#the visored are pack

[stormsthatrage]

Concept: Time-traveling Shinji, whose consciousness took over his younger body, press-ganging the young captain Urahara Kisuke into visoring the other Visored ahead of schedule.

Because the Visored are pack. They're fraccion. And that means they don't live without each other, damn it. Their bond is sacred, soul-deep, and not a single one of them wouldn't fight tooth-and-nail, wouldn't commit atrocities, to fix its severing.

So Shinji, upon arriving in the past, immediately hits up Kisuke. Shinji, of course, has spent enough time with the younger captain to know exactly how to convince him of the truth of the Aizen-induced apocalypse. (Aizenocalypse? Anyway.) Shinji also knows how to emphasize the increased power that comes from being Visored, and how necessary that type of power is in fighting Sosuke Aizen.

So poor Kisuke, under immense pressure from Shinji, finds himself luring various captains and lieutenants into his lab, one by one, over a period of a few weeks, to corrupt their soul. He feels like he's become some sort of horror story villain.

(Shinji does not tell him that, in the future-that-won't-be, Kisuke was framed for doing exactly what he's currently actually doing.)

As soon as each victim is visored, the fraccion-bond snaps into place with those that have already been visored. After a minor initial freak-out, they each quickly find themselves over the deception, agreeing that it was the right choice.

They also all get vague memories and emotional impressions from their future selves, thanks to the traces their future selves left on Shinji's spiritual energy. This has two effects. First, their control over their hollow powers is instinctual, as they essentially have the experience of their future selves. Second, they have a sudden and deep closeness to each other that is impossible to hide from outsiders.

Imagine. One by one, they go down to Kisuke's lab, and resurface with a personality change and a new and powerful ability to give the heebie-jeebies.

Kisuke is pulling his hair out at how suspicious it looks, and how utterly insane his life has gotten.

Also. All of the Visored seem to hover, and he doesn't know why? Before he violated their souls, they were all at best indifferent to him and at worst subtly hostile, and now suddenly they're all very concerned if he's eaten enough or if he's gotten enough sleep? They take turns bringing him meals and forcing him to go home at the end of the day? Instead of, you know, cursing his very existence?????

(What he doesn't know is this: In the future, he was pack, too, even if he wasn't Visored. He stabilized them, and then he and Yoruichi and Tessai -- who were all so young -- took them in at great personal cost. And then those three spent years looking after the Visored, even when none of the Visored knew control and were all wild and rabid and dangerous.

Of course the Visored hover. Of course they worry. Of course they're slightly possessive of their packmate who has no future-memories and doesn't know he's pack.)

Anyway. Imagine the outsider POV. Imagine Kisuke's slow descent into hysteria as he finds himself playing the role of horror-movie villain. Imagine half the upper echelon of the Gotei 13 hiding the fact that they're part hollow. Imagine...

[adventuresofsnake]

Experimenting with different options for Snake to join me when I run a half marathon on Sunday.

There's cameras along the route that take your picture and I cannot stress enough that I *need* at least one race photo where Snake is visible.

[morninkim]

Rise of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Main Team (UPDATED)

Polished up the linework for the original five to remove some of the chicken scratch and fix some design elements I wasn't fond of!

Check out the masterpost for RotMMPR here to take a look at all the designs in this series!

Also support the Megathread on Xitter to help it gain some traction!

[rook-specter]

for some reason I'm thinking about a funny iteration of Poker Night at the Inventory with Clairen (Rivals of Aether), Badgerclops (Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart), Peppino Spaghetti (you already know where he's from), and Kani Maki (Sushi Pack) and the dealer is Spamton G. Spamton and now I'm just wondering what conversations they'd have

[candiedcatnip]

Yamato owns five different fanny packs, each of them is for a separate scenario. The dog-walk fanny pack could not swap for the mall trip fanny pack and you can NOT change his mind.

[ghstmsk]

Seasons Greasons

Left to right from top to bottom: Cherry (he/she), Watermelon (she/her), Shroom (he/him), and Winter Blade (he/him)

[deathsbecome]

finished finals.

[pucksandpower]

Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

[luveline]

Hii I sent the ask for more kbd could you please write them all going on there first family holiday lovely 🤍🫶🏻

love u <3 kbd au —the harrington’s vacation !! mom!reader, 1.5k

This is a good idea, you repeat to each other for weeks. Paying for the flights, making lists, getting Dove her baby passport, packing the suitcases days in advance. 

Most of the time you agree with one another. The day you buy Avery and Beth little swimsuits Steve can’t stop smiling, and the nights leading up to it are like Christmas for Avery when she remembers (and Beth when Avery tells her). 

But the night before you’re sick to your stomach, and then Steve can’t breathe right at the airport, but you get on your plane, and somehow the girls are good. Dove cries when you land because of the pressure change, but she’s soothed by the time you’re past the gate and into the sunshine. 

“Steve,” you say, Dove strapped to your chest, world's heaviest baby bag on your shoulder, “sweetheart, we’re here.” 

He holds Beth’s hand, who in turn holds Avery’s hand, trying to pull the world’s biggest suitcase behind you without running over his own foot. “I told you it would be easy.” 

Your children look beautiful. Avery wears a sun visor cap and a blue dress with white socks and blue converse, and Bethie wears dungarees and a short sleeve top, little black converse to match her sister but unable to handle the sensory nightmare of a hat. They look ready for the sun, and excited to be somewhere new. 

Dove sleeps on your chest. “Easy isn’t the word I’d use,” you mumble, kissing her forehead. “Okay, what’s the next thing? Are we getting the shuttle?” 

Steve checks his watch quickly. “It’s another ten minutes,” he says. “Is that okay?” He points at your harness. “Digging into your side?”

“It’s fine.” You bend with your arm behind Dove’s back, turning your smile on your sweethearts where they mill around their dad’s legs. “How do you guys feel now? So happy? I’m so happy we’re not on the plane, we can stretch our tired feet!” 

“Yeah, mom!” Avery says. 

“Can we have soda?” Bethie asks. 

And okay, you promised them treats if they behaved on the plane, but you’re on vacation. It’s allowed. 

“Yeah, baby, let’s go find you a coca cola before we get on the big bus!” 

You don’t want to pay seventy cents for one can of coke, let alone three dollars for three, but everything will be free when you get to the resort, so what does it matter? Plus, Bethie really, really enjoys it. She beams at the fizzing and begs you to try it like she’s worried you’re missing out. 

(It matters. You and Steve are raising three kids on one salary. All inclusive vacations are expensive. They all needed new clothes including you and Steve, clothes and haircuts and mini shampoos. But it genuinely won’t matter if they have a good time, and make good memories.) 

