– he just has a better filter than Lando. 

Charles, Max, and you pose for some pictures and then with a final wave to the crowd you’re off the screen and the cameras change to the season's stats so far. Lando turns to face his teammate with nothing shy of a serious look on his face. “We are going out tonight.” 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, there was nothing to really celebrate tonight. “We barely made it into the points. Is that really worth going out for?” 

“We aren’t celebrating us you muppet. We are celebrating Y/N.” 

“Ah of course, because we are so close to her. She probably wouldn’t even let us near her section if we tried.” 

Lando rolled his eyes at Oscar– he could be so pessimistic sometimes. So what if Lando could count on one hand how many times he’d held a conversation with you that lasted longer than a minute. That didn’t mean you didn’t like him. In fact, maybe you liked Lando so much that you kept your distance to remain professional. Either way he was going to actually talk with you tonight and yeah it was unprofessional, but if things escalated tonight, he wouldn’t oblige. 

The sound of Lando and Oscar’s names echoed through the McLaren garage and in an instant both of their publicity agents were now standing in front of them, unimpressed looks on their faces as they dragged the two drivers towards their interviews.

“I’ll get the details from Carlos alright? Don’t sit around in the room tonight– live a little Oscar.” Lando says as they enter the chaos that is the media pen.

Oscar only nods at his teammate as his agent is already pointing him in the direction of his first interview. 

A perk of the McLaren boys being so late to do their interviews is that they get the privilege of being in the pen at the same time as the three podium placers. Max and Charles walk in first, but no one pays that much attention to them. 

When Y/N waltzes in– now that’s a different story. 

There’s an immediate surge of energy in the air. Your name is echoed through the air like a prayer and each press official wants to be the first person to interview the race winner– to interview you. Your smile lights up the room and you don’t even look like you’ve just been through a grueling two hours in a race car. You’re radiant and everyone’s eyes are on you, even the ones that were mid interview.

When you end up next to Oscar in the pen he feels the air escape from his lungs. He tries to act cool, like he didn’t even notice you next to him, or that he wasn’t freaking out like a fanboy right now, but he totally was. It also seemed that the person interviewing him was more focused on you than Oscar, their eyes glancing over towards you every few seconds, but Oscar couldn’t blame them one bit. 

He thinks he blacks out for a moment when you leave to go to your next interview and you smile at him. It wasn’t even a full teeth smile, just a small one that you’d give to a person in public on the sidewalk. Yet it made him weak in the knees– his hands gripping the barricade as he tried to collect himself. 

Oscar had talked to you even less than Lando, but he’d come to the conclusion that you smiling at him outweighed all of Lando’s conversations. And his previous doubts about going out tonight had suddenly vanished. He was a man on a mission and you were that mission.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The music pounds in your chest as you sit on the plush velour couches in the VIP section of this random club in Monza. Strobe lights move across the room and the faint smell of marijuana fills your noise while you’re sipping on what was clearly not your first drink of the night. Charles sat across from you with whatever girlfriend this was at the moment and a couple other drivers that you liked well enough to invite out. 

It was times like this that you thought that maybe you should be a little more outgoing in the friend department, but you weren’t here to make friends. Sure you talked to the guys– you weren’t rude, but it was always professional conversations– always consisting of racing.

You were close with Charles, purely because he’d been your teammate for the past two years, but other than that you didn’t pay much mind to anyone else on the grid. You were here to win races, not form lifelong friendships, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have a little fun every once in a while. 

Which was what you planned on doing tonight. 

Oscar and Lando seem like two middle school boys with no date to the Valentine’s day dance as they stand awkwardly near the bar. The music is deafening and Lando’s mad that Carlos, who was the one person who could have gotten them into your section, decided to bail on coming out tonight at the last minute. The last hour had been spent on trying to figure out how to get in without Carlos, but they both seem to be failing in the brainstorming department tonight. 

Lando’s ordering another drink from the bartender when he feels a sharp jab in his side. He turns his head to find Oscar pointing out towards the dance floor– his eyes follow Oscar’s line of direction and what he sees has his mouth agape. 

There you are on the dance floor– in a red dress that fits you perfectly and teases anyone who was looking. You stand out, like a beacon of light and Lando and Oscar were sailors lost at sea. The way your body moves along to the rhythm and you seem to get lost in the music. It’s a sight that neither of them can seem to tear their eyes away from. That is until you decide to head back to your section and before Oscar can oblige Lando decides their best option for tonight. 

“Let’s just go and talk to her.” He grabs Oscar by the hand, his shoes dragging against the sticky floor as Lando pulls him towards you. Oscar knows there’s no real plan in place and he fears they’re going to make fools of themselves. 

Once they make it through the sea of sweaty bodies a red velvet rope and a burly bouncer are all that separates the two McLaren drivers from you. The bouncer stares down at them– his expression stone cold as he crosses his massive arms over his chest, muscles bulging under his shirt. 

“Sorry. Invite only.” His Italian accent is thick as he speaks to them. 

“We know her. We’re drivers too– for McLaren.” Lando counters back, praying it’s enough for the man to lift the rope and let them pass. 

The bouncer stares at them, squinting his eyes like he’s trying to tell if they are actually who they say they are. For a brief second they think the man recognizes them, but their hopes were crushed as soon as they appeared. “Invite only.” The bouncer states again as he stands there like a brick wall. 

Lando cranes his neck around the man, looking into the VIP section, hoping someone recognizes him and Oscar, but the person who comes to their rescue is the last person either of them expected. 

The red dress is what catches Lando’s eye first and when his eyes travel up and land on your face he gulps. There you are standing behind the rope that’s been their main obstacle tonight and when you lean over towards the bouncer and whisper something in his ear the man seems surprised.

If Oscar was as good at reading lips as he thought he was it looked like the man mouthed something along the lines of are you sure back at you. You nodded your head firmly towards the man before sitting back down on the plush couches, your lips wrapped around the straw from your drink as you stare down the two McLaren boys. 

Oscar and Lando think they’re dreaming when they see the bouncer lift the rope and motion for them to enter. Oscar feels like his feet are stuck on the floor, he never thought they’d get this far tonight, especially after Carlos bailed on them. He feels Lando’s hands on his back, pushing him forward while mumbling something about hurry up before she changes her mind. 

They’re both stumbling messes as they hurriedly enter the VIP section. They hear some of the other drivers greet them, but their attention is lasered in on you. How you’re sitting there sipping your drink and looking like the sexiest and scariest woman they’d ever met. 

There’s a beat of silence for a moment between the three of you as you all just stare at one another– some rap song fills the silence as the bass vibrates in everyone’s chest. 

Oscar notices how your gaze lingers on Lando more than him and he realizes he needs to be the one to speak up first. “You were fucking incredible today.” 

Your eyes immediately dart over to Oscar and a smile creeps its way onto your face. “Thank you.” 

“No really. It was like something completely different to what everyone else was doing out there today. It was like it wasn’t even racing.” 

You simply nod at him, what were you supposed to say to him? You knew you were good. 

Oscar looks around his eyes identifying the other drivers who’d been graced with a prior invite into your section. Leclerc, Hamilton, and Albon, but no Verstappen. “Max didn’t want to come out tonight?” 

You scoff and shake your head at the Australian. “He only likes to celebrate when he’s on the top step, not the bottom one. He’s a sore loser– probably already on his private jet back to Monaco as we speak.” Someone comes over with a tray full of shots and sets them down on the nearby table. You grab one for yourself and motion for the boys to grab one as well. “Go on, have a little fun. You two did pretty decent for yourselves today didn’t you? You both scored points if I recall correctly?” 

Lando and Oscar both nod and grab a shot glass from the table, quickly downing it before setting the glass back down. They watch you as your lips wrap around the shot glass and you tilt your head back, letting the liquid burn as it goes down your throat. When you set the shot glass back down you notice the boys standing there like lost puppies. The awkwardness and nervousness radiating off them makes you giggle. You knew the power you had over men and oh was it such a fun game to play. 

“I heard through the grapevine that you’re doing Formula E next season. Did you lose your seat or what?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head– he’d not spoken to another soul about it, besides Zak. “How did you even know about this? But no, I didn’t lose my seat. I wanted to explore other forms of racing. Trust me– my seat will be waiting for me when I’m done.” 

You nod at the British driver as your eyes flicker over to Oscar, who you know is thinking the same thing. No one who makes it to Formula 1 just decides to pursue other types of racing— maybe once you’ve left your mark, but not a handful of years into your career. You guess you all would see if he did still have his seat when the time came. “It’s Formula 1 darling. There’s no such thing as secrets in this career field. The paddock whispers and the majority of the time she’s never wrong.” 

The club starts to feel suffocating and Lando uses his need for fresh air to maybe get you away from the chaos for a moment. “Do you smoke?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise– a small laugh spilling past your lips. “Cigarettes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No. Do you?” 

“Yeah. Do you wanna go outside?” 

You glance over at Oscar who seems less than impressed with Lando at the moment, but you’re intrigued to see where this goes. So, you stand up, smooth the front of your dress and let Lando and Oscar lead the way. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The fresh air feels amazing when it hits your skin, it makes you feel alive–awake almost. You’re grateful there’s only two people out here in the little smokers area, the last thing you need is for people to be shoving their phones in your face. You notice Lando pull a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and then proceeds to pull a cigarette out before handing the pack to Oscar who copies his actions. 

You three sit at one of the little tables set up outside and you watch as they smoke their cigarettes. “This isn’t the eighties anymore. Do your trainers know you guys smoke?” 

“If the drivers back in the day could do it why can’t we?” Lando says as he takes a particularly long drag.

“Like I said it’s not the eighties anymore.” You taunt. Oscar quickly puts his out with the heel of his shoe before you start in on him. He never really liked cigarettes to begin with, but then he started hanging around Lando and well now everytime he drank he craved one. “See, this is your problem. You think racing is about trying to be like the ones who came before you or that it’s some image you have to fit into. That’s why you’re stuck fighting for P10.” 

“We don’t necessarily have the best car at the moment.” Lando counters back, flicking the ash off his cigarette as he eyes you. 

You shake your head at him. “Yeah, but having a good car is only a small fraction of the bigger picture. To be honest you’re not actually a Formula 1 driver. You don’t even understand what racing is.” 

Lando smirks as he takes another puff from his cigarette, the smoke billowing in your face. “What is it then?” 

“A relationship.” 

He scoffs at your answer. “Is that what gets you all those wins? Seeing racing as a relationship?” 

“It is actually. When you become one with your car, with your team, engineer, everyone that makes this whole thing run you’ll understand. You’ll feel it and it’s like you all understand each other. It’s some fucked up version of love, but it’s there. It’s like I’m sometimes not there in my body when I’m driving and the part of me that is in this relationship takes over and I just exist in that moment. Racing– being a Formula 1 driver is more than just driving a fast car and living a luxurious lifestyle. It’s a commitment and when that commitment is taken seriously the outcome is beautiful.” 

Oscar had never heard someone talk about racing like that before, but it made sense, especially coming from you. Everytime you got in that car your drive was like a piece of art. Every win of yours deserved to be in the Louvre. You truly were the face and epitome of what was Formula 1. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and when you see just how late it is you know it’s time to call it a night. “Well boys. It was nice to chat with you, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel. See you at the next race.” You give them a small wave goodbye and head back towards the chest rattling music. 

Lando sits up in his chair, the night had just begun and he was far from done talking to you. “Wait!” You stop walking and turn on your heels to face the boys, an eyebrow raised in question. “Are you on Facebook?” 

You audibly laugh in Lando’s face at his question. “Facebook? Is this 2010?” 

Oscar speaks up for the first time since you three came out here. “I think he’s trying to ask for your number, which is what I’m also doing… right now.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth from Oscar to Lando. “I don’t doubt you both follow me on Instagram. Is that not enough?” Oscar and Lando feel their stomachs drop, they knew they shouldn’t have gotten so ballsy with asking for your number. When they don’t answer you realize how serious they are about it. “You both want my number– for real?” 

Oscar and Lando vigorously nod their heads at you, clinging onto the last little bit of hope they have.

“I’m not a home-wrecker.” 

“We don’t live together.” Oscar states as he watches your hair gently move with the night breeze. 

Lando doesn’t miss a beat with his reply. “It’s an open relationship.” 

“Also Lando has a girlfriend.” 

“I do not!” Lando slightly raises his voice towards his teammate. The asshole was clearly trying to get one up on him. 

You laugh at their antics, they were such desperate needy boys and you were loving this. 

Lando shuffles forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the table as he leans forward. “Why don’t you come hang out with us later? We’re all at the same hotel. We’re in room 231.” 

Oscar’s head whips around to look at Lando, he was not expecting to have a sleepover tonight. 

You laugh a little at his proposition. “Is money that tight at McLaren that they’ve got you two sharing rooms?” 

Lando and Oscar glance at one another, the answer was yes, but they weren’t going to say that. “No, it was a hotel mistake.” 

“You want me to come tuck you in?” Your tone is nothing shy of teasing. 

“No. We can just keep talking about… racing.” 

They were determined– you’d give them that. You had never paid much mind to the McLaren boys, but after your interaction with them tonight you were intrigued to say the least. A small smile stretches across your face as you bid the boys farewell once more. “Goodnight.” 

You know they watch you walk all the way to the door and you know they’ll be waiting all night for you to show up. 

It’s not butterflies that you feel in your stomach when you realize just how tightly you’ve got them wrapped around your finger already– no it’s something much stronger than that. 

���── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later the night Lando and Oscar wait impatiently in their shared hotel room for you to show up. The AC rattles and the TV plays some random Italian show that Oscar pretends to watch. 

“She’s not coming.” Oscar states after the end credits roll on what he thinks is the third episode of the show. 

“She might.” Lando’s lounging on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

Oscar glances over at Lando. “You made it sound like we wanted to fuck her in here.” 

Lando scoffs. “Well we do want to fuck her in here.” 

“What exactly was your plan with this invitation? I mean let’s say she did come over. We both keep desperately trying to shoot our shot and hope that she ends up making out with one of us? What’s the other person supposed to do? Go sit in the bathroom?” 

Lando shrugs, he hadn’t thought that far in advance, but it didn’t sound like a horrible plan. “Sure, if it came to that.” Oscar laughs at how unbelievable Lando sounds right now. Really he’d like nothing more for you to show up at their door and have your way with him, but Oscar was realistic– Lando not so much. “What do you think it’s beneath you? Is Oscar Piastri too good to take one for the team and wait it out in the bathroom?” 

“I think it’s beneath her.” Oscar had realized that The Princess of Ferrari was definitely taking pity on them earlier. And if you did show up at their room tonight then maybe Oscar would start to believe in a higher power. 

“What if she chooses you? You’d have no trouble sending me away.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at his teammate. “She’s not coming, Lando.” 

Then as if the universe wanted to humiliate Oscar there��s a knock at the door. The boys halt their movements and lock eyes, wondering if they’d just heard the knock in their heads. Then as if on cue another knock sounds on the door and their both scrambling to straighten the room as quickly as possible. 

On the other side of the door you can hear them clambering around and shouted whispers echoing through the room. You smile as you imagine the undeniable chaotic scene unfolding on the other side of the door. You hear the door opening and you quickly step back, you didn’t want them to know you were eavesdropping.

When the door opens there stands Oscar and Lando, both with only boxers on, but Lando’s the only shirtless one. You can feel their eyes burning into your skin– you’d perhaps worn the shortest athletic shorts you own and a cute little jacket on purpose. 

“Hi.” Comes from both of them, but you only greet them back with a smile. 

You three sit on the carpeted floor and talk about dumb shit like what junior series you raced in and if Oscar’s boarding school experience was like the crazy stories you’d heard of. The mini bar was soon fully raided and combined with the prior drinks from the club– you were feeling a little out there with your questions. 

“How often does this happen?” You motion between the three of you with your almost empty seltzer can. “You guys going after the same girl?”

“Not as often as you’d think actually.” Lando states as he takes a swig from his drink. 

“Really?” You don’t believe him one bit. 

Oscar shakes his head. “We don’t usually have the same type.” 

“Are you saying I should be flattered?” 

“No… I mean you’re everyone’s type, aren’t you?” Oscar states like it’s a known fact. 

Which, in all honesty, it practically was a well known fact. You never had an issue in the relationship department. Men and women– they both loved you and wanted you, and well the feeling was mutual. You were comfortable with your sexuality, but you could feel the tension or unexplored tension between Lando and Oscar. They were both too needy and pathetic looking to not be at least a little curious and you were going to be the one to get the ball rolling. 

“What about the two of you?” You ask, your head spinning with endless possibilities. 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows at you. “What do you mean?” 

You don’t say anything– you just keep looking at them. Waiting for one of them to crack. 

“Oh. No… is that surprising?” Oscar’s cheeks start to turn pink when he understands just what you were insinuating. 

Yes it’s surprising you think– what F1 driver didn’t have a little fruitiness to them? 

Then you see Lando with a weird smile on his face and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “What is it?” 

“Well…” 

“No.” Oscar is furiously shaking his head at Lando, he does not want you to know about this, but he can already tell his actions are futile.

“Tell me.” You straighten your posture, attention solely focused on them and what Lando’s about to spill. 

Lando keeps teasing and Oscar can tell you're absolutely chomping at the bit to hear this, so he concedes. Maybe you’re drunk enough to forget this in the morning. “Just tell her.” 

You watch as Lando’s eyes travel from you to Oscar and then back to you. The anticipation is killing you and just when you think you can’t wait much longer Lando speaks. 

“Oscar and I have jerked off together before.” 

The image of it flashes in your brain and it’s everything you could have thought of and more. “Like you helped each other or?” 

“No. We were always in separate beds.” Oscar explains but when your eyes widen he realizes what he’s said. 

“You’ve done it more than once?” 

Oscar’s scrambling to do damage control while Lando sits there with a grin on his face. “Twice! That was it and it was during a triple header both times… can you blame us?”

You put your hands up in defense. “I’m not judging.” Judging was the last thing you were doing– fantasizing was more like it. 

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you and when you down the last of your drink you realize what you had was the last of everything. “We’re out of drinks.” 

You all glance at one another– not sure where to go from here. Do you leave? Do you stay? Do you try to get more to drink? Then as abruptly as you decided to do a one stopper during the race earlier, you get up from the floor and take a seat on the end of one of the beds. 

“Come here.” You command. 

The boys look at one another and then over to you, neither of them moving. 

“Um– which one of us?” Oscar asks. 

Lando on the other hand doesn’t wait for you to answer. He’s up off the floor and next to you on the bed faster than the car he drives on Sundays. Oscar quickly follows suit– settling in on the other side of you. 

You feel both of their eyes on you, the anticipation killing them, and the fact that you’re fully in control at the moment. You look back and forth between the boys, almost like you’re playing eeny meeny miny moe with them. After what seems like a tantalizing few seconds you land on Oscar and you can feel the nervousness and desire radiating off of him.

You lean in and capture his lips in a kiss– it’s sweet and he kisses you with a softness that somehow had you craving more, but you knew you had Lando waiting his turn. So before you got carried away you broke apart from Oscar and turned to face Lando. He’s eager and wastes no time once you lean in towards him. His lips are rougher and kissing Lando is the complete opposite of kissing Oscar. Lando’s more passionate and rushed and he’s more handsy than Oscar. It’s like day and night with them. 

You pull away from Lando and then after a few seconds they both lean in at the same time to kiss you. It’s awkward at first– heads are bumped and giggles travel softly through the air, but eventually you make it work and you’re kissing them both at the same time. It quickly turns more heated, tongues dancing with each other, mouths moving in sync. It's messy and hot and none of you can seem to get enough– hands are everywhere and you all get lost in the moment. 

That’s until an idea sparks in your brain and you find yourself slowly backing out of the kiss and before you know it you’re leaning back on your elbows watching the show in front of you. 

For a moment Oscar and Lando get lost in one another. Their eyes are closed yet their mouths work together like they’ve mapped every inch of one another. It makes you wonder– hope that they’ve done this before. It’s like a work of art in front of you and you find yourself getting lost in the way they kiss one another, but you know you can’t be greedy if you want to make whatever this is last. So, you sadly interrupt the two drivers. 

“Okay.” They immediately break apart, eyes wide as they realize what they’ve been doing. “I’m going to bed.” You get up and head towards the door, acting like this hadn’t just made you feel crazy. 

Lando and Oscar are feeling fifty million emotions at the moment but when they see you head towards the door Lando realizes he hadn’t gotten what he asked for in the beginning. “What about your number?”

You’d just made out with them and they're still so hung up on your damn number? “I told you I’m not a home-wrecker.”

“Please.” Oscar knows he sounds desperate, but that’s because he is. 

You think for a moment, you could just give them your number, or you could make this a little fun. And with you fun is always going to win. “Alright. How about this? I would say whoever wins the race would get my number, but we know that's not going to happen. So whoever places higher up at the next race can have it.” 

Lando smiles, but Oscar feels the loss already. You notice how starkly different their reactions are and you focus your attention on Oscar. “You can beat him. You should beat him, actually.” 

Lando doesn’t know if he should take offense to what you’ve said or use it as fuel to beat Oscar tomorrow. Either way he doesn’t appreciate the sudden favoritism towards Oscar at the moment.

“Are you saying you want me to?” Oscar’s confused as to what you meant. 

“I’m saying you’re not going to get my number if you don’t.”

“Yeah, but what do you want?” Oscar asks and you all know he’s not implying what you want but who.

“I want to see some good fucking racing.” 

Silence fills the hotel room for a brief moment before you bid them goodnight and walk out the door. 

The boys sit there shell shocked, still processing what had taken place moments ago and your words still hanging heavy in the air. They both knew they had to lock in and do everything in their power to beat one another at the next race– and to them your phone number meant more than a trophy or points at the moment. 

Lando glances over at Oscar, but his eyes travel down south when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. “Need some help with that?” 

Oscar looks over at Lando and follows his gaze down to his raging erection. He punches the Brit in the arm before abruptly standing up. “Fuck off Lando.” He hollers as he heads towards the bathroom. 

“Maybe we can tell Y/N it was three times instead of two!” Lando laughs as he leans back on the bed with his arms behind his head. He was determined to get your number– come hell or highwater. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Singapore Grand Prix 2023

Two weeks later Formula 1 is racing at the Marina Bay Circuit. You haven’t spoken to Lando or Oscar since that night, but the whole weekend you’ve been catching their eye, fleeting glances are shared during media day, and when you stand somewhat close to them during the driver’s parade they both feel like they're going insane. 

Sunday arrives and you’re on the top step again and when the celebrations are over you watch the race in your hotel room during the early hours of the morning.  A smirk paints itself across your face the longer you watch, the McLaren boys didn’t disappoint. They put on a good show from the midfield and when Lando sees the checkered flag before Oscar you’re pulling out your phone and pulling up his contact– a favor from Carlos. 

Your fingers type out the message– the intent behind it is clear as day and when you press send you wait for the knock at your door. 

you: congrats P8 winner. i think you deserve a more elaborate prize, don't you? 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A few weeks later Lando and Oscar are at the MTC doing some training, sim work, media obligations– all the fun stuff. They’re in the gym doing weights when Oscar asks the question. 

“You fucked her yet?” 

Lando sets the dumbbell down, surprised at what came out of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m not telling.” 

“What do you mean you won’t tell me?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Lando shrugs. 

Oscar scoffs as he does a few more reps. “Since when?” 

“Since she told me she’d stop seeing me if I told anyone.” Lando says matter of factly. 

“Well she had to know you’d talk to me.” 

Lando stares at Oscar for a moment, amazed at how adamant he is to hear about him sleeping with you. “Isn’t this hard for you to hear? Do you like torturing yourself or something?” 

“I’m happy for you really.” Oscar replies, but his heart isn’t in it. “Just give me a sign to tell me. If you aren’t going to say it outloud give me a sign. At the next race if you two slept together, wave at me or something.” 

“You want me to wave at you while I’m driving a car at 200 miles per hour?” Sometimes Oscar was a freaking idiot and this was one of those times. 

“Yeah. It’s simple enough, but I’ll know what it means.” 

With a smirk on his face Lando shakes his head at the Australian, he knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he’s a man of his word. “Alright.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Qatar Grand Prix 2023

Even with floodlights lighting up the track instead of the sun– it’s still sweltering as you push the car to its limits around the Lusail International Circuit. The humidity has you drenched in sweat and you can’t seem to shake the Red Bull behind you. 

It had been a tricky weekend for you, but a great weekend so far for Oscar and Lando. Oscar had managed to win the sprint yesterday, you were P2, while Lando was P3. It was weird having them be a part of things with you, but a big part of you loved it. And from the way the race is playing out today it looks like they’ll be joining you up on the podium, especially after Max has a mechanical failure.  

As the last ten laps of the race tick down you have no idea of the thing that is about to go down between Oscar and Lando. Finally after being stuck in Oscar’s dirty air for the majority of the race Lando manages to overtake him. Oscar looks to the left and sees Lando’s gloved hand sticking out as best as he can and the unmistakable action of waving taking place. 

He feels his stomach practically drop out of his ass. He knew they had to be hooking up, but the reality of it made him want to be sick. It should be him with you, not Lando. Anger courses through his veins and he uses it to overtake Lando on the last lap, securing himself P2.

The podium celebration is awkward, well at least for Oscar. He watches as Lando and you drench each other in champagne and when you turn to spray Oscar all he can think about is that damn hand waving at him. He pretends that he doesn’t feel Lando pushing his hand out of the way when he goes to wrap it around your waist as you three pose for pictures. And in the post race team meetings he won’t even look in Lando’s direction. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rest of the season is played out as civilly as it possibly can be. Oscar’s still bitter about losing you to Lando, but knowing that he’ll be gone next season heightens his spirits somewhat. Lando and you continue to secretly hook up and you wonder if you actually have feelings for him or not. 

Racing is still your number one priority of course and no one, especially not Lando, is a distraction to you in your pursuit of that championship title. The last few races you work your tail off training and honing your racing craft. It’s a close title fight between Max and you and when it comes down to Abu Dhabi you know this is what all these years of blood sweat and tears have been for. You’re pushing the car to the maximum channeling every bit of strength and knowledge you have to win.

And when you’re the first to see that checkered flag you don’t even feel like you’re in your body. It’s all a blur, it’s surreal, and when you’re holding that championship trophy with the biggest smile on your tear stained face you know you deserve this more than anyone. As the congratulations and celebrations begin you realize how addicting this is and you know that this is the beginning of a new era for you. A champion era. 

Yet some eras, though they are mighty, are shorter than others. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Mexico Grand Prix 2024

The vibrant colors and culture of Mexico fill the paddock as you scan your pass and go through the turnstile. Photographers are lined up like it’s a red carpet event to get pictures of the world champion walking in and like always you flash them a smile while signing various items for the fans that flock towards you. 

Media day isn’t your favorite, but is it really any driver’s favorite part of a race weekend? This Grand Prix you’d been graced with being a part of the press conference with a few of the other drivers first thing this morning. Your manager Mia was waiting for you as soon as you entered Ferrari’s motorhome and the two of you went over your schedule for the day as you made the trek to the press conference.

It’s interviews first thing this morning, then some social media content with Charles, a track walk with your inner team, and then meetings with the team as a whole to end your first day in Mexico City. It’s a booked and busy day– per usual. 

You’re the last to enter the room for the press conference and you immediately spot the driver in the obnoxiously bright papaya team kit sitting on the white couch, who’s accompanied by Russell. 

“Someone’s late.” An Australian accent fills your ears as you join your fellow colleagues on the couch. 

“I’m actually right on time.” You state as you glance down at the luxurious watch on your wrist, then back towards the Australian with a knowing smirk on your face. 

Oscar and you had grown close over the course of the season. He’d become a friend– which was something you’d never thought you’d hear yourself say about one of the other drivers, but it was true. It had helped that McLaren’s car had seemed to come alive this season, so you were actually able to get some racing in with him this season. He was good and you were starting to wonder if he might become an issue next season when it came to the championship. 

The other McLaren driver or you guess you should say ‘ex-McLaren driver whose seat is being warmed by Pato O’Ward until he apparently comes back next year’ has become more than a friend to you. It wasn’t a secret to the world that Lando and you were clearly together. Formula E’s schedule is basically half of what Formula 1’s is– so seeing each other hasn’t been a difficult process. You two would come and support each other when you could and spend time together when you could. It wasn’t super serious, but it wasn’t super casual at the same time, to you at least it was a good balance. 

The press conference was underway not too long after you had gotten settled and of course it was the same questions as always that were asked towards you. 

Do you think you can maintain this championship lead? 

