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taylormarieee · 5 months

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Dollar bills and love Billionaire!Miguel O'Hara

🎶I'ma take her bougie ass to Rodeo and then let her pick up whatever she want. CC, Gucci, hit Bottega, whatever she want She piss me off, somehow she still get whatever she want🎶

Summary: You were bratty all day, no matter what Miguel tried to do, take you shopping, buy you food, he even bought you puppies, you were still bratty so he decided maybe fucking it out of you would do the trick.

Pairing: Husband!Billionaire!Miguel x Fem!Entrepreneur!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Dom!Miguel, sub!reader, annoyed Miguel, bratty reader, PiV sex, oral(f), rough sex, mentions of arguing, Miguel being considerate, Miguel being slightly mean, degrading kink, praise kink, pussy whipped Miggy, mentions of height difference (reader is 5'7 Miguel is a 6'9 kingggg!), established relationship(there married), kinda angst/sadness, animal awareness(please be kind to animals, there so precious and adorable, especially puppies.)

A/N: I'm in the writing mood lol, ENJOY!

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Miguel was the best husband you honestly could ever ask for. He was kind and so loving and caring. He was the opposite of what you thought about him when you first saw him.

You own your own business called Size Flows. It's a business for making clothes for plus sized people. Many plus sized people don't get to have clothes like that.

They have to fit in clothes that don't define their curves and beauty properly because the clothes are made for skinnier people. So one day when you decided to throw a party for the celebration of your business being a success you didn't expect much.

Yes, you did send flyers out but you didn't think they were going to reach the higher-higher staff and people in the world. So when famous billionaires and Multi-billionaires and millionaires started showing up into your building, you were shocked,

One of those billionaires happened to be, Lord and Behold, Miguel O'Hara. You were intimidated by him for quite some time at the party. He was tall! That was a fact. He also looked annoyed and mean.

Not really engaging in a lot of conversation like the others did. I mean yeah, the party was at night but it wasn't that late and the party didn't go on for too long so people didn't start getting bored of each other in there.

Eventually you decided to make conversation with him because why not (though you did notice most people cowered and scurried away from him when walking by). So when you arrived at his feet it took about 3 looks to finally meet his eyesight.

He was staring down at you with a tight lipped smile and you looked at him with a wide, happy, inviting one. Your signature smile at most, as that's what your assistant Alexandria says.

"Hello! You must be Miguel! I've heard a lot about you and your work and I must say, I'm intrigued to know just a little at how your mind works.

Miguel had a completely different company from yours, obviously. Yours was about clothes, he built his own museum. It was about like history and about Aerodynamics. The museum was impressive and it was large. I'm talking like, really LARGE!

You honestly couldn't help yourself. You visited the museum about 13 times. A couple with your friends who were into that stuff and like twice with your family and other times with your co-workers who wanted to go on their lunch break. You introduced yourself by saying your name or at least trying to before he cut you off.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Miguel, my name is-" you start off.

"I know who you are hermosa. I've seen your face on the cameras at my museum every time you go." He says.

Your eyes widen. You were so shocked by the cameras bit you didn't even register the intimate name he gave you. 'He's in charge of the cameras. And he's seen me over and over again!?' you thought in shock.

"Your honestly probably one of my most frequent visitors besides a bunch of college boys." he says with a polite smile on his face that makes you feel the need to laugh. He chuckles and laughs with you.

"wow, so you're frequent with the cameras huh?" you ask in a playful tone. He chuckles as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

"Yea, if you say so. I like to make sure my museum is safe and the guests are happy." he responds with a seriousness in his tone.

"Well, I mean coming from number one guest, I must say... I'm extremely happy every time I see the front of the building. Just so eager to go inside."

He laughs again and for the first time, you see a twinkle in his eyes. You guys talk for the rest of the night to the point you're the only two left in the building.

He kindly walks you to your car, which you were forever grateful for and that night ended and more frequent ones with him in it began until you two finally got married.

You were more happy in your life now than you have ever been before. You have the hottest man in the world to wake up to every morning and to say goodnight to every night.

That was three years ago and now, your here dragging Miguel everywhere, looking and searching for stuff you don't need.

Miguel was pissed at you because you were being a bit bratty today. You weren't satisfied and you constantly gave him attitude and sass. He was slowly loosing his patience and his temper the more and more bratty you got.

It got to the point he yelled at you and told you to get in the car both of you arguing for a good 20 minutes on why you were being so bratty and why he was being so annoying and grumpy.

He took you to a pet store. He bought you a tiny little bedazzled blue collar and then told you, "Pick." he said just standing in front of the dog pen with a bunch of puppies running around your legs.

"w-what?" you ask quietly, some forms of your attitude gone. "Pick. One." he says sternly with his jaw clenched. You feel slight fear but get filled with excitement when you see the two puppies you've been wanting forever!

A Corgi and a Yorkshire terrier! They were the cutest puppies to you, well that's a lie, you wanted every puppy in this store but it's not that Miguel wouldn't buy them all, it's the responsibility and care you have to have for them.

The hours you work make it difficult to buy every single one. "Miggy," you start, batting your eyelashes at him, "Can I get them all?" you ask.

There were like 15 dogs in here and you wanted every single one. "mami, no. You can get 2." he negotiates. You pout and your bratty attitude comes back.

"no! I want them all! If not then how about like 8?" you argue the amount with him. He rolls his eyes, once filled with sincerity and love now filled with anger and annoyance.

He usually wasn't annoyed with you when you got like this sometimes but he had a really bad day a work and you arguing with him didn't make it any better.

"No, two. No more negotiating mama." he says as calmly as he can because the last thing he wanted was you flinching and crying at his temper and how scary he got.

He did that once and the last time he did it, you didn't utter a proper word to him face to face for a month. He made you so scared and for a second when he raised his hand you flinched.

You genuinely thought he was going to hit you. He immediately stopped raising his voice at you after that. You allow it sometimes when you're arguing but you don't raise your voice at him that much because you know his temper and his patience.

"ok, how about 4? is that ok??!" you ask with those puppy dog eyes and that cute little pout he loves to see in different circumstances if you know what I mean.

"ok mama, and that's it." You get 4 collars for their genders one pink, one red, one green, and one violet. You got a Dachshund, a Yorkshire terrier, and a French bulldog and a Shih Tzu.

-The Dachshund was a boy and you named him lucky. (he got the red collar.)

-The Shih Tzu was a girl and you named her princess. (she obvi got the pink collar)

-The French bulldog was also a girl and you named her cleo. (she got the purple collar)

-The Yorkshire terrier was the last you chose and he was a boy and you named him stripe. (the name is because he was black and had a brown stripe on his face and he obvi got the green collar)

"That'll be $1,375 sir. And would you like to donate to charity for dogs in need?" she asks with a smile on her face.

"Ok, and yes I would like to donate!" Miguel responds with a smile on his face matching hers.

"Oooo! No Miguel! Can I do it instead? Oh, please hermoso, lemme do it!" you beg you wanted to be part of that cause.

"Ok hermosa, go ahead but lemme pay for the doggy bowls and the food and all the beds and everything else ok?"

"Miguel that means i'll have to buy something! Leave the doggy bowls out, I'll buy them because you'll have to press decline." You explain to him.

"No, I'll pay some to charity and then you pay some." He says smiling glad that your attitude is over.

"If you both don't mind me asking, how much are you donating? I run the charity and I'm just curious." The lady who you now know her name to be Sam, asks.

"Oh I'm paying 500,000 dollars." Miguel says nonchalantly like it's nothing. Her mouth drops.

"And i'm paying 600,000." I add with a smile on my face. Miguel dips his head back down at me and narrows his eyes like it's a competetion.

"Never mind 700,000." he says eyeing me up and down.

"800,000"

"900,000"

"1,000,000" I say finally winning.

"I'll pay 900,00 Sam." Miguel says smiling at her. The lady is crying now and you rush over to hug her.

"Oh poor thing. I have just as much love for dogs as you do. My dog died a couple weeks ago and i've been dying for a new one. That's why we're here so i'm glad we were able to help." You reassure her hugging her.

She mutters a sorry for your loss as she's fighting back tears and you smile feeling tears run down you face as well. Animals were such a big part of life and they brought so many people happiness.

To see the way so many people mistreat animals really crushes your heart. You both pay and walk away with happy smiles and 4 happy puppies with a new home.

You wave to the other employees as they finally realize who you and Miguel were. They asked for pictures and hugs. You gave that to them and then bid them a farewell.

"Thank you Miguel, I really needed this." You say with more tears in your eyes. His face softens and he hugs you and kisses your head. "It's ok baby. I have one more surprise for you at home." He says with a smirk on his face.

You decided to be a tease. The entire car ride you acted bratty and all mad because he wouldn't let you get all the puppies.

You knew exactly what the surprise was so that's why you acted like this. The surprise was sex, you knew it was. That smirk he had on his face in the pet store showed it. He was horny and now frustrated so that only meant one thing...

ROUGH SEX! You loved rough sex with Miguel so much. He would always degrade you and then praise you. He was just so bipolar during sex but whenever you made him real mad and pushed his limits like you are right now,

It always led to hateful, angry sex, well maybe not hateful but really angry, rough sex.

"Get out." He says through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Your eye's go wide still keeping up with the act. "No Miguel! This conversation isn't over." You say stubbornly sitting in your seat.

"Fine. Then I'm getting out and I'm going to feed the dogs you're neglecting right now." He says with an eyebrow raised and a shrug.

You gasp and cross your arms over your chest. Your body and the car slightly shakes with Miguels slam to the door.

"what a jerk." You mutter under your breath but sometimes you forget your husband has super hearing and you also have a trunk, that happened to be open...

SMUT INCOMING: MDNI!!!!!

"Hmm love? What was that? Oh. I'm a jerk? mhmm mami, I'll show you a jerk." He says in that sultry smooth voice that had your knees buckling, every. single. time.

You let out a sigh as you watch him go into the house( aka a big ass mansion.) You wait until he goes fully inside. He closes the door but you still wait a little just for good measure.

When you walk in, something pushes you against the wall and Miguels lips are instantly on you roughly. You whimper and he grips your throat.

Your hand rushes to his hand around your throat and he growls biting your bottom lip, drawing it back before letting it spring back to it's original place.

His grip on your neck only tightens as he pushes his crotch against you. He flips you around roughly and your face and front part of your body hits the wall hard, his hand still on your neck.

You moan at the feeling of his crotch pressed against your ass now. "You wanted me to be a jerk right? Your so fucking ungrateful baby but damn are you beautiful." he growls in your ear, clearly fed up with your bratty attitude.

"Guess daddy is gonna have to fuck that attitude out of you huh? ¿Es eso lo que quieres, puta sucia?" He asks you. You loved when he dirty talked to you in spanish, it turned you on so much.

"Mhmm, want you to fuck it outta me papi." you say in return, your voice low and seductive. He grins against your neck before biting it roughly. causing you to. cry. out.

He licks over the bite and you whimper, your legs clenching to find some sort of friction. "Nuh uh mamacita, no trying to please your self. Spread em open baby." He says in a soft voice he didn't have a second ago.

You hesitantly oblige and spread your legs. "Good girl, look at that, mi niña bonita es tan buena para mí." he says proudly.

you smile to yourself before he's picking you up over his shoulder and carrying you up the stairs to your shared bedroom.

"Miggy, i-i'm sorry, I won't be bratty again! I promise." You beg him with pleading eyes when he rests you in the bedroom, on top of the bed as he slowly climbs on top of you.

"No. Don't do that. That's what you said last week, and last month. Every time you beg, I have mercy on you and let it slide, not today baby. Me lo tomarás como una buena chica, ¿verdad?"

"Yes daddy, I'll take it like a good girl for you! I promise, i'm sorry."you respond. His hand trails up. and down your body agonizingly slow and it's making you anxious and needy.

"mhm, daddy, can you fuck me now, please?" you beg. He looks at you and shakes his head.

"No, mi amor. Shut up, and maybe I will." He says roughly. Your eyes start to tear up, not from his words but from his actions.

I mean, I guess you deserve it but he didn't have to be this slow. You stay quiet for the next 20 minutes? you don't even know anymore cuz you lost count.

He finally dips his head, kissing down your stomach, your clothes long gone. He finally reaches where you want him. His warm tongue flat against your soaking cunt.

You let out a relieved sigh, "mhmm thank you thank you thank you miggy." you chant out breathlessly.

his tongue dips inside of you and that alone has you winded. Your breathing his ragged and your hands immediately flying to his hair as you tug on it.

"What'd I say, hmm love? shut up or I stop." He says sternly, your cunt now feeling empty without his tongue. He licked and sucked and prodded at your entrance multiple times.

Soon making you come undone. Your legs closed around his head and you cried out as he licked up every single drop you had, not letting any at all go to waste.

Once he stood back up and met your teary eyes, he smiled. Not a genuine, happy smile, no. It was this smirk that he made when he knew he won, when he knew that he had your little mind wrapped around his finger.

He begins moving the belt to his pants and all you hear is a grunt. You don't even register his cock slipping and sliding through your slick folds.

"Joder mi amor, te sientes tan apretado a mi alrededor." he moans out as he slides his cock into your entrance. You feel so tight around him. Like virgin tight.

"Gonna beat this pussy real nice baby, No quiero que camines por el resto del fin de semana. No walking at all mama." He whimpers when your walls clench around him.

He's pounding now. First it was small, slow thrusts to ease you into it but your pussy is just too addicting. Miguel was so lost in your pussy, he doesn't even realize how hard he's pounding in to you.

His pace unrelenting, even after he made you cum for a second time. Your pussy feeling overstimulated and sore but Miguel is too entranced to care, constantly muttering out cure words and how good you feel wrapped around him.

You felt your orgasm coming as your walls fluttered around him again. He groaned at the feeling and roughly thrusted into you yet again.

"This pussy is all mine, such a fucking brat. Now look who's a mess over my cock hmm hermosa? Mierda, eres una jodida puta para mí, cariño." he says aggressively, enunciating his words with his thrusts.

You scream out and chant Miguels name over and over again while your orgasm rushes through you. you claw at his back and pull on his hair. You've left little tiny crescent shapes in his biceps.

He finally cums inside you at the same time and he releases this animalistic, primal groan and you shudder at the sound. You moan when you feel his hot warm load burst inside you.

"Fuck Miguel." you pant out before sleep over comes you. You were so weak and so tired.

It's a little later in the night, 12:32 to be exact. You look at the clock and then look behind you to find a sleep Miguel with his arm under your head and the other keeping you close resting on your stomach.

You turn until your face is in his chest. You had Miguels shirt on and underwear. He's so sweet, he must've cleaned you up when you passed out.

Your hands run through his hair lightly and you smile at his resting face. You kiss his face, then his nose, then his lips and the his neck.

You loved everything about Miguel and you hope he knows it. How tall he was compared to you, how he had such a sweet soul behind that mean facade. Everything about him was drop-dead gorgeous.

If you had the option to relive one memory with Miguel, It would be the first time you met him. So kind and such a gentlemen.

Taglist: @oharaslover @ribbonprincess @willyoubemycherryy @cherryredstarsreblogs /@cherryredstars @versatilehater @dustbunniess / @evbunnie

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skzdarlings · 10 months

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vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 1/2

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PART 1/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. handcuffs. cat-and-mouse. eventual smut will be kinky dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. (chapter word count: 7400 words.)

Seungmin is one of your best friends and also a conniving master of manipulation. Being a malevolent source of wicked verbal wizardry, he convinced you and Minho that it would be totally super easy to sneak into the Hwang Hyunjin concert. It’s only the final night of the pop-star’s sold-out world tour and the most anticipated concert of the year. What could go wrong?

It sounded like a good idea when Seungmin said it. Now the three of you are standing in a pushy crowd of overeager fans with some very intimidating looking security guards at the end of the queue.

“Reconvene,” you say. You grab the boys by their scruff and drag them out of the line.

“Ah, hey!” Minho snaps at you like piranha.

You release him to grab Seungmin by his collar. “You better have an idea for getting us past security,” you say, “because I do not like the look of the Incredible Hulk up there.”

The three of you look at the shortstack beefcake who looks like he could bench all three of you at the same time.

“Yeaaaah,” Seungmin says. He flashes you a not-so-innocent smile as his strawberry-pink bangs flop into his eyes. “I didn’t really think this far ahead. I thought you’d have a plan.”

“Why would I have a plan?” you ask. “This whole thing was your idea. Seungmin.” You drag him close so your noses touch, going cross-eyed at the proximity. It does not lessen the severity of your frustration when you state, “I waxed for this. And you know how I feel about waxing.”

“You waxed?” Minho asks loudly. It draws a few glances your way which might be because Minho is so loud, or might be because he’s so good looking, or a combination of the two. His dark eyes narrow at you like you’re a completely alien creature. “Why would you wax for a concert?” he asks.

“Wax,” Seungmin parrots. Your hands are on his collar like you intend to shake him up but it doesn’t deter him asking, “Like… like wax-wax? Like your human body waxed?”

“Like your human pussy?” Minho asks. “For a concert? What did you think was gonna happen?” He is on the very visible verge of hysterical laughter when a thought lights his eyes. “Wait,” he says. “I know how we can get in—”

“Oh my god,” you say. You shove Seungmin and grab Minho by the collar instead. “I’m not fucking our way in. And I waxed,” you drop your voice, “just in case.”

“Just in case…?” Minho tips his head. “Just in case you had to fuck your way in…?”

“Oh my god,” you say. You push him away too. “Never mind.”

“Did you think Hyunjin was going to summon you out of the crowd for a green room quickie?” Seungmin asks with a shit-eating grin.

Minho cackles. “No way she’d even go,” he says. “She doesn’t get summoned. She likes to be chased.”

“She is walking away now,” you say.

“Bet she’ll walk away quickly,” Seungmin says. “She waxed so she’ll be aerodynamic.”

You stomp away from the stadium but only make it a few steps before Seungmin runs in front of you.

“We can’t just give up here,” Seungmin says. “We made it this far already.”

“One bus stop?” you ask dryly. “We literally live like five minutes away—”

“Exactly!” Seungmin says. “That’s called destiny.”

“We might as well try,” Minho says. He cups a hand over his eyes to look at the stadium in the fading light of the sun. “We all got dressed up. Seungmin skipped a class. You waxed.”

“There’s no way we’re getting through those doors,” you say.

“We’ve done it before,” Seungmin says. He turns you to face the stadium and massages your shoulders like a boxing coach, all the while regaling you with tales of your past victories. “Remember all the other concerts we snuck into? The sports games? That celebrity wedding—”

“Well,” Minho interrupts, “we did get arrested at that one.”

“Yeah and we got arrested together,” Seungmin says, “because that’s what friends do.”

“I don’t know why,” you say, “but for some reason this is working.” Maybe it’s Seungmin’s words, or Minho’s cologne, or maybe it’s the soft glow of a perfect summer sunset as it pours over the stadium like a pink-orange waterfall. Or maybe it’s because this really is the concert of the year, and you love a challenge, and you fucking waxed.

You throw your head back and sigh, soulfully resigning yourself to your imminent fate.

“Fine,” you say. “So how are we doing this?”

“Don’t worry,” Seungmin says thoughtfully. “I think I have a plan.”

Seungmin proceeds to explain the plan. It is hardly the pinnacle of heist endeavours but is more feasible than rappelling down the stadium walls into the concert arena.