“Right,” you say near the shuttle, “Avery, you hold mommy’s hand when we’re outside. Beth, you’ll hold daddy’s. No running, and try to be polite. Deal?” 

Avery twines her fingers through yours, little tiny fingers to your fully grown ones. When she looks up at you, she’s practically a hundred percent Steve, his smile, his lovely demeanour, and his attitude too. “Duh, mom. That’s an easy deal.” 

Steve ends up carrying Beth onto the shuttle, and off of it again at the resort. She’s in his arms from the lobby to the elevators and into your suite, but she wants promptly to be put down when Steve shows your two girls their room. 

“Mom, there’s bears!” She gasps. “It’s Goldilocks!” 

A huge storybook mural covers their walls and parts of their ceilings, their single beds outfitted with gossamer curtains on four posters and princess pink sheets. “There’s a castle!” Avery shouts. 

“You okay?” Steve asks again. 

You’re a little tired from Dove's restlessness the night before, but you’re happy you’re here. You nod without thinking twice about it. 

“Okay.” He pulls you toward him. Careful, he unsnaps the buckles of Dove’s harness, loosening the cords that keep her tight to your body before pulling her out. She grizzles at being moved, and he pats her back deftly to settle her before it becomes a big cry. Then he’s cradling her one handed, loosening the straps of the carrier behind your back and taking it off of you with a kindness that softens you for the thousandth time. “There, that’s better. You look like you can breathe again.” 

Steve puts his hand flat on your chest and rubs a line with his thumb. “That’s a nice smile,” he adds. 

Okay, you think. Goner, total goner, you cover his hand with yours. From the girls’ bedroom you can hear the squeal of bed springs being jumped on and the zipper on someone’s mini backpack. “Can we have fruit snacks?” Avery shouts. 

Steve’s hand moves to your neck, your face. He rubs your jawline with the tip of his thumb. “Do they have fruit snacks at the buffet?” 

“They promised they’d have everything at the buffet.” 

You sound exuberant. You are. It’s nice to be touched sweetly, and to be somewhere cool. This is the life you’d dreamed of making with him, and at the same time, you never could’ve summoned this image of him. 

You can’t wait for him to take his shirt off by the pool. You’re gonna take a whole disposable’s worth of photos. 

“You have nice arms,” you say, feigning absentmindedness.

“Thank you.” He’s looking at you funny. It reminds you of when you first started dating, he’d get these weird moments of smiling and not telling you what it is that’s so funny, which would always inspire insecurity, but has since been explained to be awe rather than disdain. He pulls Dove closer to his neck and more toward his side, offering his empty arm to you for a hug. “You have nice everything,” he says, kissing you quickly on the temple. 

“We’re actually on vacation.” 

It always seemed too daunting. The more kids you had, the scarier it seemed. But one day Avery must’ve seen a commercial on TV or heard it from one of the little girls at the park, and she’d strolled up to you to ask you about vacations and the beach and aeroplanes. You’d taken her and Beth to Lake Michigan a bunch of times, but nothing feels quite like this. 

“Let’s hope it really feels like one,” Steve says. 

“Especially for you,” you say. 

Stay at home dad-ing is exhausting. You can’t imagine he wants to be the one in charge here too. You’re determined to pull your weight, even if he isn’t keen to let you, plans for secret lie-ins and well-researched playtime clubs at the resorts recreation centres. You’re not delusional, you know you can’t do this without him. Or perhaps you could, but you’d enjoy yourself a lot less. Either way, you’re wanting to have fun too, so he can take Dove from you and wrap his arm around you like he’s the one in charge for now. It feels nice to be doted on, better when he starts his fretting. 

“Do you want to get changed before we take them down for dinner?” He backs away enough to see your face but not too much as to steal the warmth of his chest where it kisses your arm. “Showers? You need something to drink. Where’s the mini fridge?” 

“Remember what we talked about?” you broach carefully. You have no intentions of patronising him, but it’s unfortunate he’s forgotten already. “Relax, honey. That’s what we said we were gonna do this week. You don’t have to make sure everyone is one hundred percent all the time. If I need something, I’ll tell you.”

“What sort of marriage do you think this is?” he asks, smiling playfully, his warm eyes betraying how happy he is even through his worry and facade.

“One where you kiss me like you miss me all the time,” you say. 

“Oh, is that so?” He ducks down and aligns your lips, the corded muscle of his arm lean where it presses to your softer back. “What do you do?” 

“Kiss back.” 

He laughs into your lips, a smile pressed firmly to a smile. 

“Daddy, can you help me ‘i my shoes?” Bethie asks. 

Steve breathes in deep as you part, hugging you tight to his side. “Where are you gonna go without shoes?” he asks her, genuinely curious. 

“To bed.” 

“You want a nap?” 

Bethie nods tiredly. “Planes are hard.” 

“Yeah, bub, planes are tough. You don’t wanna go have dinner first?” 

She shakes her head tiredly. It’s the first hurdle of your vacation, but it’s not a terribly hard one to navigate. 

“There’s gotta be some sort of snack in the fridge, right?” he asks. 

Family nap time commences just as soon as Avery’s eaten her fill of mini sandwiches. You sleep like a baby under Steve’s arm, at least until the real baby rouses for another bottle. 

[stormsthatrage]

The inherent angst of time travel AUs where Shinji asks Ichigo to be in his division, and Ichigo knows Shinji well enough to recognize that it's just because Shinji is suspicious of him. God.

Ichigo, who is part of Shinji's pack; Ichigo, who has every reason to crave Shinji's approval; Ichigo, who would sooner go to war against all the worlds and cut off one of his own limbs than do anything to hurt Shinji; Ichigo, who could once turn to Shinji for anything.

Ichigo, knowing that Shinji no longer means safety. Ichigo, knowing that Shinji is now someone he has to be wary of. Ichigo, knowing that Shinji does not consider himself to be Ichigo's mentor/pack/family. Ichigo, knowing that Shinji used to care about him but doesn't, now. Ichigo, knowing that Shinji is fully ready to take action against him.

Ichigo, who has to see Shinji every day and have the wound opened again and again and again, all the while unable to let on that he is in so much pain.

How is someone supposed to survive that?

(For the sake of my own heart, I have to head-canon that eventually the time-travel is revealed and Shinji realizes a few dozen things and then is super mad at Ichigo in a how-dare-you-do-this-to-yourself way. But of course, that only comes later.)