Do you think you'll get your second championship win this year? 

The season is winding down and the points are close between Max and you? Who do you think will win? 

Is Ferrari doing everything they can to help you win this championship? 

The questions and their answers you think you could recite in your sleep by now and if it wasn’t for your publicity agent staring you down like a hawk from the corner of the room you’d be tempted to give a smartass response to the press, but instead you give them the same answer with nothing but professionalism and poise. 

Thankfully the riveting questions were soon over and you could get on with your day. Maybe if they asked you interesting questions you wouldn’t dread it so much, but the majority of the reporters are men– the same men who ridiculed you when you got your seat, so you can’t expect much from such small brains. 

As you’re getting up from the couch Oscar strides over towards you with his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. “Hey, do you want to get lunch later?”

You glance over at Mia, fully expecting her to be chomping at the bit to get you onto your next task, but she’s too engrossed in her phone at the moment, which means you had some time to play with Oscar. “I don’t know Piastri. I’m pretty booked up for the rest of the day.” 

“You’re too busy for me?” The words slip right past his tongue and he regrets saying them as soon as he hears himself say it. He watches as your eyebrows furrow and he knows you’ll reply in that laughing yet condescending tone that you always do when he gets too comfortable around you. 

“What makes you think you’re that high up on my roster?” 

Oscar internally cringes, just when he thinks he’s wormed his way closer to you, you go and show him just how much power you hold and just how much he’s not Lando. 

You notice how Oscar switches his weight back and forth on his feet, he’s uncomfortable, and really you didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable. It’s just so much fun and easy to make him squirm and really you do like Oscar. You wouldn’t tease him like you do if you didn’t.

Oscar had amazing qualities, he was a hell of a driver and he was kind and gentle– obedient. 

The opposite of Lando. 

You offer him a genuine smile to try and bring him back from whatever mental hellscape he’d reverted into. “Listen, I’ve got social media content to film with Charles and then I’ll text you about lunch alright?” 

His eyes light up and he stands tall and confident in front of you– his hands now at his sides instead of stuffed into his pockets. “Ok, I’ll talk to you later?” 

“Yes, I’ll text you.” You reassure him before heading off towards Mia before she’s the one dragging you away.

When it came to filming content with Charles there was never a dull moment. The two of you were so competitive that if it was a challenge video you’d think it was life or death between you two. You actually don’t mind the content side of your job. It’s a hell of a lot easier than some of the stuff you have to do and sometimes it can be really fun. The food videos have to be your favorite– during the Dutch GP a stroopwafel hates to see you coming. 

After spending almost two hours filming things individually and with Charles you find yourself sitting at an umbrella covered table with Oscar in the middle of the bustling paddock. A turkey club sits on the plate in front of you and you’re thankful you escaped having to eat whatever your trainer had planned for you for lunch today. 

Oscar and you talk about this weekend and if you think he’ll be on the podium with you. He thinks there is a good chance– you don’t let him know that you think so too. As much as you love to tease Oscar and mess with him, you have grown fond of spending time with him. Besides Charles and maybe two other drivers, Oscar is the only one that you enjoy spending time with. You’ve found that he can make you laugh– like full belly laugh and it’s Oscar’s favorite thing, but he won’t tell you that. 

There’s a beat of silence between you two as you continue to eat your lunch and your eyes can’t help but linger on him. His hair has gotten long– he’s been away from home too long to get it cut and it’s starting to fall into his eyes. The slight breeze that travels through the paddock has it billowing through the air. When he turns his head to look out at the paddock you try not to stare at the little curls that are starting to form at the nape of his neck and before your mind can start to wander you abruptly clear your throat and start a new conversation. 

“Did Lando tell you he’s coming to Brazil?” You ask before stuffing another bite of the sandwich in your mouth. 

Oscar’s heart skips a beat at the mention of Lando, but not in the way you’d think. “Yeah he told me.” 

“We should all get dinner or something.” You offer. 

He shrugs, pushing his salad around on his plate with his fork. “Yeah if you want.” 

You eye Oscar as he continues to play with his food instead of eating it. He was nothing but bunny teeth smiles and laughter a moment ago and now you’d think he hated the world. You set your sandwich down on your plate, wiping your hands on your pants before you rest your elbows on the table, leaning in as you speak. “What’s up?” 

His eyes flicker up from his plate towards you. “Nothing.” 

“Oscar.” He just stares at you with that same bothered look on his face. “This whole thing you’re doing is stupid. You’re not good at it. If you have something you want to say then tell me. Don’t play this broody mysterious thing with me. It’s dumb.” 

He sets his fork down and crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “I’m not doing a thing. I’m just…” His words trail off and he knows he shouldn’t say it, but he wants to so badly. 

“Well, go on.” You pry, your body language mimicking his. 

“I’m surprised you guys are still seeing each other.” 

You both stare at each other for a moment, Oscar in disbelief that he finally worked up the courage to say what he’d been thinking and you in disbelief that he had the nerve to comment on your relationship like that and it made you wonder– what did he know?

“Okay.” You simply state, grabbing your food and getting up to leave. You weren’t going to have this conversation here or with Oscar. 

“I’m sorry!” Oscar blurts out when he sees you leaving. 

You stop and turn back to face him, your emotions starting to get the better of you. “Why did you want to have lunch with me today?” 

“I told you I just wanted to hang out with you.” 

“Don’t be such a fucking pussy. Is he seeing other girls while he’s away? Is that what this is?” Your anger is starting to boil over and you think if Oscar tells you that’s the case the remainder of this turkey club may be launched across the paddock. 

Oscar on the other hand wants to punch himself for digging himself this hole and he knows it’s only going to get deeper, especially when he’s talking to you. 

“No. I mean… I don’t know. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” He’s chewing on his words and it’s a sorry sight to witness. 

“Then what are you trying to say, Oscar?” You wait for a response, anything to imply what he’s trying to say and when you’re met with silence you don’t think you’ve ever been more annoyed. A scoff and an eyeroll is all he gets from you before you’re turning back around to leave once again. 

You’re not even a foot away from the table when he blurts out the last thing you expected. 

“He’s not in love with you.”

You immediately spin on your heel and face the Australian driver once more, your anger had officially boiled over. “Who says I want somebody to be in love with me?” Love was a strange thing for you, you didn’t crave it. You wanted loyalty instead of love, you wanted someone who matched you, who challenged you. The word love was used so much in today’s society who even could actually say what love was? To you– it didn’t mean a thing. “When did I say I was in love with him?” 

Oscar swallows hard– his Adam's apple bobbing. “You didn’t.” 

“So why would I care whether or not he loved me?” 

“I guess you wouldn’t.” Oscar says with a shrug. 

“Cool.” You’d hoped this would be the last time a conversation like this happens with Oscar. 

“Cool.” He replies back and you think this whole thing is over with, but then he goes and opens his mouth again. “Don’t you think you deserve it?” 

You study his face and you see that look he’s giving you, it’s been the same look he’s given you since that night in Monza last year. The same look when you ultimately chose Lando over him. It made you sick to look at him, to see the longing in his face over you. “Jesus fucking christ.” 

“I mean who wouldn’t be in love with you?” He challenges and you want to grab him by his stupid McLaren polo and knock some sense into him, but you just laugh at him and turn to leave for the final time. “Sorry.” Oscar says again and he knows he overstepped your boundaries, but god if it didn’t feel good to soil a little bit of what Lando and you had.

“You know I think you might be the worst friend in the world.” You tell him as you throw your lunch in the trash, your appetite long gone by now. 

“Maybe.” 

“Definitely. Thanks for lunch Oscar.” 

He watches you leave until you disappear into the crowd of various team kits and prays that you don’t punt him into the wall on Sunday. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Brazil Grand Prix 2024

A week later Formula 1 is in São Paulo and Oscar and you have barely spoken. He’s been dreading this week ever since he found out Lando was coming, now add in your argument and he’s ready for the week break before Vegas to begin. 

Oscar’s in McLaren’s hospitality early on race day chatting with a team member when he hears Lando before he sees him. The way people still flock to him and how he makes a big entrance even after leaving the team goes straight through Oscar. Lando could use a lesson in humility, but he wasn’t going to be the one to give it to him. He feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder and he knows exactly who it belongs to. 

“Hi mate. Long time no see huh?” Lando says with a grin on his face. 

Oscar nods his head at the Brit. “A couple months I think.” 

“I think we need to catch up.” 

Oscar watches as Lando strikes up a conversation with the worker at the snack bar and the way he tries to charm everyone he meets makes him sick. In all honesty Oscar did have some issues with Lando at the moment. He was grateful for having him as his teammate his rookie year and the bond they formed over the course of it, but times like this and ever since you came into their life– he’d found Lando harder to swallow. 

When McLaren’s hospitality had started to serve churros from the snack bar Oscar wasn’t sure, but somehow Lando had appeared with two of them in his hand and Oscar took one of them with a tight lipped smile on his face. 

“So, tell me about your season.” Oscar hopes that maybe if he starts off the conversation he can control it and this won’t last forever. Lando takes a bite of his churro and shrugs. “No fun stuff?” Oscar pries a little more.

“Like what?” Lando asks, fully knowing what Oscar is implying.

It’s Oscar’s turn to shrug at his ex teammate. “I don’t know…. are you seeing anybody?” 

“What do you mean? I’m taken. What do you think I’m doing here?” 

Lando’s got the sly smirk on his face that always made Oscar irate, but he knows Lando is someone who wants a reaction. He wants to provoke people to get a reaction. It doesn’t matter if it’s positive or negative and Oscar is always one to try and deny him of that. 

“You’re not here to visit me?” Oscar half jokes. 

Lando studies Oscar’s face and he notices how his expression darkens. He knows Oscar is thinking about you and then undoubtedly you and Lando together. Lando knows Oscar wants to say something, but he won’t until Lando opens the floor. “What?” 

Oscar takes a bite of his churro, the gears in his mind turning as he chews. “Nothing, just– are you really committed to this thing?” 

The thing about Oscar and Lando is that they’re always talking about you, even when they aren’t talking about you. 

“To Y/N? Yeah. I mean we’re taking it slow, but you know, I like her. I think she’s making me an honest man.” Lando can see the unconvinced look on Oscar’s face and he scoffs at the sight of it. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

Oscar shakes his head. “No I just– I’m not sure how she’s thinking about it. I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Lando audibly laughs at the Australians choice of words. “You don’t want me to get hurt?” Oscar only nods and as Lando watches him he wonders if Oscar knows something he didn’t. “Did she say something to you?” 

“No, I just got the impression that she’s not really thinking about this as a serious relationship.” 

Lando quirks an eyebrow at Oscar. “You got that impression?” 

“Yeah. From a conversation we had.” 

There’s a beat of silence between the two former teammates before Lando’s got a shit eating grin on his face and he’s putting his arm around Oscar’s thick neck– pulling him in closer to him. “You fucking snake.” Lando’s voice is low enough for only Oscar to hear and from his facial expressions Lando can tell he’s confused or playing stupid. “Honestly, I’m proud of you. I’d be doing the same thing.” 

“I’m not-” 

“It’s fine. It’s exciting to see you this way.” Lando smiles at Oscar as he takes another bite from his churro. “It’s what’s been missing from your racing.” 

“What?” Oscar scoffs. 

“It’s nice to see you lit up about something, even if that something is my girlfriend.” 

Oscar doesn’t think hearing Lando call you his girlfriend would affect him that much, but it does. He knows you two will never last and in the end it will be him that will have to pick up the pieces. “Is that what you guys are calling each other now?” 

“You know this just makes it hotter for me, right? You sitting here, pining for her.” 

“I would never–”

Lando rolls his eyes at Oscar. “I know. It’s not your style. You’re playing percentage racing– waiting for me to fuck up.” 

The two drivers just stare at each other for a moment, it’s awkward and no one really knows what to say for a minute. There were so many unspoken words and words that were disguised as something else during their conversation. Oscar wanted to say so much more to Lando, but he’d save it for another day. 

Lando’s the first to break the silence. “Come on. Walk me over there.” He gets up from his seat and shoves the remainder of his churro in Oscar’s face. Oscar looks at the sweet treat then up to Lando and then without breaking eye contact he bites the rest of the churro out of Lando’s hand. Lando laughs and pats Oscar on the back as they make their way out of McLaren’s hospitality. 

On their short journey to Ferrari’s hospitality Lando spots a fan near the entrance, clearly waiting for you to come out, holding a sign that said something along the lines of Princess of Ferrari. He smiles at the fan and pretends he didn’t notice the other ten signs that he’d seen as he walked into the paddock this morning. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s less than an hour before the lights go out and where do you find yourself? Half naked on top of an also half naked Lando. It had been awhile since you two had seen each other and honestly you couldn’t hold yourself back when you saw him walk into hospitality. Your drivers room had seen some action over the course of the season to say the least and your poor physio table was on its last leg. 

“I missed you.” Lando murmurs as his lips trail down your neck. “You have no idea how lonely it’s been this past month.” 

“Is that why you haven’t won any races?”

Lando laughs half heartedly. “I just told you I missed you.” 

You move your hips just the right way and he’s grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it off of you– tossing it with no direction. 

“I watched your last race. You could have overtaken Nyck on the first corner if you’d gotten a better start off the line.” You state in between the kisses you litter across his chest. 

Lando looks at you a little dumbfounded that this is your topic of conversation during this kind of activity. His hand reaches out towards you, yet at his touch you don’t look up at him. “Y/N, look at me.” 

“What?” Your lips are swollen and your eyes wide. 

He reaches for you, pulling you down towards him and his lips find that spot on your neck that drives you wild, makes you whimper with no shame, and it’s music to Lando’s ears. 

“When were you going to tell me about Oscar?” He whispers as he continues his assault on your neck . 

“I thought you knew.” You say breathless. 

Lando detaches himself from you, his hand reaching up to brush your wild hair out of your face. “I mean, I feel bad because I know he’s in pain but…” He shrugs with a sly smirk on his face and you can’t help but stir the pot. 

“You’re not threatened by him?” 

“No.” Lando says plain as day. 

The smirk that was once on Lando’s face has now traveled over to yours. “You should be.” You state as your hand travels slowly down his chest towards the waistband of his boxers. You snap the waistband on his skin, teasing him, and earning an audible hiss in the process before sliding your hand in. “He’s good looking, he’s smart, and he’s a really fucking good driver.” You state as you toy with Lando mentally and physically. 

He’s panting heavily, eyes screwed shut as he tries to collect himself. “He’s always been… very good.”

“I’m serious. Oscar’s gotten a lot better this season.” 

Lando’s eyes narrow at you for a moment, this was no longer you trying to just rile him up, you were actually just bragging on Oscar. “Are the two of us still racing for your number? Because I thought I won.” 

You quickly retreat your hand from his boxers, your hands now on either side of his face as you lean down over him. “That’s your problem. You always think you’ve won before the race is over.” 

“Are we talking about racing?” Lando asks. 

“We’re always talking about racing.” 

“Can we not?” 

You look at the man below with disgust and irritation, if he didn’t want to talk about racing then why was he with you? “Sure.” You state, removing yourself from his lap and collecting your clothes that were scattered across your small driver’s room. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, still perched on your physio table. 

“I have to do my routine. I’ll see you after the race.” You’re not even looking at him as you speak, yet you can feel his eyes burning into you. 

“Y/N.” 

You finally turn to face him, a stone cold look adorns your face. “If you’re not interested in me fixing your racing for free then don’t worry about it.” 

Lando’s off the table now, but he’s still leaning against it, his arms crossed across his toned chest. “Why do you care so much?” 

“I’m dating you. It’s embarrassing for me if you suck.” 

You can sense Lando’s anger starting to rise, yet it doesn’t bother you one bit, if he didn’t want the truth, then he shouldn’t have asked. 

“I suck now?”

You shrug at him as you grab your fireproofs out of the small closet in the corner and put them on.

“It’s not all glamorous in other series like it is here in F1. We all can’t walk around being graced with the honor of being called the Princess of Ferrari.” 

You look at him and you can’t help the baffled laugh that comes out of your mouth. His face and words showed nothing but jealousy. He was jealous of your success and your status. It was downright pitiful. 

“Wow.” 

“I’m happy that people adore you. I just don’t need you to be my coach.” 

He’s being condescending and he doesn’t know just how low you can go in this argument. 

“Well someone needs to be.” 

Lando sighs, not wanting this to turn into a bigger mess than it already is, but it’s no use. “Can we just–” 

“I mean, what do you need from me? Or what do you think you need? A cheerleader? A fuck buddy? A girlfriend?” You start doing some stretches, wishing your physiologist was in here right now instead of Lando. “There are a lot of girls who are dying to be your girlfriend. You’re Lando Norris– talented, charming, and you’ve got a big dick. Go be with one of them.”  

“Is this like a new strategy you’re using to pump yourself up before the race? Have a little fight to get yourself going?” Lando knew you were short tempered, but this was ridiculous. 

“I don’t need a fight to get myself going.” 

“No. Just an hour of meditation.” He’s referring to your pre race routine, the one he was currently interrupting. 

“How’s coasting by on talent working out for you?”

Lando scoffs and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have you complain to me every week about all the ways you’re being screwed over? How can you possibly think that’s a good use of my time?” 

“Excuse me for inconveniencing you.” Lando states in a sarcastic tone. 

“You are.” You deadpan. “I need to be alone now. I’ll see you after the match.” You wave him off as you sit down on the floor to stretch out your legs. 

Lando can feel his anger boiling over, you had just basically insulted him and complained about him to his face and then dismissed him like he was a dog. “No.” 

You furrow your eyebrows at him as you look up at him. “What?” 

He squats down to your level– getting right up in your face. “I’m not going to the race. Not if you think you can just dismiss me. I’m not some fucking lap dog who’s gonna sit around and let you punish me. I’m not Oscar.” You laugh in his face and Lando allows for it to fuel his rant. “I mean maybe you need someone like that. Someone who’s gonna hop on board with your life and be Mr. Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“That’s what you think I want?” You ask as Lando stands over you now. 

“Yeah, a member of your fan club.” Lando lets out a breathless laugh as he says it, like it’s something beneath him. 

You rise from the ground, standing face to face with Lando, his eyes a hurricane of colors as they stare back at you. “You’re not a member of my fan club?” 

“I’m your peer. I’m not your groupie. And I’m definitely not your student.” 

You just stare at him, your expression cold and distant, there was nothing else to say at this point. You had a race to win shortly and it didn’t matter if Lando was in that crowd or not. He’d made his stance clear and you were not one to beg. “Okay.” 

Lando grabs his shirt and jeans and quickly throws them on. This was not how he expected today to go at all, but there was no use in sticking around at this point. The damage had been done and Lando was never good at picking up the pieces. 

“Good luck today champ.” He states before the door slams shut behind him. 

You let out a deep sigh that you didn’t realize you’d been holding in the whole time. It was time to push all of this to the back of your mind and focus on the task at hand. So you zip up your race suit and put on your boots and once you exit the threshold of your driver’s room and into the hustle and bustle it’s like the fight with Lando hadn’t even happened. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Rain was nothing new during the Brazilian GP, in fact it was expected, but this year it seemed as though mother nature didn’t want this race to happen. It had been an issue all weekend, the rain being so heavy that qualifying almost got cancelled yesterday. Today was no different and with fifteen minutes before lights out they decide to postpone the race.

The rain pours down in bucketfuls as you stand at the edge of the garage and the pitlane. Puddles that have seemed to be there all weekend litter the ground and the softest rumble of thunder echoes off in the distance. As time progresses it seems more and more likely that this race won’t be happening, but you still prepare yourself in case the skies clear and the track dries. 

Your race suit hangs loosely around your hips and bright red headphones sit snugly over your ears as you look over the data on the monitor in front of you. Your strategist rattles off possible scenarios and you listen as if there was no chance of cancellation. You had to be ready for anything and if that was racing in these unfavorable conditions– then so be it. 

Meanwhile over in the McLaren garage Oscar is perplexed as to why Lando is there. Usually he’d come and visit, but he spent his time in the Ferrari garage with you on race weekends that he was here. He pretends to listen to what his engineer is telling him as he eyes Lando talking to Zak across the garage. When Zak walks away Oscar can’t resist the urge to go over and be nosey.

“Did you get banned from the Ferrari garage or something?” Oscar asks jokingly, but when Lando’s face turns sour Oscar knows something’s gone down. 

Lando glances around the garage– everyone’s too busy at the moment trying to figure out what strategy to go with that they shouldn’t be listening in on his conversation, but he still lowers his voice. “We had a big fight. I was actually on the next flight out of here, but the weather delayed everything. So I guess I’m stuck here for a while now.” 

Oscar’s eyes widen, yet he can’t deny that small part of him that is happy to hear that things are rocky between the two of you at the moment. “Damn. I’m sorry mate.” He clamps a hand down on Lando’s shoulder and from the look on Oscar’s face Lando knows he’s not really sorry. Why would he be? Lando had beat him in the competition for you– any sign of instability in your relationship was like a present on Christmas morning to him. 

“It’s whatever. We’ll be back to normal by tonight.” Lando glances over at the MCL38 that’s sitting stationary in the garage. “Maybe you could use this upgraded machine to beat her.” Lando suggests. 

Oscar quietly laughs– you could beat him in a Sauber. “Yeah maybe.”

 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By some miracle the rain clouds had cleared long enough for the FIA to declare that it was safe enough for the race to continue. Although the huge puddles that were still standing on the track and the dark clouds coming in from the west told you differently. Nonetheless you had a job to do and sometimes this job wasn’t all glitz and glamour. So you finalize your strategy tactic with your team and start to prepare yourself for probably the most challenging two hours of your career so far. 

You can tell that everyone at Interlagos right now is a little on edge– team members, drivers, fans. There’s excitement in the air for the race to start, but the rain clouds in the distance foreshadow something much darker. 

The first spot on the starting grid belongs to you today and as you sit in the cockpit of your beloved SF-24 you see the first drops of rain on your visor– then Alice’s voice in your ear. 

One minute till formation. There is a small rain shower that should be done before the formation lap is over. 

What about the black sky right in front of me? 

We’re still watching it. There is a chance it goes around us. I’ll keep you updated. 

The formation lap goes smoothly enough, the track is wet and there is spray of course, but for right now it just seems like a normal rain race. When you line back up on the grid you take in who’s around you– Max to the left, Oscar behind you, and Charles behind Max. It was going to be an interesting race, even without the rain. 

You watch the five lights in front of you and with killer like precision you’re first off the line when they go out. Max is quick but not quick enough to hit the apex before you at turn one and you watch in your mirrors as Oscar overtakes him.

You’re at the top of your game during this race, pushing out the fastest laps consistently and building a gap between Oscar and you beautifully. The track had started to dry and a clear racing line had started to form as the laps went by, but the dark clouds still loomed in the distance. Even with the threat of rain some teams start to pit for slicks and soon enough you hear Alice in your ear. 

How’s the tires? 

I’m not pitting for slicks if that’s what you’re implying. These inters can last me for a couple more laps.

Copy that Y/N.

Weather update? 

Looks like we won’t be as lucky as we hoped. It will be here in about five laps. Rain will be moderate. 

Okay.

The rain arrives in two laps and it starts out slow– the cars that pitted for slicks start to struggle as the track becomes wet again. Then the first yellow flag of the session happens as Lawson spins out, thankfully he’s alright, but a VSC is deployed as they get the car off the track. Two more drivers spin out after Lawson and as teams start to pit for full wet tires the rain picks up expeditiously. It had went from a rain shower to torrential downpour in seconds, the visibility damn near at zero as you drive this race car around the circuit. Alice comes over the radio, her usual cool demeanor replaced with one of concern. 

Y/N box on this lap. 

Where the hell is the red flag? Someone is going to die, the visibility is horrible, the track is flooding. This is insane even for me. 

I know. The win doesn’t even matter anymore, just make it back to the pits safely please. 

You don’t make it back. 

It all happened so fast, you could see a car behind you, but you weren’t sure who it was. The one thing you did know was that they were coming into this corner way too fast and when you tried to correct the car to get out of their way you hydroplaned. The flash of pink that you see lets you know it's an Alpine that you’re about ready to collide with. Then all at once you hear the crunch of carbon fiber and the car is flying into the wall. The force of the collison knocks you out and Alice’s constant radio messages are met with silence. 

The crowd screams and gasps are heard throughout all the garages as the replay and aftermath of your wreck are shown on the screens. It’s one of the worst wrecks Formula 1 has seen in a good while and the fact that you’re not talking or moving has everyone fearing the worst. Your car is completely destroyed– the Alpine that belongs to Gasly is practically on top of yours and when you finally come to it feels like every bone in your body is broken.

You scream out in pain as you’re trapped in your car and as the medics and what seems like a million other people work to get you out the only thing you can think about, besides how much pain you’re in, is how this is the end of everything. Tears fill your helmet as they finally extract you from your car and strap you to the gurney, 

The ambulance ride to the hospital is a blur of being poked and prodded while words in English and Portuguese are quickly spoken to you. You can’t see much from the tears in your eyes and the fact that your head is strapped down onto the gurney, the roof of the ambulance and the paramedics are all you can see. Which is a blessing in disguise because if you could see how mangled your leg and arm is you’d probably pass out again.

Your memory from when you exit the ambulance to when you wake up in recovery is almost nonexistent and all you can recall is flashes of moments. Doctors yelling, bright lights, machines beeping– it was almost like a scene from a medical drama. 

You squint as you open your eyes, the room slowly coming into focus as you blink. You’re no longer in pain and you wonder if you’ve died, but then the sound of Alice’s voice fills your ears. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake!” She exclaims. You turn your head to the right to see her standing at the edge of your bed, a relieved smile stretched across her face. Alice was more than just your race engineer– she was like family to you. She was a person you could trust with your life and for her to be the person who was here when you woke up meant the world to you. 

“Am I alive? I can’t feel anything.” You ask hoarsely, your throat raw and dry. 

She laughs as her hand reaches out towards you, brushing your hair out of your face. “Yes sweetie. They’ve just got you on some good drugs right now for the pain.” 

You just nod at her, your energy already spent on speaking those few words. There’s a knock at the door and a lady, who you’re assuming is the doctor, walks in. 

“Nice to see you awake Ms. Y/L/N. You had one nasty crash.” She pauses for a moment and looks over at Alice who nods back at her. “I’m not gonna sugar coat this, your injuries are extensive. Your right wrist was fractured and your right leg, particularly your tibia, was also fractured. You’ve got four broken ribs and a bruised sternum. Thankfully you only suffered a mild concussion– a wreck like this you’re lucky you didn’t suffer a worse fate with your head.” She looks down at her clipboard like she’s unsure if she should say this at the moment, but then she sighs and focuses her attention back on you. “I’m going to be honest, recovery is going to be a long and rough process, but if anyone can come back from this I know you can.” 

She continues to talk, but you’ve zoned out already. Your concussion and the drugs in your system make taking this horrific news harder than it should be. You want to be in denial and think you’re just in here for a bump on the head and a few scrapes and bruises, but the reality is that you almost died today. This crash has altered your life forever and as you lay there in that hospital bed in Brazil you realize that you may be alive, but a part of you did die today. 

The doctor leaves and Alice says something about going to call your parents and you just hum in response, the reality of your situation settling in. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep, praying that when you wake up this will all have been just one big nightmare. You hear the door open and you assume it’s just Alice coming back in so you don’t open your eyes, but the voice that softly whispers your name does not belong to Alice. 

You slowly open your eyes and there stands Oscar at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you like you’re some half dead animal that got hit on the side of the road and it makes you laugh, well as best you can. 

“I’m done for Osc.” You state bleakly. 

He shakes his head furiously as he moves to the side of your bed. “Don’t say that.” 

“How am I meant to drive with a fucked wrist and leg?” 

“Physical therapy and training. You’ll be back in that car come March I know it. You’re strong Y/N.” Oscar hopes his words instill you with some confidence.

He wasn’t going to tell you this, but he was behind Pierre on the track, he saw the whole crash happen right in front of him. It was horrible and it still made his stomach twist to think about it. He thought you were dead, the replays of them carrying your body out of the mangled car will haunt his dreams for some time. If it was up to him he would have been here as soon as he got out of the car, but you were in surgery and this wasn’t the movies, he had rules and obligations to follow, no matter the circumstances according to the team and the FIA. 

“Who ended up winning?” You ask, wanting to stop talking about the impending end of your career. 

“Verstappen.” 

You scoff. “That fucker.” 