Basically, the plan is to find a group of people with a solitary ticket holder and leech onto their tail with the hopes security will miscount the party and let you sneak past. It means you will have to split up because security will definitely notice three extra people. You will then hopefully reunite inside the arena.

You scamper around the periphery of the stadium, perusing lines for oblivious groups of excited fans with an e-ticket-wielding ringleader. You also double-check which security guards seem the most lax or checked out.

“I get that one,” Minho says.

He points to a trim, athletic guard with floppy brown hair and a giggly smile. You and Seungmin protest because that guard is an easy mark so you all want him, but Minho takes off running for the queue.

The thing about Lee Minho is that he never hauls ass. He coasts through life with a casual slouch, but he is completely capable of annihilating everyone if he deigns to do so.

He does. So he did.

You and Seungmin look around. Your grin widens when you spy the next easiest target.

“Aha!” you say. “I call dibs on that one! Good luck, Seungmin!”

“Hey!” Seungmin bellows.

He is far too late. You are already booking it towards the line with a pretty, chipper, skinny security guard. He is in jeans and a loose windbreaker that says SECURITY across the back, about the only indication he is a man of any authority. His hair is a vibrant, neon blue and is delicately styled, long enough to pull back in a pretty half-ponytail. His features are sharp, cheekbones sloping, but there is a natural tenderness to his whole countenance. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Also, he really is lean. Worst case scenario, you can probably push your way past him and disappear into the crowd before he can do anything about it.

You find a group of girls to sidle alongside anyway. You are satisfied you will easily slip into the stadium.

The group reaches the front of the line, a couple of them giggling at the security guard’s friendly attention. His name tag reads Felix, a cute name for a cute guy. Up close, you can see a smattering of dark freckles across his face, as well as a few playful glitter stars for the concert. He is admittedly pretty but as a professional gate crasher, you refrain from distraction. You successfully avoid his gaze and stick close to the girl in front of you.

Felix gives them each a friendly nod, smiling brightly. He laughs at one of their comments and it’s a charming, low sound.

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he says, his voice about a hundred decibels deeper than you expected.

Maybe that’s what trips you up. It has to be something, because you were doing everything right. But just as you go to follow the girls into the arena, a skinny arm shoots out and you smack right into it.

“Sorry,” Felix says. He drops his arm and smiles. “I just need to see your ticket.”

“My…?” You look ahead at the group of girls, but they are already gone. Oops. “Ha, ha,” you say, looking at Felix.

He is staring back at you, still smiling a close-lipped smile. He blinks a couple times then lifts an eyebrow.

“Uh, ticket?” he says. He holds out his hand.

“Right,” you say. You smile at him with all the saccharine sweetness you can. “I have funny story about that, Felix,” you say.

“Hm.” His smile turns into a line, eyes narrowing as he looks at you. “And what’s that?”

“Well, you see…”

It’s all you say before you bolt, fast on your feet. You sprint for the entryway behind the guarded queue. There’s a crowd inside and you’re an expert at disappearing into a crowd. You just need to get in there and find your boys then you are home free. Hwang Hyunjin, here you come.

There’s just one problem.

Felix is fast.

Like, track star fast. Like, road runner fast. Like, you’re that dumb coyote getting an anvil dropped on your head, except this anvil is a skinny blue-haired Australian with a voice like a god and the apparent hidden strength of one too.

You make it a few desperate steps before Felix literally sweeps you off your feet. You shriek when he hauls you under his arm, dragging you away from the stadium door. He deposits you a few feet from the queue then swiftly resumes his position.

“Hello,” he says to the next person in line. “Sorry about that. Ticket?”

Your mouth is agape.

No one has ever got the jump on you like that.

“Hey!” you say, but Felix has moved on. He is smiling at the next guest as he checks their ticket, not paying you any mind. “Excuse me,” you say, despite the people between you and him. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I do have a ticket.”

“Uh-huh,” Felix says. He doesn’t look at you, scanning someone’s e-ticket with a little device. It lights up green and he smiles at them. “Enjoy the show,” he says.

You jump into the queue, cutting off the next person. Felix’s smile vanishes and is replaced with an astoundingly sassy expression.

“Uh, this line is for ticket-holders,” he says.

“I have a ticket,” you say. You unzip your purse and spend a minute rifling around, ignoring him when he sighs. He apologizes to the people behind you. You turn and offer a tight-lipped apology of your own. “I was in line,” you say, as if they didn’t just witness this ten-pound bully haul you around like a sack of potatoes. “There was just a misunderstanding.”

Felix rolls his eyes.

You pull out your cell phone and flip through a folder of fake screenshotted tickets, hoping at least one of them marginally resembles the tickets for tonight. You pick one and flash it at Felix.

“Happy?” you say with a lot of false indignation. You turn off the screen when Felix goes to grab your phone. You give him a snooty, squinty-eyed look, then saunter right past him.

This time when he comes after you, you are better prepared for his speed. You zig-zag and he stumbles, cussing very unprofessionally. You make it all the way to the door before he grabs you. You have no idea where he is getting all that muscle because he feels like a sturdy stick when you grab at him, but he puts you over his shoulder like it’s easy.

“Um, excuse me!” you shout. “Hello! Someone film this! I’m being assailed!”

Felix intentionally jostles you on his shoulder. He is even less gentle when he drops you this time, though you do manage to keep your footing.

“Try that again,” Felix says, “and it will be trouble. Got it?”

Felix is very good looking. He’s an incredible combination of pretty and handsome, not to mention that voice, guh. But what gets you going is how much you are clearly pissing him off. It’s hot. Out of nowhere, the freckled sunshine sweetheart is just oozing confidence, standing square and pointing at you with a very stern expression. And if you get a little hiccup in your blood, a little skip in your heartbeat, a little stampede southward that makes your pussy hum like the interested kitten it is, well. That’s not your fault. It’s his. Asshole.

You flip him off. He ignores you, shaking his head as he returns to his position.

“Sorry,” he says to the queue. “Some people are so inconsiderate, aren’t they?”

Ugh. What a sexy bitch.

You text to check in with the boys. Minho made it inside, no surprise, but apparently Seungmin is also struggling for an in.

what is with these security guards, Seungmin writes, are they military trained? fuck

maybe you’re both just losing your touch, Minho replies.

never, you say. we still have lots of time. we'll get in there. seungmin, meet me by the benches. we need another plan.

Usually, the best way to crash an event is with minimal attention and no theatrics. It’s all about pretending you are exactly where you are supposed to be. If you act like you belong, then you will.

A spectacle is a desperate measure, but you are desperate people. After a few hushed whispers on a bench, you and Seungmin spring into action.

“Help!” Seungmin shouts. “My wife needs help! Please!”

“Your wife?” you whisper through gritted teeth, opening one eye to look at him. You are currently laying on the pavement in a dramatic swoon, Seungmin hunched over you.

“My companion of ambiguous relationship is hurt!” he says. “Ouch,” he adds, because you swat his arm.

Fortunately, he does draw attention. A few people run over, the beefy security guard one of them. His nametag reads Changbin and he is in a black t-shirt at least two sizes too small. You do not begrudge him this, as you would do the same if you had biceps like that.

“What happened?” he asks, crouching down beside Seungmin.

“My friend just passed out,” Seungmin says. He hoists you into his arms as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. “Is there somewhere inside I can take her to sit down? I think all the chaos out here overstimulated her.”

“One second,” Changbin says. He pulls a walkie-talkie out of a holster. It buzzes with static as he turns it on. “Hey, we have a collapsed woman in front of Entry Door B. Can I have back-up clear a path, and someone with First Aid training?” The walkie-talkie buzzes again and Changbin puts it away. He stands up, waving away the small crowd that has gathered. “Yah, everyone back up! This is an emergency!”

“It’s really not,” Seungmin says. He scoops you into a bridal hold then struggles to lift you off the ground. “I just need – whew – somewhere I can – agh – put her down. I can just – AH! – carry her myself.”

Naturally, it is at that moment a familiar voice descends from above.

A familiar, deep, Australian-accented voice.

“Move aside, please.”

“Oh no,” you say, eyes closed. You open them just in time for a glitter-faced, freckled, blue-haired pretty boy in a SECURITY windbreaker to cut through the crowd.

Unfortunately, Felix is just as good looking at this angle. He waves away the gathered onlookers as he approaches, but looks at Changbin first.

“I have First Aid,” he says. “What happened?”

“I just found her collapsed,” Changbin says. “Her friend thinks it’s the crowd. Should we bring her inside?”

Felix looks at you. The concerned furrow in his brow immediately gives way.

You smile innocently.

“No,” Felix says, frowning. “We shouldn’t.”

“Oh come on,” you say. You smack the ground. “I collapsed! I need help!”

“No, you need a ticket,” Felix says. He crosses his arms and stomps a foot. “Seriously, what is wrong with you? Some of us have a job to do, you know?”

“Naaaur ya need a ticket, mate,” you say in a mockingly deep chest voice. “Some of us have jobs ya knaaaaur!”

“Do you guys know each other?” Changbin asks, looking between you and Felix – who is growing increasingly red in the face and breathing much harder.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” Seungmin says.

“Ah!” Felix yells, spinning to Changbin. “She doesn’t have a ticket! She’s just trying to sneak in!”

“She doesn’t have a ticket?” Seungmin asks, gasping. He drops you onto the concrete, ignoring your yelp of pain. “But I thought she – she told me we – I – I –“

You watch in betrayed horror as Seungmin pretends to faint, flopping down beside you on the concrete. You sit up, very tempted to slap him across the face but not wanting to give Felix more reasons to accost you.

“Seungmin,” you say. You grab him by the shirt and rattle him around like a ragdoll. “Seungmin, you bastard, don’t even think about it!”

“You.” Felix stomps up behind you. “Get off the ground and come with me.”

“No,” you say. “I don’t want to and you can’t make me.”

You shriek – again – when Felix grabs you under the arms and hoists you to your feet. He manhandles you with only a modicum of effort, dragging you away from your stupid traitorous best friend.

You step on Felix’s foot deliberately and he swears. For such a pretty thing, he sure has a filthy mouth. You grab a fistful of his hair and tug, to which he cusses up a storm and pries your hand off his head.

You hear the distinct buzz of Changbin’s walkie-talkie.

“We have a collapsed man in front of Entry Door B. Can someone who isn’t going to start fighting the patrons come help me move him?”

“He’s faking it!” you cry in protest, watching Changbin scoop Seungmin off the ground.

Changbin disregards your outburst. Seungmin gives you a thumbs up behind his back. Felix, of course, doesn’t see it because he’s too busy dragging you away. You are left to sputter in bewildered protest at the injustice of it all.

Felix marches you to the sidewalk, far away from the stadium queues. You are both out of breath by the time you get there. Even so, you attempt to manoeuvre under his arm to run away. In a few quick moves, he knocks you onto your ass.

“Holy fuck!” You are panting now. A line of sweat dots your hairline. You wipe at it and stare morosely at this stupidly competent minimum wage security guard. “What are you, like some kind of karate master or something?”

“Taekwondo, actually,” he says, brushing off his jacket. Then he tips his head and stares down at you.

You would be lying if you said the intensity of his stare didn’t have your heart racing for an entirely new reason. Danger and desire have always danced a close dance for your tastes. Felix is not helping matters, tucking back loose strands of vibrant hair as he looms over you, wetting his bottom lip and staring.

You cross your arms and feign nonchalance, but you can’t look away from him. When he crouches down slowly to meet you at eye level, everything below the belt goes pitter-patter.

“No ticket,” Felix says slowly. “No concert. Do you understand me?”

You stick out your tongue.

“Wow, mature,” he says. His departing farewell is another snarky eyeroll. He shakes his head as he stands, muttering to himself in obvious frustration.

So much for not a mean bone in his body. That bully is all business.

So hot.

You huff and puff for a bit. Your phone is going berserk in your purse, probably the boys trying to reach you. Eventually you succumb to the necessary confession of your twice thwarted efforts. Minho teases that you are losing your touch for real. It makes angry little fireworks pop out of your ears.

Plenty of occasions you have assessed a situation and deemed it unreasonably complicated, but quitting while you’re ahead is not the same thing as admitting defeat. You do not lose. This isn’t even about the concert anymore. Fuck Hwang Hyunjin, he was never worth the pain of a wax in the first place. No. This is about your pride. This is about your dignity. This is about your honour.

You are getting into that concert, one way or another.

First, you gather intel. This comes in the form of snooping, running between queues to figure out the easiest mark. You don’t judge the guards by their appearances this time, because apparently this security team has secret taekwondo masters hidden in their midst.

You watch their every move, calculating and determining your odds therein. Based on visual research and Minho’s confirmation, it seems your best bet is the smiling guard who let Minho through. His nametag reads Jisung and he is a veritable flirt.

Flash him your tits, Minho texts.

Uh, no, I’m not that desperate yet.

Second, with your intel now acquired, you get into the dwindling line. The sun is almost set and a breezy summer chill dances across your cheeks. The concert will be starting soon. You shuffle behind the other stragglers, adjusting your outfit. The jean shorts hug your hips and flash a nice chunk of thigh, and your shirt is already low cut but you figure another tug won’t hurt. You also pull your flannel down your arms to look as flirtatious as possible.

Jisung is barely looking at the tickets as he scans them, chatting merrily to the guests as he lets them through. You pull up a random ticket on your phone, something to hold out while you distract him.

“Hi,” you say.

His eyes flick down to your chest, then back up. He smiles brightly.

“Hi!” he says. “You look nice. Excited for the concert?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say. “You have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for this. It wasn’t easy to get in.”

“I know what you mean,” he says. “Tickets are hard to come by, and so expensive!”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” you say, leaning in while he scans your phone. This was a bad idea because he looks down at your chest again, just in time for his little device to flash red.

“Oh, oops!” he says. He smiles at you as he shakes his device. “Sorry!” he says. “I think you showed me the wrong ticket. Could you pull up the right one?”

“Ohhh!” you say, looking down at your phone with fake surprise. Life is so unfair. “I’m so sorry… Jisung. Hehe, that’s such a nice name.”

“Haha, thanks,” Jisung says. “My parents picked it, but, yeah, it’s cool. Anyway.” He wiggles his device. “Ticket please!”

You keep smiling and giggling, even as you turn around under the guise of searching through your phone. You glare down at the stupid device, keeping your back to Jisung while you do so. How the fuck are you getting out of this? You flip through screenshots then open your text messenger. Minho’s last words of wisdom blink up at you.

Apparently, you are that desperate.

With a sigh, you put your phone in your purse and zip it shut. You shrug your shoulders and plaster that fake smile on your face again. With a swift of flick of your thumbs, you lift your shirt and bra up over your tits and spin around to look at Jisung.

“How’s this for a ticket—”

Jisung looks surprised and delighted. Jisung, however, is standing a few feet back. Probably because he was told to step back. Probably by Felix who is standing in front of you with his arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face.

“Wow,” Felix says. “Just committing crimes now, are we?”

You shove your tits back into your bra indignity, not even embarrassed, just annoyed.

“Tits aren’t a crime,” you say.

“Public indecency is,” he replies.

“You’re… publicly indecent…” Not your best comeback. You glare at him while fixing your shirt. “There’s no way they pay you enough to be riding my ass this hard.”

“They don’t,” Felix says, grabbing your arm. “Believe me when I say riding your ass has been my pleasure.”

“Twisted fuck,” you reply.

You wave at Jisung as Felix tugs you away. He waves back but does nothing to rescue you, because all men are traitors.

You groan loudly as Felix leads you away from the stadium yet again. “Just let me innnnn,” you whine. “Why do you hate meee.”

“I don’t even know you!” Felix says. He deposits you on a bench and takes out his phone.

“What are you doing?” you ask, eying the device.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks. “You tried to break into a ticketed event three times. You faked an injury. You flashed yourself in a public place—”

“I wouldn’t have done any of that if you just let me through in the first place!”

“You cannot be serious.” Felix looks ready to rip his hair out. “You don’t have a ticket! Why would I let you in, why would I – AH! Why am I arguing with you! Be quiet, I’m phoning the police.”

“The po— the police?! How dare you!” You try to stand but he pushes you onto the bench one-handed. He holds you there, palm on your shoulder, still way stronger than someone this scrawny should be.

“Fine!” you exclaim. “Fine! You win! I’m sorry, Felix, I was wrong. I was wrong and you were right.”

Felix pauses. “Really,” he says, sounding unconvinced.

“Yes!” You look up at him with the saddest, most watery eyes you can muster. “I just wanted to see the concert but it was stupid to think I could break in.”

He turns off his screen. Success. You watch him slip his phone in his pocket.

“It’s not about being smart or stupid,” he says, the ire gone from his voice. It takes a lot of willpower not to bite his fingers when he pats your shoulder. “It’s about the fact we can’t always get what we want,” he says kindly as he crouches in front of you. His hand goes from your shoulder to your knee, still patting it in a friendly manner.

You bite your tongue because you want to tell him you liked him better when he was being a mean bitch, but that would be counterproductive to your escape attempt.

It turns out, you don’t need to say anything, because he decides to be a bitch again anyway. Felix looks at you with a too-sweet smile and says, “It’s about time someone taught you that lesson.”

“Um, excuse me?” you say, aghast. You clasp your hand over your heart. “Just who do you think you are? First of all, you taught me nothing, I’m still a horrible bitch and I lied when I said you were right. Second, you absolutely can get everything you want, you just have to want it enough to get it. But you wouldn’t know anything about that. You know why, Felix?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head like he expected this, which he probably did, but you’re too far gone to retreat.

You reach out and cup his face in both hands, turning it to you. Those sharp eyes are unflinching, even with your fingers on his face. You try really hard not to gulp.

“It’s because you are a good boy,” you say. “You always do what you’re told. You always follow the rules. I bet everyone thinks you’re the nicest guy on the team, don’t they? I bet they call you cute little nicknames and all the nice little girls think you’re a sweet, innocent baby. And you are, aren’t you, Felix? You’re just such a good, good boy. But me? I’m not good. I’m not bad. I just like to win. When I want something, I get it, because I chase it, and I don’t stop until I get it. Until it’s all mine.” You lean in close. “Get it?”

His gaze darkens, brows pinching. You take his fleeting moment of vulnerability to shove him onto his back. He sprawls on the ground with a surprised yelp. You sprint away at top speed and flip him off over your shoulder.

It’s a haphazard ploy at best but you are fresh out of plans. What you need is distance between you and Security Guard of the Year, a breather long enough to come up with a final plan. Maybe you can physically break in somewhere: an office window, a janitorial stairwell, something.

You keep an eye out for potential openings as you run.

And run.

Hmm. You’ve been running a long time. Even with the head-start, Felix should have caught you by now. You doubt he would have truly given up. Felix had a deranged look in his eye, similar to the one you get when someone is trying to beat you at your own game. He doesn’t want you to win anymore than you want to lose. You suspect it isn’t about the concert for him either; this is a personal battle.

You come to a gradual stop, hands on your hips as you catch your breath. It’s quiet on this side of the stadium as the queues were on the opposite end.

Quiet, yes. Too quiet.

There’s a stairwell that leads to second level just above your head. Felix is good. You have to give credit where credit is due. If you weren’t a scheming nightmare with a penchant for con-artistry, he probably would have caught you. But without turning around, you know he booked it up the stairs and is two seconds from springing an attack.

You take off running, just in time for him to thump into the grass beside you. You laugh at his strangled cry of frustration as he scrambles to his feet.