[pertamax7]

Aksesoris Yamaha R7 Style Pack : Pakai Quick Shifter!

Aksesoris Yamaha R7 Style Pack : Pakai Quick Shifter!

Aksesoris Yamaha R7 Style Pack ., salam pertamax7.com, Aksesoris Yamaha R7 Style Pack : Pakai Quick Shifter Link ponsel pintar ( di sini ) Salam Moge Mania. Dalam kesempatan kali ini, pertamax7.com ingin berbagai info terkait aksesoris resmi Yamaha YZF-R7, sang supersport bermesin dua silinder segaris dengan nama Style Pack. Aksesoris-resmi Yamaha R7 Style Pack Memberi konsumen profil yang lebih…

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 25 - Release the Ice Bath Thirst Traps

Ok guys! here we go!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED (sorry for those who have asked)

For the very end of the chapter, there's something I made up for Singapore (this fact is made up just for the story)

Like always comments, questions, concerns, inbox messages, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! Love you all and enjoy :D

The moment you stepped out of the cool, airconditioned car, your team shirt suddenly clung to you. Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead as you made your way through the paddock. Max had warned you that Singapore and Qatar would be impossibly hot: you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. 

All you wanted to do now was go back to the hotel where it was ice cold. You wiped your brow with your forearm as you got closer to the garage. Giant fans welcomed you with air. It wasn’t freezing cold, but it would do. You were already on your third water today, smartly forgoing the Red Bull that was bound to make you dehydrated. 

You stood next to Max as the team had a quick debrief. The heat was definitely getting to you, as you really couldn’t remember a word that anyone said. You blink your eyes as they were burning with sweat. Your older teammate could only offer you a remorseful smile. 

Max could see that the heat wasn’t going too well with you. You had told him beforehand that some females, including you, just couldn’t regulate their temperatures as well as males could. Women often gave off more body heat than men did as well. This caused the Dutchman to send out a group text, warning the other drivers to look out for you. 

You groaned as you tried to put on your fireproofs and race suit. The more you moved around, the more you seemed to sweat. You kept your suit tied around your waist. You definitely wouldn’t be putting it on until you had to be in the car.

Max was already zipped up by the time you returned. 

“Here.” He handed you another ice cold water bottle. 

“Thank you Max,” you croaked out, making the Dutchman look a little weary at you. You just smiled back. 

“Once we qualify, we can go to the ice baths.” 

Max would have thought that you would hate the idea since you always showered with the water at a boiling temperature. Yet, he could see that you were slightly “warming up” to the idea of a bath full of ice (pun intended). 

From the corner, Mitch watched as you poured the remainder of your water on your head. She had requested a few ice packs to be ready for you when you arrived, but sadly they weren’t completely frozen. She’d make sure that you’d have them for tomorrow. 

Surprisingly, your laps were great with you qualifying in P3, behind Charles once again. Halfway through, you had opened your visor, trying to get some air through your sweaty helmet. Your water pouch had to be refilled multiple times between sessions. Yet, your trainer advised you to try not to drink so much during the race, as they wouldn’t be able to refill. 

Mitch had come over to your car as soon as you were back in. You gave her a big smile as you started to get out of the car. 

“How are you doing kid?” 

You took a moment to look at her outfit. Where a pantsuit should have been, there was a Red Bull Tank top and some very loose pants. You were jealous that she got to wear those while you were stuck with skin tight clothes. 

You gasped a bit for some cooler air once your helmet was off. 

“I’m good. Max said something about an ice bath?” 

Your eyes were faintly glimmering with hope for something to cool you down. Mitch smiled at you. 

“Yep. I put a change of clothes on your bed, but I think you need some help?” 

You nodded at her question before heading to your room. You didn’t want to waste any time getting out of your suit. 

The zipper came off smoothly. Mitch definitely saw that you had sweated through your fireproofs and felt terrible. Surely, there was something that the team could do. 

You giggled. “I’ve probably already lost a few pounds.” 

Mitch rolled her eyes at the terrible joke. If anything, there was truth in that statement. She had seen the numbers after you got weighed and you had lost a lot. 

“Well, there will be lots of food for you to fill up on.” 

“I hope we’re not going to go over the catering budget again.” 

Mitch let out a snort as she helped you out of the sticky fire proofs. She pulled out a bag and handed it to you. You grinned at the sight of the limited clothes in the bag. 

“I didn’t think that you’d want to go out in full bikini, so there’s a sports bra and some spandex shorts. I’ll wait for you by your door and will walk you to the back.” 

Once Mitch left, you quickly peeled the rest of your clothes off. The sports bra and spandex were all black, and covered everything that needed to be. You said a quick thank you to her in your mind as you got dressed. Your skin was definitely cooler with no clothes to stick to, but you were still sweating. 

You swung the door open. 

“Ready to go?” you asked, giving her the bag back with your other clothes. They would definitely need to be washed by tomorrow. 

You followed the woman to the back, going through multiple doors. Once she opened the door to the little outside area, your eyes landed on Max, who was already soaking. His eyes were closed as he leaned his head back on the tub. 

Yours was a bit more like a giant trough, filled to the brim with ice. 

Mitch spoke as you got closer. “We thought that you’d need more ice, hence why yours is bigger. It’s also more insulated with the metal than the plastic. Do not stay in more than 15 minutes. We don’t need your temperature dropping too much.” 

You tossed your foot over and gingerly place a toe in, just to get a feel for it. The temperature was perfect and you found yourself sinking into the ice. 

“You think it’s ok if I dunk my head?” you asked Max. 

He didn’t even bother to open his eyes. 

“Go for it kid.” 

You held your breath as you sunk below the ice layer. Your brain went a bit fuzzy as the freezing water went over your scalp. You let your eyes open under the water, just to feel the cold and relieve the stinging. 

Once you came up gasping for air, Max finally looked over. 

“Had fun?” He laughed a bit. 

You lovingly flipped him off. Your hands came and brushed your hair back. You looked over at Max’s plastic pool, and saw ducks in his. You pouted once you realized that you didn’t have any. 

“What’s wrong kid?” the Dutchman asked at the sight of your pout. 

You murmured, “I didn’t get any ducks.” 

Max rolled his eyes before gently throwing one of his ducks into your pool. Your eyes immediately lit up as you began to play with it. Max just watched as you found so much joy in something so little. You felt his gaze and you guessed that you needed to say something. 

“I never had a rubber duck growing up. It’s so cute.” 

You held the little yellow thing in your hands, right in front of your face. Max had a sad smile as he watched. 

“You have plans for after the race?” 