You two talked for awhile, he was good at distracting you from your own thoughts, but there is someone that you figured would have shown up by now. Hours had passed– a statement had been released that you were awake and alright, Charles and Lewis had also stopped by to visit you, yet no Lando. 

Yes you guys had a horrible fight earlier, but for fucks sake you’d almost died and he couldn’t be bothered to come and see if you were alright? The hospital was getting ready to stop their visiting hours when you see a curly brown mullet peak around the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry, I–” 

“Out.” You didn’t want to see him at this point, any excuse he was getting ready to give you meant absolutely nothing to you. 

“Y/N.” He pleads. 

“Out!” You raise your voice and you wince at the pain that radiates through your throat. The tube they’d shoved down it earlier had apparently done some damage. 

“Listen–” 

You want to jump out of this hospital bed and strangle him, but you don’t have the capability of doing that right now or even the capability of yelling at him. You look over at Oscar, hoping he gets the message that you’re pleading to him through your eyes. 

Oscar’s mad for you, he’d noticed how everytime someone passed your room you glanced, hoping it was Lando, and then ultimately being disappointed when it wasn’t. He has no idea where the Brit had been this whole time, but he knows no matter what went down between the two of you earlier that Lando should have been here for you. 

“Lando. Get the fuck out of here.” 

Lando stands there dumbfounded, especially after Oscar had yelled at him. His eyes dart over to Oscar and then to you, who turns your head away from him. Lando shakes his head in disbelief before turning on his heel and leaving. 

You break up with him the next week when he comes to see you when you’re back home in Monaco. He cries– you don’t. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The months following your accident are the hardest months of your life. Physical therapy is like pure torture, some days are worse than others, and majority of the time you want to give up, but you don’t. You tell yourself that this is just a small setback that the thoughts you had in the hospital and that you have late at night don’t mean anything. You tell yourself that you’ll be back in the car next season and after a while you start to believe it more than the dark thoughts that cloud your mind. 

February rolls around and you start doing some light training with Oscar– it’s nothing crazy, just some weights. Your wrist had healed significantly faster than your leg and you figured you could do a little something extra than what you had been doing in physical therapy, but you were wrong. You’re doing some bench presses and Oscar’s hovering like this ten pound weight is going to kill you. You’d told him to put more on, but he insisted on starting out slow. 

You put the barbell up and get up from the bench. “This is doing nothing. I need more weight on it Oscar.” He stands in front of the rack of weights like he’s guarding it with his life. “Stop going easy on me, put another ten on.” 

“No. You’ll snap your wrist. I told you this wasn’t a good idea to begin with.” 

You roll your eyes at the Australian. “I won’t snap my wrist. I know my limits.” 

“Your actual trainer doesn’t even know we are doing this. It’s going to end badly.” Oscar knew this was way too soon for you to be back in the gym like this, but he also knew you were internally panicking. It was already February and you were nowhere near the peak physical performance that you needed to be at. Testing was at the end of this month and then the season started two weeks after that. In shorter terms– you were screwed. 

“Don’t be a fucking pussy. Put more weight on.” You’re irritated with him and when he just stands there and stares at you it makes you even more irate. “Whatever. I’ll just come back later by myself.” 

Oscar’s eyes widen at the thought of you being here by yourself and undoubtedly hurting yourself with no one around. “Fine. Only ten more.” 

You lay back down on the bench and watch as Oscar puts the extra weight on the ends. You take a deep breath as you grip the bar and Oscar hovers over you, ready to catch the bar when it all goes to shit. 

Which happens after two reps. 

You feel a twinge of pain in your wrist after the first one, but when you go to raise the bar a second time a searing hot pain travels from your wrist up your arm and you scream out in pain. Oscar’s face is full of terror as he grabs the bar from you and easily puts it back up. You’re sat up by now, but doubled over as you hold your wrist. Oscar sits down next to you on the bench and he can see the tears streaming down your face. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Oscar questions, everything about you screams you're not fine at the moment.

“I’m good. I’m okay.” You take a beat and then. “I’m good.” You repeat yourself, hoping that the more you do the more it will become true and that the searing pain in your wrist will go away. 

Oscar watches as you self soothe yourself and without thinking he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. He feels you stiffen at his touch before you allow yourself to melt into him. You allow him to comfort you and be there for you and in that moment it’s all you need. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two weeks before the 2025 season starts the team wants to see how you do on the simulator. You told them you were ready, but your trainer and deep down yourself both knew you weren’t. Yet you’re so stubborn, so hard headed that you strap yourself in and power through the pain as the high tech machine replicates the Albert Park circuit. 

Somehow the team clears you to race and you’re on cloud nine. The media and your fans can’t believe that you’ve made such a fast recovery. 

The Princess of Ferrari is back! 

Word Driver’s Champion Y/N Y/L/N ready to battle it out once again.

Forza Ferrari!! Y/N is back! 

The start of the season arrives before you know it and it’s amazing to be back. You’d missed the craziness and for a while you didn’t think you’d get to experience it again. You felt confident going into the weekend, but life was out to humble you, and oh boy did she. 

You thought you were in pain on the simulator, but being back in the actual car, actually racing, amplified that pain about a hundred times. Your leg screams at you everytime you press on the pedal and your wrist feels like it’s going to snap every time you take a corner. 

You end up placing P15. 

You try to power through, telling yourself you just have to get used to racing again, or figure out a new racing technique. You see the way the reserve driver looks at you in the garage, like he’s just waiting for you to call it quits so he can take your seat and you try to use that as motivation, but it’s no use. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You last four races before you finally come to the depressing and heartbreaking realization that you’re done racing. The thing you’d dreamt about since you were a little girl was over. The thing you’d worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for, defied barriers for– it was over.

You were in your prime and if you hadn’t crashed back in Brazil who knows what you could have accomplished in your career. Your body had been telling you, screaming at you every race weekend to stop and you’d been ignoring it for as long as you could, but the lasting side effects are getting worse and if you want to be able to walk in thirty years you know you’ve got to stop. 

So you don’t go out with a bang, it’s more of a whisper. Your performance the past four races had quietly let people know that this was probably the end. The news breaks on the following Tuesday after the Bahrain GP and as you scroll through the comments on the post from the F1 Instagram page you can’t stop the tears that fall.

This announcement should have happened when you were old and had multiple championships under your belt, not when you were young and at the top of your game, or you guess you should say were at the top of your game. 

Such a shame, saw it coming after that P15 in Australia, but she was a hell of a driver.

Good on her for attempting to come back. I hope she still works with racing in the future.

Always our Princess of Ferrari ❤️

You lock your phone and toss it on the bed beside you– who will you be without racing?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

3 years. 

36 months. 

156 weeks.

1,095 days. 

26,298 hours. 

That’s how long it had been since you’d quit Formula 1. 

At first there was the initial sadness of realizing that you were done with racing– trying to figure out a new daily routine without spiraling into a deep pit of depression. It helped that you were still healing, still focusing on getting better. Then came the denial stage, you regret not trying to tough it out, and you think that still there’s some sliver of hope that some higher power would allow you to race next season.

You’d take a seat with the backmarker team of all backmarkers if it meant you could race again. All you needed to do was train harder– just needed a little more time— you weren’t really done with racing. The remainder of the season you train as much as you can hoping that with time it will get easier, running the rinky-dink sim you have in your apartment, and waiting for the whispers of the racing world to be in your favor. 

The training never gets easier. The pain was still there. The phone never rings. 

Then the depression started to settle in. There were nights where you’d wished you had just died in that wreck, you felt worthless and like a failure for not being able to get back into the car, for your body failing you. There were times where you would cry and scream and wonder why this had to happen to you? What had you done to have the one thing you loved– the thing you lived for– be taken away from you like it was nothing?

Not to mention you still living in Monaco just seemed to make things worse. Your old co-workers were your neighbors– a constant reminder of what once was and who was a part of your life. The championship battle was fierce this season, your ex-boyfriend, his teammate (who was also in love with you) and your old teammate were killing it every race. It was something you should have been involved with, something you’d hoped would happen when you saw the development of the McLaren last season. Yet all you can do is watch on like a fan. 

Last weekend was the Monaco Grand Prix and even when you were a driver you hated this time of year. Monaco was packed to the brim, the richest of the rich flocked to the tiny principality, and it was so much show for such little racing. You loved the history and tradition of it, but hated what it had become over the years. 

It’s hard to ignore the sound of a roaring V6 engine flying past your window, but you’d managed to hide out in your apartment last year, this year you spent a long weekend in Paris instead. There was a small amount of dread that started to build up as the plane landed back in Nice on that following Tuesday and by the time you unlocked the door to your apartment you’d made a life altering decision. 

Monte Carlo was never your home– it was a tax haven– a place of convenience. There was never a sense of being home when you came back after a triple header, it was just a place where you lived. So, you leased your apartment for dirt cheap, at least to Monaco’s standards, to a rookie driver for a year. Put your personal belongings in a storage unit, packed what you needed into a suitcase and booked the first flight out of Nice. There was no real destination in mind, but you knew you’d go back to your home country for a little bit and then travel across the globe– a little sabbatical as one might say. 

The year of traveling flew by and as much as you loved being a free bird you knew this couldn’t last forever, even though you wished it could. You eventually make your way back to Monaco and it’s just as you left it. The luxurious cars roll down the streets– driven by people who own a yacht in the harbor and the watch on their wrist costs more than what the average person makes in a year. It’s all a bit ridiculous, but you also live here and own quite a few of those watches and cars so you have no room to talk. 

When you swing open the door to your apartment, suitcase wheels skidding across the floor behind you, you half expect the place to be trashed. Thankfully this driver's parents raised him right, or he paid a cleaner to come in before he left, either way you’re not complaining. You collapse onto the plush couch, the flight back from New York was long and as much as Monaco didn’t feel like home to you, it was nice to be back in a somewhat solid place of your own. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and you know it’s either one of three things. 

A text from Lando. 

A text from Oscar. 

A follow up about the email you’ve been avoiding for a month. 

You slowly pull your phone from your pocket– the mail icon glowing on your lock screen. 

From: susan.smith@f1business.com

To: y/ny/l/nbusiness.@gmail.com

Subject: PLEASE RESPOND! 

Hi Miss Y/L/N. 

At the beginning of this month we sent out an email to you and your manager regarding a spot for you on F1TV as a commentator. We all would love to have you on and think you’d be a great asset to the team. Your knowledge and skill about the sport would provide a whole new perspective for everyone. Please respond to this email by the end of the week if you are interested so we can set up a date for a meeting. 

Best Regards,

Susan Smith. 

A deep sigh escapes past your lips as your eyes scan over the email. You’d seen the first one they sent and then the one from your manager telling you that you needed to take this job, but you’d hope if you ignored it, it would all go away. You didn’t have anything against commentating, but you were too young to be doing that.

The role was meant for older drivers, people who had their time in the spotlight and retired on their own will. Not someone who was in their twenties and hadn’t in your opinion hit their peak yet. Sure you had a championship under your belt, but that was only the beginning for you and you knew it. 

You see the text from your manager pop up at the top of your screen and you know what it’s going to say. In all honesty you could use the job, it wasn’t like the money was necessarily rolling in at the moment and your sponsorships had ended the moment you quit racing so maybe you should just take the damn offer. Although, are you ready to be that involved in racing again? Can you handle it? It’s all questions you ask yourself as you lay on the couch, your face smushed into the throw pillow. 

Your phone dings again and you think it’s your manager texting(annoying) you again, but the name at the top of your screen is not the one you were expecting. 

lando: heard a certain someone is back in monaco? 

you: you keeping tabs on me norris? 

lando: always 

You roll your eyes at your phone, fully knowing he’s smirking at his phone from wherever the hell he’s at currently. Swiping out of your texts your finger taps on the mail icon– the email is still open and staring back at you dauntingly. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you ponder your options and then as if on impulse or really it was a what the fuck just do it moment– you click reply. Three months later you’re on a plane to Melbourne. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Being on F1TV and talking about the cars on the track instead of being the one driving the car was something that took a lot of getting used to. You never imagined this is where you’d end up, especially while you were still in your twenties– yet here you are. It’s weird adjusting back to the hustle and bustle of things, reconnecting with all the familiar faces, and all the new ones. 

Yet with all the uncertainty you have about this new chapter in your life– you end up loving it. Sure, it’s never going to replace the love you have for being behind the wheel, but your scars remind you that’s never going to happen again at a competitive level. So, you’ve somehow made lemonade with the lemons life had thrown at you.

The three years since your accident had been a whirlwind of emotions and challenges. There were times where you thought nothing could get worse and looking back in retrospect things definitely could have been worse, but in the moment you felt like the world was crashing down around you. Now, things have seemed to fall back into place, well as best as they can. You’re comfortable in this new chapter in your life and you don’t expect anything to change– until Oscar Piastri invites you out for dinner. 

You’d done well in the aspect of separating that part of your life away from your new job. In all honesty you didn’t see the drivers as much as you figured, which to you was fine. You were more focused on seeing them on the track and briefly during interviews. Even though you were both in the same places for the majority of the year, you weren’t as close as when you were peers on the track. 

Oscar had kept his distance when you came back onto the scene, he’d came around occasionally when he was back in Monaco between races, but eventually the visiting stopped. You didn’t blame him, as a driver there’s always training to do or a sim session or some sponsor related event.

Lando on the other hand only seemed to contact you when he was in need and like a moth to a flame you came. It wasn’t healthy, but he was familiar and in the end you both were using each other. There was no relationship between you two anymore, but the connection, the draw, it was there. And it drove you crazy because the majority of the time you couldn’t stand him. 

Austin Grand Prix 2028

Tucked away from the bustling nightlife in Austin, Oscar and you sit across from each other in a booth at a little burger joint. It quickly seems like old times and you two fall into old habits like it’s three years ago. You want to ask him why he all the sudden wanted to reconnect, but something else was nagging at you more. He’d just missed out on pole by one hundredth of a second earlier today and you can’t help but open your big mouth. 

“In sector three you’re going too wide on that last turn. You need to tighten it up, it’s nothing too crazy, but it’s enough to affect your lap times.” 

Oscar cocks an eyebrow at you, he thinks he’d know if he was, he can feel it when he does. “I am?” 

“Use the curbs. You would have had pole today if you had.” You pop a french fry into your mouth, watching his reaction as you chew. You can see the gears turning, see him realizing that what you said was true. “I mean listen, Tom is your race engineer and Mark is your mentor. I’m just some presenter on F1TV– what do I know?” You shrug your shoulders at him, acting innocent, like you don’t know that he knows you’re the best driver to exist in your generation. 

“You want to jump ship? Come be a part of my team?” Oscar asks. You laugh at him, not thinking he’s serious and Oscar tries to play it off. “I get it, you want to work with someone who’s got a little more potential.” 

You shake your head at the Australian– he was dead wrong. “I know the person who fought tooth and nail for that championship title is not saying he doesn’t have potential. You got that with Mark as your mentor and with the team you have now. You’re on track to get another one this season. Do you really think it would be a good idea for me to join in?”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, his half eaten burger suddenly sat back down on the plate. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

You stare at him from across the booth– words translated only through your eyes. Oscar knows what you’re implying and suddenly he’s 22 again and every ounce of confidence he’d worked up over the years around you had vanished for a moment. “That was a long time ago.” He says shyly. 

“It wasn’t that long ago.” You counter back with a slight smirk on your face. 

“It feels like a long time ago.” 

“You’re not in love with me anymore?” You ask in a teasing tone, but when Oscar just stares back at you with those honey brown eyes of his– he’s already answered. You laugh a little to try and cut the tension, but he doesn’t crack. He’s looking at you like he used to four years ago and you chose to ignore the slight feeling of butterflies in your stomach. 

Oscar thinks it would be better if the subject was moved away from his love for you and onto other things, so he focuses the conversation back on you. “I’m really proud of you Y/N.” 

“Oh god.” Here he goes, getting sentimental. 

“I’m serious. You’re doing really well.” He smiles at you and you want to wipe that butterfly inducing smile right off his face. 

You scoff at him like you didn’t go through hell and back mentally that first year. “What? You thought I was gonna kill myself after I quit?” 

Oscar shakes his head as he steals a fry from your plate. “No. I’m just glad you didn’t leave racing all together. It would have been a waste.” 

“What else was I gonna do? My only skill in life is driving really fast cars. I can’t do that anymore so I guess I can talk about it instead.” 

Oscar laughs a little sadly, his focus shifting from you down to his now empty plate. “This is stupid…. But after you got injured, after you quit. I kept thinking about what would have happened if I had won that race against Lando.” 

“Are you saying you want me to join your team because you feel guilty?” You question. 

“No. I’m saying I want you to join my team because I want to win.” 

“You’re already winning. A lot.” 

Oscar and you stare at each other for a moment as some random country song plays softly in the background. The drunk guy at the other end of the room who’s borderline assaulting his burger is the only other person in here.

The lively streets are starting to thin out and you can tell it’s getting late– way too late for you two to be out when there’s a race tomorrow, yet neither of you make haste to head back towards the hotel. The waitress brings over the check and you both give her a polite smile. Oscar immediately hands his card over to her– a couple burgers and fries clearly didn’t hurt his bank account. 

You both know what Oscar meant when he said he wanted to win. He wanted to beat Lando with you on his team, finally win something against Lando. Sure he was winning races and had two championships under his belt already, but nothing sounded sweeter than it happening with your help. 

He wanted to finally win you. 

You’re the first to break the silence. “You’ll beat him. Oscar Piastri 2028 World Champion has a nice ring to it. Don’t you think so?” 

Lando had gone to Mercedes for the 2027 season and if you remember correctly the former teammates had quite the falling out after two years of championship battles, at least that’s one of the reasons. 

“Do you still talk to him?” He asks, ignoring you trying to butter him up a second ago. 

You shake your head. “Only when I have to for work.” Memories of your steamy shared night with Lando in Singapore two weeks ago flash in your mind as you lie to Oscar and you hope he can’t tell. 

He can tell. 

“Do you ever talk to him?” You ask. 

Oscar shrugs, throwing your words right back at you. “Only when I have to for work.” 

You laugh a little, remembering that night in Italy years ago.

“What?” Oscar questions. 

“I guess I really was a homewrecker wasn’t I?”

Oscar doesn’t say anything, he just begins to gather the trash from the table– stacking your plate onto his. You watch him as he works quickly to make the table neat for the busboy. 

“Oscar.” He hums as he looks up at you, hands idle on top of the wooden table. “You never said if you were still in love with me or not?”

The waitress comes back with his card and the receipt, leaving him to sign it while she goes to check on the other guy in here. You watch Oscar as he leaves a generous amount on the tip line and as he stuffs his card back into his wallet he glances up at you and speaks the same words he’d said to you years ago. 

“Who wouldn’t be?” 

There’s a slight breeze in the night air causing goosebumps to rise on your arms as you two exit the restaurant. The parking lot is barren except for the rental car Oscar and you arrived in. It’s quiet out as you walk towards the SUV– the leaves on the trees rustle in the breeze and ever so often you hear a drunken holler from the various bars on the street. Oscar leans against the driver’s side door, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he looks at you with a grin on his face. 

The atmosphere is charged between you two, unspoken words and years of tension had been building up to this moment. You giggle at how giddy you’re feeling and Oscar follows suit. He never thought he’d be in this situation with you, but now that he was here it was like he was experiencing his first kiss all over again. 

“What?” You ask, your tone is nothing shy of flirty. 

Oscar removes one of his hands from his pocket and takes your hand in his– he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him up. 

“I really want to kiss you right now, but I’m worried that if I try, you’ll think I’m the worst friend in the world.” 

You cock an eyebrow at him, a smirk forming on your face as you make eye contact with the Australian. “To whom?” 

There’s a beat between the two of you. Your eyes never leave each other and as you stare at the brown eyed boy you know what’s going to happen. You watch as his shaggy hair moves slightly in the breeze and you want to reach out and run your fingers through it, curl your fingers through the little curls at the nape of his neck. 

As soon as Oscar internalizes that he has no one else's feelings to take into consideration, especially Lando’s, he leans in and does the one thing he’s been waiting to do again since that night in Italy. 

Oscar pulls away fairly fast, wanting to make sure you want this as much as him and when he sees that fire in your eyes he leans back in. His hands find their way to your jaw, cupping your face as his lips work against yours. 

Kissing Oscar is like something you’d never experienced before and he’d clearly sharpened his skills from all those years ago. He’s passionate, yet needy at the same time, and when his hands start to wander from your jaw down your body you can’t help the little moan that escapes past your lips. You feel Oscar smile into the kiss and you know it’s boosted his ego more than necessary. 

Your fingers make quick work to run through the mop of honey brown hair on his head, the little curls at the nape of his neck get gently tugged on as you deepen the kiss even more and the groan that comes from him goes straight to your core. 

Before either of you get cited for public indecency a loud crash startles you both, breaking you apart for a moment. You both turn to see the busboy throwing trash bags into the dumpster and the neon sign of the restaurant flickering as it’s turned off for the night. A glaringly obvious sign that you two should head back to the hotel, but you both just laugh and Oscar captures your lips with his once more. This was only the beginning to a very long night for you two. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dutch Grand Prix 2029

A year later you’re in the Netherlands and Oscar’s put it on pole for the race tomorrow and if all goes well he’s expected to win. It had been a hard fought battle for the championship last year, but he’d won it and you’d never been prouder. Now he’s on the hunt for his fourth championship win and this year you’re actually on his team as his mentor. Last year you were somewhat illegally on his team while still working for F1TV, but now it was official– as well as something else. 

It’s late as you sit in the hotel bar, Oscar had gone to sleep hours ago, but you were up stressing over the possibilities of tomorrow. You knew he had it in the bag, but Leclerc was so close in points to Oscar that if he beat him tomorrow he’d be the new championship leader. Which was something neither of you wanted. 

The drink you’d been nursing sat on the table in front of you. The TV behind you had been going over the highlights from today’s session and the predictions for tomorrow for such a long time that it had turned into white noise. You’re scrolling through your emails when a familiar figure catches your eye through the window. Time freezes for a second as you two lock eyes and then without an invitation Lando decides to join you. 

“What are you doing out at this hour?” You ask as he approaches the table. 

“Went for a late night run.” 

You nod as your left hand curls around your glass, more out of comfort than wanting to take a drink. You see his eyes move down and lock onto it and you pretend not to notice the twitch in his eye or the way his demeanor has switched slightly. 

“It’s his grandmother’s.” 

Oscar had proposed during summer break. It wasn’t anything too elaborate, you two were in Australia visiting his family and he popped the question. It was romantic and you had no problem telling him yes when he asked, but now the ring felt heavy and in some aspects you felt trapped. You loved him– you did, but you never saw yourself becoming a trophy wife, settling down so early, you weren’t even thirty yet. 

Lando nods, eyes still locked onto the rock on your finger. “How is she?” 

“She died… stroke.” You reply without missing a beat. 

You swear you hear Lando slightly laugh under his breath as he takes the seat across from you. He grabs your drink from your hand and takes a sip then hands it back to you. 

“I miss you.” He says, blue eyes burning into you like they always do. 

His words shouldn’t affect you like they do, but you look at him over the rim of your glass like your fiance isn’t asleep seven floors above you. Like your actions won’t have any consequence and that there probably aren't fans lurking around every corner outside and in this hotel. Your glass clangs against the table as you set it down and before you can even reply to him his lips are on yours. 

You know you shouldn’t kiss him back, but god kissing Lando is like a drug you can’t get enough of. It’s toxic and hot and he’s everything that reminds you of before. He reminds you of when you were free and on top of the world. Lando is dangerous and he makes your heart go a mile a minute– Oscar is safe and grounded. 

The complete opposite. 

You want to quit him and this time you really thought you had, but he always seems to worm his way back in. 

Seven floors above Oscar stirs in the king sized bed, his hand reaching out for you, but he’s only met with empty cold sheets. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he sits up in bed glancing over at the alarm clock that reads 1:00 a.m. in neon red. He sleepily drags himself out of bed and throws on some shoes, fully knowing where you’ll be at this time of night.

The elevator journey down to the ground floor seems to take forever, yawns escaping him as he leans up against the cool metal. The ding lets him know he’s arrived and when he enters the lobby it’s quiet. The only other person down here at this time is the worker at the desk, who gives him a courteous smile before Oscar makes his way to the bar. 

He spots Lando and you in the corner of the bar, too cozy for his liking and he feels his heart drop to his stomach, but before he can say or do anything he hears his name being called from behind him. He turns only to be met with a fan, a papaya orange 81 hat in one hand, a sharpie in the other. 

“I can’t believe I’m running into you so late at night! Would you-” 

“Yeah sure.” Oscar hurriedly signs the hat and once the fan leaves he turns back around to find Lando and you gone. He rubs at his eyes once more and even pinches himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, but nope, he’s awake. He considers going to look for the two of you, but he knows what that will entail, and sure maybe he’s a coward, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with that tonight.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss and honestly maybe he did just imagine seeing you two. But unfortunately he knows Lando and he knows you, so he shuffles his feet back towards the elevator and tucks himself back into bed. 

Lando was always looking for a reaction, always wanted to be the one in the middle of things, and if there was one thing Oscar was going to do. It was to not give Lando the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. He’d beat him tomorrow in the race, win another championship, be the one to marry you and have children with you. 

Lando would never get to have you on the level that he does and to Oscar that was enough to allow him to go back to bed instead of seeking out something that would only make him hurt. 

Later when you finally crawl into bed smelling like sex and Lando he pretends to be asleep. He figures you’ll roll on your side, away from him, but when you curl into him and your arm wraps around him he hates how he melts into your embrace. 

He prays he’s not making a fool of himself. That this was a one time thing and that if he can let this go that everything will be fine, that Lando won’t be an issue anymore. 

But what Oscar doesn’t know is that Lando will be forever intertwined within you two and that it doesn’t matter where he goes or if you eventually have Piastri as your last name– Lando will always be there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

January 2032

The news had broke early one chilly January morning. The F1 app notification tone alerting you of the story as you made your coffee. 

BREAKING: 

Former F1 star Lando Norris is set to rejoin the racing world as a driver for Williams this season– a year after calling it quits. The driver had an extraordinary run with McLaren driving for them for eight years before moving to Mercedes in 2027. It was a shock to everyone when he announced his departure from Formula 1 in 2030 and no one expected him to return. Today’s news has everyone wondering– what has made him put his racing gloves back on?

You scoff as you toss your phone on the kitchen counter. Lando was always going to worm his way back in wasn’t he? You hear Oscar traipse into the kitchen, feet shuffling against the floor. “Am I dreaming or did I read that article right?” He asks as he grabs his mug from the cabinet. 

“Nope you read it right.” You sigh as you lean against the kitchen island. “Probably ran out of money already. That yacht had to cost a pretty penny.” 

Oscar keeps his back to you as he watches the black liquid pour into his mug. “Think he’ll be an issue this season?” 

You shrug even though Oscar can’t see you. “You gonna let him get into your head like old times?” You can’t answer the actual question because you know Lando is a good driver and you don’t know what Williams' car is going to be like this season. 

“I’m not 23 anymore.” Oscar says as he finally turns around to face you. 

“Well then you’ve answered your own question.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Monaco Grand Prix 2032 

It’s early. Way too early for Oscar’s alarm clock to be blaring the way it is. His eyes are half lidded as he rolls over, his hand haphazardly slamming down on his phone to get it to shut up. It’s barely daylight outside, the birds are just starting to sing, but the bedroom is still dark. His arm reaches out for you out of habit, but he’s met with empty cold bed sheets.

Then as if on cue the bathroom door opens and light billows out into the room. You walk over to your vanity in nothing but your bra and underwear, paying no mind to your husband who’s watching your every move. You grab your lotion and quickly begin to massage it into your skin. As you get to your right leg you pause briefly, your fingers delicately running over the ragged scar, memories of that day and the events that followed always resurface when you look at it or the one on your wrist.

It’s still hard sometimes to not reminisce or think about how things could have turned out– even almost ten years later. But now wasn’t the time to get into one of your depressive episodes, there were more important things at stake today. So you finish applying your lotion, throw on your silk robe, and lock eyes with the still sleepy Australian. 

“Let’s go.” You command. 

Oscar groans, but obeys. 

A while later your Monaco home is filled with members of Oscar’s personal team. His physiotherapist has him stretching in the living room while he watches highlights from qualifying yesterday. In the kitchen you can hear his nutritionist mixing up a smoothie, a concoction of vitamins and proteins– all the healthy stuff Oscar needs.