Around the next corner is the parking lot. You stop a split second to look over your shoulder and see him hot on your heels. He discarded his jacket and is in a loose sleeveless shirt, revealing he does have some light toning to his lean body. But you don’t stop to measure how proportionate it is to his strength, because he is focussed on you like a laser.

Then he smiles. A slow, slinky smile like a cocky predator about to swipe at its prey. That cat has claws, nasty ones, and you almost want to get tangled in them. Almost. You want to win even more.

And he just set you up for success. There’s a SECURITY jacket on the ground somewhere nearby. That’s your ticket in. You just have to lose Felix in the parking lot and loop back around to find where he tossed it.

You spare no time setting that plan into action, giving Felix a smile of your own before you run. He thunders after you.

The pair of you weave in and out of parked cars. He disappears for a second behind a row of trucks. You whip your head around to figure out where he went, only for him to summersault around the corner and cut you off. You yell instinctively but narrowly dodge his reaching hand. He curses, running after you with his arm outstretched. You duck behind a trailer and lose him, scurrying between some SUVs. You peek at him through the windows, watching him turn in a circle to find where you went. Smiling to yourself, you quietly but quickly back away.

You leave the lot and run back the way you first came. You find Felix’s jacket draped on a random bush.

Your heart is practically singing with adrenaline. Victory is in sight. You push yourself to run faster and reach out with both hands –

— only to find yourself rolling in the grass, Felix’s arms tight around your middle as he tackles you to the ground.

You push and pull at each other, cursing and scrambling very ungracefully. You get out of his arms but he climbs on top of you, then you knee him in the gut so he rolls over, but when you start crawling he grabs your ankles and drags you back.

Ultimately, he Taekwondo Masters you onto your front, hands clasped behind your back. You kick your feet and wail despondently into the grass as he kneels over you, breathing raggedly and swearing again.

“You’re a monster!” you shout. “You’re a tyrant and a bully and you have no right to – HEY!”

He handcuffs you.

“Ha.” He leans in close, speaking right into your ear. “I win.”

“That’s not fair,” you say. “You can’t just—ahh!” You wail in petulance as he lifts you onto your feet. His grip on your bicep is unyielding so you are forced to stomp alongside him as he escorts you…

…back to the sidewalk.

“You’re not busting me?” you ask in confusion. You thought for sure he was going to drag you into some shady office and plop you in a chair until the police arrived. He would probably be super boring and professional about it, staring at you with his dumb horny eyes but not doing anything about it. Nothing sucks more than being all trussed up by a pretty boy with manners.

“I just want you to go and never come back,” Felix says.

“Fine.” You turn around and hold your arms straight behind you. “But I’m like a wolf, Felix. I have your scent for life.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “Not how wolves work by the way. But fine.”

“Oh wow, sorry. Didn’t realize you majored in Wolfology. You got any other fun facts?”

“You are so—”

You smirk at his grumbling. You are just biding your time until he uncuffs one wrist, then you whip around faster than he can compute the action. With one cuff still attached, you grab the second and clamp it down on his wrist. He sputters in bewilderment, at which point you snatch the keys.

“What are you doing—” He tries to grab them but your joined hands make the angle too awkward. You spin around together in a few circles, bonk heads twice, until finally you reel back and chuck the keys as far into the distance as possible.

He stands there, mouth agape. You tap your foot impatiently.

When he realizes what has happened – that you have handcuffed yourself to him and thrown away the keys – he looks at you with fiery eyes, fierce enough you stumble. He yanks your joined hands, the chain ungiving. You watch as he goes through several stages of grief in a matter of moments. Then he closes his eyes and breathes in and out.

“Why,” he says slowly, “did you just do that?”

“I dunno, Felix,” you say. You plop down on the ground and sit cross-legged. It forces him to bend over, your cuffed wrist dragging him down. “Guess we’ll have to go inside and get some back-up keys. And when I’m in the stadium and you uncuff yourself from me, I promise not to run away.”

“That’s your plan?” he snaps. “That’s your plan?”

“What, is there an echo out here?”

“That’s your plan?” he asks again, his deep voice pitching up an octave. He crouches down and shoves his free hand into his hair, shaking his head. “This can’t be happening,” Felix says, more out loud to himself than you. “Why is this happening. Oh my god.”

You squeak when he tugs on the chain, yanking you close, nose to nose.

“What if I just called for back-up?” he asks. “Or skipped that and went right to the police? How would you get out of that?”

“Wait,” you say. “Why aren’t you doing that?”

“Because.”

He leans back as far as he can, sitting on his heels. You duck your head, trying to meet his eye to no avail. He clenches his jaw.

“Felix,” you say. “Why aren’t you just calling for back-up?”

“Because,” he says through gritted teeth. “The handcuffs. Are. Not. Regulation.”

You look at each other. There is a long moment of silence.

Then, “What!” You cackle with complete and utter abandon.

A very unamused Felix glares at you while you throw your head back and laugh.

“You?” you cry, poking your finger against his chest. “You? You? You are just walking around with a pair of handcuffs that you aren’t supposed to have? What the fuuuuuck—” You think you might die laughing.

“Jisung gave them to me before our shift!” he exclaims. “It was a joke because— Never mind! I don’t have to explain myself to you! Hello. Hello.” He grabs your chin with his free hand and turns your face roughly to his. He jingles your joined hands. “Not regulation,” he says. “There are no other keys in this building.”

Silence falls again.

Then, “Oh.” You stare at him. “Shit.”

A minute later, you and Felix are scuttling around trying to find the key. You must have a very good arm because it landed near the stadium and disappeared in some bushes.

You and Felix keep forgetting your wrists are connected, reaching in opposite directions only to snap back together. You are certain you are going to end the night with a few bumps and bruises.

The entire time you are searching for the key, Felix is grumbling irritably. He tears his way through a bush, his deep voice pitching up with a miserable whine when he can’t find it.

“This is so stupid,” he says. He throws a stick at the wall. “I am a good worker. I never break the rules. I am not getting in trouble for this. You did this. You did this to me.”

On he goes, grumble, grumble, grumble, bitch, bitch, bitch.

“It’s not like the key disappeared,” you say, pushing some pebbles around. “It has to be here somewhere.”

It is starting to get dark, the sky a deep purple. The stadium lights blare down on you. Felix uses his phone flashlight to beam extra light at the ground. The only time he stops grumbling is when the noise in the stadium changes, the concert clearly beginning. He takes time out of his busy searching schedule to give you a mean smile.

“When we find those keys,” you say, “I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and leaving you to freeze to death in your stupid tank top.”

“It’s not a tank top,” he says. “It’s a t-shirt. I cut the sleeves off. And when we find those keys, I’m handcuffing you to that railing over there and phoning the police.”

“Well then,” you say, “may the best key finder in a slutty tank top win.”

“It’s not a tank top.”

You continue to search. It is utterly illogical that the keys would just vanish but the longer it takes, the more concerned you get. It just doesn’t make sense! Things don’t just disappear! The keys landed somewhere over here, so they have to be…

You see it first. You sit there in a stunned stupor. You swat at Felix with your cuffed hand.

“What?” he says without looking at you. You continue to slap him until he forces your hand down, tangling your fingers with his. “What!”

You point. He crowds in behind you to look over your shoulder. You feel him exhale.

“Please don’t tell me…”

You both lean to look down the sewer drain. He flashes his phone light over it. Something silver glints back in the darkness.

“Fuck!” Felix says. He doesn’t stop there. What follows is a string of cusses so unbelievably foul and complex that you honestly believe it should quality him for Pulitzer in poetry. When he has exhausted every expletive in several different languages, he plops down on his ass and stares up at the sky with mute despondency.

“So what happens now?” you ask. “Do we fuck?”

“What?” He looks at you with utter bewilderment. “What the fuck? Why would you suggest that? What would that solve?”

“Nothing,” you say. “But it would kill the time and couldn’t make things worse.”

“You are insane,” he says. “I am handcuffed to an insane person.”

“Hey, ‘mate’, you were the one with the non-regulation handcuffs in the first place. I could solve this problem real quick by phoning the authorities myself and saying some crazy guy put me in cuffs.”

“I dare you,” he says. “Try.”

“No,” you say. And not just because you have a record with the police and they would never take your side. But Felix doesn’t need to know that. Well, you suspect Felix is smart enough to guess it, but he doesn’t need the confirmation. “I’d rather make you suffer,” you say instead. You sit back in an insouciant slouch like the whole circumstance is beneath your attention. “Figure it out, pretty boy.”

“Well,” he says, “apparently if you break your wrists then you can force them through the cuffs.”

“Ew!” You push him in the middle of his chest. He doesn’t fall, but he does glare at you. “We’re not doing that! What a stupid plan! You’ve been guzzling the hair dye fumes, buddy. Think of a plan that doesn’t involve injury, thank you.”

“I didn’t want to do this,” Felix says with another put-upon sigh, “but fine. I have another pair at home so the keys—”

“Wait,” you interrupt. “I thought someone gave you the cuffs today? Why do you have another key at home?”

“I have another pair,” he repeats, “of the same handcuffs.”

“You—”

“Already own a pair, yes, move on.” He aggressively pushes hair out of his eyes. “He clearly bought it from the same place so my key should work for this one too.”

“So despite your uppity school boy routine, you do own non-regulation handcuffs and not just as a joke. Wow, Felix.” You giggle helplessly. “Be careful or I might start to like you.”

He is glaring at you, no surprise, but the tips of his ears blush pink.

“Let’s just go,” Felix says. “The sooner I get you off, the sooner I can forget about your existence.”

“You can get me off as fast or slow as you like—ahh!”

Once more, the secret superman is manhandling you onto your feet. Without pausing for breath, he turns and marches away. You are forced to stumble behind his swift strides, your hands swinging close enough that your fingertips brush every so often.

“How do I know you’re not gonna murder me?” you ask.

“You don’t,” he replies.

“How do you know I’m not gonna murder you?”

“I don’t.” He sounds more annoyed than afraid. “But it sounds better than being cuffed to you forever. I’ll take my chances. Come on.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you grumble.

He comes to an abrupt halt and you crash into him with a sharp exhale. He grabs your hand and tugs you close. You blink at him with surprise while he tips his head in that studious way.

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t. In fact, it’s almost nice, you forced to finally do what I’m asking. If you’re not careful, it might even make me like you.”

It is so cold and sarcastic.

It gets you so hot.

Seriously, what is with your stupid brain? How does it cross the wires of fear and desire like that? Felix is speaking at you with that deep, dark, nasty voice of his and your heart should be skipping beats in concern, not because you think he’s sexy when he’s being a bitch.

You hide it from him well enough, glaring at him like he glared at you. He just snorts and shakes his head.

“What?” you ask.

“Interesting,” he replies. “Very interesting.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiles politely, for a moment looking like the unassuming pretty boy you thought he was. He bats his long eyelashes at you, smiles a coy smile, and squeezes your hand. “Come on,” he says. “We tried this your way and it got us in trouble. Time to be a good girl and do it my way. No, stop, don’t say anything. Be quiet. Just walk. Let’s go.”

You stumble when he tugs you after him. Your mouth is hanging open yet again.

You are proud to say that in your many years of bad girl shenanigans, you have never truly met your match. You’ve played pretend a few times, let a couple losers think they won, if only because you liked the game of it. But no one has ever really taken control. No one has ever really beat you. No one has ever come close.

No one. Until today.

You glare at the back of Felix’s head, brain stampeding as fast as your heart. Because finally, you’ve found him, your perfect match. Lashed to you through the metal manifestation of fate’s red string.

You didn’t know what game you were playing before, but now you do.

And you’re going to win.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #felix smut #skz smut

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elladreams · 1 month

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The Perfect Setup (Zandvoort) // LN4

summary: Zandvoort '24. A young engineering prodigy, recruited by McLaren to solve complex F1 challenges, grapples with media scrutiny and an undeniable chemistry with driver Lando Norris. As tensions rise during a crucial race, they must balance professional duty with their growing personal connection.

warnings: she/her reader, smut (18+), unprotected (shower 😳) sex, size kink.

words: 6.9K

The roar of engines filled the air, a symphony of power and precision that reverberated through the paddock. The smell of burning rubber and gasoline mixed with the salty breeze from the nearby coast, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that signaled another race was about to begin. The McLaren garage was a hive of activity—mechanics making last-minute adjustments, engineers poring over data, and drivers mentally preparing for the challenge ahead. Amidst the controlled chaos, you stood, a pillar of calm in a world of speed.

You have always stood out, a prodigy in a field where experience often outweighed talent. But here you were, at the heart of one of the most prestigious teams in Formula 1, your hands and mind guiding the finely-tuned machinery that could make or break a race. At just twenty-two, you were already a respected figure in the paddock, known for your brilliance in engineering and your unyielding dedication to the sport.

Your family had sacrificed so much to help you reach your potential. You were always miles ahead of the other kids. While they were playing with dolls or video games, you were more interested in how those things worked. At six years old, you were already taking apart remote control cars, not to play with them, but to understand the intricate systems that made them move. By the time you were ten, you were building small engines from scratch, fascinated by the power and precision of mechanical systems.

Your parents quickly realized they had a prodigy on their hands. They encouraged your curiosity, enrolling you in expensive science and engineering programs meant for kids much older than you. You thrived in these environments, always eager to learn more, to push the boundaries of what you could create. By the time you were a teenager, you had already won several national engineering competitions, earning a reputation as a young genius in the world of mechanics.

When you first discovered Formula 1, everything changed. The speed, the technology, the sheer complexity of the cars—it captivated you like nothing else. You devoured everything you could find about F1 engineering, learning about aerodynamics, power units, and the delicate balance between speed and control. While other teenage girls were dreaming of prom dresses and much older boyfriends , you were dreaming of being in the garage, fine-tuning the machines that drove the world of motorsport.

Your parents knew that pursuing a career in F1 was a long shot, especially for a young woman, but they supported you every step of the way. They worked multiple jobs and sacrificed their own dreams so that you could chase yours.

Thankfully, your talent didn’t go unnoticed. By the time you were 16, you had caught the attention of several top engineers in the F1 world, earning an internship with Mercedes. You quickly made a name for yourself as a technical genius, capable of understanding and improving complex systems that seasoned engineers struggled with. The paddock buzzed with stories of the young girl who was instrumental in Mercedes' dominance.

With your newfound fame came an onslaught of media attention. Reporters from major news outlets were relentless, hounding you for interviews and prying into every aspect of your life. They asked invasive questions about your personal relationships, sought your opinions on the sport's latest controversies, and even pressed you to address misogynistic rumors linking you romantically with certain drivers. The spotlight, once a place of professional pride, had become a battlefield where your every word was scrutinized, and your achievements were often overshadowed by baseless gossip.

Zak Brown fought tooth and nail to bring you to McLaren, recognizing that you were the missing piece they needed to conquer the new regulations. When it became clear that the team was struggling to master the latest specifications, he knew they needed someone with your unique blend of technical expertise and innovative thinking. Zak saw in you a mind that could bridge the gap between theory and practice, someone who could not only understand the intricacies of the new rules but also translate them into real-world performance on the track.

But today, on the day of Max Verstappen's home race, there was an unmistakable charge in the air—tensions were higher, the stakes more personal. It wasn’t just another race; it was a proving ground, not only for the car but for you, the team, and especially for the driver who had become both your greatest challenge and your fiercest ally: Lando Norris.

Lando, the young, fiercely talented star of McLaren, had a natural charm that made him a media darling, but it was his relentless drive to win that truly defined him. From the moment you joined the team, your relationship with Lando had been anything but smooth. Your strong wills collided over every detail, every decision. He saw you as a nuisance, someone who constantly questioned his instincts and pushed him beyond his comfort zone. To you, Lando was stubborn, even arrogant at times—a driver who needed to understand that perfection on the track wasn't just about raw talent but about achieving the perfect synergy between man and machine. And today, that’s exactly what you were trying to achieve.

Standing in the garage, you reviewed the data on your tablet for what felt like the hundredth time. You had pulled an all-nighter, fine-tuning an experimental setup that you believed could give Lando the edge he needed on this notoriously challenging circuit. But convincing him to trust your untested approach was another matter.

Lando stormed into the garage, the top part of his race suit hanging low on his hips revealing his fire proofs, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, glancing at the setup specs displayed on the screen. “This is what you’ve been working on all night?”

“Yes,” you replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “This setup could give you the downforce you need through the corners without sacrificing speed on the straights. I’ve run the simulations a dozen times—it works.”

“Simulations?” Lando scoffed, running a hand through his curls in agitation. “Simulations aren’t the same as the real thing. We can’t afford to take risks like this, not here, not today.”

“This isn’t a risk, Lando,” you shot back, your voice steady despite the tension. “This is a calculated decision based on hard data. I wouldn’t be recommending it if I didn’t believe it would make a difference.”

He crossed his arms, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to recognize all too well. “You’re asking me to trust a setup we’ve never used in a race, in front of Max’s home crowd, no less. What if it doesn’t work? What if it costs me the race?”

“And what if it wins you the race?” you countered, stepping closer to him. “You know as well as I do that playing it safe isn’t going to cut it against Verstappen on his home turf. We need every advantage we can get, and this setup is that advantage.”

Lando stared at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt. But you didn’t waver. You believed in this setup, and more importantly, you believed in him.

Finally, he relented, nodding slowly. "Fine. But if this doesn’t work, I swear I will never let you live it down."

“It will” you interrupted, a small tired smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ll be right there with you, making sure it does.”

A ghost of a smirk played on his face, his eyes betraying the glimmer of a sparkle. For a moment, the garage was silent, the two of you standing closer than you realized, caught in the intensity of the moment. The intoxicating blend of his dark, amber-scented perfume mingled with the unmistakable and familiar scent of the paddock, created a heady aroma that threatened to cloud your senses entirely.

Your breath hitched as his gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a fraction of a second before flicking back up to your eyes. You could feel your cheeks burning as his gaze caressed you.

Lando cleared his throat, breaking the spell and stepping back.

"Well, let's get this done." he said, his usual light tone returning as he ran a hand through his hair again. "Wouldn't want to keep the adoring crowd waiting." He winked.

You rolled your eyes and smiled, thankful for the change in energy.

You both turned back to the screen to finalize the setup adjustments. As you worked side by side, the air between you felt different—not just charged with the usual tension, but with a deeper, more intimate connection. It was almost as if a switch had been flipped, and you had moved from being teammates to something more.

The race was minutes away, but for the first time, you felt like you were truly part of a team—Lando’s team. And that, more than anything, was what mattered. The moments before the race were a blur of final checks and hurried conversations. You stood by Lando’s car, your heart pounding with adrenaline, not just from the intensity of the race but from something deeper—something you were trying desperately not to acknowledge. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the Zandvoort Circuit, you caught Lando’s eye. He was already in his race suit, helmet in hand, but there was a softness in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the connection you’d both been dancing around for months.

The starting grid was tense with anticipation. Lando had secured pole position in a spectacular qualifying session, and the team was buzzing with excitement. But everyone knew this race wouldn’t be easy—not with Verstappen starting right behind him, eager to impress his home crowd.

The lights went out, and the roar of the engines filled the air as the cars launched off the line. Lando got a good start, but so did Verstappen. As they barreled into the first corner, Verstappen made a daring move, diving down the inside and taking the lead. The crowd erupted in cheers, the sea of orange on its feet as their hometown hero took charge.

“Hold steady,” you whispered under your breath, your eyes glued to the screen. Lando had lost the lead, but the race was far from over.