You sighed as you let the duck rest on the water, not breaking the surface tension. 

“Logan, Oscar, and Lando wanted to go see the city and I said I’d join them. Something about needing a good drive around Singapore.” 

Max snorted. Of course the group of three would want to invite you. The door opened, which had the two of you whip your heads to it. 

“Oh, hey David,” you greeted the photographer. You sank back into the ice, still enjoying the cold. Max groaned when he realized what David was there for. 

You smirked as you looked over at your teammate. “Ready to do some thirst traps Max?” 

The Dutchman rolled his eyes. “Let’s leave that for Ferrari and Lando.” 

You giggled at the statement. “Yeah, I would rather not show much on screen. Taken woman and all.” 

That time, Max laughed. 

David looked apologetic. “Just need to get some pictures. Trust me, this isn’t my favorite.” 

He took some pictures while you and Max tried to look as non-sexy as possibly. You definitely tried to sneak some goofy facial expressions in. You kept your whole body submerged and thankfully the ice kept anyone from seeing much below your neck. David quickly thanked the two of you for your time before leaving. 

“Instagram is going to have a field with those.” 

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing splish, splash - racers in the ice baths

liked by arthur_leclerc, y/n.nation, rookie&maxie, landonorris, and 846,294 others

redbullfan what the heck is this?? this was not the thirst traps we wanted

maximillian he's giving "moto-moto likes you"

y/n.nation everyone is focused on the lack of thirst-traps, I'm just focused on the amount of ducks that Red Bull has

oscarpiastri what are your duck's names?

landonorris probably can't top cold, as, and fuck y/n.89 max's is James Pond and mine is Duck Norris landonorris my son?? y/n.89 no - something american so you won't understand logansargeant DUCK NORRIS RAWWRRRRR

rookie&co BOOOOOO TOMATOES TOMATOES TOMATOES

f1fan I know admin is hiding the thirst traps

charles_leclerc no thirst traps?

maxverstappen1 we leave that to you and the Spaniard y/n.89 I mean, I could be sexy if I wanted carlossainz55 sure chica, sure y/n.89 who is single? and who is taken maxverstappen1 HA

iamred_iamyellow ducks, ducks, ducks, ducks

You snorted at the Dutchman’s bluntness. 

The timer on the wall signaled that it was time to get out. You let out a giant groan as you stood and climbed over. 

Mitch came in with two big towels. One for you and one for Max. Your skin was finally covered with goosebumps instead of sweat. You quickly had an idea as you walked back to put normal clothes on. 

“You think I could dunk my head in before I get in the car? I think my wet hair will keep my head cooler if I do. It’s something about heat escaping through your scalp when you overheat. If it’s covered by my balaclava and my helmet, it can’t escape.” 

Mitch finished your thought process. 

“So if you wet your hair, your scalp can be cooler longer.” 

You nodded before heading into your room. 

“Ah, Max wanted me to hand this to you.” 

It was a normal Red Bull polo, which made your brows pinch in confusion. But, you shrugged and took it anyways. 

However, once you started changing you realized that the shirt was almost three sizes too big. Yet, you grinned as you put it on. Since it was oversized, it wasn’t sticking to your skin as you started to sweat a little. 

The crew laughed a bit at the sight of the giant shirt almost swallowing you. But, you didn’t care about that. You were significantly cooler and you could follow the last debrief of the day. 

Sunday night came and went super-fast, and you were thankful this time around. You were definitely more cool that you had been for qualifying. Mitch had sent the ice vest to you early, so you didn’t start off too warm. With your hair being dunked in ice water, your head was cooler during the race. The little bit of breeze that you got helped as well. 

That bit really helped you stay focused as you gained another podium. Surprisingly, this was Max’s first time winning in Singapore. Adrian really made sure that the car could keep up with the street race and not end it like 2023. Charles came in a very close second. 

Charles and Max poured their champagne bottles onto your overheating body. Halfway through you needed to sit down. Your body was slowly becoming even more dehydrated and hot as the minutes passed by. You were kind of held by Max as the three of you left the podium. 

The Dutchman had a worried grip on your bicep as he held you upright. He needed to get you some water, quickly. You thankfully weren’t on the verge of passing out, but he knew you were thirsty. He heard your radio toward the end where you were just begging for a drink. Max couldn’t imagine being without water, but he normally didn’t drink as much while racing. 

He gently set you on a seat in the garage, before turning away to get some things. Your eyes were closed as you sat right under a fan. Max soon returned with a cooling towel and three bottles of water.

The cold of the towel made your eyes open as he put it on your neck. Your race suit was tied around your waist and your fireproof shift had been swapped for a thin, random oversized shirt. Max gently cooed as you leaned into the cold water bottle on your face. 

“There you go,” he whispered as you finally were able to take big gulps of water. He unscrewed one of the other bottles before he lightly tipped it over your head. Streams of water ran down your face as you finished off the water bottle. 

The team was glancing at the two of you. In the back of their minds, they were worried about how you’d react to Qatar, which was way worse. However, they held on to some hope that it would be cooler than last year due to it being moved later on the race calendar. 

Your water bottle was on in moments. You flashed a smile at your worried teammate. 

“Thanks,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath after guzzling. 

Mitch came from the back with another woman who was holding a device. Mitch kneeled next to Max and put her hand on your knee. 

“Hey kid, we just want to make sure that you’re okay. Brianna here is going to take your blood pressure and other vitals just to be safe.” 

You only nodded and leaned your head against the wall. The medic made quick work and started to strap the device on. Max stood up and walked a bit away, just to give everyone some space. His eyes caught glimpses of orange, red, and blue and he could only guess who it was. He took one more glance at the situation before walking out of the garage. 

Logan, Charles, Lando, and Oscar were waiting patiently by the opening. They all looked up once they heard Max walk out, but deflated when they realized it wasn’t the Red Bull driver they were looking for. 

“Is she doing okay?” Charles asked first, concerning the other three boys. 

Lando put his arms out, stopping any conversation. 

“What does he mean by ‘is she doing ok?’ Where’s Y/n?” the Brits voice going more high pitched the more he started to panic. 

Max sighed. “She’s just having a hard time with the heat. She got super dehydrated this weekend and really couldn’t get over it.” 

He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. 

“They’re just checking vitals I think, to make sure everything is ok.” 

Logan sighed loudly in concern. He definitely knew what it was like, getting memories from Qatar 2023. 

The American asked, “Is she going to race in Qatar?” 