You’re sat on the couch in the living room– the TV in front of you, Oscar stretching to the left of you in front of the massive floor to ceiling windows that showcase a gorgeous view of the Mediterranean, and to the right in the dining room sits your three year old daughter Sophia. She’s clutching her favorite stuffed animal in one hand while she fists her fork in the other, scrambled egg hanging on by a thread. Your Mom sits beside her, trying to get Sophia to focus more on eating than rambling about how her Daddy is going to win tomorrow. 

You’re half watching the TV half looking at the mockups for a campaign Oscar and you are doing for Rolex. It’s supposed to be about you two– Game Changer. The Piastris x Rolex– is what the mockup reads. And even with both of you on the campaign it seems to only imply Oscar is a part of it. Your head perks up once the replays stop and the presenters begin to talk. Oscar’s stats are displayed on the screen for the season so far, and they aren’t something to brag about, at least to your standards.

I think it’s safe to say that Piastri is the heavy favorite for the win today against Edwards says one of the presenters and out of the corner of your eye you see Oscar grimace, from the things his physio is making him do or the fact that a rookie, an eighteen year old child, is in the ranks to beat him today you’re not sure. 

Even if he’s been looking pretty shaky coming off his surgery last season, he’s still not the guy you want to face heading into your first race around Monaco. If Oscar can get his car and mind working for him, this is a great opportunity to end his losing streak as we start this triple header. 

Oscar walks over to the coffee table, grabs the remote and mutes the TV. Your eyes follow him as he walks back over to his physiologist and starts doing something with an exercise band. You look back over at the now muted TV and then back down to the papers on the coffee table. You grab the red sharpie that’s next to the papers and very boldly write an S on the end of change. The mockup now corrected to– 

Game Changers. The Piastris x Rolex. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You walk beside Oscar as you both head towards his driver's room. The race was set to start in forty minutes. 

“You’re gonna want to watch that last sector, you’re weak there compared to Edwards.” You tell Oscar, who shakes his head as he listens. 

Then as if on cue Edwards walks past the two of you, Oscar nods at him and Edwards nods back in awe. The rookie was a known fanboy of some of the drivers, Oscar especially, but Oscar grimaces at the young drivers admiration, which you clock immediately. 

Oscar’s drivers room is quiet as you two sit, waiting for the clock to wind down. He’s focusing or at least trying to get into racing mode. His biceps flex under his fireproofs as he grips the edge of the physio table. You think he might break his jaw with how vigorously he’s chewing his gum, his jaw flexing every single time. Then a knock sounds at the door and a papaya colored polo peaks around the corner. “15 minutes Oscar.” 

You both nod and the door closes. “You ready?” You question. 

Oscar sits for a moment longer before taking a deep breath as he gets up from the table. He does up his race suit and has you fasten the velcro collar– like always. You two then stand face to face and when you hold out your hand to his mouth he spits out his gum. 

“Decimate that little bitch.” You say with a smirk on your face. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your Monaco home is the complete opposite of how it was this morning. The team members are long gone and you’re no longer watching Oscar’s qualifying session– you’re watching him get destroyed in the race from earlier today. 

“He was driving really well…” Oscar trails off as the mistake that cost him the win plays on the TV. 

You grab the remote, pausing it. “We’ve got to figure out what’s going on here. These P4s and P5s are not going to win you the championship.” You move slightly out of Oscar’s arms as you turn to look at him. 

“Baby….”

You shrug him off, annoyed that he’s not taking this seriously. “I mean you may as well just let the reserve take your seat. If this isn’t gonna be a championship year then why bother?” 

“I’m just rusty. It’s a confidence thing.” Oscar wishes you’d understand where he’s coming from, but you don’t and you never will. 

“Get your fucking confidence back. I can’t do it for you.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at your dramatics. “No one’s asking you to.” 

You fully move out of his embrace now, body turned to face him on the couch. “You are when you race like that.” Your eyes glance over at the scar on Oscar’s forearm. A wreck in Miami last year took him out for the majority of the season. “I would have killed for a recovery like yours. I would have literally stabbed someone. An old lady. A child.” Your eyes meet once again and you hope what you’re saying is soaking into that brain of his. “What’s it gonna take to make you really race again Oscar? What do I have to do?  

Oscar doesn’t answer, just stares at you with those pretty brown eyes, mainly because he doesn’t know if anything will ever get him to really race again. He’s still going to make you happy and when you’re happy he’s happy– it’s exhausting. 

“Mommy?” The sweet sound of your daughter's voice fills the air and Oscar and you both turn to look at her. “Can we watch Tangled?” 

You smile softly at your little girl who’s standing in the doorway. “Of course baby. We were just talking about racing.” You spot your Mom walking into the room, a relieved look on her face, Sophia had clearly snuck away from her. 

“You always talk about racing.” 

Oscar slightly frowns, because it’s true. All that is ever discussed in this house is racing, especially when he came back after his injury. 

Your smile also slightly falters, but not as much as Oscar’s. “I know. Come here.” You grab her iPad from the arm of the couch and walk towards her. “You start the movie with Grandma and in a little bit I’ll be in there. We can even order some pizza later. How does that sound?”

“Okay Mommy.” Sophia says in her little voice as she walks off towards the other room with your Mom. 

Oscar looks back at the paused TV as he hears the opening scene of Tangled playing in the other room. His mind is thinking about a million things at the moment, but when you enter the room again his mind stops and focuses back on you. 

“She likes it when we are all at home and my Mom comes to stay. She hates it when you’re gone.” You state as you sit back down on the couch, tucking yourself into Oscar’s side, who wastes no time in letting his hands roam over you.

You tried to take Sophia to as many races as you could, but a child needs stability in their life and the weeks after weeks of traveling became more of a hassle than anything. 

“We can keep staying at home..” 

You scoff, why couldn’t he just come out and say it to you? You knew what he was implying. “Of course we can. We can just be rich people now if that’s all you think you can handle. We can run the foundation full time. Travel. Do rich people shit. Or you can keep being a Formula 1 driver, which is what you still are. So what’s it gonna be?” 

Oscar doesn’t say anything, he just starts playing with your hand, slotting his fingers between yours. 

“Huh?” You press for an answer. 

He brings your arm up to his face and starts pressing chaste kisses down your arm until he lands on your intertwined hands, his lips lingering as he presses the final one to the top of your hand. “I’m gonna be a Formula 1 driver.” 

“Good.” You grab your phone from your pocket, checking the dates of the upcoming races alongside every other thing you guys have going on. “You need to get some extra time on the sim. I’ll get in contact with Andrea.” 

“I don’t need extra time on the sim.” Oscar groans, running the simulator wasn’t going to fix what he had going on at the moment. 

“Yes you do.” Your hand rests on his chest as you look up at your husband. You only want what is best for him. “You need to start winning, Oscar. Right now you’re getting crushed by guys like Edwards. We need to figure out how to get you back out there fighting. I need the man who has four championships, who used to be ruthless out on that track, back out there.” 

He lifts your hand from its home on his chest and playfully bites it. You pull away annoyed that he’s not taking this seriously. “Oh come on I’m still the same person Y/N. I’m just struggling to get back into the groove of things.” 

You get up off the couch, phone in hand. “I’m gonna make some calls, see if we can get some things lined out.” 

“Hey.” Oscar calls out. 

You turn back to look at him. 

“I love you.”

You give him a small smile, your phone already up to your ear waiting for an answer. “I know.” 

The rest of the season plays out like something you would have never expected. Oscar’s consistent P4’s and the occasional P3 or P2 have him second in the Championship rankings and the person in third is Lando. The Williams car this season was incredible and when you add Lando as a driver it’s no surprise he’s third, but that’s not what you want for this championship battle. It’s a three way fight between Isack, Oscar, and Lando and the decider is the final race of the season– Abu Dhabi. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Abu Dhabi Grand Prix 2032 

Lando had been struggling in the PR sense of his job for years. Always caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing or was with someone he shouldn’t have been with. Spending money like crazy, partying, the whole nine yards. So it was no surprise to anyone when he’s seen on Raya or when he’s really desperate– Tinder. He knows his actions and scandals spread like wildfire, but when he spots a pretty girl at the hotel bar he can’t help himself. 

“So do you win a lot?” The girl asks. 

“Yeah.” Lando laughs before taking a swig of his drink– he needed to be a lot more drunk for this conversation. 

He’s not sure how much longer he can carry this conversation, his eyes wandering around the luxurious hotel. They land on a woman walking into the bar for a moment, before he remembers the one next to him. “So are you from Abu Dahbi or just visiting?” 

She starts talking but Lando has already tuned her out, his gaze back on the woman, who after grabbing something from the bartender turns around and Lando sees it's you. The two of you lock eyes for a moment before his ‘date’ brings him back. 

“Are you okay?” The girl asks. 

“Sorry?” Lando replies already watching you walk back towards the elevators. “Excuse me, I just have to…” Lando is already up out of his seat before he can finish his sentence or the girl can respond. 

You hand the cup of tea to your Mom. “I’m just gonna ask about the beds. You guys go on up, I’ll be right there.” She nods and smiles, taking Sophia’s hand in hers before entering the elevator. 

As the doors close Lando appears and the smile you had on your face immediately vanishes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” You ask in a hushed tone. 

Lando gives you a confused look. “In case you forgot I’m racing tomorrow.” 

“I know that. You’re not staying at this hotel are you?” You ask. 

“It’s the hotel basically all the drivers stay at.” He pauses for a moment, already planning on how to get under your skin. “You’re not staying here are you? I assumed you guys would rent a villa or something.” 

“Sophia likes it when all of us are together.” 

“Oh.” Lando says as he nods at the mention of your daughter and you notice the slight change in his expression. 

“Listen. Oscar can’t see us together. He already thinks the universe is out to get him by making this championship battle so close. He doesn’t need to be worried about anything else.” 

Lando quirks an eyebrow at you– a slight smirk on his face. “What else would he have to be worried about?” 

You ignore his suggestive statement and let your eyes wander past him and onto the girl at the bar who’s staring you down. 

Lando on the other hand can’t help but check you out, you’ve never looked better in his opinion and he can’t help but feel the energy between you two– it’s always there when you two are around each other. 

“Are you on a date?” You ask, laughing slightly. 

“No. Well yes– maybe.” 

“Either way can you go and seal the deal and get out of here? Maybe you’ll be too strung out to make it to the race tomorrow.” You suggest, noticing the lingering glances from the people in the hotel. 

“I don’t think we have to worry about that.” 

“No? Well let me send my condolences to that poor girl then. Don’t think your dick can get hard anymore without the drugs.” 

Lando smiles like you didn’t just say that loud enough for the people around to hear. “Your Mom looks good.” 

“I know she does, Lando.” You reply with disdain. 

The ding of the elevator breaks them from their conversation before it gets any worse. A group of people exit and you walk into the now empty elevator and press your floor number. 

“Stay the fuck away from us.” 

The doors close and Lando is left standing there slightly turned on and pissed at the same time. He goes to press the elevator button to head up to his room, but then remembers the girl he left sitting at the bar. She’s a little confused and unsettled as Lando sits back down next to her. 

“Sorry… that was um..” He gives up trying to explain who you were and decides to go a new route. “Hey.” He says low and sensual before saying fuck it and crashing his lips onto hers. She pulls back for a moment, taken aback by his brashness, but then she kisses him back. It’s hot and heavy and Lando doesn’t even care that he’s making out with some random girl at the hotel bar. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The following day you’re sat outside McLaren’s hospitality in between practice sessions. You’re checking the weather for Sunday, nervous about anything and everything that could happen. Luckily it just seems like Saturday night will be windy, but other than that the weekend seems to be good weather wise. In the other tab you have open the championship points, the small differences in the top three makes you sick to your stomach. It could be anyone's race tomorrow, but you pray it’s Oscar’s.

“Seeing if the weather is gonna be on your side Sunday?” 

You roll your eyes at the all so familiar British accent that fills your ears. “What are you doing here? Isn’t it time for you to start looking for your next victim for tonight?” 

Lando moves from behind you to now stand in front of you. He’s awfully brave being outside of McLaren’s hospitality right now, Oscar could walk out of there at any moment, not to mention the hundreds of people around. “I think I’ll stick with the one from last night.” 

“Wow. It must be love.”  

Lando smiles and you want to slap it right off of his face. “Come have a cigarette with me.” 

You focus your attention back on your laptop. “I don’t smoke and I’m not talking to you.” 

You’re expecting him to go away, but you should really know better by now. He just stands there and when you finally look back up at him you sigh and close your laptop. 

Somehow the two of you find a secluded area in the paddock, you’re sure someone is watching you, but it’s not out in the open and there’s trees overhead. 

Lando leans against the wall of some building, cigarette between his fingers. “I’m gonna propose something to you.” He says as he takes a drag, blowing the smoke directly in your face. 

You snarl, fanning the smoke away. “Blow it away from me.” 

“Sorry.” He states, exhaling in the opposite direction. “It’s gonna make you angry. It’s gonna make you very angry. But you have to hear me out. Okay?” 

The hustle and bustle from the paddock fills the silence between the two of you as you just stare at him. 

“I want you to be my mentor– be by my side.” 

Your eyes widen at the driver in front of you. “What?” 

“Even if he wins the championship, Oscar is still gonna retire as someone who was just really really good. That’s what you guys will have done together. But imagine if you could turn Lando Norris into a guy who wins the championship.” Lando takes another puff from his cigarette. “I still have a season. I still have one good season and I need you to bring it out of me. So what do you think?” 

You’re in utter disbelief at the shit that’s spewing out of Lando’s mouth at the moment. Oscar was more than just really good– he had four championships under his belt. How many did Lando have? Zero. He had some fucking nerve to stand here and think you would ever be his mentor or be apart of his team. Before you even realize you’re doing it your hand comes up and slaps Lando right across the face, your hand stinging from the impact on his cheek. 

“Ow!” Lando yelps, his cigarette flying onto the pavement. 

“How dare you fucking ask me that!” 

“Jesus Christ!” Lando exclaims, his hand now holding his face. 

“You want some coaching? You wanna hear the most useful advice I can give you about your racing?” You’re beyond pissed, you're talking with your hands and if looks could kill Lando would be dead. “Quit. Right now. Right this instant.” 

“You know that when I’m good. I’m the best in the world.” Lando shoots back cockily. 

You scoff. “Just because you’re a part of the so-called twenty best drivers in the world doesn’t mean you’re the best. You shouldn’t even be back on the grid.” 

“I still have a shot. I’m not third in the standings for nothing.” 

“You’re 33. You’d have a better shot with a handgun in your mouth.” 

Lando acts like that comment didn’t sting a little and his silence allows for you to continue your rant. “I mean, really, why don’t you go home and ask your Dad for a share of Pure Electric? Or just ask them for some money? Go be like every other spoiled little prince who never amounted to anything and stop this little performance of being some down on his luck professional.” 

“Y/N-” 

You shake your head at him– you were far from done. “No. You’re not 23 anymore. It’s not cute for you to pretend like you have another season to prove yourself, that you’re some driver who’s stuck in a shit team. And its fucking unforgivable that you would ask me to devote a single second of my time to helping you chase after your dream. You don’t have a dream Lando. You never fucking did.” 

Lando rolls his eyes. “Is that what you and Oscar are doing? Living the dream?” 

You defensively cross your arms across your chest. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.” 

“Well then how come you hate him?” Lando questions, causing you to scoff. “You do. It’s obvious that you do. You can feel him giving up already even though you know he’s not gonna retire until you let him.” 

“He’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants.” 

Lando laughs in your face and it makes you even more mad. “Sure, but he doesn’t. He does whatever you want. Except now he’s not even pretending to like it.” 

You start to go right back at him but he interrupts you before you can. “He’s dreaming about eating cheeseburgers again, watching your daughter– Sophia– grow up, maybe getting a job doing commentary. He’s ready to be dead. And you’re starting to realize that you might not want to be buried with him. Because who is he to you if he’s not racing?”

“You think he’s just a race car driver and a dick? Win me races and championships and give me babies?” 

Lando looks at you with those piercing blue eyes of his and you hate how you know every speckle of green in them. 

“Does Oscar know about the Netherlands?” You don’t answer. “I think you got back into the racing world and onto Oscar’s team for something else.” 

“For what? For you? You think I decided to mentor Oscar, marry him and have his child, just so I could throw it all away to fuck you years later? Yeah because that makes sense.” 

Lando smirks. “Maybe you just wanted to see me all the time then.” 

“I’ve seen you. You look like shit.” 

You start to walk away, completely done with this conversation, but Lando of course always has to get the last word in. 

“I’m gonna beat him.” You stop and turn back to face him. “I’m gonna beat him Sunday. I have to.” 

“Even if you could beat him, it wouldn’t change anything.” 

“It’ll break him. You know it will Y/N.” 

You shake your head at him. “It won’t make you. It’s too late for that.” 

As you go to leave again, Lando grabs your hand and slides a piece of paper in it. “My number. In case you change your mind about mentoring.” 

You scoff as you glance at the paper– his number is written in chicken scratches on the hotel branded paper. “I won’t.” 

The conversation is finally over with and you walk off back towards McLaren’s hospitality, praying no one overheard or seen you slap him. Lando sticks behind, picking up his cigarette from the pavement and relighting it as he watches you walk away. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Saturday rolls around and Lando somehow puts it on pole. You’re sure he used every ounce of spite in his body to do so, but it’s stressing you out even more about tomorrow, you can only imagine how Oscar is feeling. 

While you’re stressing in the hotel room Oscar has decided to go to the sauna to try and steam out his stress. He’s been the only one in there for a good while and he decides to put a towel over his face, trying to smother the stress out. 

Unknowingly to Oscar the door opens and Lando walks in– naked. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Oscar jumps at the sound of another voice in the confined space with him, he quickly pulls the towel off his face only to be met with the one person he didn’t want to see, especially naked. 

“Can you not, like, demolish me tomorrow?” 

Oscar sits up straight, eyes narrowing in on his former teammate. “You literally got pole for tomorrow. What are you even talking about?” 

Lando doesn’t respond for a moment and Oscar takes the opportunity to leave, but Lando stops before he can fully get up. 

“Oscar. Come on, can we talk?” 

“Can you put your dick away?” Oscar asks. Lando only smirks, lifting his leg up to rest on the bench, his dick even more prominent. 

“This is a sauna.” Lando counters back, but when Oscar sighs Lando sits down next to him, his towel giving him barely any modesty. “We’ve been around each other for years, co-workers, friends, dare I say even more than friends in some moments, but we haven’t spoken really since I left McLaren. It’s just silly man. It’s dramatic. I mean really– why are you still so angry with me?” 

Oscar laughs, of course Lando was playing that game today. 

“I don’t buy that it’s because of Y/N. Or, I don’t think it’s because of what happened to her. I think you’re still just really disturbed by the fact that she could be into somebody like me.” 

“When we were in our early twenties, we were barely adults.” Oscar states. 

Lando raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips curling. “Right. When we were younger.” 

They look at each other, something unspoken between them. They both know, but neither of them will come right out and say it. 

Lando sighs, leaning back, letting the sauna relax him. “Honestly, I thought you’d be happy that I came back this season. You know I talked to Zak, he wanted me to come back to McLaren. It could have been like old times Osc.” 

Oscar cringes at the old nickname, memories of good times between them start to arise– memories before you came into their lives. “I know what you’re trying to do right now.” 

“I’m not trying to do anything. I don’t have to play mind games with you.” Lando says laughing. 

“Right. You don’t give a shit.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“We both know you have considerably more at stake here than I do.” 

“Do I?” Lando questions. 

Oscar looks at him for a long minute, if there was one thing Lando was good at, it was getting under people’s skin. “Where do you get your confidence from?” Lando’s not sure what he means by that and gives him a questioning look. “You come in here swinging your dick around like I’m supposed to be afraid of it or want it or something, but do you understand how embarrassing it is that you’re here?” 

Lando rolls his eyes. “Not quite as embarrassing as you being here.” 

“You’re trying to have this come back story and it’s not working. It’s reading more ‘loser F1 driver can’t let go of dream, and continues to tarnish what he did accomplish in his prime by coming back after quitting to try and chase a trophy he’ll never get’. It’s sad.”  Lando tries to defend himself, but Oscar continues his assault. “I’ve always tried to figure out what happened to you, but the more I think about it, the more I realize it’s about what didn’t happen. You didn’t grow up. You still think you can talk to me like I’m your peer because we used to be teammates and we worked our way up the racing ladder. But it doesn’t matter where you come from in racing Lando. It only matters if you win. And I do. A lot.” 

“You haven’t won this season.” Is all Lando has to throw back in Oscar’s face. 

And Oscar laughs at Lando’s pitiful insult. “So what? I have four championship titles. Five after tomorrow. Racing is about winning the points that matter. And the people who win those points matter.” 

“I don’t matter?” Lando asks. 

“Not even to the most obsessive Formula 1 fan in the world.” Oscar’s words are filled with venom. 

“We’re not talking about racing, Oscar.” 

They’re talking about you and they both know it.

“What the fuck else do you and I have to talk about?” 

Lando and Oscar lock eyes for a brief moment, the energy between them is palpable and for a second they both get lost, but then Lando brings them back. 

“I just wanted to come in here to wish you luck.” 

Lando could really talk out of his ass and Oscar found it funny. “That makes no sense.” 

“I wanted to tell you that I’m looking forward to it. I’ve missed it, it’s like old times.” 

“Oh yeah?” Oscar asks, his tone condescending. Lando nods his head. “Well I don’t miss it. I’m too old for this shit.” 

Oscar gets up and leaves, his towel tight around his waist, a stark contrast to Lando’s hand towel barely covering his dick, who sits there and watches as the door slams behind Oscar. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later that night your Mom and you are tucking Sophia into bed, her night sky projector that she has to take everywhere is already up and going, the room swirling with stars. 

“Give Grandma kisses Soph.” You tell her as you sit on the corner of her bed. Sophia leans over and gives your Mom a kiss. 

“Your turn Mommy!” Sophia says, already leaning towards you. You give her a kiss and then an extra one on her forehead for good measure. 

“Goodnight baby.” You tell her with a smile. 

“Goodnight.” 

You shut off the bedside lamp and leave the door slightly ajar as you exit the room. 

“What time do you want me to come take her tomorrow?” Your Mom asks in a hushed voice as you two walk towards the front door. 

“Whenever. She can be with Andrew while we’re doing warmups and stuff. I’ll text you when we get up in the morning.” 

She nods before giving you a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight sweetie.” 

“Goodnight.” 

She leaves and you lean against the now closed door for a moment to yourself before going into the bedroom. 

Oscar is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when you enter. You quickly change into a little silk pajama set and begin applying your body cream. You can hear the tap running still, but then it stops and you hear the sound of Oscar walking towards the threshold of the bathroom. He stops and leans against the open door frame that separates the bathroom from the bedroom. 

“Tell me it doesn’t matter.” 

You look up at him as you’re sitting on the bed, his biceps flexing in his white t-shirt as he crosses his arms. You don’t say anything to him as you two lock eyes. 

“Tell me it doesn’t matter if I win tomorrow.” His eyes are pleading and you know where this conversation is going to go. 

“No.” 

Oscar looks at you, surprised yet not surprised at your answer. 

“You tell me if it matters. You’re the professional competitor Oscar.” He still doesn’t say anything, he just keeps looking at you from across the room. “It can’t be about avoiding my judgment. I’m not a nun. I’m not your mommy.” 

“I just want you to tell me that you’ll love me no matter what.” 

He’s opening his heart and you laugh. “Who am I? Jesus?” 

“Yeah.” 

And you both know he’s serious. 

You sigh, your hand smoothing out a wrinkle on the bedding. “You know you can beat him.” 

“What if I don’t? How are you gonna look at me then?” 

“Just like this.” 

You look at him, with what you think is a neutral expression and he stares back with one of worry. 

“I’m gonna say something, and it’s probably gonna make you angry, but I want you to hear me out.” He pauses and you brace yourself for what you know is coming. “I want to retire this year whether we win the championship or not.”

You don’t say anything.

“I’m still gonna try. I’m still gonna go for it. But I’m tired. I don’t want to be one of those guys who doesn’t know when to walk away. It’s embarrassing to still be doing this shit when you’re forty.” He shouldn’t be this sick over telling you he wants to quit, yet here he is feeling like he’s gonna vomit. 

You close your eyes for a brief moment and take a deep breath. You’d had an inkling that this was coming. You knew your husband, you could read him like a book, but you’d prayed he could power through for a couple more years. If anything, what's making you more upset at the moment is that what Lando had said yesterday was true. So instead of playing into Lando’s statement you try to be as alright with this as you can. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Oscar questions. 

You shrug your shoulders. “If you want to quit racing, quit racing. You don’t need my permission.” 

“We’re doing this together. We’ve always been doing this together.” 

“I’m just the coach, the mentor. I work for you.” 

“Coach me then.” Oscar states. 

You can feel the frustration building in you. “I am coaching you.” 

Oscar shakes his head at you. “I’m playing for both of us, Y/N. I know that.” 

You look at him for a beat, your eyes scanning up and down the man you call your husband. “If you don’t win tomorrow, I’ll leave you. How’s that?” Oscar doesn’t say anything, just stands there staring at you. “I’m serious…. Does that help you?” 

Oscar looks at you for another moment before walking over towards the bed and sitting down next to you. You two sit in silence for a moment, soaking in what this actually means, and what the future might hold. His large hand sets gently on your bare thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your lotioned skin.

There’s so many unspoken words between you two and you want to tell him right out that he can’t quit, he can’t give up, but he’s tired. He’s been done for some time and how much longer can you beat a dead horse? He needs to win that championship tomorrow if you want any chance of trying to change his mind.

You feel his lips gently kiss your bare shoulder, then your forehead, then finally landing on your lips. The kiss grows heated, your hands roaming each other, but it ends up going nowhere. Neither of your hearts are in it at the moment. You two lock eyes once more and he cradles your face in his hands, planting one more kiss on your lips. Then, he slowly makes his way down your body, he makes sure to kiss your scars and before you know it he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed. It’s pathetic and submissive, the way he’s clinging onto you, kissing every inch of you, but you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as he continues. 

“Will you just hold me?” Oscar asks. You don’t say anything, but you gently pull him back onto the bed until his head is resting on your legs. “Just until I fall asleep?”

“Okay.” 

So you hold him as he closes his eyes, clinging to you like you’re his lifeline. You catch a glimpse of you two in the mirror in the corner and you sigh, this is not how you pictured your life. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s midnight when you make a decision that will ultimately have consequences. Your phone lights up your face as you stand in the hallway of your hotel suite. To your right Oscar is asleep in your bed and to your left Sophia sleeps soundly, the light from her star projector seeping through the cracked door. 

The piece of paper Lando gave you yesterday sits in your free hand. You slowly type in the number, making sure you got the numbers right and then start typing your text. 

you: want to go for a drive? 

lando: bad news. i flew here. 

you: don’t act like you don’t have access to a car if you needed one. 

lando: ok whats the plan? 

you: pick me up outside in twenty minutes 

lando: 👍

You give yourself a quick glance over in the mirror in the hall and quietly leave the suite. 

As you stand outside the front of the hotel the valet guy keeps giving you weird looks. Your attire for night– a hoodie and pajama shorts may not be helping your case. Or he’s probably wondering if you’re the same lady on the giant billboard that you can see down the street from here. 

You make Lando text you as he’s pulling up and thankfully the car he’s in has tinted windows. You hurriedly get into the back seat, hoping the valet didn’t get a peak of who was in the car. 

“What are you–?” Lando questions, turning around to look at you. 

“Just drive. I told the valet guy I was waiting for an Uber.” 

Lando pulls away and finds a somewhat barren parking lot to park the car in so you can get into the front seat. “We shouldn’t stay parked here too long. I don’t want anyone to think I’m a hooker and call the cops.” You state as you get settled. 

“We can just go back to the hotel.” Lando suggests. 

“I’m not here to fuck you, Lando.” 

He looks at you for a moment, what was this other than a booty call? “You’re not?” 

You roll your eyes at him, not everything was about sex, but between you two you guess it was. “No…. I want you to lose tomorrow.” 

“I’m aware of that.” Lando says, his tone snarky. 

You turn as best you can in the passenger seat to fully face him as you get ready to imply something that Oscar would never forgive you for. “I’m asking you to lose tomorrow.” 

Lando starts laughing at you, his gap in his teeth on display. “Fuck off.” He looks over at you to see if you’re actually serious and his laughter comes to an immediate halt. You’re deadly serious. You two knew each other more than you’d both like to admit, and he’d seen that stone cold stare more times than he’d like to have. 