The next few laps were a blur of precision and strategy. Lando stayed close to Verstappen, not letting him get away, but it was clear that the McLaren’s setup was allowing him to conserve his tires while maintaining pace. The tension was palpable, every corner, every straight a testament to the fine-tuning you and the team had worked so hard to perfect.

As the race approached its midpoint, an opportunity presented itself. Verstappen, pushing hard to maintain his lead, began to show signs of tire degradation. You watched the data closely, your fingers gripping the edge of the console.

“This is it, Lando,” you said over the radio, your voice steady but laced with anticipation. “His tires are gone. You’ve got this.”

Lando didn’t respond, but you knew he’d heard you. His driving became more aggressive, more precise, as he closed the gap to Verstappen. And then, on lap 47, the moment you’d been waiting for arrived. Lando set himself up perfectly coming out of Turn 9, using the slipstream to his advantage. As they approached the hairpin, he made his move, diving down the inside with the confidence of a driver who knew his car—and his own abilities—were more than a match for the challenge.

He retook the lead, and this time, he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Nicely done, Lando!” you cheered into the radio, unable to keep the excitement out of your voice. The entire team erupted in applause, but your focus remained on the car, on the driver who had just reminded everyone why he was one of the best.

The final laps were a masterclass in control. Lando maintained his lead, keeping Max at bay and managing his tires to perfection, while also building a substantial gap. As he crossed the finish line, taking the checkered flag, the McLaren garage exploded in celebration.

“You did it, Lando! You won!” The words burst out of you, the relief and joy evident in every syllable.

Lando’s voice crackled over the radio, filled with the same emotion. “We did it. The car came alive.” A flush of pride warmed your cheeks. This was your win, too—your idea, your hard work, your dedication to perfection.

As Lando pulled into the pit lane, the world seemed to slow down. He stepped out of the car, removing his helmet to reveal a smile that lit up his entire face. You had joined the team to celebrate alongside Lando. Before you knew it, he was walking toward you, his eyes locked onto yours. The team was cheering, clapping him on the back, but Lando didn’t stop until he was right in front of you. He reached out, taking your hand in his, the contact sending a jolt through you.

“Thank you.” He said simply, the words full of meaning.

Your smile widened as you squeezed his hand, the rush of adrenaline and pride filling you with a new kind of certainty. In this moment, the only thing that mattered was him, and you. You squeezed his hand, your heart racing not from the adrenaline of the race, but from the intensity of the moment between you. “Thank you for trusting me, Lando.”

There was a brief silence, the noise of the celebration fading into the background as the world narrowed to just the two of you. Then, with a quick glance around as if to check that no one was watching too closely, Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, his breath warm against your skin.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he repeated, a whisper that sent your heart into overdrive.

You smiled, feeling the warmth spread through you. “And we’ll do it again.”

The race had been a victory, but this moment—standing with Lando, the connection between you undeniable—felt like something even more precious. It was the start of something new, something that went beyond the garage and the racetrack.

—-

The podium celebration had been nothing short of electrifying. The roar of the crowd, the spray of champagne, and the sight of Lando beaming as he hoisted the trophy high above his head was a moment you knew you would never forget. As the McLaren team gathered to celebrate, you found yourself on the podium alongside Lando, representing the team that had worked tirelessly to secure this victory. It was a whirlwind of emotions—pride and undeniable joy.

But as you made your way back to the garage drenched in Ferrari champagne, the adrenaline of the win still pulsing through your veins, you rounded a corner and nearly collided with Chiara, McLaren’s senior PR manager. Her usually composed expression was tense, and you could tell immediately that she had something on her mind.

“Great job out there,” Chiara started, her voice measured but tinged with concern. “The team couldn’t be happier, but we need to talk.” Your stomach sank as a sense of foreboding crept over you. Chiara had been your main point of contact for media communication since joining the team, and you knew that if she was this worried, it must be something serious. You felt a knot form in your stomach. The way she was looking at you told you that this wasn’t just about the race. “What’s on your mind, Chiara?”

She glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot, then pulled you aside into a quieter corner of the garage. “Look, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but we need to be careful about how things appear. The media and fans are already buzzing about you and Lando, especially after that little moment after the finish.”

Your mind flashed back to the celebration, to the kiss on the cheek Lando had given you, the way his hand had lingered on yours just a bit longer than necessary. It had felt private, special, but of course, nothing was truly private in the world of Formula 1, especially not when the cameras were always rolling.

“You know how it is,” Chiara continued, her tone softening slightly. “Fans are passionate, and the media loves a good story. They’ll spin anything to make headlines. I’m not saying you can’t have…whatever it is you have with Lando, but we need to manage the optics. The last thing we want is for this to distract from the team’s success.”

You nodded, understanding her concerns. The last thing you wanted was to give the press ammunition to turn your hard-earned victory into tabloid fodder. But the idea of keeping your newfound feelings for Lando hidden, of pretending there was nothing between you, felt like a bitter pill to swallow.

“I get it, Chiara,” you said finally, meeting her gaze with determination. “I’m not going to let them turn this into a scandal. Lando and I…we’re professionals first. We’ll handle this.”

Chiara smiled, relieved by your response. “I know you will. Just keep in mind that perception is everything in this sport. And right now, you both have the world’s attention.”

With that, Chiara gave your arm a reassuring squeeze before heading off to her next order of business. You stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment, letting her words sink in. The exhilaration of the victory still buzzed through you, but it was now tinged with the sobering reality of the situation. The weight of her advice pressed down on your shoulders, reminding you that nothing in this world came without its complications.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, dislodging tiny droplets of champagne that sprayed out like glittering confetti. The sticky remnants of the podium celebration clung to you, a tangible reminder of the night’s highs. What you needed now was a serious shower—something to wash away not just the champagne, but the lingering tension from your conversation with Chiara.

As you made your way toward the team’s private quarters, the hum of activity in the paddock slowly faded, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Chiara’s words echoed in your mind, a reminder of the reality you both lived in—a world where every glance, every gesture, could be dissected and spun into a narrative you had little control over. The media would indeed be relentless, and the fans, always watching, would be insatiable in their curiosity. But how could you distance yourself from something—or someone—that had become so central to your life, to your happiness? The chemestry you shared with Lando was undeniable, and no amount of PR maneuvering could erase what you felt for him.

As you reached the lockers, you turned on the shower, eagerly anticipating the soothing warmth of the water to ease the tension knotted in your muscles. The promise of relief was a welcome thought after the intensity of the day.

You let out a small sigh, beginning to discard your champagne-soaked clothes. The polo that had clung to your skin now felt heavy, both physically and metaphorically, as you peeled it off and tossed it into the laundry bin. The day’s victories and challenges seemed to weigh on you all at once. The exhilaration of the win, the tension with Lando, the quiet moments where everything between you felt so effortless—they all mingled in your mind, creating a cocktail of emotions that left you feeling both intoxicated and exhausted.

You stood there for a moment, stripped down to your underwear, the cool air of the locker room a welcome contrast to the heat of the day. Lost in thought, you hadn’t even noticed Lando entering until you felt his presence, a subtle shift in the air that made the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. The realization of how exposed you were hit you all at once—half-naked and vulnerable in more ways than one.

Your first instinct was to cover yourself, but something in the way Lando looked at you made you pause. His eyes, darker now with an intensity that was impossible to ignore, roamed over your body, lingering on the curves and lines revealed by your lack of clothing. The heat that flushed your cheeks had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way his gaze set your skin ablaze. You couldn't meet his gaze fully, not when you were absolutely sure it would burn you from the inside.

He murmured your name, his voice low, vibrating with a tension that matched the fire in his eyes. The way he said it, the way his gaze traced over you, made it feel like a caress. “Look at me.”

There was a challenge in his tone, and you met it head-on, your breath catching as your eyes locked with his. In the fluorescent lighting of the locker room, his features seemed more defined, his jawline sharper, his lips fuller.

There was no mistaking the desire that simmered just beneath the surface, a reflection of the same need that pulsed through your veins. It was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you, the space between you crackling with a chemistry that had been building for far too long.

Lando took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, and with each inch he closed, the air around you seemed to thicken, heavy with anticipation. He was close enough now that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his skin—champagne and amber with a hint of the adrenaline that still lingered from the race—filling your senses.

The silence stretched between you, and yet, it was as if an entire conversation was taking place, unspoken but understood. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, the tension between you palpable. "I can practically hear that big brain of yours working overtime." he said, his voice even lower now, almost a rumble. His hand reached out, fingertips brushing lightly against your arm, leaving a trail of electricity in their wake. The touch was gentle, but it was enough to make you shiver, your skin hypersensitive to every point of contact.

The last remnants of your resolve began to crumble, and you could see the same struggle playing out in Lando’s eyes. There was a flicker of hesitation, a silent question hanging in the space between you—whether to cross this line, to take what you both so clearly wanted.

But then he stepped even closer, his hand sliding up your arm to your shoulder, his fingers tracing the curve of your collarbone. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid between you. His eyes followed the path his hand made, and when he looked back up at you, there was no more hesitation, only a hunger that mirrored your own.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered, his voice rough around the edges, as though he was barely holding himself back.

You could feel the heat pooling between your legs, a familiar ache begging to be satisfied. With every brush of his fingers, you felt your resolve crumbling.

You tilted your chin up, your lips parting in invitation. The look in his eyes was pure need, a reflection of the desire coursing through you. He leaned in, his breath warm on your lips, his scent simply intoxicating now that it was mixed with the sharp fruity champagne.

It was as if time had slowed down, and all you could focus on was the heat of his body, the anticipation of his touch, the promise of everything that would come next. And then, finally, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

The feel of his lips on yours was electric, sending sparks racing across your skin. His mouth moved against yours, hungry and demanding, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You opened for him, letting him deepen the kiss, savoring the taste of him. It was like nothing you had ever experienced before—the combination of the champagne, the adrenaline, and the sheer relief of finally giving in to the chemistry that had been simmering between you was enough to make your head spin.

As his hands roamed over your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat wherever they touched, you could feel your body responding, the desire building with every passing second. He kissed you like a man starved, and you met his hunger with your own, matching his pace. Your hands found his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms, the heat of his skin drawing you in like a magnet. He was solid and real beneath your touch, and you pressed yourself against him, the sensation of his body against yours igniting something primal and uncontrollable inside you.

Lando’s breath hitched at the contact, his hands splaying across your back, fingers digging in just enough to send a shiver down your spine. His mouth hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm against your lips, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter between you, ready to snap.

“Lando,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, more a plea than anything else.

That was all it took to break the final thread of restraint. There was no gentleness now, only the raw, urgent need that had been simmering between you for what felt like forever.

You kissed him back with equal fervour, your hands sliding up to tangle in his damp curls, pulling him even closer as his hands roamed over your back, your waist, every inch of skin he could reach. The heat of his body, the taste of him on your lips—it was overwhelming in the best possible way, drowning out every thought that wasn’t about him, about this.

Lando’s hands found the clasp of your bra, and with a practiced flick, he had it undone, the fabric slipping away as his hands moved to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp against his mouth. The sound seemed to fuel him, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as he backed you up against the lockers, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat between you.

You could feel the solid press of his body against yours, his arousal evident as he pinned you to the lockers, his hands never ceasing their exploration. Reaching your panties, his fingers slid under the band, tugging them down in one smooth motion, his movements sure and confident, as if he knew exactly what he wanted. The sheer contrast of standing before him completely naked while he remained fully clothed amplified the raw vulnerability of the moment, making it feel intensely intimate and charged with a potent, almost primal, energy.

Your own hands moved lower, sliding down his clothed chest, his hard abs, until you reached the waistband of his pants. The feel of his muscles tensing under your touch sent another wave of desire through you, and you wasted no time in slipping your hand beneath the fabric, finding his impressive length and trying to wrap your fingers around him.

His forehead resting against yours as he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes closing as the friction elicited a rush of pleasure that had him breaking the kiss to let out a curse. For a moment, he just stood there, his breath ragged, his hands tightening on your hips, as if trying to steady himself.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire, and the raw honesty of it sent a thrill through you.

“Good,” you replied, your own voice husky with need, your hand beginning to move with deliberate strokes that had him groaning, his head dropping to your shoulder as he tried to keep himself in check. He reached for his fireproofs and pulled them off, his movements almost frantic. You helped him, pushing the fabric over his hips, revealing the perfection of his physique.

You couldn't help but stare at him, taking in the lean, sculpted lines of his body, the taut muscles that flexed with each movement. You inhaled a sharp breath as your eyes finally landed on his cock, hard and swollen with desire. You were no stranger to the male anatomy as your hormones and curiosity had gotten the best of you in the past, but you were starting to become nervous about taking his impressive size inside of you.

Before your brain could spiral too far, you felt Lando's hands on you, his touch firm but gentle, his calloused fingertips sending shivers of pleasure through your body as he traced patterns along your skin, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. The chemistry between you had ignited into a full-blown inferno, and neither of you had any intention of putting it out.

In a fluid motion, Lando lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you over to the shower that had been steaming in anticipation. You giggled as the warm water hit your skin, the tension between you melting away as the shower cascaded over you both.

"I've been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you," he said, his voice low and rough, the sound of it sending a shiver of anticipation down to your core.

"Then don't make me wait any longer," you replied, a challenge and a plea, and the heat that flared in his eyes at the words was enough to make you burn for him.

He lowered his mouth to yours, the kiss slow and deep, a delicious contrast to the urgency. His hand reached between your legs, finding the wetness there and stroking with just the right amount of pressure, his thumb circling your clit and making you gasp into his mouth. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, and he used it against you, building you up slowly but surely, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter with every expert movement of his hand.

You clung to him, your nails digging into the slick skin of his back, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself against the waves of pleasure that threatened to consume you. He entered two of his thick fingers making you whimper at the stretch. His free hand was on the side of your face, tilting it up to capture your lips with his, kissing you with a tenderness that belied the urgency of the situation. You knew he was trying his best to prepare you for his cock, but it was a lot. He was a lot.

"I don't think you're going to fit," you whispered, feeling embarrassed, but he just smiled, his fingers still working their magic.

"Oh, I will," he promised, and you felt a jolt of desire shoot through you at the certainty in his voice.

The words sent a rush of heat through you, and you felt yourself clenching around his fingers, the pleasure intensifying as he stroked your g-spot with precision. Lando swallowed your moans, the feel of his body pressed against yours, the warmth of the water surrounding you, and the expert movements of his hand bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He was relentless, his fingers working you relentlessly until the pleasure became too much, the tension snapping and sending you crashing over the edge.

The orgasm tore through you, leaving you trembling in its wake, and Lando held you close, his hands gentle now as he supported you. You were gasping for air, the feeling so intense it was almost overwhelming. He murmured your name, his voice soft and low, the sound of it making something inside you ache.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, the intensity of his eyes almost enough to make you forget how to breathe.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice full of emotion, and in that moment, you believed him.

Slowly, the haze of pleasure began to clear, and you became aware of the tension coiled in his body, the way his muscles were taut with restraint, the evidence of his own desire pressed against your thigh. He was still rock-hard, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you, to experience that connection on a deeper level.

"I'm ready," you breathed, your voice laced with a need that you could no longer deny.

He nodded as he turned you around, pressing your face against the cool tile, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the water. Your breath hitched as he lined up his cock with your entrance, the blunt tip already threatening to breach you. He gathered some of your moisture by rubbing his tip against your folds, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"I'll go slow," he whispered, as his other hand grabbed your neck, forcing you to arch your back. He took a moment to burn this very image in his mind. He had thought about this moment countless times before, but now that it was happening, it was even better than he could have imagined.

With a slow, deliberate push, he was able to get the head inside. Your eyes shut as you felt the stretch, his girth much more than you were used to. You let out a whimper as you reached for the hand currently holding your neck, seeking his support. You could hear him mutter under his breath, the words too quiet for you to make out. You assumed it was a string of curse words, but you didn't dare look.

With his hand gripping your hip, he pushed deeper, slowly but steadily, inch by inch. You could feel every vein on his perfect cock, the stretch dancing on the edge of pain and pleasure. He kept stopping, pulling back a bit and then pushing deeper again. You could tell he was doing his best to let you adjust to his size, but it was still a struggle.

Once he bottomed out, he groaned as you let out a sound that you've never heard yourself make before. A mixture between a moan and gasp. His hands traveled up your body, finding your breasts and giving them a squeeze, before settling on your shoulders. You could feel the water trickling down your back as the steam created a haze around the two of you. You were both panting, trying to catch your breath. You could feel his hot breath against your ear.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice rough, a mixture of desire and concern.

"Yes," you answered, not even recognizing your own voice, "I'm just a little...full."

He chuckled at that, his cock twitching inside you. He slowly started moving his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls lighting up every nerve in your body. You couldn't string two thoughts together as he started creating a torturous rhythm. One of his hands travelled down to your bundle of nerves, pinching it with every thrust.

"Fuck," you cursed, "fuck, fuck, fuck." You couldn't believe how drunk you were on him.

He chuckled as he grabbed you from the now warm tile, resting you flat against his front. The new angle allowed him to reach deeper, making you whimper and whine with every thrust. His hands reached for your jaw, tilting it so he could stare deeply into your eyes. He was watching every reaction, every change in your expression.

"Tell me what you feel." he demanded, his voice hoarse, and you forced yourself to open your eyes, meeting his gaze. The intensity of his stare was almost enough to send you over the edge again, but you clung to the last threads of your self-control, desperate to prolong this moment.

"I feel...I feel everything," you gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. “I’ve never felt like this b—"

He silenced you with a kiss, swallowing the rest of your words. It was a clash of tongues and teeth, a battle for dominance that neither of you could win. The heat between you was unbearable, the need for release consuming every thought. You knew he was close, could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his thrusts were becoming more erratic, less controlled. But you weren't ready to let go, not yet.

You pulled away from the kiss, forcing him to meet your gaze. "Please don't stop," you begged, your voice rough with need, "I need you, Lando."

That was all it took. His eyes darkened, and he let out a growl, his grip on your jaw tightening as he captured your lips again, the kiss almost violent in its intensity. It was as if a switch had been flipped, the raw hunger between you reaching a new level.

He fucked into you with wild abandon, his hips snapping as he chased his release. The pleasure was blinding, the sensation of his cock filling you, stretching you, sending you spiraling toward the edge. You could feel the tension building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until you could no longer hold back.

The orgasm crashed over you like a wave, stealing the air from your lungs as your body shuddered in his arms. Your eyes closed, the white light behind your eyelids pulsing in time with the waves of pleasure washing over you. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only cling to him as you rode out the storm.

Lando buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips finding the delicate skin there, sucking and nibbling. You could feel the pleasure building again, the combination of his cock inside you, his hands gripping your hips, his lips against your neck sending you hurtling toward another climax.

"I'm close," he panted, his voice rough with need, "so close, fuck."

The words sent a surge of heat through you, and you clenched around him, feeling him shudder as his own release washed over him. You grabbed as his curls, forcing him to look at you, the intensity of his gaze pushing you over the edge again, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

"Fuck, I can feel you," he gasped, his cock twitching inside you as your core milked him, the sensation of his release triggering another wave of pleasure.

You both clung to each other, riding out the waves, the intensity of the moment rendering you speechless. You were both gasping for air, the aftershocks of pleasure coursing through your bodies. Lando buried his face in your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin, the sensation almost too much to bear.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the steady beat of the water as it cascaded over you. You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt so sated, so utterly spent.