Max blinked slowly before answering. “She wants to. The team is really hoping that it’s going to be significantly cooler than last year. And they know to get her started on hydration much earlier. I talked to her physio and she thinks that Y/n’s diet also wasn’t right.” 

Oscar raised his eyebrows. “Diet?” 

Max nodded. “Yeah. She was apparently eating foods that might dehydrate the body, like lots of salt. Her physio said that she’ll start her on more fruits and water heavy foods way in advance. And drinks as well, more electrolytes.” 

Lando nodded in agreement. “I remember when I had to do that. They took away my chips for like….months.” 

They had been so into talking that they didn’t notice that you had walked out, now changed into shorter shorts and a bigger top (one that Charles strangely recognized as one of his brother’s shirts). 

“Are we ready to go?” you asked, getting closer. “Lando is driving because I am done for today.” 

The boys looked a bit guilty at your tired face. 

Oscar spoke up first. “We don’t have to go driving if you don’t want to. We know you’re probably tired.” 

You waved your hands and made a sound. “Nope, I’m good. Nothing will ever beat the one time I spent an entire summer on a farm in the middle of Texas.” 

You pretended to shiver at the thought, making the group laugh. 

Charles suddenly remembered why he was there in the first place (well, second because he was worried about you after the podium). He handed you a small bag. Opening it up, you saw a bright colored water bottle. You raised your eyebrow in question. 

The Monegasque smirked. “From you know how.” 

Your face practically melted at the loving gesture as you looked at it. Lando, Oscar, and Logan suddenly got the memo. 

Logan wrapped an arm around you first. “Aww such a sweet little boyfriend.” 

Oscar looked at Lando. 

“Where’s my water bottle?” he mocked whined, batting his eyelashes at the Brit. Your rolled your eyes. 

Lando put his arms around the Aussie. “Don’t worry love, it’s in the car.” 

The Brit puckered his lips before pretending to lean in. You just watched with an annoyed grin on your face. You looked at Max and Charles and winked, the Dutchman and Monegasque getting what you were about to do. You shrugged Logan’s arm off before taking a step toward your teammate. 

But, you purposefully made your knees buckle and fell into Max and Charles’s waiting arms. Lando and Oscar shut up quickly, before yelling that you needed help. Except that they heard your giggles as Max put you back on your feet. 

“I was just kidding.” 

The trio huffed. 

Logan murmured, “That was not funny.” 

Charles snorted. “Oh but it was. Should have seen your faces.” 

Your giggled died out before you asked, “Are we ready to go? I think I’ll melt if I stand out here for any longer.” 

Lando flicked your forehead. “We were just waiting on you.” 

The four of you said your goodbyes to Max and Charles before heading to the parking lot. Somehow, Logan got his hands on a Jeep to take the four of you somewhere. And, he was even able to get the top off. And because he claimed it was an all American brand, Logan begged Lando to let him drive it. Lando reluctantly handed over the keys. 

You claimed earlier that you needed shotgun, because “men can’t be passenger princesses.” Oscar and Lando tried to disagree. 

The breeze from outside in addition to the cool air-conditioning from the car was perfect. You let everyone have their turn with the aux, praying that they wouldn’t pick anything too embarrassing.  

Oscar ripped the phone out of your hands when Logan tried to request Free Bird again.

The Aussie sighed as the American whined. 

“We are not having another shirt ripped or a speeding ticket.” 

You laughed as Logan tried to hit Oscar in the back. At an empty road, Lando grabbed his camera. 

“Bug, put your head out the window real fast.” 

You did as suggested and smiled toward the camera that Lando was holding. 

Immediately you had a sense of déjà vu. Except this time, it was actual friends in the car and not just your manager. You thought back to how far you’ve come since the night before going to Milton. 

Lando laughed as he looked at the camera. 

He spoke, “This reminds me about the time that me and my friends were driving around and then this car pulled up next to ours. They were blasting What Makes You Beautiful and there was this girl in the front seat.” 

Your cheeks were becoming warm as Lando kept telling the story: that was definitely about you. Lando kept blabbing about the night. 

“And then the next morning, I got out of my hotel elevator and I think the same girl literally bulldozed me over. Didn’t say sorry or anything. I just thought it was funny, she seemed like she was in a rush.” 

Logan was laughing at the story, but got concerned at your flushed appearance and sudden quietness. 

“You alright champ? Do we need to get you some more water?” 

At the sound of the question, Lando and Oscar were leaning up, trying to look to see if you were going to actually pass out. Lando was already on his phone, trying to bring up Max’s contact to call just in case. 

However, you started laughing, making the trio at ease. You tried to cover your giggles with your mouth. You had this bright look in your eyes. 

“That was actually me Lando. Sorry about that.” 

Lando’s jaw dropped at the reveal. 

You gave a half shrug. “Arthur was waiting for me in my hotel room and I was excited to see him.” 

Logan’s and Oscar’s shoulders were shaking as they kept laughing at Lando’s facial expressions. The Brit huffed and crossed his arms, mouth formed into a pout. 

“You owe me a race win now.” 

“Excuse you?”

“You heard me.” 

“Uh, guys?” Logan asked, but you and Lando ignored him. 

“Get your own race win. You’ve done it before.” 

“Cause Max crashed out.” 

“That’s not true.” 

“Guys?” Oscar’s voice also sounded, worry in his tone. 

“Lando, it’s really not that hard. You just go around him.” 

“It’s a tractor versus a rocket ship. One cannot simply just go around.” 

“GUYS!” 

“What?” you and Lando yelled at the same time. Once the car was silent, you finally noticed that it had stopped moving. 

“Logan why aren’t you driving?” 

You looked at the American, who was slightly shaking while looking in the rearview mirror. Your eyes glanced at it, blue and red lights reflecting through the glass. You looked behind you and saw the source. 

“Ah shit.”