“He’s been doing really well during this last half of the season. It’s been a struggle, but if he wins this championship he’ll know he can win more. He needs this.” You plead with Lando, even throwing in those puppy dog eyes that used to do you wonders with him, his response lets you know it’s not cute when a 31 year old woman does it. 

“He needs this?” Lando asks. You don’t respond, what else did you really have to say? “What about what I need?” 

You simply shrug your shoulders at his question, you weren’t here to talk about what Lando needed, you were here to ensure that what your husband needed would happen. 

Lando lets out a breathy laugh, more in disbelief than finding it funny. “I can’t believe you’d do this to him.” He shakes his head at you and you still just sit there silently. “I mean, fucking me would be one thing, but this? This is unforgivable.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, you knew what you were doing, you knew Oscar would be pissed if he found out, but that wasn’t any of Lando’s business to bring up. “I’m actually being incredibly kind to both of you right now. I’m taking such good care of my little race car drivers.” 

Lando was not going to do this. He’d gotten this close to the championship title and he wasn’t going to throw it away because poor little Oscar needed an ego boost and you needed to be in control of everything like always. He was putting his foot down, no matter how much control you still wielded over him. “No. No fucking way.” 

“All right. Then take me back to the hotel.” Lando sits idly, his hands on the wheel, but makes no initiative to start the car. “Drive, you piece of shit!” You yell, fed up with being in the car with him. 

“You know what the most frustrating part of this is? You know what really drives me crazy?” Lando starts in with his dumb shit and you have no patience for it.

“Start the car.” You command as you face forward in your seat, your eyes straight ahead at the empty parking lot.

Lando ignores you, because of course he does, and continues talking. “You did come here to fuck me. But you’re so full of shit that you won’t even admit that to yourself.” 

Your eyes flicker over at the Brit for a split second and you think you could do this one last time, for the sake of Oscar’s career. “Listen… if that’s the only way to get you to throw the race.” 

“Oh, go fuck yourself, you absolute loser.” The thing is Lando would fuck you in a heartbeat, but it’s not on terms he particularly likes. 

It’s your turn to laugh in disbelief now. “I’m the loser?” 

“Yes. Yes you are. Look at you.” Lando looks at you with a look of disgust on his face before he starts the car. “Time for your Uber driver to drop you back off to your family.” 

You don’t even fire a comment back at him, you just lean back in the seat and look out the window. 

The whole ride back to the hotel Lando is at war with his mind. One side tells him to just do it, but the other side tells him to stick to his word and not give in. It’s not until he sees the highrise hotel in the distance that he makes his decision. 

“Fuck it. I’ll do it.” 

You look over at him, surprised. “Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” 

“I want you to actually do it, so tell me you understand why.” You command as you look at the British man in the driver's seat. 

“I’m not married to you, Y/N. Just be happy that I’m doing what you want and shut up about it.” 

He’s so good at getting under your skin it drives you crazy. “You’re such a fucking child.”

“Of course I am. I’ve spent my entire life playing with cars.” 

You glare at him, your irritation growing stronger by the minute. “You’re one of the most egotistical people I’ve ever met.” 

“Oh sure, but I’ve never been confused about the fact that I’m a piece of shit. That’s what you like about me.” Lando says with a smirk. 

“I don’t like anything about you.” 

Lando glances over at you for a brief second. “You like precisely one thing about me, and it’s that I’m such a piece of shit that I could actually see you for what you are.” 

You raise your eyebrows, intrigued as to what he’s gonna say. “What am I?” 

“In reality? A really, really, insanely hot woman. I guess now you’d say a MILF.” 

In this moment you wished this car would crash into the nearest building and he’d die on impact. You can’t believe you’re in this car with him right now. “Pull over.” 

“We’re almost back at the hotel. Don’t be dramatic.” Lando says, pointing at the lit up building in the near distance. 

“Pull over!” 

“Fine, damn.” Lando abruptly pulls over into what seems to be a construction sight. Before he can even put the car in park you’re undoing your seatbelt and getting out and taking off towards what you think is the hotel.

“Hey!” You hear Lando yell and you turn around to see him pointing in the other direction. “The hotel is that way.” He yells with a smirk on his face. 

You’re at your breaking point as you stomp back towards him to go in the right direction. He tries to grab your arm as you pass by him, but you swat it away. You’re pissed and you’re looking at him with nothing but pure hatred and Lando knows how close to the edge he’s got you and it makes him giddy inside. 

“Are you gonna hit me again?” He teases. 

You stand face to face with him, his blue eyes boring into yours and then without even thinking twice about it you spit in his face– hard. Lando stands there stunned for a moment, but a smile slowly starts to creep onto his face, because he knows what he’s accomplished.

Then without warning you push him against the car and kiss him. It’s messy and rushed, teeth clashing as you grab at one another. It’s like you can’t get enough of one another– a drug that’s impossible to be sober from. And you hate how well Lando knows your body, knows what makes you tick, even after all these years. His lips find their way to your neck and a small moan escapes past your lips as he finds that one spot that drives you crazy. 

In the distant background the giant billboard of Oscar and you for your campaign for Rolex is lit up in the night sky. 

Game Changers: The Piastris x Rolex 

Lando catches sight of it when he goes to open the door he’s leaning against, and he wonders if you’ve seen it too. But those thoughts are instantly thrown away when he hears the whimpers escape past your lips as you straddle him in the backseat. It’s like music to his ears and he’s gonna hear it on repeat for as long as he can. 

The windows of the car are steamed up like crazy, but from the outside you can’t tell, thanks to the blackout tint. Lando and you are intertwined in each other’s arms, both too tired to put your clothes back on at least for the moment. You lean your head against his built chest as his fingers delicately trace the length of your arm. 

“I miss watching you race Y/N. You were so beautiful.” 

You change the subject, now was not the time to reminisce, even though your actions moments ago were ones of reminiscing. “You have to make him feel like he earned it tomorrow. You can’t just slow down on the last lap.” 

Lando glances down at you. “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

“What else could I want?” You mumble. Lando doesn’t say anything, you both know what you also meant by that. It was never going to be him in the end.  “How will I know you’re gonna do it?” 

Lando presses a featherlight kiss to your head. “You won’t.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The hotel is quiet as you walk down the vacant hallway towards the suite. It’s late, close to two in the morning as you try to quietly close the door behind you– it clicks shut louder than you expect. You tiptoe over to the couch and take off your hoodie before heading to your bedroom. You stop abruptly in the doorway when you notice that the bed is empty and Oscar isn’t there. You turn around and sneak over to Sophia’s room, you see that the door is closed and you know you left it cracked earlier. The door creaks slightly as you open it just enough for you to peak your head in. The sight in front of you makes your heart ache and the guilt starts to creep in. Oscar’s cramped in the small bed next to Sophia, her nightlight still making the room glow as he holds her. 

You close the door and find yourself sitting on the couch, staring out the giant windows at the lit up cityscape. You feel empty, like a shell of the person you once knew. You never thought your life would end up here, yet you do nothing to try and learn from the past. And you really begin to wonder– was all of this worth it?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The following morning is treated like any other race day. Everyone has their routine to follow and before you know it you’re headed to the track. 

You can feel the nerves radiating off of Oscar as you sit in his driver's room and the only thing you can think about is if Lando is going to keep his word. There’s the knock at the door and the fifteen minutes heads up, all normal routine. 

Oscar stands up, does his race suit up and you fasten his collar– like normal. 

But this time, before he walks off, you cradle his face in your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye. “That championship is yours today. Go show everyone how a champion wins.” 

Oscar smiles slightly. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” And you mean it and you mean it even more when you lean up and press your lips to his. 

You just had a funny way of showing it sometimes. 

The McLaren garage is electric as you make your way to your designated spot, making sure to grab your personal headset with your initials on the outside from the wall. The monitor in front of you shows the formation lap starting and you can feel the nerves starting to settle in. You’ve never felt this sick before any of Oscar’s races, let alone any of yours. 

The sun is just beginning to set around the Yas Marina circuit and when the five lights go out you think your brain does too. 

It’s the most eventful race of the season so far, multiple yellow flags and one red flag just as it hits the halfway point. Lando maintained the lead for the majority of the race and Oscar stayed close behind him, but not close enough to make a move. The action has been from the mid and back field so far. That is until the flood lights come on and Oscar finally has a chance to make a move on him, it’s risky and one slight overcorrection and they both would have been into the wall, but it’s Oscar and of course he overtakes beautifully. 

You feel your stomach do a flip when you see Oscar’s name at the top of the timing board and hear the crowd roar as he becomes the new race leader. 

But Lando wasn’t going down without a fight and that makes your stomach flip even more. 

Oscar can see the blue Williams in his mirrors, the way he taunts him at every overtaking opportunity, but Oscar wasn’t going to let him get into his head. Not now. 

For a couple laps the two of them go back and forth, constantly switching from P1 to P2 and it’s exhausting. He can hear his race engineer in his ear telling him to just go flat out, get as much distance between him and Lando as possible, but the wear on his tires tells him differently. 

Lando on the other hand is bored, this back and forth cat and mouse game was getting old. He could easily overtake Oscar again, take the lead and never look back, but your stupid voice in his head makes him stick around. Lando can see the laps dwindling down, the pit board letting him know there’s only 6 left as he passes by. 

It was time to make things interesting. 

At the next DRS zone he puts himself in the right position to overtake Oscar, he’d been behind him for some time now, he used to be his teammate, he knows how he defends. So he does the opposite. As he comes around the outside of the McLaren he knows Oscar will be looking and so he does the one thing he knows will get a reaction out of him. 

Lando sticks his hand out as best he can and waves. 

Oscar sees it immediately and he knows exactly what it means. He has flashbacks to Qatar all those years ago, to the Netherlands, to last night. Oscar wasn’t stupid, when he woke up last night he had a gut feeling as to where you were. But seeing Lando try and use it against him today has him sick, his heart was already beating fast from the race, but now he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. His ears are ringing and he wants to drive this damn car into the wall at full speed. He doesn’t realize Isack is about ready to overtake him also until he sees the blur of the Red Bull go past him. 

Back in the McLaren garage you’re livid. Oscar had dropped down to P3 with five laps left. The broadcast shows replays of Lando waving at Oscar, the commentators making jokes about their friendly rivalry, but you know that wave had a deeper connotation. One you didn’t know the meaning of, but you did know Lando did it on purpose. You’d given away your body and betrayed your husband once again for Lando to not even keep his word.

Your eyes flicker back and forth between the broadcast and the data. If Oscar wanted this win he was going to have to give it everything he had and then some. You can hear Oscar and his race engineer talking through your headset about a new plan and in your opinion Tom is way too calm about all of this. He should be just as livid as you, but you guess that's why you never became an engineer. 

Putting your personal feelings and connections aside, you can’t lie– this race has provided some good racing. And as the laps dwindle down you see Oscar putting his foot on that damn peddle. He’s driving that car like his life depended on it, using every part of the track and he overtakes Isack and is back on Lando’s tail in no time. 

It was hot. 

The last two laps are the most adrenaline inducing heart pounding laps you’ve ever witnessed. Oscar’s practically against Lando’s rear wing at every corner. They keep swapping positions at every opportunity and it’s doing your head in. Everyone in the garage is on the edge of their seats, the crowd is screaming louder than you’ve ever heard before. 

As they round turn fourteen on the last lap you rip your headset off and run out of the garage, across the pit lane and cling to the fence. Your eyes are glued to the finish line, fingers gripping the chain-link as you wait to see them round the last corner. The crowd is on their feet, your ears ringing from how loud they are. You’ve never experienced an atmosphere like this except for maybe Abu Dhabi 21’, but even then this seems much more intense.  

You see them come around the corner and the distance to the finish line is short. Your heart is in your throat as you see them go side-by-side on the straightaway. The checkered flag waves and time seems to pass in slow motion. 

Your eyes are glued to the McLaren and Williams, the finish line yards away, both of them inching forward to take the lead. 

“COME ON!” You scream, your vocal chords straining as you shake the fence with your hands, jumping up and down. 

The crowd goes wild and the fireworks start going off– lighting up the night sky. Celebrations have already begun, cheers fill the air. Meanwhile, your heart is still pounding, ears ringing, and you think you’ve just had an out of body experience. 

You can’t believe the scene that just unfolded in front of you, it’s baffling and you’re replaying it in your mind as you stay standing by the fence. Did you really just witness that? 

If there was one thing you knew for sure though, something that was definite from this weekend, it was one thing. 

You finally got to see some good fucking racing. 

tag list: @mywritersmind @lanf1an @kingshitonly @lilyofthevalley-09 @norrisainz33 @dessashippr @taebearyoongs

[misaerabl]

Off The Ice

𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐗 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 CONTENT: wc...10k ✦ college au, scissoring, eating out, fingering (both a and r receiving and giving), smut with plot/plot with smut SUMMARY: You were tasked with covering your university’s women’s hockey team, you see it as your chance to prove yourself worthy of becoming the next chief editor. Your main focus is Abby Anderson, the team’s star forward known for her cold, distant reputation. After observing her a few times, you’re surprised when she starts to warm up to you—unveiling a side of her no one else seems to see.

click here for part 2 (christmas special)

The newsroom is buzzing with the usual chaos of deadlines and last-minute assignments. You’re sitting at your desk, scrolling through your laptop when your editor, Dina, stands by the door, holding a clipboard with the next round of assignments.

“Alright, people, we’ve got some big matches coming up,” she says, her eyes scanning the room. “I need someone to cover the women’s hockey team. We’ve got scouts coming to the next game, so make sure it’s more than just a game recap. I want a real story, got it?”

You glance up, the opportunity immediately catching your attention. The women’s team has been making waves lately, and Abby Anderson, the star forward, has been all anyone’s talking about. Known for her ruthless play and icy demeanor, she’s a force on the ice but practically a ghost off it. No one has really gotten the chance to uncover what makes her tick.

“I’ll do it,” you say, raising your hand before anyone else can speak up.

Dina looks at you, surprised. “You sure? It’s a tough one. A lot of pressure to get a unique angle.”

“I think I’ve got a good angle,” you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I want to write about the team, but also about her. There’s more to Abby than just her game stats.”

Dina raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright, you’ve got the job. But make it count.”

As she walks away, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. This could be your shot at making your mark—and maybe even getting that chief editor position. You grab your notebook, already mentally outlining your approach. The real challenge, though, won’t be writing the story—it’ll be getting past Abby’s walls.

A few weeks later, you're sitting in the stands of the rink, notebook in hand, watching the women’s hockey team practice. The cold air cuts through the arena, but you're too focused on your task to notice.

Abby Anderson moves like a storm on the ice. Her swift, powerful strides cut through the rink with precision, her eyes locked on the puck, her focus unbreakable. She’s the kind of player who makes it look easy, but you know there’s more to it than that.

You’ve been attending practices for days now, trying to catch glimpses of Abby when she’s not in game mode. But so far, she’s kept her distance. She’s all business, all the time, barking orders at her teammates and keeping her interactions brief. If anyone speaks to her off the ice, it's either short and to the point or completely ignored. You’ve yet to get more than a few sentences out of her.

You jot down a few notes, trying to focus on the team’s dynamics, but your eyes keep drifting back to Abby. She's skating alone now, practicing shots at the net, her intense movements betraying any hint of vulnerability. You wonder if she ever lets anyone see that side of her—the one that's not all about hockey, about being the best.

“Hey.”

You jump, startled, and look up to find Abby standing next to the railing, her skates still on, but her posture relaxed. She looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Uh, hey,” you reply, quickly trying to gather yourself. "Just—just taking some notes. You know, for the article."

She nods, glancing at the rink before looking back at you. “How’s it going so far? Got a good story yet?”

You hesitate, unsure how much of the truth to reveal. “I’m still working on it. It’s hard to find the angle everyone’s expecting… but I think I’ll get there.”

Abby studies you for a moment, her face still as hard to read as always. “Just don’t make me sound like a robot on the ice. I know how that goes.” She smirks, her first real hint of a smile.

You can’t help but laugh, relieved. “I’ll do my best to capture the whole picture. Not just the stats.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Good. Keep it real.”

With that, she turns and heads back to the ice, leaving you standing there, heart racing slightly faster than usual. You watch her skate off, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t much, but it was more than you had before. Maybe, just maybe, you were starting to get past her walls.

But you also know it’s just the beginning. There's more to Abby Anderson than the game, and you’re determined to find it.

A few days later, you’re standing in front of Abby’s dorm, the familiar nerves creeping in. The article deadline is approaching fast, and you’re still struggling to break past Abby’s walls. But today is different. After days of awkward exchanges and hesitant small talk after practice, you finally managed to convince her to sit down for a real interview.

You took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and heard the faint shuffle of movement from inside. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Abby in a casual hoodie and sweatpants, her hair pulled back in her signature braid. The intense, icy exterior you were used to wasn’t there—she looked... normal, like a regular college student.

"Hey," she said, offering a small, almost reluctant smile. "Come on in."

You stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the room instantly contrast with the chilly vibe Abby often projected. The space was clean but a bit cluttered, with hockey gear tossed on one side and textbooks scattered on her desk. It felt strangely intimate like you were seeing a side of Abby no one else ever had access to.

"Sorry about the mess," Abby muttered, gesturing to the pile of equipment. "I’m usually just too tired after practice to clean."

"No worries," you said, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. "Thanks for agreeing to this. I know you’re not exactly a fan of interviews."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, instead grabbing two water bottles from a shelf and tossing one to you. "Let’s just get this over with," she said, her tone a little more playful than usual. It was as if the pressure from earlier had eased just a bit.

You smiled, grateful for her willingness. "I won’t take too much of your time. Just a few questions about... well, everything. Hockey, life. What it’s really like being Abby Anderson, off the ice."

She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she considered your question. "What it's really like..." she echoed, her gaze briefly flicking to the window as if pondering the words. "You make it sound like I'm some mystery."

"Maybe you are," you said, more candidly than you expected. "No one really knows you beyond the ice. You're always the tough player who doesn't talk to anyone off the rink." 

Abby’s gaze softened at your words, but she didn’t respond right away. Instead, she fiddled with the water bottle in her hands, turning it absently as she seemed to think about what to say. There was a quiet tension in the air, one that neither of you had expected when you first agreed to sit down.

"Yeah, I guess I come off like that, huh?" Abby finally said, breaking the silence. Her voice had a quiet edge to it, almost as if she was admitting something she hadn’t said out loud before. "I don’t really know how to be any different. It’s easier this way."

You felt a shift in the atmosphere, like she was allowing herself to be more open than she ever had before. The moment was subtle, but you couldn’t ignore it.

"I get that," you said softly, leaning forward. "But you’re more than just a hockey player, Abby. I mean, you’ve got layers—there’s got to be more to you than what we see on the ice."

Abby’s eyes met yours then, the intensity of her gaze making your heart skip a beat. For a brief second, you thought she might brush you off again, but instead, she looked almost… vulnerable.

"You think so?" she asked, her voice quieter now, as though she was testing you, seeing if you’d take her seriously.

You nodded, feeling a sense of connection you hadn’t expected to feel. "Yeah, I do."

A moment of silence stretched between you, and you could feel the energy in the room shift. The playful banter had evaporated, replaced by something deeper, more intense. Abby’s eyes lingered on yours, her lips pressing together as if fighting back something unspoken. You weren’t sure what was happening, but it was as if the ice around her was finally starting to melt, and in the stillness of her dorm, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

"I don’t usually do this," Abby said, her voice a little breathless. "Let people in, I mean."

The admission hung in the air, and you realized how rare this moment was for her. It was raw, real, and far from the icy persona she’d shown everyone else. There was no game face now, no walls.

"You don’t have to let anyone in," you replied, your voice lower now, almost without thinking. "But I’m not like everyone else, Abby."

She took a step closer, her eyes searching yours for a moment. Then, without another word, Abby’s hand reached out, brushing against yours—light at first, like she was testing the waters. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart raced as the proximity between you grew more charged, more electric.

"Are you sure about that?" she whispered, her voice shaky, unsure, but her eyes steady as she closed the space between you.

Before you could respond, Abby leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft but insistent. You could feel the toned, muscular strength in her arms as she held you, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. The warmth of her body radiated against yours, the firmness of her form pressing gently but surely as her fingers slid into your hair. It was as if her whole presence surrounded you—strong, sure, yet still carrying a touch of hesitation.

The kiss deepened as Abby caressed your hair gently, her fingers threading through it with a tenderness that belied her fierce persona on the ice. It was a contrast—the hard, determined athlete and the softness of the way she touched you. The moment felt like a contradiction, one that both of you were willing to embrace.

When she finally pulled away, her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. She looked at you with wide eyes, lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Her hand remained in your hair, fingers still grazing your scalp.

Abby’s hand lingered in your hair, her touch soft but steady, as though she needed a moment to ground herself. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, eyes still locked on yours, as if searching for something—answers, maybe, or reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment.

"That was..." Abby’s voice trailed off, her lips curling into a small, uncertain smile. "I didn’t think you’d be... like that."

You couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the kiss. "Like what?"

Abby shrugged, a little bashful for the first time since you met her. "I don’t know. I guess I just figured you’d be... different."

"Different how?" you asked, your voice quieter now, but there was a playful edge to it.

"Like... not so—" She gestured vaguely between the two of you, looking for the right words. "I don’t know. You’re not what I expected."

It was your turn to feel a little bashful. You didn’t know what to make of this sudden shift in dynamics, but there was something about Abby’s vulnerability, her uncertainty, that made you feel like maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just some random kiss. It felt more like a beginning.

"Maybe I’m not," you replied softly. "Maybe we’re both surprising each other."

Abby’s eyes softened at that, and she gave a slow nod. She seemed to be processing everything in silence, unsure of how to label the moment. She was still the tough, intense player on the ice, but the cracks in that persona were becoming more apparent now.

"Don’t go thinking this means I’m some open book now," Abby warned with a smirk, though there was no real bite to it. "I’m still the same Abby Anderson."

You laughed lightly, the tension easing between you two. "I never thought you were an open book."

"Good," Abby replied, her smile returning, warmer than before. She finally pulled her hand from your hair, though she kept her gaze locked on you, her lips still lingering with a hint of the kiss you’d just shared. "But maybe... just maybe... we can see where this goes."

You nodded slowly, your heart still racing, but your chest felt lighter, freer as if a new chapter was just beginning to unfold. "I’m willing to find out."

The quiet between you lingered, the air between you charged with something unspoken. Abby’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she didn’t seem like the intimidating hockey player. She was just Abby, standing in front of you, her vulnerability laid bare.

"Maybe we don’t need to talk about the article anymore," she murmured, her voice low, almost like she was thinking out loud. "Maybe we can just... be here for a bit."

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could respond, Abby was standing up, closing the space between you. The shift in her demeanor was subtle but unmistakable. She was no longer the distant athlete; she was someone who wanted more than just the interview.

"You make it hard to stay guarded," she whispered, her lips brushing against your ear, her breath warm against your skin. Her hands slid to your waist, gently pulling you closer. Her body was strong, and solid, but there was a softness in the way she touched you, a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

You swallowed, your pulse racing as you met her eyes. "Abby..." You couldn’t find the right words, but you didn’t need to. The air between you both was thick with the weight of what was about to happen.

Abby’s lips found yours again, more urgent this time, less like a question and more like an answer. She kissed you deeply, her hands threading into your hair as she pulled you closer, her body pressing against yours with a heat that made everything else fade away. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as though she was savoring the moment. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tight, like she was afraid to let you go as if the distance between you both had only made her want you more.

You melted into her embrace, your hands finding their way to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as if you could close the gap that had always been there between you. She groaned softly, the sound low in her throat, sending a thrill through you.

When the kiss finally broke, Abby’s forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing heavily. Her hands gently cupped your face, her thumbs brushing across your cheeks as if memorizing the feel of you.

"I’ve been wanting this," she admitted, her voice hushed. "More than I thought I would."

You smiled, still feeling the rush of the moment. "Yeah," you whispered back. "Me too."

Abby’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. "This doesn’t change anything, right?" she asked, her voice a little uncertain. 

You gently cupped her face, your fingers tracing the sharp line of her jaw as if to reassure her. "No," you said softly. "But maybe we can figure out what comes next..."

Her lips curled into a smile, and for the first time, it wasn’t guarded. It was real, and it was for you. "Yeah," she whispered, closing the distance again, her lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of something neither of you was ready to define just yet, but both of you were willing to explore.

And as the kiss deepened, you realized that no matter what happened after this, you had stepped past the barrier that had once kept you both apart. Whatever came next, it was something neither of you were willing to walk away from…

She pushes you down on the couch, her body hovering above you. She stares deeply into your eyes as if she was asking for permission. You nod in response. 

Abby buries her face in your neck, kissing and nipping it, making you moan in response 

Abby's touch is confident and assertive, her hands roaming your body with an intensity that mirrors her personality on the ice. She knows what she wants, and she's not afraid to take it. Her fingers trace patterns on your skin, igniting sparks wherever they touch.

Her hands slid under your shirt, her fingertips trailing along your sides, feeling the soft skin beneath. You gasped at the touch, your hips bucking slightly. Abby took advantage of this, her hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as she deepened the kiss.

She broke away from your lips, her breath hot against your neck as she whispered, "Can I... can we...?" She nuzzled her nose against your jaw, her voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Can I take this off?”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, and she reached for the hem of your shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head.

As your shirt hit the floor, Abby's eyes roamed over your bare chest, taking in every detail. She reached out, tracing a finger over your collarbone, down your sternum, and across your abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in her wake.

Her touch was light, reverent, as if she was worshipping your body. She looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire, and leaned down to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your chest.

You hissed in a breath at the warmth of her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair. She continued to place kisses all over your chest, her hands roaming over your curves. She paused at the waistband of your skirt, looking up at you for confirmation.

Seeing your nod, she hooked her fingers under the hem, pulling it up and off. She took a moment to appreciate what was revealed - your smooth legs, the curve of your hips, the lacy underwear that matched your bra.

Abby's hands slid up your legs, her touch leaving a path of tingling heat. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, her eyes locked with yours. "Can I...?" she asked again, her voice barely above a whisper, full of need and uncertainty.

“Go ahead abby…” 

With a nod and a shy smile, Abby slowly slid your underwear off, tossing it aside. She paused, her eyes taking in every inch of you, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your inner thigh.

She heard you suck in a breath above her, and she looked up at you with a mischievous grin. Slowly, she leaned in, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place as she pressed her mouth to you, her tongue parting your folds.

She started slowly, exploring you, learning what you liked. Your moans filled the room, encouraging her. She slipped a finger inside you, her mouth continuing its administration. You let out a low moan, your hands fisting the couch cushion as you tried to keep yourself grounded.

She added another finger, stretching you, preparing you. Your moans grew louder, your hips moving in rhythm with her actions. Abby looked up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears at your beauty. She withdrew her fingers and climbed up your body, claiming your mouth in a passionate kiss.

You could taste yourself on her, the evidence of her ministrations. You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around her waist, pulling her closer. "Abby..." you whispered, your voice shaky,

"Mmm?" She murmured against your lips, grinding against you. She was still fully clothed, her pants rough against your bare skin.

"You're still dressed..." You panted, your hands reaching for the hem of her shirt. She grinned and sat up, pulling her shirt off in a swift motion. She reached behind her back, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside.

Her breasts bounced free, and you reached up to grasp them, squeezing and kneading them in your hands. Abby let out a pleased moan, her hands reaching for the button of her pants. She popped it open and slid the zipper down, shoving her pants and underwear down her legs.

Now Abby was completely naked, sitting astride you. You looked at her, taking in her toned stomach, her full breasts, the curve of her hips, her muscular thighs. She saw the awe in your eyes, and it made her feel powerful.

With a predatory grin, Abby lowered herself onto you. She wrapped her legs around yours, crossing her ankles behind your knees. She slowly rocked against you, her wetness rubbing against yours. You gasped at the new sensation, your hands gripping her thighs as she continued to move against you.

She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against yours as she captured your mouth in a deep kiss. She sped up her pace, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. She reached one hand down between them, her fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing in time with her movements.

You cried out into the kiss, your hips bucking up to meet hers. The sensation of her rubbing against you, combined with her fingers on your clit, was too much. You felt your orgasm building, your vision blurring as Abby continued to grind against you.

"Abby... Ab... I'm... I'm..." You stuttered, your words cut off by a moan as she quickened her pace. She felt you convulse against her, your hands clutching at her back, your face buried in her neck.

She smiled to herself, pleased with the effect she was having on you. She kept scissoring against you, her own orgasm building. "Look at you," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so… perfect.”