Finally, Lando pulled back, his eyes searching yours, his expression a mix of emotions—relief, contentment, and a hint of something else, something that sent a thrill through you. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"That was...fuck," he said, his voice rough, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You grinned, the joy and satisfaction evident in every line of your body. You could feel him slowly softening inside you, and you reluctantly unwrapped your legs, letting him slide out of you. You gasped feeling yourself become sore already. He chuckled as he noticed, turning off the water and wrapping you in a towel, gently drying you off before lifting you up in his arms.

"You're gonna kill me," he muttered, a spark of humor in his voice, and you laughed, the sound echoing off the tiles, the sound carefree and light.

You kissed him, slow and deep, the kiss full of promises and possibilities. This was only the beginning, and you both knew it. You pulled back, gazing at him with a mixture of awe and admiration, your heart full of the realization of what you'd found, the connection between you now undeniable.

"Get that perfect ass to media duty before they start sending out a search party," you teased, a chuckle escaping as you watched the realization of his looming responsibilities flicker across his face.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, giving you a quick peck on the lips before setting you down, "but just know, this was the best shower I've ever taken."

You smirked, unable to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. "I'll keep that in mind."

As he left, a sense of calm washed over you, the satisfaction of the moment lingering in the air like a sweet perfume. The memory of his touch, the weight of his body against yours, the deliciously filthy sounds he had coaxed from you, would stay with you forever, a private treasure. You sighed, reveling in the warmth and comfort that seemed to envelop you, the afterglow of your tryst still humming through your veins.

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corroded-hellfire · 2 months

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Prompt Day 30: Fame and Fortune

Words: 1000

Rating: T

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: language

Summary: When rockstar Eddie and his actress wife go to buy a sports car, their salesman has a familiar face

@corrodedcoffinfest

Eddie didn’t think his life could get much better. He’s a Grammy Award winning rockstar in a band with his best friends, he’s married to you, a smoking hot Oscar Award winning actress, and you two have your dream life all planned out. Where you want to live, how many kids you want to have, and even what cars you want to drive.

Which leads you to a Ferrari dealership in Chicago. It’s not where you live, but if you happen to find a car you fall in love with, you have more than enough money to have it delivered to your home.

The two of you step into the pristine white building, Eddie’s hand held snugly in yours. A dealer makes his way out of the offices in the back to greet you, and you hear Eddie let out a surprised scoff. You turn your head to look at him in question, but he’s looking straight ahead at the shorter man approaching you.

“Well, long time no see,” Eddie says once the man is close enough.

The salesman looks cowed. There’s a pained pinch to his face, like Eddie is the last person he wants to see and this is the last place he wants to be.

“Welcome in,” the man says. He looks from your husband to you. “My name is Jason. What can I help you with today?”

Eddie’s hand falls from your own and he stretches his arm out and over your shoulders. A glance in his direction shows a satisfied smirk on his pretty face.

“The wife and I would like to purchase a new car. Thought we’d test drive some Ferrari’s and see if anything catches our attention.”

“Uh, sure,” Jason says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a look at some cars?”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says.

He steers you towards the side door while Jason heads toward the offices.

The shit-eating grin on your husband’s face confuses you and the moment you step outside, you question him.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“That shrimp is one Jason Carver,” he says as you wander between cars.

It takes a moment for the name to click. You skid to a stop, causing Eddie’s arm to slip from your shoulders.

“That’s the guy who was such an asshole to you in high school?”

The shock on your face only adds to Eddie’s giddiness.

“That’s him.”

“Ugh,” you groan as you start to walk through the sea of Ferrari’s again.

“Aw, baby!” It’s Eddie’s turn to come to a halt. He grabs your hands and excitedly bounces on the balls of his feet. “Can we please, please, please act like douchey rich snobs? You’re an actress, think of it as an exercise.”

You can’t help but laugh. He drops your hands and you reach up to cup his face.

“Let’s fuck with the asshole,” you agree.

By the time Jason comes out to meet you, you and Eddie have narrowed it down to two different cars you’d like to test drive: a red Ferrari and a yellow one.

Eddie slips into the driver’s seat for the test drive of the red one. As soon as he pulls out onto the main road and lets it get up to speed, he prompts you for the first bit of fake snobbery.

“What do you think, sweetheart?”

A long-suffering sigh escapes your lips as you lean back in your seat, wearing the most bored facial expression that you can manage.

“Ferraris have a reputation for speed,” you say, “but they don’t have the same level of meticulous craftsmanship found in an Aston Martin.”

Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from laughing. This act is so in contrast to your true personality last night when you found a fun sized KitKat in the bottom of your purse and were excited about it for the rest of the day.

“Ferrari’s have a more aerodynamic design than Aston Martins, which allows them to have a more aggressive and efficient performance,” Jason says from the back seat.

You don’t bother with a response, only humming a small, uninterested “mm” before turning your head to gaze out the window.

When you arrive back at the dealership, it’s your turn to get behind the wheel of the yellow sports car and Eddie’s turn to come up with obnoxious things to say.

“It’s really minimalist in here, isn’t it?” Eddie asks, inspecting the dials and buttons built into the dashboard. “You wouldn’t even know it’s a Ferrari if you didn’t look at the emblem on the steering wheel.”

“And it doesn’t ride as smoothly as the Porsche I drove in my last movie,” you add.

“Was it a prop car?” Jason asks.

You let out an offended snort.

“Absolutely not. You think I can’t tell the difference?”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant to imply,” Jason says apologetically.

It’s the closest you and Eddie come to bursting out laughing.

“Was that in the superhero movie, baby?” Eddie asks.

“Hmm? Oh no, I drove a Lamborghini in that one,” you brag. “Which also rode smoother than this.”

This time when you get back to the dealership, Jason can’t get out of the car fast enough. You and Eddie share an amused look as you trail behind him back towards the building. Something tells you that Jason is going to be getting a drink after work tonight.

“So, what did you really think, babe?” you ask Eddie quietly, slipping your arm around his waist.

“I actually really liked the red one,” he admits with a laugh. “I’d hate to give him commission on a sale, though.”

“Aww, Eds,” you coo. “But then you’ll be the bigger man.”

“True.” Eddie considers. “Eh, what the hell? Then I can also hold being the bigger person over himl.”

You can’t help but giggle. It’s not exactly what you meant, but you can hardly blame him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #CCF

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taro-pdf · 2 months

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Humans are Space Oddities: Foster Human

When humans went to space, they expected themselves to be one of the more advanced species, only to find that space was already very populated. To less advanced, they were predators, and to more advanced, savages. Space is vast, and eventually some humans were kept as novelties.

Guang was excited to foster a human. After all, it had read about how humans would fight anything, eat anything, and survive anything. And though Guang was not strong, it’s partner, Hei, was, and would keep it safe.

The human arrived disgruntled, but Guang was not perturbed. It had heard of their pack-bonding abilities, and was ready to be patient and gentle. It even made sure to pick one that knew the Universal Interplanetary Language, so they didn’t need to wait for translators to work. Guang moved and spoke slowly; they didn’t need anything to slow the communication process more. It bent down to eye level.

“Hello. My name is Guang, it/its, a light alien. I process slowly, so don’t speak too fast. I am glad that you arrived safely. You are called Fern, she/her, human, correct?”

The human flapped her hands, nervous, or maybe excited. “Human, correct?” she repeated, then spouted out, “Hei is a powerful space fae that was born on earth but left as its magic grew," she inhaled, obviously making an effort to slow her speech. Guang blinked. It appreciated her effort, but why was she telling it about its own partner? The human continued, “this is common for fae. Did you know space fae are understudied due to the fact that they are extremely powerful and hard to approach? It’s theorized their power comes from dark matter.”

“Right,” Guang replied, “well-”

“Light aliens are a species often used for service for the ultra wealthy,” the human interrupted. “They are treated as living lamps due to their ability to produce both bioluminescent and electrical light extremely efficiently, as well as their ability to stay still for long periods of time.”

Humans did like to talk, but Guang was unsure if this is what they usually talked about.

“That’s correct,” it replied. It sat down and held out its hand, which the human grabbed and studied. “I was also on a ship from hatching until Hei approached me and I was given to it as a gift. But it treated me as a being, and I learned to think of myself as a being as well.”

“I’m a being as well,” the human said, dropping Guang’s hand and turning to the door. Guang followed their line of sight to see Hei walking in. It had taken a smaller, humanoid form, as Guang had asked it to.

“Hello Fern,” it said, speaking its native tongue.

“Hello Fern,” Fern repeated in the same language, approaching Hei. It squinted at her.

“Pardon me, do you understand what I am saying?” it asked. The human didn’t reply. She gazed at Hei’s translucent wings, and it turned so she could touch them.

“She’s been repeating what I say as well,” Guang explained.

“Call the agency and ask. The human should have been told how to introduce itself.” Hei handed Guang a communicator. The human mumbled something about aerodynamics.

“In the broader universe, convergent evolution meant that wings…” Fern started to explain.

With the human telling bits of information in the background, Guang called the agency. It was referred to a specialist that told it that human neurology varied greatly. The human’s behavior was not worrisome, but it may socialize differently than typical humans. If that’s a problem, it could be returned. Guang assured them it was not a problem.

At the end of the fostering period, Hei and Guang had learned much about their visitor. They learned to avoid certain textures, loud noises, and flashing lights. They learned that the human could tell them about almost any alien they wished. They learned that not every human would fight anything, and definitely wouldn’t eat anything.

“Fern,” Guang’s chest had been feeling tighter and tighter as the day to return her grew closer, “I was wondering if you would like to stay?”

Fern was outside tending to the various lower species that she had befriended during her time on Hei’s planet. She didn’t turn toward Guang, but she did repeat its words.

“Like to stay.”

“Right,” Guang agreed, “I don’t want to treat you as a belonging to borrow and return. Being once one myself, and knowing you so well… I want you to stay”

“Humans have a rich history on their planet. They fought each other in countless wars. Some wars were for resources, others were for freedom.”

“I didn’t know that.” Guang was silent for a bit.

“Humans want freedom. It’s in their DNA. I’d like to stay.” Fern smiled, and Guang smiled back. Humans were ferocious, tenacious, and violent, but they were also gentle. Fern was proof of that.

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liyawritesss · 8 months

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ᖴᒪOᗯEᖇᔕ Iᑎ ᗷᒪOOᗰ - ᐯᗩᒪEᑎTIᑎEᔕ ᗪᖇᗩᗷᗷᒪEᔕ

Ｄａｙ５－ＳｅｃｒｅｔＡｄｍｉｒｅｒ

－ Shot Clock - 42!Miles Morales - Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse

－ In which the secret admirer who's been leaving notes in your locker turns out to be someone you least expect.

－ Check out more prompts and other activities on the Flowers In Bloom Event Masterlist!

“So you’re meeting them now?” Your friend gasps in surprise as your little trio walks down the halls of Visions Academy, classes having ended for the day and students being left to their own devices for the weekend. “Aren’t you nervous?”

“I mean, yeah,” you respond, grasping onto the latest handwritten notecard in your hand, “who wouldn’t be nervous meeting their secret admirer that’s been leaving love notes in their locker for two weeks right before Valentines Day?”

Your locker had been plagued with little sticky notes and index cards, written eloquently with sweet words and timid confessions since the beginning of February. At first you were surprised - you didn’t think you were worth this kind of affection from anyone, especially not someone at Visions. Slowly, you grew to expect the little written notes every morning when you went to your locker to grab your belongings for the days classes, and rereading them during the weekend when you were with your parents, gushing over the poetic words and wondering who your secret admirer could be.

“They said to meet up on the roof? Isn’t it off-limits?” Your secondary friend chimed in.

“The aerodynamics club meets up there every Friday, so it should be free,” you inform the pair, pursing your lips together tightly in anticipation. There was no going back now, “wish me luck.”

As they three of you went off your separate ways, you found yourself crawling up the steps to the school’s rooftop, mulling over images of possible candidates in your head. By the time you reached the top of the stairs, hand on the door knob twisting it open, your mental list had been scratched off completely. Only fate knew what it had in store for you behind the metal door.

Late evening sun welcomed you as you walked onto the rooftop, the distant voices of the aforementioned Aerodynamics Club could be heard somewhere off in a far corner. With the notecard in your hand still, you took a deep breath, approaching the hooded figure you believed to be the secret admirer.

“Hey,” you began, voice soft but still firm enough to grasp the others attention, “I think I’m here to meet you…-”

The figure turns around, and it’s someone you never considered a possibility on your secret admirer roster - not because he wasn’t a qualifying candidate, but because he was too much of one.

“-...Miles?”

He pauses for a moment upon hearing his name, before turning to face you completely. He rids his head of his hood, revealing himself to you fully. His hand runs smooth down his hair, pushing his headphones to rest around his neck as well. If you didn’t know any better, you’d thought that he was nervous.

“Yeah,” he replies, and your suspicion is confirmed - he is nervous, anxious, timid, even, “yeah, it’s me.”

A moment passes, and it seems to make the boy more anxious, “so…what?” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, “...why you look like that?”

“No, sorry-” you quickly cover your shocked expression, “I just…” Your eyes take a moment to scan over him. His body is rigid, tight and tense, expecting a rejection, you think, “you never struck me as the poetic type.”

A light, shaky laugh leaves his lips, and the air between the two of you softens into something easier. His hand goes to scratch his neck sheepishly, “I’ll take that over a rejection, I guess.”

“For someone who’s a science whiz,” you begin, a smile creeping at your lips just from being in his presence, “you’ve got a way with words.”

Even though Miles Morales, the kid who sits by the window with his headphones in and a nonchalant look to him all the time, was the last guy on your list of secret admirer candidates, you don’t regret it being him. A nest of butterflies begins to flutter in your stomach the longer you stand with each other on the school's rooftop. The note is still scrunched up in your hands, and even though you’re sure you’ve ruined it, there’s a feeling in your chest that tells you that this may not be the end of the silly little notes in your locker.

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ressonancee · 1 year

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WESTERN WIND

Vernon is on the verge of freaking out - Vernon is chill, Vernon is calm, but everyone has a limit, and Vernon's limit is when he complains 3 consecutive weeks about his front wing and the engineering team doesn't do a thing about it.

✦ genre: F1 Alternative Universe, almost enemiers to lovers (but really just have a fight in the workplace now we are weird), smut, they do it without protection so - be safe guys love you.

✦ word count: 8.9k+ ✦ title inspired by Carly Rae Jepsen - Western wind

✦ Thea note: okay, this was a challenge!! This was written for a friend who enjoys the f1 world and isn't a carat - but we are working on it. I write for me and I write what i like to read and to me, Vernon screams lazy sex so that's that - that's really nothing more on this subject. reminder 1: i am not an english speaker so i am very sorry about any mistake but you don't need to be a bitch about it. Also, I may try to write every member but gooooood some are harder than others, and vernon was hard for me so i am sorry if the characterization is weird or when you are reading this you think shit this is not Vernon lol I reached a point where i was like yeah i'm giving up.

Vernon has always been obsessed with the idea of flying.

Not taking an airplane-flying, but actually flying. The closest he got to this was behind a steering wheel. And he got so obsessed with the feeling - first the wind against his face, then the whiplash of going too fast. He loved it so much that he just made a career out of it.

And Vernon was good at it, one of the best really, first drive in his new team and all. But it is the seventh grand prix and the car still lacking and there is so much he can do with pure strength and strategy.

He can't fight aerodynamics. He can't, and to be honest, he shouldn't do what the engineering team was supposed to. But he is one step away from getting out of the car and breaking the damn front wing with his bare hand in the middle of the box. Vernon, a lot of people don't know, but he has this kind of superpower when he gets incredibly mad his face is still calm, and nobody knows he is on the verge of freaking out.

But Vernon just handles the steering wheel to the guy next to the car and jumps off it without making a scene. On a scale of Fernando Alonso to Kimi Raikkonen Vernon leans more to Kimi's side, even though right now he may pull off a Nico Rosberg or psychological warfare like Michael Schumacher against the engineering team, he is not above it today.

He is no Kimi Raikkone though. Vernon does prefer just being in the car. He enjoys being on the circuit running laps. He is chill with being on the go, traveling around, jumping on airplanes, and Vernon developed a near to perfect packing method - he travels with just a backpack, thanks god. Vernon doesn't love press tours, sometimes they are just insufferable. He doesn't love to have a run down when his week has been shit - trashed car or broken really. But otherwise, Vernon is cool with it, he laughs a little, he goofs with other pilots, he has friends - sometimes he goes out with Lee Chan the Haas pilot. Sometimes he cracks jokes with Mingyu and Wonwoo - the Red Bull duo. So sometimes press is actually fun, and even tho Vernon is an accomplished guy in his field pole and race win on his name he also still has idols on the paddocks because he is against names like Choi Seungcheol and Hong Joshua.

So Vernon enjoys his life really, he isn't one to overthinking about what choosing this type of life made him lose. He gained so much that it would be unfair to do that, to wonder what it could be.

But when Vernon feels like his team is not even hearing his complaint about how the aerodynamics of the car is fucked up Vernon wants to just crash the car and scream in the box. What the fuck? Fix the gooddamn wing for fuck's sake.

But Vernon doesn't scream in the middle of the box, it wouldn't be good for the press, and Vernon is calm he is chill, but he isn't dumb. He does this when the engineering team, himself, and Choi Minho, his team principal, are in a more private area.

"What the hell? I've been complaining about the front wing since the Australia GP."

"We have been working on the wing." The engineering girl slash prodigy answers.

"And why the fuck is not working properly? This car will fly out of the track if a single drop of rain falls." Vernon continues because he is the one putting his life on the line really. Why no one is giving a fuck about what he has been saying.

"We are trying, you know about regulations we cant-" You try to say as if everybody doesn't remember that FIA is actually the worst ever and it is your job to care about regulations too.

"Oh my fucking God. I gonna crash this car in the first fucking lap I am not even kidding." Vernon says pacing around the table, he hates the whole can't do won't do FIA-related frustration.

"Ok, Vernon you know we can't really do anything about it right now," Minho says arms crossed. "So stop bitching about it, and no you will not crash my car in the first lap you are not stupid." And now Vernon knows he can't really crash his car but he feels the urge to do it nonetheless, Minho can scrap his bank account he doesn't care, he can go fucking penny less but he will have his front wing fixed up.

"You," Minho says pointing at you and you are actually relieved, you can take the screams of the team principal - even tho Minho is not near screaming, but taking shit from the pilot? Not gonna happen "For fuck sake take his complaint and actually do something about it for the next GP, you have like 5 people that could have been working for NASA in the team if he complains again about this mothefucker wing again I gonna have a stroke," he says leaving the room.

"Why do you guys only act when I bring Choi Minho to the room?" Vernon asks feeling dumb and to be honest disrespected. He knows he is young, he knows he is new, but he was brought to the team for a reason.

"Not that it matters," You say already picking the things around the table, probably from a previous meeting. "But he is my boss, not you Vernon."

"I am the one inside the car," Vernon says trying to attain some kind of respect or authority.

"Ok, that's not relevant to me whatsoever. I work designing a car that if we put a dog behind the wheel is gonna be fast so-" You say because you are tired this front wing nightmare has been going on for more than the australia grand prix actually, it's always the same problem, again and again, your team fixes it but it always comes back to life like a zombie or something.

"Did you just say that I am not relevant? Are you kidding me?" Vernon actually scoffs because of course he knew when he arrived in Mercedes that the team is bigger than him, he knew what all the critics said, but being treated that poorly by a co-worker? Fucked up man.