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 Alexa, play free bird by lynard skynard

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63, redbullrocket, and 725,028 others

box_box_express oh thank goodness she's out

y/n.nation you think she jailbreaked?

georgerussell63 good to see that I don't need to pull up any power point presentations on why you four shouldn't go to jail

y/n.89 good to know that you have one ready? landonorris you think that we'd actually get arrested?? logansargeant oh yee of little faith oscarpiastri it was already ready???????

change_ur_f-car BAHAHAHAHAH I'M DEAD - ARRESTED RACE CAR DRIVERS FOR BEING IN A CAR

formulalala_delulu this whole race/day was a fever dream

christianhorner good to see you not in cuffs kid

y/n.89 good to not be in cuffs maxverstappen1 rookie arrest before I was y/n.89 HA I BEAT MAX VERSTAPPEN IN EQUAL MACHINERY landonorris oh that's not...ok

lestappenlove your honor I love them

Race Results

Max Verstappen - 25 points

Charles Leclerc - 18 points

Y/n L/n - 16 points (fastest lap)

Carlos Sainz - 12 points

Oscar Piastri - 10 points

Alex Albon - 8 points

Lando Norris - 6 points

Logan Sargeant - 4 points

Pierre Galsy - 2 points

Daniel Ricciardo - 1 point

Champions Standings

Max Verstappen - 334 points

Charles Leclerc - 304 points

Y/n L/n - 223 points

Lando Norris - 196 points

Carlos Sainz - 157 points

Oscar Piastri - 140 points

Lewis Hamilton - 113 points

Alex Albon - 70 points

George Russell - 65 points

Fernando Alonso - 45 points

Logan Sargeant - 44 points

Daniel Ricciardo - 26 points

Lance Stroll - 17 points

Pierre Gasly - 14 points

Valtteri Bottas - 13 points

Yuki Tusnuoda - 9 points

Zhou Guanyu - 1 point

Nico Hulkenberg

Kevin Magnussen

Esteban Ocon

Constructors Standings

Red Bull - 557 points

Ferrari - 461 points

McLaren - 336 points

Mercedes - 178 points

Williams - 114 points

Aston Martin - 62 points

Alpha Tauri - 35 point

Alpha Romeo - 14 points

Alpine - 14 points

Haas - 0 points

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[copepods]

trip to the fair :) tubbo won the rabbit at a ring toss booth

[id: a drawing of c!tubbo and c!ranboo, walking with michael between them holding their hands. they’re all laughing and talking together. tubbo’s wearing an orange sun visor, sunglasses, a blue shirt that says “proud dad of a freaking awesome kid,” a red fanny pack, and khakis. michael is wearing red shorts with hearts on them, a white shirt with a picture of three chickens, and a rainbow baseball cap. ranboo’s wearing a brown sun hat, a brown shoulder bag, and a yellow dress patterned with sunflowers. he’s holding a blue stuffed rabbit in one hand. end id]

[lipringlrh]

'tis the damn season | OP81

summary: cold weather and old towns reunite an old love. based on ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift.

pairing: oscar piastri x ex!reader

an: start of my winter/chirstmas series and evermore series!! i'm writing more, especically for oscar. also, i apologise for my absence, im in the middle of exams atm :/

word count: 2.1k

warnings: none!

feedback appreciated!!!

…

It had been a long time coming, seeing Oscar again. You were surprised you hadn’t run into him in other places around the country, during his breaks between races, but you didn’t know enough about him anymore to properly comment.

He hadn't been back in a while, you noticed from his instagram. You didn't like knowing what he was up to but you couldn't help but check everytime he showed up on your feed.

The first time you saw him was in a coffee shop, the one you use to frequent when you were together. You didn’t talk; you didn’t even meet eye to eye. You didn’t know if he saw you, you presumed he did but just had no interest in talking to you again. You walked right past him, surely he would’ve seen you, you thought.

He did see you but only to watch you leave. He was too focused on his phone to notice any of his surroundings whilst inside, it was only when you almost brushed past him that he felt an urge to look up. Possibly due to your familiar perfume or the familiar jacket you always wore, he didn’t consciously know, but the urge compelled him like no other. He watched you walk away, drink in hand, fighting the drive to run after you. He knew you’d seen him, he could feel it, but you didn’t say anything, using that as an excuse to hold back.

The second time you saw him was a shock too. You were parked in the rundown carpark behind the old church on the way to the early Sunday market. It was a tradition that you always dragged Oscar along to, every time parking in the same spot, the one in the top left-hand corner where the car lines seemed the least jagged, instead of the actual market's carpark, which was always too packed for your liking.

Oscar had been running around the town like a madman, visiting every place you two had ever been together. He didn’t understand it but some force inside him wanted to see you again. He didn’t know why or for what but deep down he knew he had to see you.

He pulled into the carpark, seeing very few cars parked there. He drove towards the top left but his heart dropped seeing a black toyota celica in your spot. It never crossed his mind it could’ve been you.

He bit his lip, instead parking along the same row but closer to the other side. He noticed someone in the car using the mirror in the sun visor before climbing out. He immediately recognised the jacket. How couldn’t he? Especially after he was the one who bought it for you all that time ago.

He couldn’t move. He felt frozen. His heart swelled with adoration yet he didn’t understand why. He watched you walk away again, slowly as though not the slip on the thin sheet of ice on the ground. He watched as you turned around the corner towards the market, desperate to follow but realising he was probably too late and would lose you in the crowds of people.

Instead he sat there for an amount of time he couldn’t count. He watched more cars pull in and park up and others drive away, critiquing each for just using it as a carpark and not loving it as he did. He felt stupid for thinking it but he couldn’t help it.

He almost missed you walking back towards your car as he was too focused on watching an old bmw fail to park well. He would’ve missed you completely if it wasn’t for your slight slip on the side of your pavement. You managed to catch yourself easily before brushing yourself off, peering around and hoping no one saw.

He jumped out of his car as fast as light, almost slipping himself in the process. He forgot to lock his car and just bolted toward you. As he got closer he began screaming your name whilst waving his arms, making sure you couldn’t miss him.

You recognised his voice instantly, freezing for a moment, your hand about to open your car door, before turning around to face him.

You waved back, trying not to laugh to yourself at his repeated slips on the ice due to his speed trying to reach you.

He was eventually in front of you, taking you all properly for the first time in what felt like years. He noticed you bought a new scarf: a burgundy-red one with tassels at the end. It looked warm and he couldn’t help but feel glad you were keeping cozy.

“Hi,” he spoke first, awkward as ever. His eyes were flicking everywhere but your own, barely keeping locked on anything for more than a split second.

You laughed lightly at his awkward, flustered state, glad he was the same as before, “hi, Oscar.”

His whole face brightened at hearing his name fall from your lips. He went red, smiling brighter than the sun. His eyes met yours and he just smiled, not saying anything in return.

“Have you been to the market yet? It’s gotten good again, especially now it’s getting colder,” you smiled, trying to make gentle conversation. You missed Oscar, you really did, but you thought any long conversation with him would throw you back into the deep end of feelings and you didn’t know if you could handle that.

“I was just about to, I haven’t been in a while,” he paused, looking like he wanted to say more so you kept quiet, waiting for him to continue, “do you- do you want to show me around?”

“Well, it’s pretty much the same layout as before, same people too-“

“I want you to show me around.” He stated, firmer but still soft, hoping you’d take the hint.