As she spoke, she felt her own climax approaching. She increased the pressure between her legs, rubbing herself against you with frantic intensity. With a loud cry, she came, her hips jerking against yours as her orgasm overtook her.

She collapsed on top of you, her breath hot against your neck. You ran your fingers up and down her back, feeling the dampness of her sweat. "Abby... that was..." you started, but words failed you. She just chuckled and nuzzled your neck. "I know,”

She stayed on top of you, her arms wrapped around you in a loose hug. Her fingers traced patterns on your stomach as she nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent. "Can we just…”

"...Stay like this for a while?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She nuzzled your neck again, her body pressing closer against yours. She felt content, happier than she had in a long time. She felt a connection with you, a bond forged in the heat of passion.

You nodded, not wanting to break the moment. You wrapped your arms around her, holding her close as you both lay there in silence. The only sound was the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and the soft rustling of the sheets.

  The next day came faster than you expected. You’d barely gotten any sleep, your mind constantly replaying everything that had happened after. But as you sat in the café near the university, waiting for Abby, your heart settled into something more focused. Today wasn’t about the sparks from the night before. Today was about the interview.

The café was quiet, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the hum of conversation and the clink of cups and saucers. It was cozy, with warm light spilling from overhead lamps, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had a lot on your mind, not just about Abby, but about the article and what this interview could mean for your future with the paper. If you did this right, if you got Abby to open up like she never had before, you might be able to prove yourself worthy of the next chief editor position.

A few moments later, the door to the café opened, and there she was.

Abby stepped inside, her usual confidence radiating from her as she scanned the room, her eyes locking onto you instantly. She was dressed casually—athletic but comfortable—and yet she carried herself with the same quiet intensity that made her a standout on the ice. Her gaze softened when she saw you, and the familiar spark of something more was there again, just beneath the surface.

She walked over to the table, giving you a small but genuine smile. "Hey," she greeted, taking a seat across from you. "You doing okay?"

You nodded, trying to steady yourself. "Yeah. Just a little nervous."

"Don't be," she said, her voice reassuring. "It’s just coffee, right?"

"Yeah. Just coffee," you echoed, a small smile tugging at your lips. "But you know... a little more than that, too. A real interview."

Abby chuckled, glancing around the café. "Right, well, let's make it count then."

You both ordered your drinks and for a moment, there was an easy silence between you. The pressure of the moment, of what had passed between you both, seemed to be melting away, replaced by something more comfortable, natural.

Finally, you picked up your notebook and pen, getting down to business. "Alright," you began, your voice steady but a little softer than usual. "Let’s start with hockey. You’ve been the team’s top scorer for a while now. How does it feel to be in the spotlight like that?"

Abby leaned back in her chair, her eyes focused on you. "It’s... a lot of pressure. But it’s part of the job. Being in the spotlight is something you just get used to. Especially when your team depends on you."

There was a confidence in her tone, but also something more—something that suggested the weight of being the best wasn’t always as easy as it seemed. You could sense the layers beneath her tough exterior, and you knew this was where the real interview would begin.

You pushed forward, asking more questions, and letting the conversation flow. As you spoke, Abby opened up more than you expected, revealing not just her thoughts on hockey, but glimpses of who she was outside the rink. She was driven, and focused, but there was a vulnerability to her that only seemed to surface when she talked about her team, her passions, and the sacrifices she’d made to get where she was.

The interview wasn’t just about facts anymore—it was about connection. And for a moment, you forgot about the article entirely.

After a while, Abby leaned forward, her eyes locking with yours, and you could feel the shift again. There was a quiet tension hanging between you both as if the world outside the café had faded away, and only the two of you existed in this small, intimate moment.

"You know," Abby said softly, her voice almost playful now, "you asked a lot of questions, but you haven’t told me anything about you. What made you want to write about me? About hockey?"

You blinked, taken off guard by her question. You hadn’t expected her to turn the tables. "I... guess I thought you were an interesting story. I mean, you’re kind of a mystery to everyone. The tough hockey player. The star who doesn’t talk to anyone off the ice."

Abby’s smile was small, but it felt meaningful. "I’m not really a mystery. Just... focused. You get that, right?"

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. "Yeah, I get it."

For a long moment, you both just sat there, the sound of the café filling the silence between you. The interview was far from over, but something had changed. It wasn’t just about the article anymore. It was about something else—something you both hadn’t been ready to acknowledge yet, but it was there, lingering in the air between you.

"You know," you said after a beat, "I think this might be one of the best interviews I’ve done."

Abby’s gaze softened. "Glad I could make it interesting," she said, her voice quiet but warm.

And as you sat there, talking about everything and nothing, you realized that what had started as a simple interview had turned into something else entirely. A new chapter, one you weren’t sure how to write, but were willing to explore.

The final game of the season was just days away, and the energy around campus was electric. You could feel the anticipation building with every passing hour. The women’s hockey team had worked tirelessly all season, and now, the championship was within reach. For Abby and the rest of the team, it was the culmination of all their hard work. For you, it was the final stretch to prove you could handle the pressure of being the next chief editor of the school paper.

You’d passed the draft of your interview to Dina, the current editor-in-chief, and she had loved it. The words flowed smoothly, and she could sense the connection between you and Abby without you having to spell it out. That feedback had given you the confidence to continue pushing forward, not just for the article, but for everything you had on the line.

But the days leading up to the final game felt like a whirlwind. You and Abby were both consumed with your responsibilities—her with the team’s last-minute practices and preparation, you with your final edits and deadlines. It wasn’t the ideal time for the two of you to reconnect, but you knew that after the game, everything would settle, and maybe you could find out what this—whatever it was—meant.

You found yourself in the quiet corner of the student lounge, typing away on your laptop, trying to finish your article before the big game. Your mind kept wandering back to Abby, though—how her smile lingered after the interview, how she’d looked at you across the café that day, like there was something more she wanted to say but couldn’t.

You hadn’t had time to talk since that day, and now, with the pressure mounting on both sides, you weren’t sure when you’d get the chance to sit down with her again.

The door to the lounge opened, and you didn’t look up right away, assuming it was just another student coming in for a late-night study session. But then, a familiar voice broke through your concentration.

"Hey, you."

You froze, the sound of Abby’s voice sending a familiar rush through your chest. When you looked up, you found her standing there, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, her long hair tied back in a messy bun. She looked exhausted, but there was a spark in her eyes.

"Abby?" you asked, surprised but a little relieved to see her. You hadn’t expected her to stop by.

"Yeah," she said with a small grin, taking a step closer. "I, uh, figured we should talk before the big day. We’ve both been too busy, haven’t we?"

You nodded, feeling a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. "Yeah, it’s been crazy. I’ve barely had time to breathe with everything going on."

"I get that," she said, her eyes softening. "But I wanted to check in with you. How’s the article coming along? You’re going to be on top of the world when they publish it, you know that, right?"

A warmth spread through you at her words. "It’s... going well," you said, trying to hide the excitement in your voice. "I think Dina liked the draft. She said it’s one of the best interviews she’s read in a while."

Abby raised an eyebrow, a proud smile tugging at her lips. "I’m glad to hear that." She leaned against the table, her tone turning more playful. "But you better not make me look too good. I don’t want to get all cocky before the game."

You laughed softly, the familiar spark between you two returning. "I think I can keep it balanced."

Abby’s smile faded just slightly as she looked at you more seriously. "Listen, about... what happened before. I know we’ve both been busy, but I just wanted to say... I don’t regret it. Us, I mean." She paused, her gaze softening. "I guess I’m just trying to figure out what this all means, but I don’t want to run from it, either."

Your heart skipped a beat, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. "Me neither," you said quietly. "I don’t know what this is, but I’m willing to see where it goes. After the game, maybe we can talk more."

Abby nodded, a small, genuine smile returning to her face. "Yeah. We’ll figure it out." She glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at you. "I should go, get some rest. Big game tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, feeling that familiar pang of disappointment that she had to leave so soon. "Yeah. Good luck, Abby."

She paused at the door, turning back to face you. "Thanks. And... I’ll see you there," she said with a wink before she disappeared into the night.

As you sat back in your chair, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite everything—despite the pressure of the article, the looming championship game, and the uncertainty about what you and Abby were becoming—you couldn’t deny the excitement buzzing in your chest. Tomorrow was the big day, and whatever came after, you knew you’d both be ready.

The final game had arrived, and the energy around campus was palpable. The buzz in the air was electric, with every student and faculty member talking about the championship match. You could feel the weight of the moment—this wasn’t just any game. For Abby and the team, it was the culmination of months of grueling practice, sacrifices, and determination. And for you, it was the finish line for your article—and maybe something more.

You had finalized your piece, and after getting Dina’s approval earlier that morning, there was nothing left to do but wait for the game to unfold. But as you stood at the rink, the sense of anticipation made it hard to focus on anything else. You watched as the team prepared, Abby at the forefront, looking every bit the fierce competitor you had come to admire.

Her movements were fluid, and powerful, slicing through the ice like she owned it. You found yourself drawn to her, to the way she held herself—confidence in every stride, but you could also sense something else, something beneath the surface. And though you tried to concentrate on taking notes for the article, every so often, you’d glance at her, catching her eye.

You were almost caught up in the rhythm of the game when the buzzer sounded, signaling the start. The intensity was immediate, the tension tangible in the arena. The crowd’s roars filled your ears, the game beginning in a blur of motion. You scribbled down observations, the action on the ice more chaotic than you had anticipated. It was difficult to focus on anything other than the game itself. Every move felt crucial, and Abby was right in the middle of it all, controlling the pace with every turn.

But it wasn’t just the game that had your attention. It was the way Abby played—how she seemed to be everywhere at once, her energy contagious, urging her teammates forward. She was the center of it all, and you couldn’t help but admire how she took charge, and how her presence seemed to push the team toward victory. She was sharp, a calculated force on the ice.

And then it happened.

Abby made an interception, gliding effortlessly past the defense. At that moment, time seemed to stretch out, the entire arena holding its breath as she lined up for a shot. Her eyes focused, and in one smooth motion, the puck flew off her stick and toward the net. The sound of the puck hitting the post rang out, but Abby wasn’t done. She was already there, crashing the net, securing the rebound, and slamming it in. The crowd erupted.

Your heart raced, the realization dawning on you that her goal had put them ahead—and it was the winning goal.

The game continued, but the tide had turned. With seconds on the clock, the buzzer sounded, and Abby’s team celebrated their victory. You stood in the middle of the crowd, still processing the intensity of it all. Abby had led them to victory, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for her.

You waited near the locker room, hoping to catch Abby after the game. You hadn’t been able to keep up with the excitement of the game completely, but you had seen enough to know this was her moment. The sound of the locker room doors opening echoed in your ears, and you spotted her almost immediately.

Abby stood out from the others, her usual focused demeanor softened by the thrill of the win. She was still in her gear, her face flushed from the game, but there was a lightness about her that hadn’t been there before.

"That was incredible," you said, your words a little breathless from the adrenaline of the game still coursing through you.

She looked at you, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was a team effort," she replied, but you could see the pride in her eyes. "Still, I’m glad you were here to see it."

You smiled, taking a step closer. "You’ve earned it," you said quietly, meeting her gaze, trying to find the right words. "I’m proud of you."

Abby’s expression softened, her usual confident exterior cracking just a little. She leaned in slightly as if weighing her words carefully. "Thanks," she said, voice lower than before. There was a moment of silence between you two, the noise of the locker room buzzing faintly in the background.

For a second, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. Abby’s eyes never left yours, a quiet understanding passing between you. There was no need for words, not now. The game, the season, the article—it all seemed to fade as you stood there, caught between the rush of the moment and the realization that this wasn’t just about hockey anymore.

As the team continued their celebration around you, Abby’s hand brushed against yours, a subtle connection that sent a jolt through you. She gave you a small nod before walking toward the rest of her team, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the game—and from everything that was unfolding between you and her.

The newsroom was alive with a flurry of activity, papers scattered everywhere as the final touches were being put on the issue. The clock ticked toward 8 PM, and you were sitting at your desk, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The article was done. Your piece on Abby, her journey to the championship, and the thrilling game had come together perfectly. The highlight of the issue, the one everyone was talking about. It felt like the culmination of everything—your hard work, your ambition, and the connection you had built with Abby.

As the editors rushed past, congratulating you on how well the article turned out, you couldn't help but smile. A few of them had asked you how you’d managed to make Abby open up, some even teasing you about her sudden warmth toward you. "Did you sweet-talk her?" one of the writers joked. "She’s been ice-cold with everyone else!" You just shrugged, your mind drifting to her last words to you after the game. "Just doing my job."

But as the energy in the newsroom built to a crescendo, Dina appeared in front of you, leaning in with a grin. "I think you just earned the spot as the next editor in chief," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the buzz of the room.

Your heart skipped a beat. You blinked, not sure if you’d heard her right. "Wait, what?" you asked, feeling a flush of disbelief and excitement rise in your chest.

Dina chuckled softly. "You’ve earned it. You’ve got the article everyone’s been talking about, and you’ve proven you’ve got the skills. I’m officially putting your name in for the position." Her eyes twinkled with approval as she walked off, leaving you stunned, your breath caught in your throat. This was it. This was everything you’d worked for.

As the evening wore on, the final issue of the paper was ready to go to print, and it was only a matter of time before it would be released at midnight. You stayed in the newsroom, helping with last-minute preparations, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Abby. What she’d said, what she meant to you now, and how the chemistry between you had grown in such a short time.

In the midst of the excitement, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. The message on your screen made your heart race.

Abby 🏒: Hey, where are you? 

Abby 🏒: I’m still at the party btw

Abby 🏒: I want to see you.

You couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips as you typed your response, the warmth from her text a stark contrast to the cool air in the newsroom.

You: I’m at the paper, finishing things up. I’ll be there soon❤️

You felt a little giddy, your heart racing with anticipation. After everything, the article, the win, the promotion—it felt like the perfect moment to see her again, to see where everything between you would go.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, you closed your laptop, the rush of excitement bubbling up inside you. The paper would be published, and your future as editor-in-chief seemed all but certain. But as you left the newsroom, your mind was on Abby—and the night ahead.

As you turned the corner, the soft hum of the campus night air accompanied your steps. The excitement of the newsroom buzzed in your veins, but everything seemed to quiet when you saw her waiting for you.

Abby was leaning casually against the wall, a small smile tugging at her lips as she waited, the blue jersey she wore a bold contrast against the dimly lit hallway. It was the same one her teammates all wore, emblazoned with your university’s logo—proud and unmistakable. But even in something as simple as a jersey, there was still that undeniable pull to her presence.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you walked toward her. "You didn’t have to wait for me," you teased softly, though you were secretly glad she had.

Abby pushed off from the wall, stepping closer. "I wanted to. Besides, I promised I’d see you tonight, didn’t I?" Her voice was playful, but there was something softer in her gaze, something more sincere.

You nodded, the air between you light and easy, but still charged with that undercurrent of something more. "You did," you agreed. "And, uh, I actually have something to show you." You pulled out your phone, tapping through the screens until you found the article you’d written.

Abby raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the screen. "No way," she said, her lips curling up slightly. "You actually made me sound like a good person."

You laughed, but there was a warmth spreading in your chest. "I didn’t just make you sound like a good person, I made you sound amazing." You swiped down, showing her the headline: "Abby Anderson: The Heart of the Winning Team." The words felt just as true as when you’d written them.

She studied the screen for a moment, her fingers brushing lightly against the phone. "I’ll admit, I didn’t expect you to get me to open up like this," she said, her voice quiet, almost thoughtful. "But you did. So, thanks."

Your heart raced at her words. The sincerity in her voice made everything feel more real, like something was shifting between you two.

Abby looked at you, her gaze holding yours for a moment longer than usual, before the silence stretched. The sounds of the party down the hall faded in the background, the moment between you two feeling more significant than any celebration.

"You wanna head back to the party?" you asked, breaking the silence, though neither of you moved immediately

She shook her head, her  hand brushed against yours. She paused, her fingers lingering against your wrist, a soft smile on her lips.

"I think," she started, her voice low and steady, "I’d rather be alone with you right now."

Your heart skipped a beat, her words making everything feel just a little more intimate. The noise from the party down the hall seemed to fade away, the energy shifting in an instant.

"You sure?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now, as the anticipation between you two hung thick in the air.

Abby nodded, her eyes meeting yours, full of something unspoken. "Yeah. I’d rather spend some time with you... just us."

She gave your hand a gentle squeeze before she led you away from the noise, down the hallway, and toward her dorm room. The walk felt longer than it was, but it gave you time to let the anticipation build. Abby’s steps were confident, but there was a softness in the way she held your hand, something that made your chest flutter.

When you reached her dorm, Abby opened the door, stepping aside to let you in. The room was cozy, nothing extravagant, you took in the familiar feeling. It felt like a place where she could truly be herself. The familiar blue jersey she wore still clung to her frame, a symbol of her strength on the ice. But now, in the quiet of the room, she seemed different—less guarded, more present.

She tossed herself on her bed and pulled you in with her, planting kisses on you. 

The sudden pull caught you off guard, and you laughed softly as you fell beside her. Abby's arms wrapped around you, her strength both reassuring and gentle. Her kisses were warm, pressing against your skin with an intensity that made everything else fade away. The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of the sheets and the sound of your breathing.

Abby paused, her forehead resting against yours as she caught her breath, eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation. You met her gaze, a smile curving your lips as you traced the line of her jaw with your fingers, feeling the tension melt away under your touch.

“You okay?” she whispered, her voice husky and low, a tender contrast to the fierce athlete everyone else knew.

You nodded, your fingers threading through her hair. “More than okay,” you murmured, pressing your lips to hers again. The kiss deepened, slow and steady, as if both of you were savoring the rare moment of peace away from the chaos of the rink and the noise of the world outside.

Abby shifted, pulling you even closer, her embrace tightening around you as if she wanted to make sure this moment stayed real. The scent of her, the warmth radiating from her body, made your heart race. 

You sit up and move on top of her, her gaze softening as you did. “I think… you deserve a reward for your excellent performance at the game. don’t you think?” 

Abby’s eyes widened slightly at your words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She let out a breathy laugh, her hands finding their place on your hips as she looked up at you, a mix of amusement and anticipation in her gaze.

“Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “Is that so?”

You leaned down, your lips barely brushing hers as you whispered, “Absolutely.” The playful tone sent a shiver through her, and you felt her fingers tighten their hold, drawing you closer.

Abby’s gaze softened, the fierce determination she carried on the ice replaced by an openness that was reserved for moments like this—moments just between the two of you. The space between you seemed to shrink as she tilted her head to meet your lips again, her kiss more insistent, filled with a new kind of energy that made your pulse quicken.

She sighed against your mouth, the sound sending warmth rushing through you. Her hands traveled up your back, pulling you down until there was barely any distance left. The room, once filled with quiet, seemed to pulse with the shared heartbeat between you.

“Best reward ever,” Abby whispered, a grin breaking through before she kissed you again, deeper this time as if she couldn’t get enough.

Pulling away from the kiss, you start to unbutton your shirt, watching her gaze on you. 

She bit her lip, her eyes never leaving yours as you began to unbutton your shirt. She felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached up, helping you remove the shirt, her fingers brushing against your skin. "You're so…”

"...beautiful," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of your collarbone, feeling the warmth of your skin. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot she had just touched, before moving on to kiss the sensitive skin just below your jaw.

She trailed her kisses down your neck, her lips lingering on your pulse point. She could feel your heartbeat fluttering beneath her mouth, quickening with each touch. "I want you," she murmured against your skin, her hands sliding down to rest on your hips.

She chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as she pulled back slightly. "You're right, I got a little carried away," she said with a playful grin. She settled back, watching you with hooded eyes, her hands resting on your thighs.“Ah! Not so fast Abigail. I’m the one who’s giving you this reward remember?”

You help her remove her jersey, and then the shirt she was wearing underneath. You trail down to her pants. As you began to unzip her pants, she lifted her hips, allowing you to slide them down along with her underwear. She lay before you, her body bare and exposed, her chest heaving with anticipation. Her eyes, filled with desire, followed your every movement as you leaned down.

She let out a soft gasp as you kissed her stomach, your lips trailing down to her hips. She wrapped her arms around your head, holding you close as you continued your path of kisses. When you reached her inner thigh, she spread her legs wider, giving you access to her most intimate area.

She moaned softly as you kissed her, the sensation overwhelming. Her hips buckled against your touch, her breathing growing heavier with each passing moment. She tangled her hands in your hair, pulling you closer as the pleasure intensified. "Please...please..." she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

She arched her back, her breath hitching as you continued to tease her with your mouth. Her legs tightened around your shoulders, her whole body tensing as the pressure built inside her. "Don't stop...please, don't stop..." she pleaded, her voice hoarse with desire.

Her eyes flew open, her mouth forming a silent 'O’ as you pushed two fingers inside her. She writhed beneath your touch, her hips bucking against your hand. "Yes...like that...please..." she moaned, her voice growing louder as the pleasure became almost too much to bear.

“Hm? You like it baby?” You hissed. 

“Oh god, yes...” She panted, her body tensing as your fingers curved upwards, finding that sweet spot deep inside her. Her head fell back against the bed, her body trembling. "More...I need more..." She looked at you, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.”

You smiled, pleased with her reaction, and added a third finger, scissoring them inside her. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as the stretch and pressure became overwhelming. "Fuck...fuck fuck fuck!" She chanted, her voice echoing through the room as she struggled to breathe.

She could feel the heat building inside her, her body growing warmer and more sensitive with each passing second. Her hands grasped at the sheets beneath her, pulling them taut as the tension became unbearable. "I'm...I'm going to...please, please!" She begged, her eyes wide and desperate.

With a final thrust, you pushed your fingers deep inside her, crooking them upwards. She shattered, her body convulsing as waves of intense pleasure washed over her. She screamed your name, her voice hoarse from shouting, her body growing limp as the aftershocks subsided.

As she came down from her high, she pushed feebly at your shoulder, her body still shuddering occasionally. “My turn,” she whispered, her voice still ragged from her release. She pushed you onto your back, straddling you before you could protest.

You landed on your back with a surprised grunt, looking up at her with widened eyes. She grinned mischievously, her eyes filled with lust and determination. She slowly began to kiss her way down your chest, her hands caressing your skin.

She continued her descent, her lips leaving a trail of kisses on your skin. Without warning, she reached out and tore open your already unbuttoned shirt, the fabric ripping easily under her strength. She tossed the shirt aside and moved on to your pants, roughly pulling them down your legs along with your panties

Once she had you fully exposed, she took a moment to admire the view, her eyes hungrily roaming over your body. She licked her lips before leaning down, her hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "I'm going to make you feel so good,”

She whispered, her voice low and sultry. Before you could respond, she wrapped her hands around your thighs, pushing them apart. She leaned down and slowly, torturously, ran her tongue up your length.

She took her time exploring you with her tongue, licking and sucking at your most sensitive areas. Her hands massaged your thighs, occasionally dipping lower to tease your entrance. She worked you with skill and enthusiasm, determined to drive you wild with pleasure.

Abby sucked on your clit making you toss your head back and grip her hair. You could feel her smile. She stops for a second and slides in her fingers inside you

She curled her fingers inside you, rubbing against your g-spot as she continued to suck on your clit. You cried out in pleasure, your hips bucking against her face desperately. She added another finger, scissoring them inside you as she finger-fucked you relentlessly.

She could feel you tightening around her fingers, knowing you were close. She doubled her efforts, sucking hard on your clit as she pumped her fingers faster. Her other hand reached up to roughly grope your breast, pinching and tugging at your nipple. She wanted to feel you come undone.

The combination of sensations became too much and you came with a loud moan, your body shaking and convulsing. Abby continued to stroke you through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers and licked them clean, savoring your taste. "Mmm, you taste divine," she purred.

She crawled back up your body, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She leaned down to claim your lips in a searing kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on her. She ground her hips against yours, her own desire evident in the way she rocked against you. She was far from finished with you… 

She kisses your neck, trailing down until she reaches your breasts, sucking on your nipples. 

She lavished attention on your breasts, suckling and kneading the soft mounds. She bit down gently on one peak, causing you to gasp. She grinned mischievously and continued her torture, moving between the two and back again.

“Mhmm.. Abby… Shit”

She heard your muffled words, your voice hoarse with desire. She knew you were helpless under her touch. She bit down harder on your peak, relishing your cry of pleasure-pain. She moved her hand down to toy with your slick folds, mirroring the action of her mouth with her fingers. 

You bit your lip, staring at her. as if begging her to give it to you. You wanted her fingers inside your walls once again.

Abby looked up at you through her lashes, a smirk playing on her lips. She slowly slid one finger, then two inside you, loving how you bit your lip and watched her with eager eyes. "You like that, baby?”

“Fuck yes…” 

Abby pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them upward to hit that spot deep inside. Her thumb rubbed circles on your swollen nub. "Look at me while I touch you," she demanded. Your eyes locked onto hers as your hips lifted to meet her touch, silently begging for more.

She added another finger, stretching you. She watched your face as she increased her pace, her fingers slamming in and out of you. Your breaths came in short pants, your moans filling the room. She leaned down to capture one of your moans with her mouth, kissing you deeply.

Your legs shook as she worked you expertly. She could feel you tightening around her fingers. "That's it, baby. Come for me," she encouraged, her voice low. You shattered, convulsing around her fingers as you found your release.

As your climax washed over you, Abby gentled her touch, helping you ride out the waves of pleasure. She slowly withdrew her fingers.

She gathered you in her arms, holding you close as your breathing gradually slowed.

She stroked your back soothingly, placing soft kisses on your shoulder. "You’re gorgeous," she murmured. She reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a warm, damp cloth, cleaning you up tenderly. 

She tossed the cloth aside and pulled you back into her arms. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly. She nuzzled your neck, her voice laced with concern. You snuggled against her, your voice sleepy. "Content," you murmured. "So taken care of…”

She smiled, her heart warming at your words. She tightened her arms around you, her voice gentle. "Good. You deserve to be taken care of." She kissed your shoulder, her touch becoming slower, more loving. "Rest now, baby. I've got you.”

Abby’s gaze softened as she watched you sleep, the subtle rise and fall of your chest lulling her into a sense of calm she rarely found anywhere else. The room was quiet, the only sounds being your soft breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.

She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle in—a mix of contentment and the unfamiliar ache of something deeper. Brushing her thumb across your cheek, she whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me,” her voice so low it was almost swallowed by the quiet.

As exhaustion finally pulled her eyes closed, Abby held you tighter, as if anchoring herself to this moment. The worries of games and expectations could wait; for now, all that mattered was the warmth shared between you and the steady rhythm of your hearts beating as one.

A/N: this is my early Christmas present tee hee.. I went on a bit of a whim writing this… (please let me know if I miss any warnings!)

[pomegranatelifethis]

The first excitement

The day you found out you were pregnant, Bruce first hugged you tightly, then, with deep seriousness, said, "I will provide the best environment for you and our baby." At that moment, you didn’t fully understand what that meant—until a few days later, when you started noticing that everything you loved and found cute was piling up in the house.

At first, you liked it. Knowing Damian’s fondness for kittens, one day, you casually said, "Little cats are really adorable." The next day, at least five different plush cat toys arrived at the house. Then, you mentioned that you liked the tiny penguin design on Tim’s coffee mug. Bruce heard this, and within a few days, the kitchen was filled with penguin-themed utensils.

But things spiraled out of control when Dick showed you a baby elephant video to cheer you up, and you exclaimed, "That’s insanely cute!" A week later, a corner of the Batcave was overflowing with elephant-themed baby toys. Even Jason walked in, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Even I think this is too much."

At some point, the house became suffocating. In the peak of your hormonal fluctuations, you stood in the middle of the living room, looking around. Plush toys everywhere, tiny blankets, cute animal figures on the walls… And suddenly, your eyes welled up.

"ENOUGH!" you exploded.

Everyone froze. Dick stood still, holding a tiny teddy bear. Damian, petting the new kitten Alfred had just brought him, looked at you. Tim slowly set down his coffee mug. Jason leaned back on the couch, watching the scene unfold with great amusement.

But the biggest reaction came from Bruce. "But… I was trying to create the best environment for our baby," he said, his eyes wide with confusion.

Between hiccups, you cried, "Yes, but our house looks like a toy store! I’m hormonal, I’m exhausted, and everything is overwhelming me!"

Silence. Then Dick bit his lower lip to keep from laughing, but Jason let out a loud, mocking chuckle. "I wish I had recorded this. The mighty Batman, completely lost in the middle of an emotional crisis."