"That's not what I meant-"

"Yeah yeah yeah like Im just a dumb kid on the wheel, that's what you meant. I really thought we could build a nice relationship and all-" Vernon cuts you already opening up his overall because it is hot as fuck, like one step away from dying hot. "I guess the civil war thing going on wasn't in my plans but if you guys on the engineering want that I have no problem whatsoever in being a fucking dick."

Vernon says almost dashing to his trailer, fucking stupid overalls dangling around his waist because if one of the journalists asks him something about his wing or his time or how Kim Mingyu got the pole, Choi Minho is not the only one who will have a stroke. Health care plans and his life insurance will skyrocket.

After Vernon takes a shower, he realizes how dumb and idiotic he is. This happens a lot. Vernon doesn't really know how to deal with his rage, so when the anger dissipates, he just ends up regretting everything.

Regretting is not even close to the proper word. When Vernon analyzes the chances of him fucking up his entire year because you simply do not rage war on your engineering team - that was like a rule, not a rule scratch that, it was a dogma. A rule you can break, if you try that shit on a dogma, you will root in hell. The hell being Vernon's worst nightmare - having the team ask him to pull aside to the other driver because he can't keep up, the reason? His shitty ass front wing.

But when the actual race comes and Vernon starts the race in third and finishes up in 5th place, he doesn't know who will drop dead first, him or Choi Minho.

"Do we need a meeting between grand prix to fix this hellhole you guys have been calling a car?" His boss asks and Vernon can see you just rolling your eyes. Dude, that's crazy. Did you just roll your eyes to Choi Minho? That was insane.

And Vernon coped the only way he knew - developing a wealth obsession fueled by hatred, all because you didn't give him his wing and a roll of your eyes at Choi Minho.

Before that, Vernon really didn't have a problem with you. Since he moved to Mercedes everything was great! Great team! New and more powerful car! Great teammate - Lee Jihoon, who actually took Vernon under his wing. The pre-season was great, and he didn't have problems with you whenever you two had to talk about the development stage of the car.

Actually, Vernon finds you interesting really, that's not a lot of women in F1, and the majority of the women actually deal with public relations or team management like Kwon Boa. He always saw you around, really, always in jeans, tennis, and a Mercedes shirt. Sometimes with glasses, sometimes with a cap on. Always chatting with someone, sometimes writing things down on a notebook, sometimes explaining something.

He didn't actually have any problems with you. He didn't have a reason, but now? Now Vernon can't really back off, can he? God, he was not a fighter and neither a hater, but he wasn't a coward either.

So when his one-week break is cut short and people send him to Northamptonshire Vernon is angry because really: 1st he could use a few days off, 2nd between the Emilia-Romagna and the Monaco GP he had booked a crazy Airbnb in Cannes.

Now he was stuck in this hell hole of a place, in a way too cold meeting room, with like the whole engineering team and his boss. Not ideal. So Vernon's mind just wonders really, he thinks about how he needs to catch up on his favorite TV show, maybe he can check on his family later, or call his friend Boo Seungkwan - maybe he would call Seungkwan to Monaco is bouge enough for Seungkwan.

“And that's why we try to fix the front wing, but it seems like the aerodynamic problem is always back. Lee Seokmin actually did design another front wing at the start of the pre-season but you guys said that this one had a better grip” You finish the whole ppt-presentation, sometimes you hated your job so much, and by sometimes you meant the whole ppt presentation of a problem that we can`t actually fix because of regulations and because you guys main driver didn't do proper feedback in the first place. And now you have a problem in your hands, that to begin with, it wasn't even yours.

“So the best thing we can do is?” Choi Minho asks and you laugh because right now you are not the one treating Vernon like a damn child on the wheel, it is Choi Minho, but Vernon is too engrossed in his own mind to notice or he feigns ignorance because it is Choi Minho who is talking, not you the mere translator girl for the engineering team.

“We can try always the wet tire even if it's just light, and we can always use the soft tire at the beginning of the race it is the less durable but if he is in a good position to start with we can always call him back-”

“So, we did this three-hour meeting” Vernon actually checked his watch. It was a tree hour meeting for god`s sake. “for the resolution being soft tire and pray for a good pit stop? Are we crazy?”

“If you heard about FIA rules we cannot-” You try to speak but really, you don't even know why you start when you know you gonna be ignored by the man in the room and it’s F1 there is always a man in the room, always.

“Ok ok,” Vernon interrupts. “Just so you know that’s crazy, everything about this wing situation is crazy, we are just handling the championship, we are not even close to being - I don't know? 5th fucking place.”

“We need to make the legal team re-analyze the rules,” Minho says contemplative and not really angry, and to be honest you wouldn't be either because it is true, but Vernon could be less bitch about it because it is not your fault either

“Just that? Ok,” Vernon says and he gets up because when Minho talks about the legal team it`s gonna take 4 to 6 days to actually find a loophole in the damn manual, but hey ok, it's fine, Vernon it’s chill, but not chill enough because the next moment his mouth is moving. “Maybe you could ask for the engineering team to work on that too I don't know just a thought”

And you laugh, loud and clear. And Vernon is truly spooked. What the heck? Are you going crazy? Has the excruciating work and the insane hours with the weekly jetlag made you crazy?

“Yeah Minho,” you say, picking up the papers. Why do you always pick up? Are they top-secret papers? Vernon never thought about corporate espionage, but it may be a thing. “Maybe you can ask your drivers for proper feedback when I ask them about grip and wings and start making them say whole sentences, not it's bad and a sad emoji. If we did send a form about this shit we wouldn't have this problem,” You actually leave them room, but Minho and Vernon continue listening to your voice down the hall. “Oh Vernon, how it’s going with the car. Make them say 4 whole sentences and not it's chill. Maybe that would help” and then you scream. “Just a thought."

“I mean” Choi Minho starts getting up too. “Nothing against a rivalry in the workplace, dang in my times, it was worse. But if I get an actual complaint - Humans Resources or Legal Team involved - I am so firing both of you, and I am not even caring about labor law or whatever.”

And Vernon thinks it's weird how he was the first one to get up and the last one out of the meeting room.

So when Vernon actually arrives in Monaco - Boo Seungkwan, his best friend since birth, on his side, the civil war in his team is still going on at full speed. The tire strategy is still in place. Choi Minho still looks at him every five minutes like a babysitter. You still give a side eye every time you both share a room, Vernon is even more aware that you roll your eyes at everyone. Are you just discontent with everything?

But he doesn't think so when he sees you and Jeonghan, the team strategy, and Jun, one of the mechanics, laughing while eating lunch. Vernon is puzzled really why the fuck is he, Choi Minho, and the whole team getting side eyes and Jeonghan and Jun receiving beautiful smiles and even laughs? That's weird, more than weird, that's unfair really.

"What's going on in your head?" Boo Seungkwan asks, actually stealing a bite of Vernon chicken's breast.

"Just, you know the whole war in the team. That's the girl that is actually making my life hell." Vernon says voice low like he is telling Seungkwan a secret, trying to be discreet.

"That one?" Seungkwan asks loud and not caring about the top secret war going on, apparently. "Oh, Vernon, she is pretty."

"And?" Vernon thinks puzzled because really he never stopped to think about it. "Ok, ok, stop looking," Vernon says when he sees Jeonghan looking back at his table, grabbing Seungkwan and almost getting up and turning Seungkwan`s head himself. God.

"You didn't tell me she was pretty." Seungkwan acts like it was the most important thing ever. Missing the point, really, because the most important thing ever in this whole ordeal was Vernon's career and the probability of it ending abruptly.

"Yeah, because it is not important, I mean…" Vernon trails off because again, he never stopped really, but thinking about you are pretty. Or at least not recently. Vernon thinks back when you two met in the pre-season and he may have blushed once or twice talking to you in the first days, but he wouldn't call it a crush.

"Hey Vernon," Jeonghan says, stopping at his side. "We will go over the strategy at 3 pm for the first free practice, so if you need anything, just give us a heads up before."

"Oh, sure man, actually I was thinking about the ty-" Vernon starts.

"Bye guys, if I hear one more driver talking about how they don’t want to start with a soft tire today, I'm gonna jump the nearest cliff." You say, lacing arms with Jun and just dragging him.

"Oh, she is feisty today," Jeonghan laughs. "Okay, anyway, you can bring everything to the team, right? I need to actually get some information with her so-"

"Sure, sure man, no big."

“Yeah," Boo Seungkwan just laughs, and laughs, he actually almost falls backward type of laughing “When was the last time you got laid?"

"Hm?" Out of nowhere? What the heck was going on in his friend’s mind? But Vernon actually needs time to think about it, fuck, when was the last time? Vernon didn’t even remember with whom. "I don't know a few weeks?"

"Months right?" Seungkwan answered in a heartbeat, chewing on a long French fries.

"Maybe dude, you know it is hard when I am always on the go." And it was hard, Vernon wasn’t lying. He didn’t enjoy the whole no-string attached really, and after he got a little famous - in a very niche type of famous he knew that, he was no rockstar type of guy, but still, he enjoyed it even less.

"Yeah didn't peg you for doing in the workplace kind of guy, always talking about how it is precious and nothing can disturb the paddock’s energy,” Seungkwan says making Vernon almost choke on his food.

“First, that is the rule that applies when you want to bring your boyfriend Kwon Soonyoung because last time he almost broke my trophy,” Vernon can actually feel the chill going through his body just remembering the scene that his traumatized brain conjures up, it was his first grand prix win and Seungkwan boyfriend almost knocked it down. “second we are not doing anything. We are actually enemies”

“Oh,” Seungkwan stops, truly stops, dropping his fork and knife, and he stares at Vernon, but Vernon knows it is not a stare, Seungkwan is analyzing Vernon like he always did. “Well, that's even worse, because when it happens - see not if, I said when it's going to be a nuclear bomb, thanks good I am not going to Spain with you and me and my lovely boyfriend will be having a few days off in Monaco so…”

The problem was that Seungkwan was always annoyingly right. Seungkwan was right when he said Vernon's last relationship wouldn't last more than 3 months. Seungkwan was also right about Vernon's first love and second. Seungkwan had this superpower really, Seungkwan was always there to see the picture better before Vernon did.

But Vernon always just shrugged and went to his next task, now free practice. And Vernon did slightly better than he thought - 4th place. So he wasn't actually totally dejected after the press asked him about the probability of rain. Everything was fine until Vernon saw the little orange cat hiding in the corner of the Mercedes trailer.

Vernon squatted and tried to call the little kitten really, it was tiny and made Vernon's heart break a little because when the cat was approaching him Vernon saw how he was limping, front paw looking hurt. Also, the little dude looked muddy. He may hate Vernon for it, but he needed a good wash.

"Hey," You say looking at Vernon who just started stroking the orange cat fur. "I was just-" You point at the water container.

"Ah yeah," Vernon says, giving you a nod. "I was thinking of finding something so this little guy can eat but-"

"We don't know anything around, same." You say squatting on Vernon's side and putting the container on the ground, little dude giving you both a meow.

"Could we-" Vernon starts but you just cut him.

"Make a trainee do the hard work? Make them go to the nearest supermarket, " you say, laughing a little, like you laugh with others. And Vernon thinks that maybe your brain is too fast, two-step forwards already, ahead of everyone, always.

"Yeah, I was thinking about asking someone or even the Grand Prix organizers to even get a vet around. I think something is wrong with his paw." Vernon points at the cat, and he stops for a minute thinking about how he is so used to being in the paddock but not really knowing his way around it. He strokes the cat again, almost feeling the urge to pick him up and go around asking if anyone knows a vet.

"You shouldn't be touching him." You say and Vernon feels a little offended. Did you enjoy telling him what to do? Vernon could take it, he didn't like it, but when it was about the race he could take it, but about a cat? Really? "Like, for health reasons."

"Yeah, I was thinking about taking him to the trailer, but if he has fleas, that would be a nightmare," Vernon says hand still scratching the little cat like the rebel he was.

"Can you-" You trail off, looking around, and Vernon can almost see your brain working inside your skull.

"What?"

"Look, we have like two options.” You say getting up and fixing your pants. And Vernon thinks that Seungkwan was actually right shit, you are actually and objectively pretty. “You can be an asshole and make someone do the job just because you are throwing a i am a star fit"

"Or?"

"You could totally do your I am a heartthrob bit on the communication team newbie, she kinda has a crush on you, so she would totally find Seb a vet place. Just don't let Minghao know.” Vernon just feels like a lot of what you just said goes over his head because it really doesn’t make sense to him, Heartthrob what? Crush who? Seb?

"Are we calling him Seb?"

"I mean he just gives me Sebastian Vettel energy all around you know, he is kind of shy and orange," you say trying not to sound dumb, feeling a little anxious - because Vernon always made you feel this way, an uneasy feeling paired with his low voice.

"Yeah, I can see that” and Vernon smiles, dude the cat really looks like Sebastian. God - in that exact moment Vernon knows that his life is fucked up, he is picking a stray cat when the next 3 weeks he will be jumping from airplane to airplane. But look at him, Vernon can't leave Seb in a freaking paddock, in the end of the week everything will be gone.

"So? Which one? I'm pretty sure we can try just telling Minho you went rogue as the third option but…"

"The heartthrob one just-" Vernon can feel his forehead itch and the beginning of a headache. He can't do a heartthrob bit. What is he talking about? "Just show me the way."

"I need your keys," you say to Vernon, hand open in his direction "First we need a box and a towel. We can't let little Seb on the loose."

"He is a little difficult, though. Pretty sure he won't stay in the box," Vernon tells you already giving you his key.

"I think I can steal a few eggs for him on the way. If they are boiled, it won't be a problem. He seems hungry enough."

And Vernon actually plays with Seb until you arrive, a box filled with Vernon's towel - probably the one he used this morning, and a plastic plate full of eggs. And then you are already dragging Vernon around to the second task - the heartthrob bit. And Vernon thinks about how quick on your feet you are - figuratively, and literally, you walk really fast. Later, you tell him that is a job thing, not a you thing. Apparently to be an F1 engineer you need to think fast, walk quickly, and solve everyone's problems.

Vernon did the heartthrob bit - it actually ended up with the newbie taking Seb to the vet, you gave her a to-do list (1 - check his paw, 2 - check for fleas, 3 - don't forget the shots!!!) and Vernon's credit card. But Vernon still with a weird taste in his mouth. How did you know the newbie had a crush on him? That's totally weird.

But hey the trainee actually found a vet, and she brings Seb back with shots and a bath. And now Vernon is staring at his cat, thinking about how if he needs to call the hotel to check about the animal policy, maybe he could do the heartthrob bit to the hotel manager. Or he could leave Seb unattended, he could eat something, chew his race boot, or - then Vernon hears a knock, which is weird of course because Vernon doesn't actually receive visits in the motor home, people know that Vernon is sensitive about that - no fans, no press, no knocking when he is in the motorhome.

"Hi," you say as soon as Vernon opens his door, "just came to see the little guy."

"Oh, yeah sure," of course it was you, the only person who doesn't actually care about Vernon’s word and maybe well-being, but Vernon kind of understands, Seb is cute, "he looks tired tho."

"It's okay, I just came to give him some love." You say one digit going between Seb’s ear, squatting on the floor, letting Seb chill in his place, "Are you going to the hotel?"

"I don't know,” Vernon scratches his kneck because it is true, he doesn’t actually have any idea what he is about to do, maybe he can take his race boots and everything essential so Seb doesn't chew on it, "I need to go but I can’t leave him alone but also I can’t sleep on the couch, it will fuck up my neck and also can’t just not sleep."

"You can go, I can sleep here on the bed, not a problem." You say sitting on the floor, Seb little groggy but wake, you pick him up and put him on your lap, and he just purr. What the hell? His cat is purring? For another person? What?

"I can’t let you do that,” he can’t because his cat is already in love and because he also knows that his motorhome bed is just uncomfortable.

"Don’t worry, we are just-" you say finally looking at Vernon’s eyes, "co-parenting" You say and Vernon feels like a bomb just dropped, and the whole humanity just vanished, he can hear a pin drop.

"Co-pareting? A cat?" Vernon says like his brain is not really functioning.

"Yeah Vernon,” You start, and Vernon can see a small smile across your face, “people have different family arrangements. You, me, and Seb, divorced people with a kid, it's okay."

"Divorced?" Vernon actually lets out a laugh, a scoff really. Why are you trying to mess with him ? This is not even close to normal.

"Yeah we are not on great terms but we sacrifice for him."

Vernon leaves - not because you said he could, not because you found a solution, but because it was the right thing to do for his performance really. Vernon leaves because his neck is a prized possession, and because he needs to sleep , he needs his best reaction time. And Vernon is an athlete. People may say that driving a car is not a sport, but people don’t know how much the g-force makes his neck almost break. But when Vernon lays in bed with his special pillow, Vernon can’t actually sleep. His mind goes back to his motorhome, to his just-for-stretching bed, and never actually sleeps. His mind, Vernon finds out, is going back to you sleeping in that awful bad, to the way you treat the little cat like it can break, and the way that every time your hand goes against the cat's fur Venon can actually feel the love.

Vernon is so fucked.

He starts to think that Seungkwan is actually right.

And Vernon can't actually sleep because you are tormenting his mind and Seungkwan's voice telling him 'I told you so' echoes in his mind.

Even tho not getting the eight-hour sleep Vernon gets what his system needs to be quick on his reactions - Wonwoo and Seungcheol actually crash in front of him, debris over his head and Vernon has control enough to just not crash in the crash in the narrows streets of Monaco. Nightmare, really. Vernon finishes in third because of it, and even tho he is in the podium, he can't actually feel happy about it.

Maybe that's really why Vernon can't have his car with a fucked up wing because it can mean life and death. Later that day he makes sure to go check with both drivers - halo is ugly as fuck but saves lives.

Vernon is thankful that he doesn't have time to actually think about life and death because you are shoving him into a funny bag and telling him to put Seb inside and telling him that you actually are about to sit next to him. So Vernon ends up with a cat bag on his lap, Seb strangely chills about everything, your hand going inside the bag just to stroke his fur.

He ends up sleeping the flight, which is only about 1h40 minutes, but Vernon feels like he needed that nap.

The perception of time in the world of F1 is really truly bizarre. Vernon is always running, always thinking about how he can go faster, even when he is doing the press talk. Minghao walks faster, and explains everything for Vernon in 3 sentences, if it is a sponsor or if it is a journalist, if he needs to actually talk about the car, or if it is a 'content' bit.

But when Vernon is going around the paddock and see you leaning against Jeonghan smile bright and full Vernon actually stops on his track, it is late, and everything is figured out in the paddock why the hell are you and Jeonghan laughing about?

"Come on, Vern," Minghao calls him, making his neck turn. "Come on, we have three more, and if I don't arrive in time for my dinner with Mika, she is going to kill me."

So Vernon lets Minghao drag him across the paddock. But his mind is still on the scene, you leaning and smiling against Jeonghan, and Vernon doesn't want to, but he feels jealous. He wants to be Jeonghan so fucking bad.

Vernon really doesn't have much time to think about it, he needs to sleep, watch his water intake, and think about his neck - his neck is his most important body part as a f1 driver, and he did think his neck was feeling a little funny. But every time Vernon sits and has time to himself, his brain conjures the image of you and Jeonghan in his eyelid.