You nodded and began leading him towards the market again, reminiscing on old times; your time at the markets before, old snow days, and your relationship. It didn’t once feel wrong with him, even when he got awkward, the space was never awkward, it felt comforting and right.

You’d made your way around a lot of the stores, Oscar buying a few handmade cards he saw whilst you bought a mini trinket you debated buying your first time around.

You eventually reached the stall where you bought the scarf and he couldn’t help but notice the matching hat. It was the same colour with a matching pompom.

He picked up, walking closer to you so he could place it over your head, ignoring your complaints. He tugged it down, realised he pulled it too far down your forehead and pushed it back, messing up your hair until little bits were sticking out the front of the hat. He lifted the front of the hat, moving your hair around, placing it in the perfect position.

It was all out of your control but his closeness to you and ways he could fluster you with barely a touch still amazed you.

“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, his eyes trained on you, locking with yours rather than the hat.

He turned back towards the stall, ignoring your obvious flushed state, and finding the person selling all the hand-knitted woollens.

She was on older lady, possibly in her 60s, possibly in her 70s. She looked sweet, her demeanour radiating happiness.

“We’ll take it,” he told her, reaching for his wallet. You immediately tried to stop him, taking out your own wallet. It was a gorgeous hat, you regretted not buying it earlier, but you felt guilty for making him pay when you’ve only just seen each other again.

“Ignore her,” he grinned at the lady, handing her a note and a few coins.

She only smiled back, handing him a pre-handwritten receipt, “you two are the cutest couple around here. Don’t let my son and his girlfriend hear though.”

Oscar just smiled even more, laughing slightly before thanking her and putting his wallet back in his pocket. You were slightly shocked but just let it happen, smiling at the lady as you both walked away.

You carried on around the market, in your matching scarf and hat, completely ignoring whatever just happened. Oscar tried to buy you anything your eyes seemed to land on for more than a few seconds but you refused each time, feeling guilty.

Oscar noticed your growing irritation, he began to slow down his offers and take it easier with you, hoping he wasn't the cause.

You finished around the rest of the stalls rather quickly as Oscar didn’t have much of an interest in anything that wasn’t you. You began walking back to your cars, you quieter than before, and Oscar just locked in staring at you.

You looked down for most of the walk, deciding to not try and talk until your entering the car park again.

“Thank you, Oscar, but you didn’t need to buy me the hat. Let me pay you back please,” you asked, reaching for your purse.

He just shook his head, dismissing it as absurdity, “don’t be silly.”

“Oscar-"

“No, I told you I’d buy you anything you want, remember?” he told you with full certainty. You were reaching your car now and you both hated it, not wanting to leave each other.

You sighed, “that was when we were together, Osc, not anymore.”

He ignored every word you said, focusing on the old nickname that came out of your mouth. It made his heart beat faster and his palms get sweaty but he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Let’s be together again then,” he spoke, as it was the easiest thing he’d ever suggested. As much as you’d love it, all you could think about was the endless amount of things that could go wrong. You couldn’t handle another heartbreak, especially not an Oscar induced heartbreak. You’d never struggled particularly hardly to get over anything until it came to him. When you broke up, it shattered you both and you didn’t think you could handle that again.

“But- but what if-”

“What ifs are stupid. I know it didn’t work before but it can work again. I promise you everything that I will make this work, “ he spoke sincerely, finally reaching your car once again.

He watched your face for any signs he could recognise. He could feel your thoughts racing like second hand nature but he could see the feeling of love on your face, knowing you want this just as much as he does, it was just your own thoughts blocking you.

“I’ll show it to you, I'll prove it to you how much I want this and how I won’t give you up a second time. Give me until next weekend and I’ll show you how much I’m willing to give you my all in this,” he promised knowing he’d never mean anything this much.

Everything he felt was flowing back to him and he couldn’t imagine a life without you in it again. He knew he had been missing something and deep down he always knew it was you.

You were leant on your car, letting it hold up your weight. You were fiddling with your fingers, messing with anything to avoid looking at him. You wanted to think rationally but you knew looking up at him would mean it would all be over. You knew you loved him but you couldn’t go though another heartbreak again.

He grabbed your hands and felt immediate warmth spread all throughout him, blocking out the freezing air around him.

“Okay,” you whispered, the smile that was ghosting your face becoming full formed and beaming. You finally looked up at him and noticed he looked like he was on the verge of tears.

He pulled you in for a hug, holding you tighter than ever before. He head rested against yours and he wanted to keep it like that forever.

“Thank you,” he whispered, grateful for the opportunity and unable to express his pure admiration for you.

“There’s no need to thank me, Osc, I’d run back to you a thousands times if I could,” you replied in full honestly, your whole body full of love to give him.

“So does that mean you’ll spend the day with me? I need to get groceries and I need someone to guide me around the shop aisles.”

You laughed against him, squeezing him that little bit tighter, never wanting to let him go again.

He smiles against you, happy to hold you again, “you think I’m joking, I’m absolutely serious.”

…

feedback appreciated !!

[shimonerin]

NANAMI KENTO ROAD TRIP HEADCANONS

I'm on a vacation right now so I might as well finally write about my beloved 🩷 also not proofread and very much rushed so I apologize TvT

The two of you, if given the time and money, would always go on a short vacation trip during the holidays or special occasions as a way to unwind from the city life.

Given how busy the two of you are, you haven't spent time with each other as properly as you want it to.

It's almost always somewhere secluded and peaceful yet close enough to be driven by car. You'd spend 2-3 days there, finally having the chance to exist in the moment with your husband.

Nanami is a light packer yet he's always complete, from clothes to hygienic products. You, on the other hand, pack too much and still manage to forget something. Over time, he's learned to store some of your stuff in his bag, just so you won't lose your mind over a toothpaste or your deodorant.

He'd purposefully leave at the wee hours of the morning, preferably around 2-3 am. God forbid he wants to get into another traffic jam with hours and hours more and with the afternoon sun right into his face.

It was always such a hassle getting yourself up for the trip but when you'd finally get to your destination, with the sun peeking at the horizon and the rest of the world still sleeping, it's an experience you wouldn't miss for the world.

During the long car rides, he never failed to take care of you. Adjusting your car seat to the right position, making sure to always open the sun visor when it gets too hot.

He'd be willing to stop by every gas station for you to freshen up, stretch, or go to the bathroom. He does bring extra chips and chocolate so you wouldn't have to keep buying.