Bruce quickly composed himself and gently pulled you into his arms. "Alright, alright… I went overboard. I’m sorry. What do you want me to do?"

Taking a deep breath, you mumbled, "Just… let’s scale it down, okay?"

That’s when the Batfamily sprang into action.

Tim immediately started making a list. "Alright, we can return the unnecessary stuff."

Dick grinned. "And we can donate some toys. The kids at the orphanage will love them."

Damian, with a serious expression, declared, "The cats stay. They’re non-negotiable."

Jason shrugged. "I’d personally burn half of this, but donation works too."

Bruce sighed and nodded. "Alright, everyone, get organized. We’re sorting this mess out."

In the end, the house became livable again. And you realized that, no matter how chaotic they were, the Batfamily always came together in moments of crisis. And maybe, just maybe, a little extra cuteness wasn’t so bad—at least, in moderation.

The Batfamily’s attempt to systematically resolve the “excessive cuteness” crisis had turned into complete chaos. Tim was sorting out items to be returned, checking his list, while Jason, clearly bored, was tossing some plush toys into the air.

"Let’s donate this one."

"This is unnecessary—trash."

"Can we keep this one? It’s so cute!"

Then, Damian turned to Bruce, holding a tiny plush bat. "I’m keeping this one. Because it makes sense. We are bats."

Jason sighed. "Yes, of course. Because logic is what truly matters here."

Bruce, however, still didn’t seem ready to part with anything. As Batman, he had stopped countless criminals, fought in Gotham’s darkness for years… but now, the real challenge was getting rid of plush toys without upsetting his loved ones.

Noticing Bruce’s hesitation, Dick stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you’re getting used to being in dad mode, you know? Don’t panic. We got this."

Bruce took a deep breath and nodded. "Alright. But… let’s keep a few things. For our baby."

Sitting on the couch, watching the scene unfold, you felt your emotions fluctuating—thanks to your hormones—but at the same time, a warmth filled your chest. Sure, Bruce was going a little overboard, but that was because he just wanted you and your baby to be as happy as possible. And now, the entire family was involved.

Eventually, most unnecessary items were sorted out. Tim and Dick organized the donations, Jason planned to dispose of some in his own way, but Alfred stepped in to ensure everything was properly sent off. Meanwhile, Damian had somehow succeeded in increasing the household’s cat population—there were now three instead of one.

That night, after everyone had left, Bruce sat beside you, resting a hand on your stomach. "I guess I got a little too excited," he admitted.

You smiled and leaned your head against his shoulder. "A little?"

The two of you chuckled softly, settling into a comfortable silence. Bruce’s protective, loving nature could sometimes be overwhelming, but with this chaotic, affectionate family by your side, you knew everything was going to be just fine.

Late into the night, just as you thought you’d finally found some peace, you lay down in bed and closed your eyes. However, just as sleep was about to take you, the bedroom door creaked open. At first, you assumed it was Bruce coming in to say something, but instead, Tim stepped inside.

"I just wanted to make sure… Do you really want to donate the penguin-patterned blanket? Or maybe, you know… we could keep it, just in case you like it?" he whispered.

You sighed, keeping your eyes closed. "Tim, I’m trying to sleep."

Tim nodded but didn’t move from the doorway. "Okay, but… are you really sure?"

Before you could answer, another voice echoed from the hallway. "If you're going to keep bothering her, at least do it quietly, Drake."

Damian stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "Disturbing a pregnant person only proves how useless you truly are."

Tim rolled his eyes. "I just care about her preferences, okay? This is a delicate process."

"How ridiculous." Damian sighed and walked away.

Just as Tim was about to leave, another troublemaker appeared at the door—Dick. With a wide grin, he slid into the room and immediately crouched beside the bed.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything?" he asked, his eyes shining with concern.

Bruce stirred, cracking one eye open. "What’s going on?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Nothing! Just checking in!" Dick quickly raised his hands in surrender. "We’re here to help!"

Before Bruce could give him a stern look, Jason’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

"If everyone’s taking turns barging in, I might as well join. What am I missing?"

You buried your face into your pillow and groaned. "Why is everyone suddenly in full-on parent mode?"

Bruce rubbed his eyes and shot the others a sharp glare. "Everyone. Back to your rooms. Now."

Dick glanced at Bruce’s serious expression, then shrugged with a small smile. "Alright, alright, we’re going. But remember, I’m always here for you." He walked out the door.

Tim clutched the blanket to his chest and quietly slipped away. Jason, clearly amused by the whole thing, chuckled. "That was fun to watch," he said before disappearing down the hall.

Finally, the door closed, and silence returned.

Bruce, still half-asleep, pulled you close. "I know they can be a lot, but… they really care about you."

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. "I know. But if they keep this up until the baby is born, the real crisis will happen then."

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, pulling you even closer. "I’ll keep them under control."

But both of you knew that keeping the whole family in check was harder than cleaning up Gotham’s crime.

In the following days, the Batfamily’s overly attentive behavior showed no signs of slowing down. At this point, you had to take a deep breath before entering any room because, without fail, someone would be there—thinking about you (and sometimes overthinking for you).

One morning, when you went downstairs for breakfast, you found Damian standing next to Alfred. As usual, Alfred was calmly preparing a nutritious meal for you, while Damian, brows furrowed, was scribbling something in a notebook.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

Without looking up, Damian replied, "I’m researching the ideal age range to begin the baby’s combat training."

You paused mid-bite and stared at him. "Combat… what?"

"If they start young, they could master basic fighting techniques by the age of ten. Of course, we’d have to modernize Father’s traditional training methods. Also—"

Shaking your head, you held up a hand. "No. No, Damian. Our baby will not be training for combat anytime soon. They’ll play with toys, listen to bedtime stories, and—oh, I don’t know—just be a normal child?"

Damian frowned. "But—"

"No."

Alfred smiled softly and patted Damian’s shoulder. "Perhaps we should revisit this discussion in a few years, young master."

Just as you thought you could finally relax, Tim walked into the kitchen, balancing a laptop in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

"Hey, you’re up. I made a chart to monitor your vitamin D levels. We need to increase your daily intake because during pregnancy, your bone health—"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Tim, please. Just one morning without a health chart while I eat?"

Tim hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. But I’m still going to ask you to check it later. The data is really interesting."

Before you could respond, Dick entered the kitchen carrying a bag.

"Surprise!" he announced, pulling out tiny, brightly colored baby onesies. "I saw these and had to get them for the baby!"

You picked one up—it was bright blue and had “Future Acrobat” written on it.

"Dick…" you said, exhaustion in your voice.

"Wait, I haven’t shown you the best one yet!" He excitedly pulled out a yellow onesie from the bottom of the bag. Across the front, in big bold letters, it read: "Mini Nightwing."

As Dick beamed at you, Jason walked in and observed the situation. He rolled his eyes.

"Great. The kid’s already being pushed into circus life before they’re even born."

Dick shot him a glare. "Hey! Flexibility is important!"

Jason turned to you, smirking. "This is all a bit much. But if you ever want to see the baby in a tiny leather jacket, I’ve got ideas."

Laughing, you shook your head. "Jason, I am not putting a leather jacket on the baby."

Jason shrugged. "Alright. But let me know if you change your mind."

Just as you thought the chaos had peaked, Bruce walked into the kitchen. Everyone immediately turned to him. He raised an eyebrow at the sheer number of people gathered.

"What’s going on?"

Without hesitation, you rushed to his side and tugged on his sleeve. "Please. Get me out of here."

Bruce studied you for a moment, then turned to the others with a sharp look. "Alright. Everyone, clear out."

The group erupted in protests, but as soon as Bruce’s Batman glare came into play, they reluctantly started to disperse.

With the kitchen finally quiet, you took a deep breath. Bruce crossed his arms, watching you.

"Are you really that exhausted?"

You shot him a tired but affectionate look. "Your family is… a lot."

Bruce let out a small chuckle and nodded. "I know."

Smiling, you leaned into him, wrapping your arms around his waist. No matter how chaotic they were, one thing was clear—this family cared about you and the baby more than anything. And that meant you were part of the safest—and most insane—family in the world.

[dior-luxury]

how would the bllk 11 react to you suddenly giving attention to someone else in bllk? :P

Me Or The Wannabe

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . drama - no prns .

- [𝐜𝐡.] bllk 11

- [𝐩:𝐬] jealousy . sfw

Note: I only included major bllk 11 character, so sorry!!

The Hot-Headed & Possessive Types

Rin Itoshi - Cold but territorial

He’d act like it doesn’t bother him, but you’d feel his aura shift. He’d start silently staring you down and shooting deadly glares at the other guy. If you keep ignoring him? Expect him to flex his skills in front of you—whether by humiliating the person in a match or proving why he’s the only one you should be looking at.

Shidou Ryusei - Chaotic and unhinged

“Oi, babe~ You tryna make me mad or sumthin’? ‘Cause it’s working~” He’d absolutely start shit—maybe by mocking the other guy, throwing his arm around you, or even challenging them to a 1v1 just to “prove who’s the real alpha.” Might even kiss you in front of them just to stake his claim.

Barou Shouei - Possessive but tsundere

“Tch. Why waste your time on weaklings?” He wouldn’t directly show his jealousy, but his actions would scream dominance—whether by outperforming the guy in training or flat-out ordering you to pay attention to him instead. If you keep ignoring him, he might just pick you up and walk off.

The Competitive & Clingy Ones

Isagi Yoichi - Subtly insecure, but he’ll fight for you.

At first, he’d be confused—“Am I not good enough?”—but then his ego would kick in. Expect him to train twice as hard and absolutely destroy the person you’re giving attention to, just to prove he’s better. Later, he’ll shyly ask, “You still like me the most, right?”

Chigiri Hyoma – Acts cool, but he's pissed.

He’d flip his hair dramatically and pretend he doesn’t care, but his passive-aggressiveness would say otherwise. “Maybe I should change my hairstyle… might make me more interesting to you.” If you don’t reassure him, expect him to race past you in training and “accidentally” bump into the other guy.

Nagi Seishiro – Lazy but needy

He’d straight-up attach himself to you. “Mmm, don’t wanna share you.” If you keep ignoring him, he’ll drag you away somewhere quieter so he doesn’t have to compete. If that doesn’t work, he might start showing off his skills to remind you why he’s the best.

Bachira Meguru – Playful but secretly hurt.

He’d tease you at first—“Nee, are you replacing me~?”—but if it continues, his usual energy will dim, and he’ll go quiet. If you don’t fix it, he might start getting competitive and lowkey challenge the other guy in a match just to re-earn your attention.

The Sweethearts Who Just Want Your Love

Kunigami Rensuke – Confused and hurt.

He’s not the type to get jealous easily, but if he feels like you’re ignoring him too much, he’d straight-up ask, “…Did I do something wrong?” If you reassure him, he’ll trust you, but if not? He’ll pull away a bit, waiting for you to notice him.

Reo Mikage – Overdramatic & clingy.

“Oi, princess, you’re breaking my heart here.” He’d whine playfully at first, but if you keep ignoring him, he’d get pouty. Might even go out of his way to spoil you with gifts or sweet words just to steal back your attention.

Tokimitsu Aoshi – Anxious wreck.

He’d immediately overthink it. “A-Ah, am I boring you? Do you like them more?!” He’d start apologizing for no reason and getting visibly flustered. If you don’t reassure him, he might just spiral into self-doubt mode.

Karasu Tabito – Cocky but secretly insecure.

He’d act unbothered, but the sarcasm would come out tenfold. “Damn, guess I’m not interesting anymore. Should I start juggling soccer balls on one foot to impress you?” If you ignore him too long, he might call you out directly and pull you away, smirking but dead serious.

[revelboo]

hello, wishing you a happy belated birthday ~! 🎂🎁🎈

I do have a question for you, would you consider writing something regarding Knock Out ? It is perfectly alright if not, I still wanted to wish you a happy birthday either way!

Thanks! I have wrote him before, but here’s part 2.

My Favorite Accident Pt 2

TFP Knockout x Reader

• Venting as he pulls alongside that ugly abomination of yours, he transforms as you climb out of your car. “You cheated,” he growls without any real heat as he stretches out a kink. Knows you’re not cheating, but still enjoys watching those angry eyes flash with indignation and your helmet covered head snaps up to stare at him.

• Taking your time pulling your helmet off, you bite back a smile. Because you can’t exactly tell the guy who literally becomes a sports car that you’re just a better driver than he is. Not and live long after with that fragile ego of his, anyway. And, truth be told, you don’t want to make him angry. You actually like these little impromptu races. No money involved, but just cutting loose. Learning exactly how much you can push him without it being too much. “I cheated? Me?” You snap back, falling into the persona you’ve adopted for the races. Because if any of the other racers actually realize you’re terrified of them? That you’re all alone and afraid? It’d be over, so attitude’s become your armor. Balancing your helmet on a hip, you huff. “Guess you’re blind and slow.”

• “Slow?” Bending he carefully catches you to lift you onto the roof of your car so he doesn’t have to bend so far to get in your face. Tries not to think about how insubstantial you feel in his hand. “You barely won that last time.” Because he’s learning from you, copying your unorthodox techniques. And enjoying the challenge you pose, the lazy arguing. Seeing headlight on the road above the culvert, he swallows a growl. Eases you back down onto the ground, aware of your little hands warm on his servos. “Humans,” he vents as he falls forward into his alt mode, but lingers because he’s not done with you just yet. Not ready to return to the Nemesis and just wants this to last a bit longer.

• Fingers gripping your helmet, you turn to track the other car. And they are headed down the access road. During the summer, the huge drainage canals are mostly empty aside from whatever garbage accumulated during the rains and that made them perfect for illegal racing. Sure, they’d been nearly caught a few times, but the local PD mostly just chases them off without any real effort to catch them. Probably just happy they didn’t race in the street, you guess.

• The black sports car with a laughing skull on the hood that pulls up is one he recognizes from the races. A particularly loud human who always comes in behind you both, and Knockout watches you hook a thumb in your back pocket. Stance relaxed, but he’s been around you long enough to know about the knife you keep there. Always keeping a hand near that pocket when dealing with the other racers. “Ricky,” you call out, tone flat despite the tight smile as the man steps out of his car.

• Fantastic. Deep breath in and out, you remind yourself. Play the part like you don’t care. “You two working together? Hustling everyone else?” He asks, smile taking on a mean edge as he stalks around Knockout to send anxiety needling through you. All he sees is you and two empty cars. He surfs a palm over Knockout’s fender like he wants to touch the car, but doesn’t. But when his head lifts, that look crashes through you, reminding you that you are in fact scared of him.

• No snarky comeback? Knockout shifts on his tires as he picks up on your tension. You don’t move as the man walks over, still smiling. “So where is your partner? Leave you out here alone?” And then he’s lunging, fingers closing on your wrist when you lash out with that little knife of yours. Making a little noise of pain as he squeezes your wrist until you drop your weapon. “We could be friends, too.”

• Heart racing, you try to hit him with your helmet and he shoves you down, no longer smiling. It’s the sound that cuts through your blind panic, though. That almost musical sound of Knockout transforming. Looking like a demon with those glowing optics as he actually snarls. And then Ricky is running away from Knockout and his car both as Knockout lifts his arm a weapon aimed at the fleeing man’s back and your heart stops. “Don’t,” you gasp, flinching when he stares down at you. “He’s not worth it.”

• Fury singing through him, he crouches to offer you a servo and you cling to him, letting him pull you back to your feet. Annoyed that you don’t want him to permanently remove this problem, because he wants to. Wants the human to suffer for touching you. “Can I at least destroy that ugly car of his?” He growls, baring his denta in a grin when you solemnly nod.

Previous

Next

[rabotimagines]

I know for a fact that if you were to take the Decepticon! Reader jerking off and switch the roles that it WOULD work 💀

Autobot! Reader offering to sleep with ANY decepticon and they would take it in a HEARTBEAT 😭 everyone wondering how tf they escaped and they're just like 'You REALLY don't know how weak the decepticons are.' 💀💀

Lololololol THEY WOULD RISK IT ALL FOR A CHANCE! Autobot array got 'em acting unwise.

"Weak" GN BOT Reader + Ironhide

Summary: The aftermath of you getting yourself out of your own hostage situation.

Warnings: Ironhide assumes you got taken advantage of, short horny descriptions near the end

Genre/Theme: Platonic and Ironhide can be read as crushing but he's your concerned friend first and foremost.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours

Notes: Direct aftermath of this encounter with Skywarp. Reader genuinely doesn't mind what happened. It gets silly/a little meta at the end.

Ironhide had been planning to charge right after the Cons when Perceptor finally came back alone. Saying how you’d offered up your obedience as a prisoner for his function. Jazz stopped Ironhide first saying the cons would be expecting them. So they’d need to hit a bit harder than just the four of 'em. The thought made Ironhide's plating clamp down in anger. How was he gonna just sit on his aft when they had a hold of ya!? Especially now that Ironhide knew- Knew exactly what Megatron and half the other slagging Decepticreeps were thinking about doing to ya!

Optimus stopped him next and told him they’d plan immediate rescue, But agreed Jazz was right that they’d need a bit more to make sure they do rescue you. Blaster had Steeljaw track down your scent and they were following it as well as they could've- The trail being hard to track due to you being stolen via air by those slagging seekers. And just when Ironhide was about to throw his servos up with a shout to go challenge Megatron preemptively to make things easier- he got a com message.

Ironhide glanced at it instinctively with a glare only his optic ridge creased harsh when he realized it was you that was messaging him.

> Cancel the rescue party. I got myself out :)

Ironhide cycled his optics at the message and then sighed roughly. His stress tampering back down to a more manageable worry almost instantly.

Sure it could’ve been a trick- maybe. But the stupid little smile Chip had shown ya to make that you’d tack onto your com messages so often made him guess it really was you. So Ironhide chose to believe it was probably real. You messaged coordinates by of the edge of the closest human town. So after telling everyone else the backup they’d ordered picked them up in the form of Skyfire and they’d flown there.

Skyfire landed with a soft thunk in a clearing of the trees. They'd cleared out onto the ground with their helms held high and senses on alert. There wasn't any sparkdamn sign of you or anyone else.

Ironhide’s com pinged again.

> That shuttle I hear just landed Skyfire?

Ironhide replied a yeah and asked where the pit ya were at. The shrubbery parted and out came you in root mode.

Slag! It was you-!

They rushed over to ya and you just smiled and waved. Bluestreak got to ya first and he almost barreled into ya from how fast he was running only stopping when you grabbed his paldrons- nearly taking the both of ya down before you caught yourself and him. Bluestreak's mouth was already moving a mile a minute when the rest of 'em caught up.

“Are sure you’re okay-? I mean I know you probably aren’t, and you probably risked a lot getting yourself free- but you busted yourself out just like that?”

You just huffed and patted Bluestreak on his pauldrons. “Ah, They’re a bit too stupid to stop me from getting one over on them. Even when they think they’ve got me cornered and out of options.” You chuckled “They’re also… a bit weaker than you guys assume.”

Ironhide’s optics were assessing your frame for himself. He knew you sparkdamn well enough to know you’d usually down play anythin’ that wasn’t critical injury. But you did look alright... mostly just scratches and nicks-

You turned towards Blaster when he asked how you were and that let Ironhide see it. The fragging full servo imprint left embedded into your outer thigh. Your metal warped into the shape of whoever grabbed you hard enough to leave deep evidence. There were also deeper scratches all around the imprint-

Ironhide’s processor slowed real quick when you shifted again and his optics caught the dark gray paint transfers on your inner thighs. His optics scanned fast over the rest of your frame and caught purple also on your outer thigh by the other damage. The rest of your frame was clean of paint transfers.

Except for the immediate area around your modesty panel.

Ironhide’s expression turns dark and he has to bite back his engines growl. A tap on his left makes him swing his helm around and glare absolute murder at Jazz. Jazz unbothered just gestured towards you with his helm than towards Bluestreak and the rest of ya’. Jazz wasn't smillin’, his expression just neutral.

Ironhide grits his jaw and forces his frame to let out the building tension with a heavy steam heated vent. His plating loosens slightly but doesn’t relax. Slag it all- Slag it all! Ironhide was gonna fragging pot shot those good for nothin’ perverts the next time he saw even a glimpse 'o them! But Ironhide wouldn’t be letting ya play like all of this was just fine. No sir he would not.

-

You're finally alone while y’all are ridin’ Skyfire back to The Ark and Ironhide takes the chance to get close to ya and say your designation. You perk up and smile at him when you make optic contact. “Ah, Ironhide. How you doing, Doll?”

“Should be askin’ you that.” Ironhide keeps his tone low and even, not letting his own anger shimmer back up even when it’s tryin’ real hard to do just that.

“I’m fine, just a little banged up.”

Ironhide can feel his optic ridge wanna twitch. “Really now?” You just nod again and Ironhide just knows he's gonna be puffing steam if he vents right about now. “Alright. Whats with all the damage left around your panel than?”

You don’t even falter at Ironhide pointin’ it out “Ah- Just a little transaction, nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious?” Ironhide can feel the heat enter his own tone. “A transaction- is that what you’d call it? Really?” His gaze finds yours and Ironhide doesn’t feel any better when you look away first.

You finally just sigh and close the distance between ya “Ironhide-” Your servo squeezes his arm, your grips firm but your em field fans soft and warm along the side of his plating. Ironhide’s frown deepens when his optics instinctively wanna heat up under your attention “It’s sweet you care, really,” You level him with an even look “But honestly, it was nothing serious.” Your em fields so loose and open Ironhide almost wants to believe ya.

But Ironhide knew ya and he knew you didn’t like worrying who ya cared about. But you just continue on seeing his unconvinced expression. “And if you don’t believe me I'll write a report on exactly what happened. I’ll com Jazz the permission to let you read it even, if that’ll calm your plating down.”

Ironhide lets himself break his gaze when your optics stay locked on his. “Fine.”

“Great.” You patted his arm and continued to walk over to where Blaster was.

“I’m gonna read it!” Ironhide calls back reminding you, ya weren’t exactly clear of him yet.

“Hope you enjoy it then, Darling!” You wave and leave Ironhide behind stewing in his own thoughts. He finally just scoffed.

He’d find out just what happened just you wait.

-

What the frag was this?!

Ironhide's worry had fizzled into his now wide opticed aggravated state the longer he read through your report. His optics re reading over the blasted sparkdamn “report” a second time still in disbelief. Ironhide should have known something was wrong when Jazz handed him the report on the datapad. Jazz’s faceplate utterly blank besides the fact he was lightly chewing on his own bottom derma. Ironhide just worried more over the expression assuming the worst.

But low and beholden Jazz was actually trying his sparkdamnest not to laugh! Beacuse this was- It was more like some sparkdamn erotica!

You’d written down your encounter with Skywarp- Including seducing Skywarp (Your words!), to Skywarp between your thighs- to you crushing his facplate between them! And- That wasn’t even mentioning the rest of it!

Every sentence he read had Ironhide's optics wanting to burn hotter.

"C'mon Skywarp, you're practically cleaning my modesty panel with your glossia. If you overload right here for me, I'll pull my thighs away and let you vent correctly." I wrapped my thighs even tighter around Skywarp's helm. Then I rocked my pelvis forward, and my modesty panel grinds down on his faceplate again. A string of oral lubricant slides right down Skywarp's jaw when his glossia presses flat against my panel. He was almost pretty like.

"You're doing so good so far. C'mon Sweetspark, you can do it." I'd said before I dragged my em field along right along his defenseless wings-”

ironhide yanked his gaze away from the datapad and shut it off with a heated curse. Ironhide stops where he is when he remembers just what you’d told him before you’d left.

“Hope you enjoy it then Darling!”

Ironhide finally just curses the air blue and drags a heavy servo over his faceplate. Trying real hard to ignore how flustered he felt imagining you like that- Primus. And he was genuinely worried about ya...

What the frag was Ironhide gonna do with ya..?

[bennyboyfics]

tennis player gf and emma shelton playing a prank on ben. I love your work you are amazing

Pranking Ben || Ben Shelton x tennis player!reader

A/n: thank u so much for the request bby!

Wc: 1,150

Warnings:

MASTERLIST

-

Ben had a day off from training, and you were spending it at his family’s house, lounging in the living room with Emma, his younger sister. She had convinced you to film a TikTok with her—something lighthearted, just a little brother-sister versus girlfriend challenge. The concept was simple: Emma would ask Ben a series of questions, and he’d have to choose between you and her.

Ben was in the kitchen grabbing a snack when Emma turned to you, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Okay, so here’s the plan,” she whispered. “We’re gonna make him super uncomfortable. I’m gonna be, like, a little mean to you. Nothing crazy, just enough to make him mad.” You grinned, catching on quickly. “Oh, he’s gonna lose it.”

Emma nodded. “He’s so protective over you, it’s actually ridiculous. But I wanna see just how far it goes.” You glanced toward the kitchen, making sure Ben wasn’t eavesdropping. Emma set up her phone on the coffee table, adjusting the angle so that both of you were perfectly in frame. The second Ben walked back into the room with a protein shake in one hand and a banana in the other, Emma hit record.

“Alright, Ben,” she announced, already slipping into character, “you’re gonna answer some questions, and you have to pick between me and your girlfriend. No copping out.” Ben shot you a knowing look, already suspicious. “Y’all are up to something, I can feel it.” “No, we’re not!” Emma said quickly, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “It’s just for fun. Ready?”

Ben sat down between you and Emma, exhaling through his nose. “Fine. But I know I’m getting set up.” Emma ignored him and jumped right into the questions. “Who has the better style?” Ben barely hesitated. “Y/n.” Emma scoffed dramatically. “Be so for real. She wears the same tennis skirts every day.” Your mouth fell open, feigning offense.

“Wow. That’s crazy coming from you, Miss Oversized T-Shirt and Crocs.” Emma waved you off. “Whatever, next question. Who has better music taste?” Ben took a sip of his shake, pretending to think. “Hmm… I gotta go with my girl again.” Emma gasped, clutching her chest. “What?! I literally put you on to half your playlist.”

Ben smirked. “Yeah, and the other half is her.”Emma rolled her eyes but stayed in character, cranking up the fake hostility. “That’s actually insane, but okay. Next—who’s funnier?” Ben tilted his head, looking between the two of you. “Y’all are both funny, but I think Y/n makes me laugh more.” Emma groaned. “You’re such a liar.” She turned to you, her tone suddenly clipped.

“You’re not even that funny. He just laughs at everything you say because you’re his girlfriend.” Ben’s head snapped toward her so fast you thought he might get whiplash. His relaxed posture stiffened, his jaw tightening. “Emma. Chill out.” You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at how quickly he turned serious. You feel his hands squeeze your shoulders lightly.

Emma, still in full prank mode, crossed her arms and scowled at you. “I don’t even get why he picked you for any of these. You’re kinda mid at all of them.” That was the breaking point. Ben set his protein shake down with a loud thud and turned his full attention to his sister. His brows furrowed, and his voice dropped an octave, the way it always did when he got genuinely mad.

“Yo, what’s your problem?” Emma shrugged, still playing it up. “I’m just saying, maybe you should give an honest answer for once instead of simping.” Ben leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring her down. “Nah, you’re straight up being rude. Dunno what’s wrong with you today but seriously, don’t be a bitch .” Emma, fighting back laughter, kept pushing.

“I mean… I just think I’m better than her at, like, everything.” Ben let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s real cute, Emma. But let’s be clear—there’s a reason she’s a professional tennis player and you’re sitting on your ass-”That did it. You and Emma lost it, bursting into laughter as Emma finally broke character.

She threw her head back, wheezing. “OH MY GOD, BEN, IT WAS A JOKE.” Ben blinked, looking between the two of you as you dissolved into giggles. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still looked wary. “What?” You wiped a tear from your eye, grinning. “It was a prank, babe. Emma wanted to see how mad you’d get if she was mean to me.”

Ben exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Y’all are the worst.” Emma clapped her hands together, triumphant. “But I knew you’d flip out! You got so protective, it was actually adorable.” Ben shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Y’all are so annoying.” You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. “Aw, but you love us.”

Ben sighed, wrapping an arm around you. “Yeah, yeah.” He glanced at Emma. “Don’t ever pull that again, though. I was two seconds from kicking you out of your own house.” Emma cackled, snatching her phone to stop the recording. “Worth it.” Ben groaned, but the way he pulled you closer told you he wasn’t that mad. And, if anything, the prank just confirmed what you already knew—Ben Shelton was always gonna have your back, no matter what.