Vernon doesn't think it was because of his neck or because his sleep was extremely shitty but the next day, his car crashes against a brick wall. Not great. Not ideal. Not fun either. So Vernon does what he needs to do. Even if he feels fine and got out of the car on his own, he needs his trip to the hospital. Turns out a few hours later, the medical team is sure that Vernon is not dying, but he may have a concussion.

When Vernon is back in his motor home to pick Seb back to the hotel (this time he actually made sure it was okay with the hotel's policy) he founds you lying on his useless motor home bed.

"Hey," you say getting up the bed "are you okay?"

"Yeah yeah," Vernon drops his bag on the floor and sits down by your side. "Just a concussion."

"Okay," you say, looking at Vernon, like actually looking at him searching for something. "I was scared it wasn't a pretty scene, Vernon."

"I know, but I'm okay," but Vernon is so so tired, he is okay and he feels okay but he feels the urge to just lie in this horrible bed and just stay in it, he doesn’t even care about his neck really - he can call for physiotherapy or something.

"Still, the whole team was worried, you don’t need to act like it wasn’t scary,” you say and Vernon just feels so heavy, like his whole body is made of bricks, even tho he is ok with it, he is used to it really, but the crash still takes a tool on his body "and you should have gone directly to the hotel"

"I was just picking Seb up," Vernon just lies on that horrible bed and it doesn’t really seem that bad, or he is just so tired that even lying on the floor seems like a good option now. His mind is tired too - Vernon can’t even think.

"You didn't need to do that. You could've ringed me up, you know, co-parenting,” you say, voice small, and Vernon's hazed mind almost doesn’t catch it.

"Yeah," Vernon scoffs. Really, he didn’t even think about texting you, "I don't think I have your number"

"Oh shit," You say picking up Vernon's phone and putting it in front of his face to unlock his phone, "ok gonna save my number you need to send me Seb pics I don't think you should bring him up, we have a week off you are probably going back to England right? You should hire someone to go see him daily or-"

Vernon just feels the urge to actually kiss you. You are just there, cat on your lap, thinking about how Vernon shouldn't bring Seb around anymore, you are so so worried about his health and if he is getting stressed, and you go on about how Vernon just needs to let him rest in his place in England even tho it would be super hard for you because you are getting used to distress, every work day you pop up in Vernon motor home to say hi to the cat - and to Vernon, it all feels like a freaking lullaby, he actually nestles himself in the bed, searching for the better position to just sleeps.

"See," you say to Vernon when you see how dozed off he is "you never pay attention."

"I am paying attention," Vernon answers, eyes still shut but not actually sleeping.

"You are not. You are zoomed out," You say, lying on his side, legs dangling out of the bed. "What were you thinking?"

"Nothing really," Vernon says because he is not really thinking about anything concrete really, his brain is all over the place.

"Vern," you actually whine, "I thought we were becoming friends parenting the same kid"

"We are becoming friends" Vernon laughs because that is weird right? “I have your phone now we are definitely friends”

"See? So tell me, what's on your mind lately?" You try again, but Vernon just hums."You seem actually stressed lately. Is Minho bothering you? I know the results are not great, but i promise we are trying"

"I know, I know, don't worry about that." And Vernon feels actually bad because it is the first time he can feel that you are a little guilty, no scratch that, tired? Vernon can’t really catch the feeling, but he knows that you care.

“I am not worried about that, I care about the results but you crashed today, the med team said you may have a concussion, and I don’t know if you are just zooming out in an ok way or zooming out in a concussion-induced way.”

“It’s not the concussion the hospital let me go, it is just, I’m just tired” Vernon feels your hand on his hair, petting him, almost like you do with Seb, and Vernon just let himself sleep feeling the affection in the way your fingers travel in his skull.

The thing is, even when Vernon is in his house in England he doesn't really feel at home, because it is a company provided apartment, and to be fair Vernon didn't put a lot of effort in it. So in his week off Vernon tries to focus on his physical training, on his neck, on his diet, on sleeping, but every time his phone vibrates Vernon just feels giddy and excited because 80% of the time it is just you reacting to Seb's pics Vernon sent.

Vernon tries not to think about how fast you answer his messages or how sometimes you send audio snips, and Vernon doesn't feel angry - he always hated audio message god. Vernon also hated calls but one night he actually video calls you and you are already in bed but you said you wanted to say goodnight to Seb but you and Vernon spends more than an hour chatting about nothing and everything.

When the time comes, Vernon ponders; leaving Seb behind or actually flying with the cat. So he just calls Boo Seungkwan to babysit Sebastian - the hours of flight and the jetlag would just make him stressed, even tho Vernon thinks he is the worst person ever adopting a cat to just let him stay in an empty apartment even tho Seungkwan will make sure he is eating, and Vernon actually begged 3 times to Seungkwan check Seb's litter box.

To everyone's surprise, Vernon actually gets a pole position. To be honest, even to Vernon and his team it was a surprise, too. But it was a good one. You congratulated him, and that night, you and Vernon called Seungkwan and spent like 45 minutes talking to a cat and cooing together - like parents on a holiday.

Vernon thinks it's kinda weird really - how you two fell into this dynamic of sharing a pet, and in a way, you two turned into friends too. So when Vernon is ready to get out to his car you are the last one to greet him, and Vernon is not really superstitious but he thinks he will make sure that this turns into a new team ritual.

When Vernon crosses the finish line, he feels it - the feeling that Vernon always chased in a way. When he hears the screams and laughs on his radio, he feels he can actually let go and just enjoy. He did. He won a grand prix again.

And when Vernon is showered with champagne, hears his national anthem, and jumps to the crowd he thinks about you. He tries to find you really but Minghao just directs him to the press area.

“Hey,” you say, popping your head in the door crack after knocking on his door. “Heard you were looking for me.”

“Yeah yeah.” And Vernon feels sticky. His whole body is covered in champagne. He is looking like a mess, but god, he is so so happy. “Didn’t see you in the celebration.”

“I was around. Saw everything, don't worry" You move and close the door acting like you guys didn't accomplish the best thing in the whole world because that's how Vernon feels like he is on top of the world.

“No no-” Vernon's smile is so big, and he touches your arms, and he actually stops, and he looks at you. “We did! We actually did it!”

“You did it" you say almost shoving him, but Vernon's hands don't leave your arms - hot and sticky against your skin, "don't need to be humble it was a great race on your side-”

“No no no listen, we both did it. We did it together. We are sharing this," Vernon says - smile still big across his face, he is so sweaty why do you think that seeing Vernon happy is the best thing ever? “Come on, say it”

“We did it” You say smiling, not even because you are happy with his win - you are, you are happy for the team, and you are happy for Vernon, but Vernon is so happy and in a way is so infectious you just can not smile like him.

“We sure did,” and Vernon hugs you, head dropping on your shoulder, “god-”

“What?"

“You smell nice," Vernon says voice muffled.

“Thank you, you smell like really nice champagne," you say with a laugh, god Vernon is so happy, and there is only one thing that would make him happier -

"And-” He tries to master his courage to say, “and I wish I could kiss you.”

When Vernon kisses you, he almost feels the breeze, almost feeling the physical sensations that involve flying, because, in his head, he is already 10 thousand feet high. He feels so out of it that Vernon just let you take what you want for him. God, you want so much.

Vernon can feel it. He feels in the way your fingers hold his jaw. He feels in the way your mouth goes together, like two pieces made to fit each other. He feels in the way that you react when his hands hold your hips so tightly, whimpering in his mouth.

Vernon is not one to complain about speed, but when his whole world is spinning and everything is going so fucking fast he wishes he could stop the time, make it go backward, make it go slower.

His whole life, he fought against the clock. If he was two seconds faster if he didn't waste milliseconds in the second curve. Vernon was always running, but now, fuck Vernon wishes he could go slow.

So Vernon chooses to take his time, not hurry. He kisses you slowly. The way that he trails his lips against your jaw is slow, and the way that his hands travel to your ribcage is slow.

"Vernon," you try to call his attention, to make him hurry, to make him speed up, but the only thing that Vernon gives you is a non-committal noise.

And Vernon thinks you are in a fucking trailer, with a not-great bed, and he has one better - bigger and with his trusted neck pillow but everything just shatters when someone knocks on his door.

And when Vernon opens the door and sees Minghao he thinks two things: Minghao is his worst enemy really, Minghao must hate him. The second one? Vernon asks himself how many wins he needs in his career to do a contract clause saying he is never doing press again, if someone asks him to do an interview or youtube content he is allowed to change teams before the end of his contract.

Vernon goes back to everything needs to move fast behavior. You two jump on a plane, and again, Vernon has his week off - while you need to go to Austria to check everything related to the engineering team. So when Vernon arrives and Seb purrs against his leg, he films it and sends it to you. When Vernon is chilling on his bed and Seb acts like Vernon's body is his personal pillow, he films it and sends it to you. When you say you are crying because you miss the cat, Vernon calls you and says you can knock on his door anytime.

When Vernon arrives in the paddock the first thing he does is ask Jun where you were - meeting room, you had a meeting with Jeonghan and Minho, but when Vernon knocks on the door you are alone.

"You really did it." It's the first thing you say to Vernon.

"Yeah" He shrugs. "it was a promise."

"It looks good on you," you say, sitting in front of him at the table, hand touching Vernon’s hair, feeling the urge to ruffle it.

"So, like, my last meal was airplane food, so I was thinking about taking you to dinner," Vernon says, and you just think how it is unfair that even tho he is not conscious of it, he is doing the heartthrob thing, the lazy eyes, the small smile, the unkept hair - now blonde.

"Hm-" you try your best to not just throw your papers and forget you have an actual job just because Vernon smiled at you, "I don't know if I am free, actually Minho was talking about going over the strategy with you so-"

"Yeah? Ok, I can call him and say the airplane gave me a headache so," Vernon picks his phone up and starts typing something, "I don't know Austrian food that well but we can always go to an Italian."

"Italian, I prefer Italian," you say, chin resting on your hand and just admiring Vernon. You are pretty sure if you were a cartoon, they would draw you with heart eyes.

"Nice."

You let Vernon wine and dine you. The restaurant was nice, and it was even nicer that you and Vernon sat side by side in low light, and you can just rest your head on his shoulder because you were truly tired and because every time you did that you could actually sniff Vernon a bit, and he smells so so good.

You guys just chat about everything, and at some point, Vernon actually unlocks his phone and just lets you browse his gallery (90% of it is Seb's pics or videos, and the other 10% were the pics you sent him about your day - a coffee, a building, anything silly that made you smile), and looking at it made your heart melt.

In a silent agreement, you just hop in Vernon's Uber and end up on his hotel bed, with Vernon on top of you.

Vernon kisses you slowly like he has all the time in the world - and you are weak enough for him, so you don't complain, you don't hurry him. To be honest you don't want him to hurry either, you are enjoying the way Vernon is nested between your legs, the way you can feel his weight on your body, and the way that his hands feel against your neck.

The way Vernon touches you makes you feel treasured, makes your heart full, and makes you want to make him feel the same way, and you try your best.

You try when your hands travel to his biceps, squeezing it the way his hands tighten against your hips. You try when your hand goes through his hair when he kisses your neck. You try when Vernon's hands travel under your shirt and you kiss his cheeks because it's the only place you reach.

Vernon doesn't think, and he doesn't try. He just does, and he accepts what you give him.

When Vernon outright grinds on you and you whimper, Vernon accepts it. When your hands claw at his shirt, he accepts, and when he gets off, you take his shirt off and see you doing the same. Vernon thinks that maybe you gonna give him more than he can take.

You don't rush him, you let Vernon watch you, but you feel rushed, so you get up as well, mouth. chasing Vernon's while you take off your bra.

The way Vernon holds you makes your mind spin. The way his firm body feels against yours, and how his hands feel against your back. And even though you try, Vernon still kisses you slowly.

Vernon holds you when he makes you lie on the bed, "baby lemme just-" he says, giving your hips a small kiss, and opening the button of your pants, when he takes your pants off you can feel his digits traveling against your leg and you are sure he can feel the goosebumps on your skin.

Vernon's fingers close against your ankle, and Vernon brings it against his mouth, "Vern " you try to call him, and you feel dumb enough that you just beg. And Vernon kisses you again, one hand on your chest and the other grabbing your hips.

And you think you can take slow when Vernon is on top of you, legs tangled, his lips now on your neck. Every time your hips move together Vernon hums against your skin and you wish he was naked already. But when Vernon's lips find your chest you can't really complain because you feel so lost, he takes one of your nipples in your mouth, and he gives attention to the other one too, taking your nipple between two fingers and toying with it

When Vernon releases your breast with a pop you remember to call him, "Vern please"

"What?" He says hands toying with your panty line, digits hot against your hips.

"Your pants," you say, feeling your mouth dry, body buzzing.

"Oh right," Vernon says and you already feel remorseful when Vernon detaches his body from yours.

You try to reach Vernon with your hands, palms against his skin, on his chest, on his abs, on his thighs. Everywhere - trying to placate the lack of the feeling of his body against yours.

When Vernon finishes getting his pants off he holds your head, hand against your nape and jaw and he kisses you, and you feel a little better thinking he suffered like you did in those milliseconds that your bodies have been apart from each other.

And Vernon did, and when he stops to look at you, to really look, tracing his thumb against your mouth and you open just enough for your tongue to lap at his digit Vernon thinks he is going crazy.

God, you are just so pretty on his bed, hair messy, trails of his kiss against your skin. Vernon knows he is so fucking lucky, and if he could he would stop the time, he would treasure every second - he would go so fucking slow he would make the clock go backward. You, however, don't really care, you just touch Vernon, hand under his underwear giving his dick a few pumps while Vernon's hands leave an imprint on your ribcages.

Vernon helps you a little, one hand on your hips and another one lowering his underwear, his dick finally free. When Vernon looks down, he can see how red his skin is - a blush coloring his chest, he can also see how your thumb just goes smoothly against his cockhead and Vernon thinks he might go insane.

"Do you need to-" Vernon asks while trying to return the feeling, hand going to your clothed pussy, pressing against it and making you whimper.

"No, no, I am ok," You say, almost in a way to make Vernon hurry up, "You can just fuck me."

"Yeah yeah ok," Vernon says, and you can feel the way his dicks enters you while Vernon's tongue lick his lips.

Vernon fucks you slowly, body pressed against yours, one of his hands holding your head - almost pressing you against his, his lips never leaving your cheek. And it is almost excruciating - the way Vernon fucks you, so slowly and yet so fucking good.

You try to tell him in the way your hands hold his neck, the way you feel his shoulder blades under your hands, the way you want to touch the expanses of his back.

It's good, and you could live like that - in Vernon's warm embrace. But you are feeling desperate enough so you just beg, "Vern, faster", and not a second late Vernon is fucking you harder. He picks himself up, knees on the bed, holding your legs on the side of his waist. And god he hits you so deep, you just need a little more.

"Fuck you are so hot," Vernon says almost there when he sees your hand toying with your clit.

"I am so close," You say to him and you can feel how his hands tighten against your thighs, how he picks up his pace, how he fucks you harder.

And then it washes over you, and it hits Vernon - because of the way he continues to fuck you after it, but then you can feel his body against yours, his mouth chasing yours, and you just laugh between kisses because yeah, Vernon is a lazy kisser, that just how he is, but goddamn you love it.

In that weekend Vernon makes a ritual of kissing you, he kisses you every time he can really, but he makes a point of stealing a kiss before the free practice - in his motorhome. He does it again before the race, he ends up in second place. He kisses you again when you jump at him saying that he is the best - and he wants to argue because he just ended in second place, but it's you so he just takes it.

When Vernon is showered, clean, and not sticky from champagne he sees you sleeping in his horrible motorhome bed, and he just can't let you - you guys have a flight to catch.

"Hey, come on let's go home, Seb is missing you," Vernon says trying to wake you up.

#t: chwe hansol #Vernon fanfic #Vernon Smut #Seventeen Fanfic #Seventeen Smut #Vernon Fic #Seventeen Fic #t: writting #t: seventeen #svt smut #choi hansol fic

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bcdaily · 1 month

Text

An Influx of James/Lily...stuff

So, this is the first week in...lol, a year?...that I haven't had mountains of freelancing to finish or grappling with utter burnout or just...yeah lol whatever life. So I'm at Starbucks now with the freedom to ~~write whatever I want~~ which has left me dazzlingly undecided, which lead me on a little foray into my Google Docs.

And the thing is...I've started so many one-shots or stories or somethings or another that are not going to go anywhere because I don't even remember what they were. And I'm too sad to delete them, so I thought I'd just...throw them up here under a cut?

So enjoy, these random paragraphs of the graveyard of Bee's Fics That Never Were:

Something AU? About Lily house/petsitting?? There are fish??

Everything was going swimmingly well until Lily almost killed both the fish and the heir.

"Whoah—whoah!" the latter had been shouting as Lily had been shrieking, the tidy bowl of fish in her hands rattling and sloshing water over its rounded rim as bodies collided inside the posh townhouse foyer, and Lily's instinctive reaction had been a sad attempt at weaponizing paltry plastic. Blindly, mid-shriek, she'd shoved the fish bowl like a battering ram the intruder's way, endangering both innocent marine life, most eardrums within range, and Euphemia Potter's pristine hardwood floors.

Also, Lily realises approximately twenty seconds too late, Euphemia Potter's similarly pristine only child.

Not likely to be keen on the destruction of either, Euphemia.

Hands down, Fleamont would care most about the fish.

"Jesus—shit. Shit." Lily jerks the bowl back, lifting it up to inspect the damage, her frantic gaze bouncing between the man she's just attacked and the tiny sea life she may have just murdered. "I'm so—are you—are they—are they alive?"

"Is this a burglary? Are you stealing them?" asks the heir, the hefty armful of papers and books he'd been holding now mostly scattered by his feet. A few industrious, aerodynamic pages are still floating down, lapping leisurely by their legs. He'd dropped them, back during the shrieking and colliding and shame. Now, he is standing very still, but nodding very specifically at the fish. "If so, I will not stand in your way."

"What?"

"Take them. Please."

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I'm not stealing fish," Lily responds dumbly, eyes shifting from the heir back to the precious cargo he is honestly being a bit too generous in looking to offload. Her mind has quit whirling enough to concentrate on the contents. Immediately, she begins to tally up fish. Four, five, six...fuck, were there two of the blue ones? Is the orange one moving? Is that a death float?

One fish, two fish. Red fish, slew fish.

The heir is still talking.

"More of an art thief, then?" he asks. His hand lifts, elegant-looking and long-fingered, moving to straighten the trendy specs sitting upon his patrician nose, which had gone askew in the scuffle. "There's a bloody ugly statue of some tragic Greek in the dining room. Worth loads. Grab and go. I'll assist hefting, even. No charge."

"What?" There are eleven fish. Eleven, glorious, wonderful, still somehow living fish. Relief is a drowning tidal wave nearly pulling Lily under. Her knees go fair weak with it. She attempts to shake the remnants of shock and panic off like a sodden dog, but hasn't quite managed it when she gives her attention back to the man in front of her. He's quite tall. His hair is dark and haphazard, like Fleamont's. "That's not how burglary works."

"Are you certain?"

"Not from personal experience, but a woman can take some educated stances."

"So you're not a burglar."

"No." This is a ludicrous conversation. From the smile playing at his lips, Lily reckons the heir thinks so, too. She's trying to remember his name. Fleamont had told her it at some point, maybe even multiple points. It's something traditional, one syllable. She'd had some worry about that, with parents called mouthfuls like Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont's favorite fish was called Jeremiah Rumplestiltskin. "I'm Lily. The housesitter."