When the morning starts to rise, he would stop by a McDonald's. Get some coffee for him and some breakfast for you. Standing by the car outside, he'd let out a deep sigh and pull you closer by the shoulder as the sun peeks out over the horizon.

Nanami's never been much of a "travel-and-go" kind of guy. But if it meant spending more time with you outside the four walls of your home, he'd be willing to drive miles and miles for that.

[bits-and-babs]

could i be cheeky and ask for some more mandalorian 👀 preferably touch starved din

✦ 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐍 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 2: TOUCH STARVED

din djarin x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.2k words

summary: the child has been getting in the way of you and mando spending time together. after weeks without your touch, he's finally reaching his limit.

cw: f!reader, needy din, slightly ooc din to fit the theme, begging, oral (m receiving), cumming early, reference to f oral.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 3: PHONE SEX ⇾

Even a kriffing Miraluka, blind as they are, could see how badly Mando desperately wanted you to touch him. The sheer yearning that rolled from The Mandalorian in waves was enough to shift the midichlorians themselves, the fibres of the galaxy trembling whenever you were near him.

Weeks trapped inside the Crest with Mando, far too preoccupied with the tiny green gremlin to pay attention to his needs had taken its toll on the warrior's mentality. Grogu had been pulling at wires, leaving the ship static in dead space and even managed to find a button that sucked the oxygen from the hangar, resulting in a frantic struggle to restore O-Levels to baseline before your lungs shrivelled. A menace to the galaxy, you’d spent more time with your eyes glued to the tiny, green hazard than you had sleeping. 

In turn, Mando was practically trembling with need. He’d let out a shaky sigh every time you sat beside him in the passenger seat, voice-strain evident even with the crackle of the vocoder doing its best to conceal the distress that dripped from each singular-syllable response to your questions. 

In deep space with the child finally down in his cot for a much needed sleep, Mando’s leather gloves creak with the grip he tightens around the controls of the Crest. You hear the grains scream under the pressure as you approach, glancing over the map and the coordinates Greef Karga had offered in Mando’s search for the bounty. It’s cruel, barbaric almost, but you swear you can’t see the digits, numbers far too small for you to see from this close… So you place your palm on Mando’s shoulder, leaning over him in an attempt to get a better view. 

You'd never admit it, but the way you somehow managed to touch him between the Beskar plates of his armour was completely intentional. It was a guilty pleasure, seeing the stoic bounty hunter crumble simply from the pressure of your fingers. His chest heaves, each muscle in his body stiffening under the weight of your fingers. 

Regardless of how heavy the Mandalorian’s stare was, his eyes burning into your skin from behind the tinted visor, you refuse to advance without his request. You pretend not to notice, mouthing the digits of the coordinates to yourself, squinting as though you were unable to see.

It had been weeks of this Loth Cat and Womp Rat game, and poor Mando seems to be reaching the end of his tether.

You finally feel his respove snap when you settle your hand on the nape of his neck, leaning further over his shoulder to ‘check the fuel levels of the Crest was enough to make the journey’. Your fingertips brush the bare skin between the neck of his flight-suit and the edge of his chrome helmet, and Mando nearly doubles over like he's in pain. He chokes out, and you can tell he's already hard, his cock straining against his flight suit.

"Please, please fucking touch me,” Mando’s voice sounds utterly pathetic, a far cry from the vicious warrior that blasted through whole packs of assassin droids.”I can't take it anymore, I ca-ahaaa-" he can't swallow the moan that bleeds through the vocoder when you palm his cock though his suit. You can feel the hard curve of his cock twitch against your palm, even though the thick fabric. A rough squeeze sends Mando’s head rocking back against the seat with a quiet, metallic thunk. 

“It feels like you’ve missed me,” you murmur quietly, feeling his hips jerk against your touch when your voice reaches his ears. Prickling arousal bleeds across your skin at how reactive he is, the usually stoic figure shaking himself apart under your touch.

“M–Missed you so much,” he admits, and you’re almost certain you hear the strain of his teeth from grinding them together, “Hah– Need to feel you on me, nee-d to be in you.”

Offering a soft hum of acknowledgement to his suffering, you spin his seat around slowly. His head seems loose on his shoulders, unable to hold it upright when he sees you sink to your knees in front of him. You almost feel sorry for him, watching how he frantically scrambles to free his cock for you. 

The first drag of your tongue against the arch of his shaft has Mando panic-stricken, his hands grasping the arms of the seat when his dick throbs heavily against your taste buds. 

“Fuck–” He growls, practically choking on his own voice, “C–Can’t!”

“It’s okay,” you whisper against a pulsing vein beneath his velvety skin, “We can do it again…” 

Pre-cum slips from the ruddy head of his cock at your gentle encouragement, a tortured whine rattling in Mando’s lungs. It’s so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was bouncing inside the Beskar walls of his helmet. 

Carefully, you trace the tip of your tongue against the salty head of his cock, letting out a sharp breath when Mando takes a tight fistful of your hair. His chest is heaving, barely able to keep from slurring his words when he begs you to take him into your mouth. 

Slackening your jaw, you hum softly as you take just a few inches. Mando, in what seems like a half hearted attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure, pushes his whole body back against the chair while choking out obscene curses. You’re so slow, trying your best not to overwhelm the poor, devastated man– but the flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock and the tip nudging the back of your throat is all it takes to obliterate his self control. 

Mando sounds almost winded by the force with which he cums. His balls pull up so tight, the fingers in your hair clenching to the point your follicles scream beneath the grip. Underneath the Beskar armour, every muscle in his body flexes before the cum hits the back of your throat. Spurts of thick, salty seed paint the inside of your mouth, violent jerks of his shaft causing Mando’s head to fall backwards again, whimpering as you swallow down– swallow around him. 

“Hoh-Fuck–! Stars,” he babbles, wheezing out your name while the last of his cum drips from his cockhead. Pulling from him when his thighs finally start to seize from the overstimulation, you lean your head against Mando’s trembling knees and giggle. He looks utterly exhausted, slumped in his seat and chest heaving as he sucks oxygen into his lungs. 

“Your mouth– hah–” he wheezes out a slight laugh, so unlike the reserved Mando you met in a bar on Corellia. You’d stopped the child from running off into the crowd, and somehow found yourself with the role of babysitting him while following the bounty hunter on his adventures. “It’s so good…”

“Mhmm,” you hum in agreement, smiling to yourself at the memory of meeting the apathetic, almost grumpy chrome-man as you brush your palm across his thigh and closing your eyes to sweeten the deal, “So is yours. Put it to use and taste me?” You hear the tnk of his helmet touching the ground soon after.

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