[mysunshinetemptress]

In The Moonlight

Leah Williamson x singer!reader warnings: None except shitty writing, fluff

A grin stretched across your face, wide enough to rival the jet lag currently waging war in your head. Two world tours back to back had been a whirlwind, exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure, Social media detox was the doctor's orders, a chance to reconnect with the real world however it was about to get a small pause with the absurdity of the TikTok trend.

Here you were, the hottest pop star on the planet, about to participate in a goofy social media challenge inspired by a goofy song from a sitcom.

You had stumbled upon a hilarious trend, people were reenacting the iconic scene from Modern Family where Dylan serenades Haley with his...interestingly phrased song, "In the Moonlight (Do Me)," and passing it off as their own in front of their family and friends. Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you watched one particularly enthusiastic boy singing the suggestive lyrics much to his parent's disgust and surprise.

"Right," you declared, voice thick with amusement, as you spoke into the phone"I'm breaking my social media blackout for this because I can't help but take part in this trend."

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you grabbed your phone heading to the living room where Leah and a few of your family and friends have gathered for the barbecue. "hey guys can I have your attention for a quick second, please..I know I'm supposed to be on a break but, I can't get this new song out of my head and I need your opinion on it, I actually think it might work for a single."

A collective groan went up from the assembled group. They knew your "work" mode well, and it usually involved long nights in the studio, not impromptu living room performances. But Leah, ever the supportive girlfriend, flashed a smile.

"Alright, Elvis," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hit us with this 'new song.'"

Taking a dramatic breath, you check the tuning of your guitar, "It's eh, well you all know who it's about, the same person as all my other songs..it's called In the Moonlight"

The first strum of your guitar sent a hush over the room. They expected the usual pop magic, the infectious energy that had propelled you to superstardom. Instead, your voice crooned out the opening lines of Dylan's "song" with a hilariously exaggerated earnestness.

"The stars are falling from the sky, and you're the reason why. The moon is shining on your face, and I think it's found its place."

Laughter erupted as you finished the first verse, shattering the stunned silence. Your face turned crimson, but you held your pose, trying to maintain a serious expression as you began the chorus.

"Cause maybe, baby, I just want to do you, do you, do you want to do me, do me, underneath the moonlight, moonlight."

Your friends began to laugh silently as Leah's parents and your parents looked on horrified.

"And now we're hiding in my car, I let you see my scars, escape the dark for just one night, your heart makes me explode with light."

Leah snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. Your family exchanged bewildered glances.

"Baby, maybe, Maybe I will steal you, steal you just so I can feel you, feel you, maybe that will heal you, heal you on the inside."

The last note of your "song" died down, replaced by the deafening sound of crickets...or at least, it felt that way. Your family and friends stared at you, mouths agape, the only sound a choked cough from Leah's dad.

The tension broke as Leah doubled over, tears streaming down her face. "Oh my god," she gasped between laughs, "that was amazing! You had them fooled for a good minute there!"

Slowly, the rest of the room caught on. Laughter erupted, first in hesitant chuckles, then in full-blown roars. Even Leah's parents faces still flushed with surprise, couldn't help but crack a smile.

Your parents, still trying to process the experience, shot you a look that mingled amusement with a hint of disapproval. "Honey," your mom began cautiously, "that wasn't exactly...subtle, was it?"

You grinned sheepishly. "Maybe not," you admitted. "But you gotta admit, the reactions were priceless!"

Leah walked over, shaking her head and trying to hide a smile. "You're a menace," she said, giving you a playful shove.

You posted the video a short while later breaking the internet once again. The next morning, your phone was buzzing with notifications. Fans everywhere were recreating your video. You were trending again only this time not because of your tour.

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that."

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, and our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that." You laughed turning in her arms "I love you too much to write a song just about your body and my wants for it, no I'll write about you, your soul and sometimes when I feel extra fruity then I'll write about your body and my wants for it no my needs for it."

Leah pulled you in closer kissing you softly "And I'll be your number one listener."

[httpvomitello]

Call of Distraction *⁠.⁠✧

Donnie / Raph / Leo

Mikey was lounging in the lair, flipping through a comic book, when April’s phone rang. She glanced down and grinned as she saw your name.

“Mikey, it’s (Y/N). You want me to put her on speaker?”

His eyes lit up instantly. “(Y/N)? Yes, please! Always makes my day,” he said, setting down his comic and bouncing over to April.

She hit the speaker button, and your voice came through with a dramatic groan. “April, I am this close to losing my mind. Please tell me you’re free to chat.”

“Whoa, sounds serious. What’s going on?” April asked, clearly entertained.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. “I’m drowning in work and am about three minutes away from tossing my laptop out the window. Please distract me before I start plotting its demise.”

Mikey couldn’t resist jumping in. “Dude, don’t worry! Your sanity rescue squad is here!”

You let out a laugh, already sounding better. “Oh, thank God. Mikey, you’re a true hero.”

He grinned, puffing out his chest like a superhero. “That’s right! Dr. Delicate Touch (wink) at your service. You need a good laugh? An epic story? Maybe a… live concert?” he suggested, strumming the air like an electric guitar.

“Oh, yes, all of the above, please!” you replied, playing along. “Anything to get me out of work mode.”

Mikey grinned. “Alright, picture this: Mikey vs. the world’s most terrifying pizza monster. It’s me, an oven, and a pizza with a mind of its own. I had to karate chop it back into the box before it took over the whole kitchen.”

“Oh no, Mikey, what if it attacks again?” you replied, feigning horror. “Sounds like you need a backup plan. Got any special moves?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I got tons,” he replied, jumping up and doing a spin kick, clearly hamming it up for you. “I’d go full ninja mode on it! But hey, why don’t you come over and help me train? I could always use a new sparring partner!”

April raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You sure you’re not just trying to show off for (Y/N)?”

Mikey’s eyes widened, cheeks turning pink. “What? No way! I mean… maybe a little,” he admitted, laughing it off.

You laughed, too, clearly charmed. “Sounds like a plan, then. But be warned, I’m a master of distraction. You might get your pizza stolen right out from under you!”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try!” he challenged, laughing. “But don’t be surprised if you lose. I don’t let anyone get between me and pizza.”

“Challenge accepted, Michelangelo,” you replied, your tone playful. “Guess we’ll see who’s the real ninja.”

The rest of the turtles, who had been listening in with smirks on their faces, finally couldn’t hold back. Raph nudged Donnie, whispering, “They’re like two kids on a playground. He’s totally crushing.”

Mikey, catching the teasing glances from his brothers, tried to play it cool. “What? I’m just making sure (Y/N) doesn’t lose her mind over some boring ol’ work stuff.”

“Yeah, sure, Mikey,” Raph said with a knowing grin. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re completely smitten?”

Mikey groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, you guys are the worst,” he muttered, trying to fight back the blush creeping up his cheeks.

But he couldn’t stop smiling either, already planning how he’d one-up you the next time you called. After all, if cheering you up meant he got to spend more time talking to you, he was more than happy to be on “sanity rescue squad” duty whenever you needed.

[snailmail444]

Happy birthday Snail :D I wanna say I really enjoy ur work (especially the one u wrote Abt Sam being forgetful (I totally don’t read and reread it all the time)).

ANYWAYS

How do u think the bachelors would be with a gf who’s quiet in bed (like only heavy breathing and gasps)

Bachelors Quiet GF Headcannons

18+ 🌱 MDNI 🌱 NSFW

This one was SUPER challenging because there were so many options. Think it still came out really authentic to all of them though :) hope you enjoy!! NSFW under the cut!

P.S. thank you for the birthday wishes and the sweet comment about the Sam forgetful piece!! So so glad you like it!! 💞💞💞

Harvey-

💚 Comfort king

💚 He gets it with shyness and whatnot, but he wants you to feel so good and comfortable that you’re okay making sound if you want to

💚 Still! Praising! Even just the lightest little huffs and pants he’s telling you how beautiful you sound and how perfect

💚 Kinda leans dom sometimes without intending to, so he might tell you to be good and make some noise for him

💚 ONLY if you’re in that mode already and if he feels okay pushing it

💚 Looooves when you get noisy even when you’re trying to stay quiet he literally cannot with it

💚 Makes him insane

Elliott-

❤️ Sing for me my angel of music

❤️ No but for real?

❤️ Elliott is fucking DEAD. SET. On having you say what you’re feeling

❤️ He wants to know when you’re feeling good, how good you’re feeling, how much you love what’s happening to you

❤️ In between sweet, long sucks of your cunt he’s asking you if you love it, if you’re close, if you want to come

❤️ Makes you beg for every inch just so he can hear you telling him you’re obsessed with the pleasure he’s giving you 💞

Alex-

🤎 Wouldn’t dream of changing you

🤎 Literally does not say a word about it because he’s got the worlds worst case of heart eyes

🤎 If you’re quiet he thinks it’s so cute and sweet

🤎 Does love for the few occasional whimpers

🤎 But for the most part he’s just happy to be here

🤎 Tells you as much!!

🤎 Probably ends up saying way too much because he can’t keep his little romantic mouth shut during sex

🤎 Especially since the floor is open with the lack of noise on your part

🤎 Probably ends up saying he’s in love with you time like three. Oops lol

🤎 King behavior as always

Shane-

💙 His end game is making you scream

💙 By any means he wants you fucking hollering because of how good you feel

💙 Will overstimulate you to the point of crying if that’s what it takes 💞

💙 Obsessed with drawing it out of you. He knows you can get loud given the proper motivation

💙 And that motivation just so happens to be manhandling and rough fucking

💙 Grunts and groans and asks if you’re holding back on him

💙 Gags you and then tries to make you as loud as possible because he loves the struggle 👀

Sam-

🩷 Talks enough for the both of you

🩷 Honestly doesn’t even think about it

🩷 Figures you’d tell him if you weren’t enjoying yourself

🩷 So he fills in all the spaces with enthusiasm

🩷 literally BABBLING!!!!!

🩷 You feel so good fuck I love it you’re doing so good shit thank you so much you’re perfect—

🩷 Absolutely cannot stop speaking :)

🩷 So if you’re quiet literally don’t even worry with Sam he’s doing the heavy lifting on this one

Sebastian-

🖤 He’s ALSO quiet so he’s not bothered if you feel uncomfortable making noise

🖤 He feels good that you don’t think you have to preform

🖤 Makes whatever noise does come out of you that much hotter

🖤 Throwing on some music to fill the awkward spaces

🖤 Probably ends up taking up a little slack on the talking/noise level

🖤 Not a ton, but definitely humming against your skin

🖤 Can find a better use for his mouth than talking

🖤 And honestly? He can find a better one for yours too 😌

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hey,

could you please write a one-shot,where Hannibal is obsessively in love with an FBI teacher, who is similar to Will. She doesn‘t want to go in the field, because of some trauma and Hannibal needs to help her overcome it, in order for her to be ready.(nsfw?)

Hannibal x Reader: Exposure Therapy

Warning: trauma, smut, p in v (penetration), quickie, kissing, fluff, no use of y/n, female anatomy, not proofread.

Word count: 1,2 k

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes you can. Push me off.”

Hannibals has his body on top of yours. He’s straddling you, his body weight keeping you stuck to the ground. You can feel the panic starting to get to you. Your chest heaves as your breathing starts to pick up. You squirm beneath him trying to get away. Hannibal can see this is starting to be too much for you but he needs to prove to you that you can do this.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Your panicked eyes find him. Even if this is just pretending your body is already in fight or flight mode so the sight of  his eyes doesn't calm you down like it usually does.

“You can do this. Remember to focus on your breathing and use the things the FBI taught you.”

You’d come into his office a couple of months ago. You’d been called to help out on the field but it proved to be a more difficult challenge then you had anticipated. You’d had a panic attack on a crime scene and Jack had thought it was best if you had some sort of support. That's when Dr. Lecter stepped in.  In your weekly sessions you and Hannibal tried to work through your issues. You’d told him that when you were younger you’d been caught off guard by a robber. The man had grabbed you and forced you into the ground. You’d been too scared to move and even though the situation hadn’t escalated farther than just a robbery you still woke up in a cold sweat at night. 

You could feel the pressure of the man's body on yours as you lay still on the ground. Before that day you hadn't been afraid of anything but ever since then every small sound made you jump. It had taken months of work to get you confident enough to step onto another crime scene but there was still room for improvement. You’d been training self defense with the FBI but when it came to defending yourself in real life you still froze up. That's how you found yourself in your current situation. 

Hannibal wanted to test out what you’d learned so he could help you stop freezing up when you were in danger. He’d thought it would be a good idea if he was the one to test you because you’d grown comfortable around him. You knew he wouldn’t actually hurt you so it would make things less stressful. Or so you’d thought. 

You focus on your breathing trying to calm your heart down. Once you manage to steady yourself you open your eyes. Hannibal watches your features shift into a small snarl. You take a deep breath in before you start moving. Hannibal tries his best to keep you beneath him and you put up a good fight. He’d told you to be as rough as you needed to and that was what you were doing. When you saw he wasn’t going to let up you shifted, freeing your hand from beneath him. Hannibal let out a groan, his hands moving to cup his nose. You’d just punched him. Some of his weight was lifted off you causing you to be able to move. You grabbed his shoulders, shoving them to the side with all your might. Hannibal felt his body tip over, his back moving in contact with the ground. You straddled him, your hand moving to grab your gun. Hannibal looked  up at you as you pointed your gun at him.

“Stay down.”

Your chest heaved as you kept your gun pointed at Hannibal. He removed his hand from his nose allowing you to see the grin that was plastered on his face. The sight made you relax a bit. You moved to place your gun back in your holster. Once you had made sure the safety was on you went to get off Hannibal. You began to move your leg up when Hannibal grabbed your waist. You looked down at him.

“You okay?”

“My nose is throbbing.”

“Sorry about that.”

“You could kiss it better.”

You laughed at Hannibal, leaning down to place a kiss to the tip of his nose. He lifted his head a bit allowing your lips to come in contact with his mouth instead of his nose. You smiled against his lips. 

During your sessions you and Hannibal had realized the two of you were harboring feelings for each other. In the last few weeks you’d started taking things to another level. You weren’t dating or anything but you had grown quite intimate.

“You looked hot.”

“Oh yeah?”

Hannibal leaned up to rest on his elbows. His lips move to latch onto your neck. You groaned as he continued to suck at your skin. Your hands moved to grab onto his head, fingers playing with his hair. You could feel Hannibal growing hard beneath you and as much as you wanted to give in you knew he had a client coming soon.

“Hannibal.”

“Yes dear?”

“You have another session soon.”

Hannibal gazed at the clock.

“I still have thirty minutes.”

“We can’t do anything in thirty minutes Hanni.”

“Are you doubting my skills?”

You placed a kiss to his lips, feeling his hand begin to grip the flesh of your ass. He lifted his hips up bucking into you.

“Fine. But be quick.”

A smile appears on Hannibal's lips as he moves to flip positions with you. He settled on top of you, his hands moving to unbutton your pants. You lifted your hips so he could tug your clothes down your legs. A gasp left your lips as Hannibal's fingers moved over your fold.

“This wet?”

You hand moved to grab onto his hard-on. He hissed as you palmed him through his pants.

“You’re one to talk.”

Hannibal let out a growl, his lips latching onto your neck once again. You tugged his dick out from his confines giving it a stroke before guiding it to your pussy. Hannibal helped you out, moving his hips forward. Your head lifted off the ground as you moaned. Hannibal wrapped his arms around your body holding you close to him as he began to move. He wanted to draw this feeling out but he knew he was working on borrowed time. Hannibal sped up his pace. You ass rubbed against the floor as Hannibal continued to thrust into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. You clawed at his back gasping as you searched for your orgasm. Hannibal moved one hand to your pussy, focusing on your clit. 

“Hannibal, I'm close.”

“Shhh just a bit more.”

A couple more thrusts and you were seeing stars. Your pussy gripped onto Hannibal's dick like a vice causing him to spiral into his own orgasm. He collapsed next to you on the floor. You closed your eyes trying to regain your breath.

“Told you I could do it.”

“Oh shut up.”

Hannibal laughed, his head turning to look at you. You moved closer to place a kiss on his lips. After a while you got up, tugging your clothes back on. Hannibal lead you to the door, pulling you into one last kiss before saying goodbye.

“You’re gonna be great tomorrow.”

“Hope you’re right.”

“Remember if anything happens I'm just a phone call away.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Bye Hanni.”

“Bye dear.”

[jonquilyst]

Day 22 - Socialization Day

Welcome to THE MERGE!! Our teams have officially dissolved, and now it's time for our contestants to compete individually! This means that from now on, only one person can win invincibility from challenges. Everyone else will be at risk of elimination.

If your sim is in this group, congratulations! Barring Minato, our comeback challenge winner, these sims have survived every single team eliminated, which in this season comprises about 60% of all the eliminations we'll have!

Things are gonna start getting real now. Our two teams have formed close bonds amongst each other, but now that the teams are no more, there will now be people deciding the fate of others that hadn’t previously. Positive bonds, especially with contestants that were on the opposite team, will become crucial to stay in the game and hopefully reach the finale.

Our group is still pretty large with 9 contestants, but in the end, only 1 will be winning the game. Who will be the one to survive it all? We’ll be finding out over the course of Season 3's merge!

Of course, we'll be paying attention to Minato, who has some catching up to do after coming back to the plane. The first people he interacts with are his former teammates Marilyn and Nite!

Tomiko decided to prioritize interacting with contestants that were on the opposite team! She has her first reasonable conversation with Matteo. These two contrast in personalities, but Matteo seems pretty amused 😁

Elio was back in full-swing social mode today, goofing off with Avery, watching funny videos with Minato, and having a nice conversation with Estrello! It seems they're attempting to strengthen their bonds with others to keep them nice and fresh! Nice work, Elio 😉

The contestants that formerly made up Team Integrity all still have first class for their team win last challenge, so Matteo decided to spend his afternoon watching a horror movie. Despite the movie's attempts to scare him, Matteo just rolled his eyes, becoming bored instead of scared 🥱

In the evening our former teams decided to spend time with one another, with the former members of Team Odyssey having a meeting in the mess hall and the former members of Team Integrity all sharing first class together one last time 😊

Things got cute between Alanna and Estrello again... They decided to share each other's contact info, promising to keep in touch after the competition ends 💖 Then they had a lovely, deep conversation together!

Alanna and Estrello's shifting relationship is beginning to catch the eyes of the other contestants, particularly Avery. Avery's gotta know what's going on with her friend! So, after Estrello went to bed, Avery joined Alanna on the couch to get all the deets 🤭

Today's Confessional: Minato Matsuda

"I'm so stoked to be back on the plane! To be honest, I had a feeling that my elimination was gonna be... temporary. How could anyone not like Minato, the anime protagonist? Anyway, now that I'm back, I'm gonna try my hardest to do better in the challenges, since that's what got me out. Sorry, my Team Odyssey fam..."

"Am I scared that it's merge and I have to compete for myself now? Nah. I'm actually super excited because I never really got to chat up the folks on Team Integrity that much when we were in teams, and as you know, I looove meeting new people! So, while kicking butt in the challenges, I'm gonna be hitting up not only my former teammates, but also the former Integrity folks too! I will show them just how awesome I am."

@invisiblequeen @lyratea @hellogreta @aliengirl @matchalovertrait

@paracosmic-sims @kari-sims @ravingsockmonkey @kissalopa

[jenosbliss]

pairing. fem!reader x jisung | genre. fluff | wc. 0.6k | warnings. the reader is short, few cuss words

[8:36 pm]

Late evening supermarket runs weren’t a usual practice for you and your roommate. While showering, she suddenly realized that she had run out of pads and it was that time of the month. After a thorough search, a lone pad miraculously appeared.

Exiting the sanitary aisle, you mused about snacks. “I’ve been craving Cheetos,” you said languidly. “You’ve mentioned that five times this week,” your roommate retorted with an eye roll. “No one knows me better than you, my love,” you teased, blowing her a kiss as you dashed to the snacks.

The excitement was short-lived. Not because they were out of Cheetos stocks but because they had decided to place them on the top most shelf, which was far out of reach.

“Are they for real” with hands on your hips you scoffed. Despite several leaps toward the tantalizing orange bag, it remained just out of grasp. “Y/n, I’ll order them online, or we can check another store. Or let’s get Doritos!” your roommate suggested picking up the said snack which was kept on a lower shelf.

“I will get this Cheetos only.” Settle for less? No way! You weren’t a quitter, no matter how bad a situation was or how tough a challenge was, you won’t give up. People may think of this as stubbornness but you weren’t raised a quitter. If you want something you will get it.

“You can’t get-” before she can complete you cut her off mid sentence, “No. Please find a staff member who can probably help us.” Maybe they have a ladder or something as there’s no way an average height human could reach that!

When she went to find help, not being able to wait for someone you contemplated more creative solutions to get the Cheetos. One idea that came to mind was to throw a shoe at it and knock it down, which was stupid, but desperate times call for drastic measures.

Hence, the left shoe was removed, target was set, and shoe-missile was launched at the enemy territory –the Cheetos packet laughing at you– after careful calculations. There was just a minor setback… the shoe missed the target and went all the way to the next aisle.

“Oww! What the fuck” was followed by quick shuffling and footsteps leading to you. The flight and fight mode kicked in an instant, flight was the best option but you needed your shoe back, therefore you settled for the latter… fight.

A young man, wearing a grey hoodie which covered his forehead along with black hair falling in front of his eyes, looking absolutely breath taking without any effort appeared in your aisle holding your shoe.

“This belongs to you?” He asked swinging the shoe on two of his fingers and was that a smirk?God he was hot. “I’m really sorry… I was trying to get that packet,” you explained, pointing to the Cheetos.

He seemed tall enough to easily retrieve the bag, just a stretched hand and there he is giving you the packet without any issues! Well you hoped he would voluntarily help you but maybe that wasn’t what he had in mind.

With a perfect aim unlike yours he tossed the shoe back at your head making you yelp. “Hope your brain starts working now.” Men open their mouth and ruin everything, he along with his actions ruined it. “Hey! Are you out of your mind?” He let out a dry chuckle at your words.

“You think so ‘Miss who goes throwing shoes at random people’ huh?” He taunted, leaning against one of racks looking at you unamused. “I said it wasn’t intentional, but what you did is dumb!” Huffing loudly at his casual attitude, you crossed your arms over your chest.

His icy voice filled the area as he spoke “Watch that pretty mouth of yours. Throwing stuff around like a careless idiot doesn't make you look smart.”

“Ugh! What’s your problem dude? I apologised already and if you can’t help me then please leave for god’s sake.” Not expecting his help, you returned your attention to the Cheetos packet.

He smirked at your stubbornness. “I’d rather watch you struggle.” he said, amused, his eyes following your movements. Choosing to ignore his presence, which was anything but easy, you focused on your target.

Again an idea struck you: the racks seemed sturdy, so if you stepped on the bottom shelf, you might reach the goddamn packet. Without hesitation, you climbed onto the bottom shelf. Still, you were unable to reach the top one, hence, you decided to step on the next one, gripping the upper shelves for support, both feet off the ground.

Jisung watched the whole scene unfold in front of his eyes. Not budging at all to help eben though he knew how dangerous this could be, finding this entertaining or so he thought until he saw one of your foot slip, causing you to lose balance.

As if on cue he rushed to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to support you. He didn’t expect you to fall completely, landing on top of him. The chaos ended with him on his back, you in his arms.”

“What an idiot” he groaned in pain. “Do you think you’re Spiderman, climbing the racks, thinking you won’t hurt?” Wincing, he spat out his words. Maybe it was the closeness that made you not argue back, but all you could manage was a timid “sorry.”

A red hue crept up your face realizing how close you were to his face, his arms still wrapped around you securely, this was both embarrassing and exciting. "Y/N! Oh my god, what happened?" A concerned voice of your roommate pulled you out of your thoughts.

Stumbling, you stood up and pointed accusingly at the boy still on the ground. “I fell while getting the Cheetos, and he,” you cleared your throat, cheeks still flushed, “he saved me.” Jisung, hissing from the pain in his back, stood up too.

"Jisung?" She asked recognising him. "Oh hey neighbour." He said surprised. Neighbour? Whose neighbour? Her parent’s? “Is she your friend?” He looked you up and down with a disdainful look. Your roommate nodded her head in slight surprise. “She’s such a pain in the ass, how do you even put up with her?”

“What the-” The audacity of this Jisung boy. You were about to defend yourself when your roommate put a hand over your mouth and pulled you out of the aisle and the store. “See you later, Jisung.”

“What was that?” you huffed angrily once you got home. “God, Y/N, Jisung is our new neighbor! You met Chenle and Jaemin, right? Well, Jisung just moved in yesterday. I didn’t want you to start a fight with him,” she explained.

Chenle and Jaemin were so sweet and humble, they even help you carry stuff whenever you ran into them at the parking lot, always had the warmest smiles while greeting you and this Jisung guy on the other hand… let’s not get into it. You practically hate him already.

Jisung wasn’t like his friends, and knowing he was your neighbor, he’d make sure your life wasn’t easy. But still the next morning you found a packet of Cheetos on your door with a note reading “For the Feisty and Stubborn one. Nice to meet you neighbour ;)”

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[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

When Skeleton does something too mean or bad S/O will wrap them up in a blanket burrito as a punishment. The blanket burritos are inescapable. All main boys except for Willow I don't want to hurt him

Undertale Sans - He's giggling the whole time, not regretting anything for even one second. He accepts the punishment as you're obviously encouraging him to nap. He lets you deal with Papyrus once he gets home to explain to him why he's sleeping instead of doing the dishes.

Undertale Papyrus - He's pouting in his burrito. You're ruining his routine and he's mad. Now he's late and he's going to have to do things twice as fast to recover. Please let him go, he's begging you! That's not funny, how did you even manage to make it impossible to escape? It's a blanket, not one of his elaborate traps!

Underswap Sans - He's struggling, growling, and rolling on the ground in his burrito, trying to free himself. It was funny for the first two minutes, but now he's losing his mind because he hates staying still for more than two minutes. You're laughing at his misery but do nothing to free him.

Underswap Papyrus - That's fine. He gives you the sad pathetic puppy eyes and waits for you to break down. Eventually, it works, only for him to betray you by immediately lunging at you to give you a taste of your own medicine. Now you're the one stuck in the burrito, and unlike you, Honey is very patient and not too much in a hurry to free you.

Underfell Sans - He makes annoying noises with his mouth to piss you off, smiling like a shark in his ridiculous blanket burrito. He's never going to stop. You can try to flee, he's going to teleport right behind you to continue to annoy you. You better let him go fast or he's going to do it even louder.

Underfell Papyrus - You want to annoy him? Good, he can do that too. Edge is screaming. Just screaming. Nonstop. Very loudly. He's going to ruin your day, and won't hesitate to puncture your eardrums if you dare to ignore him. Think of the neighbors, they're definitely going to call the police on you if you don't do something. Edge knows he has already won. You just don't know it yet.

Horrortale Sans - He whines. Not too loudly, but just enough to be annoying. If it doesn't work, he just falls silent, staring at you with sad begging eyes. He can even cry to make you feel bad. As soon as you free him though, he switches back to normal mode, like nothing happened, and you understand he manipulated you, fake crying and everything. He has no regret.

Horrortale Papyrus - He knows really well he can escape your death burrito thanks to his back problem so he teases his brother when he is stuck inside one. You swear they're children sometimes.

Swapfell Sans - Well that's fair. He accepts his defeat. You win this fight for now. But not the war. As soon as he's free, he goes back to his room, throws a blanket from the stairs and your pillow, and locks the door. You're sleeping on the couch tonight as he's pouting all night like a child.

Swapfell Papyrus - Oh come on! That's not funny. He's trading his freedom against date ideas. Don't you want to go to Disneyland? He can take you to Disneyland! Or to the mountain! Or to the dump if you want! Please let him out of this horrible prison!

Fellswap Gold Sans - He's displeased. How dare you put the mighty and terrible general of the royal guard in such a humiliating position. He keeps taunting you, asking you to fight him like a real warrior instead of hiding like a coward in the kitchen. You think he can't see you? And he swears if you take one more photo he's going to get really mad and you really are not going to like what's next! You challenged him to come at you. He gives you a death stare, so angry, as he desperately tries to free himself. You better find a way out of this country before he manages to find a way out of this.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Oh well. Since he can't move and that he's comfortable, why struggle against it? Coffee simply falls asleep there. His brother passes by and says he can't believe he got caught this easily. If it was him, it would have never happened. Clearly, he's W E A K. He doesn't see you standing right behind him with a second blanket. Wine doesn't know it yet, but he's already a blanket burrito.