"The housesitter." He says the word with the flourish of a brightened lightbulb, ah yes, there it is. He bends, beginning to gather his belongings from the foyer floor.

++++

Something canon?? I actually think this might have been a sequel to a one-shot? Maybe??

It's become a game now, and they are both very, very good at it.

“What are you staring at?” she baldly asks that very first Monday morning, barely twenty-four hours after what James had quickly begun to refer to in his head as The Age-Old Snogging Incident (subtitle: Wildest Dreams Defined).

They are eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and save for the seven seconds it had taken James to thrust the wrapped Brewing Cauldrons record at her yesterday with a hurried “Happy birthday, Evans,” before scurrying off in the most pathetic of manners, this is the first time he’s encountered her. She looks much the same as she always does (brilliant), and he’s doing much the same as he always does (eating lathered toast, subtly watching her, hoping no one realizes he’s subtly watching her), but this time, she calls him out on it.

She’s seated across the table and two seats over. They are surrounded by people, but they may as well be alone. Noise buzzes in James’s ears as he stares fixedly at her smugly arched eyebrows, her tellingly quirked lips (the same ones that had snogged him). He is moments away from stuttering out an embarrassed, evasive response, likely flushing and bumbling at being caught, because she's right, he is staring...

But then he realizes something.

He is not the only one.

Lily Evans, that coy conundrum, is staring fixedly at him, as well.

More specifically, she is staring fixedly at his mouth.

Fucking hell, she’s thinking about it, too.

It's sudden, stunning awareness. It's wild, uncontrollable confidence. It's unproven, untested, unmitigated victory and arrogance, a feeling James is not entirely unfamiliar with, but never--never--in regards to her.

“I’m not staring at anything,” he somehow finds himself answering, slowly biting into his toast like it's a token power move. He takes his leisurely time swallowing. “What are you staring at?”

“Me?” Her eyebrows have arched even higher. She licks her lips. “I’m not staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My mistake, then.”

"That's right."

"Cheers."

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Neither of them even moves. It is a battle of pointed, heady, bloody fucking hell flirtatious wills, and now that James has realized she is not the only one with power here, he is damn well not going to give it up.

"What are you two doing?" Hestia Jones eventually asks, regarding them with vague suspicion. "What's going on?"

James bites his toast.

Lily stirs her tea.

"Nothing," they both say.

But ten minutes later, as James is somewhat giddily taking his time in exiting the Hall for Charms, Lily slinks up behind him, grabs his arm, and yanks him back as their mates sail unassumingly though the Great Hall toward lessons.

"You're so obvious," she hisses. "Control yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James returns loftily. "But for shame, Evans--can't you keep your hands off me for even a moment?"

James nods down to where her fingers are still curled around his biceps. He expects her to drop it immediately like a scorching hot pan, but instead she gets a wicked sort of gleam in her green eyes, curls her fingers around even further, and squeezes.

"Mm. So tense." The quiet husk in her voice sends a string of shivers straight down James's spine. One of her fingers has begun to stroke. "I know a few helpful ways to remedy that...but I'm afraid you're just a bit too young to hear them."

"Corrupter of youth," James accuses, though it mostly comes out as a choke.

Cruel, cruel witch that she is, Lily gives a jaunty shrug, lets loose his arm, and with nothing more than a conciliatory pat, stalks off past him.

The point, admittedly, goes to her. But James is nothing if not a sportsman.

Later that same afternoon, Marc Darndis spills an entire beaker of uncooked Brinstin Brew down his front in Potions, and James takes a moment in the ensuing chaos to turn around to the workstation behind him. He watches Lily as she diligently keeps working, then leans his elbows against the table top, sighs heavily, and says, "Poor Darndis. He'll be in the shower for ages trying to scrape that off. Unfortunate, I suppose...but then again, I am personally a very firm advocate for a nice, long shower."

Lily doesn't even glance up at this comment. Maybe her eye twitches a bit, but mostly she just continues chopping up her beetle parts.

"If you don't turn around and mix in your daffodil root," she says eventually, "you're going to need a nice, long shower. When your cauldron explodes."

"Nothing beats a good shower," James continues, like she hasn't spoken. "You know, when the steam starts to billow, and you take your first step in, and the hot water hits your skin, dripping down..."

James manages to get through a good thirty-five seconds of discussing raunchy bathing habits before Lily's face has gone so completely red, it very nearly matches her hair.

(Truly, if James's bothersome cauldron hadn't chosen that exact moment to go on and explode, he reckons he may very well have cracked her.)

(Still, it's worth the detention Slughorn gives him, and the victorious look Lily shoots him. Overall: Point Potter.)

That Monday sets the tone for the following weeks, unleashing this new, maddening dynamic wherein James is now not only allowed to flirt shamelessly and ruthlessly with Lily Evans...it is quite simply expected. The pair of them are both so grossly over-the-top with it, it is very nearly laughable.

She shows up to breakfast one morning with an extra shirt button undone and glossy lips, and James has to squint at the ceiling for a good three minutes before he's in a dignified enough condition to rise from the table.

He "accidentally" leaves his Charms textbook in his dormitory, inquires if he can look on with hers, and spends the entirety of the lesson invading her personal space to her ever-obvious reluctant delight.

They cross paths in the common room, where she promptly begins to read aloud from a Witch Weekly article entitled "The Sexy Art of Snogging" (with charade accompaniment).

James arrives back from Quidditch practice one afternoon, sweaty and still in-kit, and finds her gawking at him by the portrait hole. He loudly hums the chorus to "Mrs. Robinson" as he passes her by, and hears her muffled laughter as the Fat Lady swings closed behind him.

Somehow, they're sitting together during History now, and spend nearly every lesson shooting hurried, sloppy notes between them:

It's so sad how badly you want to kiss me, Evans.

I could weep with how much of a projection that is, Potter.

Shoot those lusty looks elsewhere, I will not be seduced. (how long did he just say this essay was meant to be?)

If I wanted you seduced, you'd be seduced. (I don't know I wasn't listening, go ask Remus.)

I'm too young for these types of conversations. How dare you. (two scrolls)

I guess I'll go find someone else to have them with for the next thirty-two days, then. (thks)

Speaking of mates...the lot of them know nothing. Or at least, James hasn't told his--he can't be certain what Lily has divulged. As far as the lads are concerned, James and Lily are merely engaged in a mysterious, extended battle of wills, their hushed conversations never disclosed, the prize an unconfirmed puzzle. Peter finds the anomaly entertaining. Sirius is primarily disinterested. Remus likely figured the whole thing out on day two, but is much too polite to intrude.

So on it goes, just the two of them--tempting and toying and teasing and TK.

James loves his birthday. He has always loved his birthday. It's the one day of the year when no one's allowed to tell you off for being utterly self-involved, and James has always been keen on that type of lenience. He fancies cake and presents and embarrassing traditions. He doesn't shy from attention or parties or mugs of beverages clinked in his honour. But this birthday...

January quickly shifts to February. February fades into March. James has never been so keenly aware of the days of his youth ticking by as he is at this particular moment. Last week, Lily had cornered him in the library stacks, had used that sad, predictable old ploy of reaching for a book beyond his shoulder in order to brush her body full against his, and James had very nearly threw the whole game and timeline out the window then and there. He was losing his mind. She was keenly enjoying it. If he wasn't very nearly certain the tricks and teasing were getting to her too, he'd likely have put a stop to them ages ago.

But Lily Evans is not the sort of girl who would even vaguely entertain a bloke if she wasn't interested. James, of all people, ought to know that. Yes, their blatant harassment of each other these past eight weeks has been so wildly extraneous in every way...but that doesn't mean there isn't something lying beneath. There is for James, in any case. And really, she'd started it. He doesn't exactly know what any of it means, but he reckons he can't be be castigated for counting down the hours until 27 March with bated breath.

It's Thursday, three days until his birthday.

+++++

Some canon smut that never was??

"This," James mutters, as her mouth peppers his chin, "is an insulting cliche."

She hums a vague acknowledgment at this comment—or is that a groan?—but continues undeterred in wrestling apart the buttons of his shirt. The sharp half-moons of her nails scrape his chest in a scrambling kitten's scratch as the paltry buttons of his cotton school shirt pop. There is a cool June wind drifting in from the mooncast evening outside the nearby doorway, leading out onto the ramparts. It hits his now exposed skin in soft, brisk billows.

Her teeth bite down on his pulse point. James teeters to the right, nearly tipping back down the steep spiral staircase.

He grabs her around the waist, swinging them around until her back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

She gives a light oomph...then continues to nibble.

"The Astronomy Tower," James snarls.

She has made work of half his shirt buttons. Sighs. "James."

"Really. 'Meet me,' she says. Then drags me to the Astronomy Tower. I feel cheap and tawdry."

#jily #james potter #lily evans #bcdaily #my writing #or the starts of it anyway #enjoy

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digitalsymbiote · 7 months

Text

The Solar Sprint

You ever heard of the Cannonball Run? It was a thing back on earth, back before corpo wars. It was an unsanctioned race across a continent. Folks would trick out cars with extra fuel tanks, police scanners, the works, and just burn their way from one ocean to the other. Driving for something like a day straight, avoiding cops all the way, and only stopping to refuel. Kinda wild, don’t you think? A test of speed and stamina, seeing how hard you could really push your vehicle.

That’s what the Solar Sprint started out as, you know. First time someone ran it, the Jovian blockade was still up. They blew right past the military lines, their mech too fast for any of those combat frames to catch. It was big news at the time, everyone thought it was some secret R.O.M. tech built to break the blockade. Turned out it was just some wrench-head who wanted to see how fast they could get from Mercury to Neptune. The crazy fucker actually did it too, straight shot from the solar collection station on Mercury, all the way to the NDS Research outpost. The scientists there nearly shit themselves when the Runner went blasting past their observatory like that. Can’t imagine they saw any frames out there that weren’t clunky research models before then, especially with the blockade still up.

There’s still footage of the first sprint up on the Net if you look. Some cargo hauler caught footage of the Runner nearly side-swipping his freight ship between Earth and Venus. There was a leaked clip of them breaking the Jovian blockade too, but you might be hard pressed to find that one these days. runners sometimes carry hard copies though, so if you run into the right people you might be able to see it.

It became a whole thing, y’know? Kind of a fuck you to the corps, the wars, all of it. Building frames in a different way, not just for blowing each other up. Was a kind of creative revolution, an expression of freedom. Corps can’t keep us down, yeah? Something like a thousand runners tried it over the next couple years. Not all of em made it; some of em got caught by the blockade, some of em their frames couldn’t handle the trek. But enough of em made it that it started to become a real competition. Who could make the sprint in the fastest time? Folks posted on forums about crazy ideas they were coming up with for propellants, aerodynamics, you name it. Gearheads across the net had a brand new obsession to pour over.

Soon enough though, the corps caught on, realized it was easier to sanction the thing than to try and stop people from doing it. Enough cargo freighters crashed, enough blockades ran, it became more profitable to make an event out of the thing. The Sprint lost some of it’s luster after that. Speed frames plastered with sponsorships and built with corpo parts didn’t really capture the energy of the original run. The yearly Sprint is technically open to public teams, but any self respecting Runner isn’t gonna attempt it during sanctioned times. Kinda defeats the purpose of it all if they clear the shipping lanes and wait for optimal conditions, right?

Every once in a while though, you might spot somebodies custom frame sitting in orbit around the solar collection station. And who knows? They might be the next crazy wrench-head to break that record.

#cybernetic dreams #mechposting #mecha #mechs #mech pilots #writing #microfiction #short story

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

Note

Hey!! was just looking to request a little something, if you don't want to/don't have the time I don't mind.

So, like a Max V x Reader where reader is Toto's daughter. Reader and Toto doesn't have a good relationship because she isn't very interested in the Mercedes team and after a petty fight he kicks her out of the house, max hears them fighting (they're in the paddock) and offers to host reader and as time goes, they start to build a relationship and then everyone finds out about it. Also if it could take place under the 2021 season. 🏎️🤍

*sips on dr pepper* Alright Toto my beloved, it‘s time to be a bitch

Thank u sm for the request anon! I made some small changes to the plot but nothing major xx

Paddock Pass pt.1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader, dad!toto wolff x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: After Toto takes your paddock pass, Max comes to your rescue. You didn‘t think that rescue would lead to something much bigger. (Pls trust me this is good, I just suck at summaries)

warnings: angst, fighting, bad dad-daughter dynamics, fluff, mutual pining turning into more, use of Y/N one time, not really proofread (anything else? Tell me if I missed something)

Masterlist || taglist || part one || part two || part three

There wasn't a year when you hadn't attended at least half of the grand prix. And this year was no different.

Your job allowed you to work from everywhere you liked, so it was the perfect opportunity to follow your dads team around the world.

The Mercedes Formula One team was something you’d consider family.

You knew everyone by name, some of them knew you since you were only a few years old, attending your first races.

But you never cared for the strategies, the way the cars worked, or anything in that field.

You were here for the excitement of the races, the familiarity and the people. The drivers, the mechanics, the strategists or the people working for the media… they were close to your heart, and you couldn't imagine not being part of this world.

Even if you weren't the least bit interested in the details; you knew everything about the sport, you just didn't want to go into detail why the car would work better if you added this thing to whatever part of the car that your dad had explained to you so many times.

But Toto Wolff would not understand that. And he made it very clear.

In his eyes, you should be just as interested in all aspects of the sport. To be like him, you thought.

„You know what, Dad? Shocker, but not everyone shares your fucking interests and cares for them as much as you do!"

You've never talked to him like that, but you've had enough. "I know I'm not the daughter you'd like to have," you continued, „I really don't care about the aerodynamics of Lewis‘ car and how it's different to Valtteris'! I simply don't care!"

You felt hot tears burning in your eyes, but you managed to blink them away. Barely, but he didn't have to see them. "They all know that," these damn tears wouldn't stop, you thought, "Everyone except for you, Dad.

The disappointment in your voice was clear as day, "Why do you even take me with you, when you don't just accept me as I am?" Your lips were pressed in a tight line, the tears still on the verge of falling.

"You're right." Toto said in the coldest voice you might've ever heard from him, his accent thick, „I don't have to drag you with me anywhere, you're an adult after all. But I also don't have to give you access to the paddock, nor to the garage or anywhere else."

You clenched your teeth, hard. He just had to snap his fingers and your all access pass was worth nothing. You couldn't enter the paddock, couldn’t go anywhere else. And he knew, clear as day, that you couldn't just take a plane back home. You needed the money to pay your rent and couldn't just waste it on a plane ticket that was way too expensive.

But you wouldn't give in this time, no, if he wanted to punish you for telling him the truth, fine. But he couldn't just humiliate you like he did right now. You grabbed the all access pass hanging from your neck and shoved it in his hand. "Take it then." you said, your voice matching his cold tone.

Max was hearing every part of it. He'd noticed your voice just before he walked past the Mercedes facility, stopping dead in his tracks when he heard the tone of your words. The voice he had heard so many times, the kindness you always spoke with. All gone. And then Toto's. Just as horribly cold. The two of you were standing between the facilities, so he pretended to be on his phone answering someone, so he could wait in front of his own facility.

"Take it then." he heard you say in a bitter tone, and just a moment later, you walked past him. He could tell that you were upset. Hell, everyone could've. The way you almost ran out of the paddock and tried to blink away the tears - of sadness, anger, or possibly both, he couldn't tell - it was obvious. Max waited another moment, and when he saw Toto returning to the Mercedes facility, he quickly followed you.

He had to quicken his pace, due to your fast steps. Some were curiously watching where he wanted to be so quickly, but he didn't notice them, just trying to catch up to you. "Hey," he called after you, "wait for me!"

You didn't hear him, and even if you did, you wouldn't think he'd meant you. It was when he called out your name, that you finally turned around.

"Thank you." he said, taking a deep breath. He stopped right at your side. "Ehm," you looked at him in utter confusion, still trying not to be obvious of your emotions. "Can I help you, Max?"

You haven't seen him, when you walked past the Red Bull building, too focused on what to do now.

„Uhm, yeah, I mean… Can we find a-„ he looked around, “a more private place to talk?”

His gaze was filled with sincerity and softness. You needed a second to answer him. „Uhm, yes. Of course.“ you quietly said.

“Great.” Max gently took your wrist and led you to a more secluded place between two facilities. The grip he had on your wrist turned into him sliding his hand in yours. It didn‘t surprise you how the skin where he had touched you tingled, the feeling of your hand in his a feeling you could never quite explain. It was childish, but ever since he started driving for Red Bull, you had a crush on him. You obviously never told your Dad or anyone else about it, hell would've broken loose if you did.

“I was actually heading out of the paddock,“ you started, “I don't have a pass anymore.”

His lack of confusion or surprise to that made you draw your brows together, and then he simply answered, „I know.”

“So what are you-„ you started, but he interrupted you, “I know it's not the most gentlemen thing to do, but I heard all of the-“ he thought for a second, “discussion, between you and your Dad.” he ended.

That actually made you smile a little, he tried his best to be as gentle as possible and you appreciated it. „It’s okay, Max. I guess everyone kind of heard us.” you sighed, „We had a fight, and he kicked me out.” a bitter smile formed on your lips.

„Yeah, but he can't kick you out of the paddock.” Max's lips turned into a mischievous smile. “What do you mean?” He looked at your hand and his thumb caressed it for a second. „I'll give you one of mine.”

„Max,“ you started a little shocked, but he quickly shook his head, „It's really no problem at all,“ he smiled, „It would be an honor to have you in the garage.“ he winked.

His knees almost buckled at the sight of you.

He had given you one of his spare Red Bull shirts. It was a little too big for you, but you had styled it perfectly, the new pass dangling from your neck with every step you took.

You looked absolutely beautiful. And you weren't walking past his garage like you usually would, because his garage was the one you'd watch the race in. It filled him with a sort of pride he couldn't explain. Never in a million years, had he dared to believe you'd be rooting for him and his team. Little did he know, you did since meeting him for the first time.

"Hey," you greeted him with a warm smile. Max was glad that you seemed to be in a much better mood than yesterday. „Hey.“ he grinned. „Is this-„ you gestured over your outfit and pass, „Is it really okay with the team?“

You were a little nervous how they'd react to you being in the garage. Nearly everyone knew you were Toto's daughter. And although you knew most of the other teams, including the people who worked for them, you felt quite nervous. „It is.“ His voice had no trace of uncertainty in it. And when he grabbed your hand for the second time since your encounter yesterday, your stomach did a little happy flip.

„Alright, I have to go, but you can just go over there to watch the race,“ he pointed to your left, „But I guess it's no different to the Mercedes garage, so…“ he laughed. You smiled and chuckled, „It isn‘t, but thank you.“ He gave you a small nod, still smiling. „No Max, really. Thank you.“ Your voice became more serious, and you looked at him with utter gratitude.

Just when he gave your hand a light squeeze, you noticed that you must've still been holding hands. „I already told you it's no problem, I'm glad you are here.“ You couldn‘t tell the look on his face, you just knew that he was standing so very close to you that only a few centimeters separated the two of you. His gaze wandered from your eyes to your lips. His hand that caressed yours as you still watched him with such intensity, trying to figure out what he was thinking, but at the same time just taking him in. „Y/N, I-„ he started whispering, so close to your own lips, just so very close.

„Max! We need you over here!“

The voice made both you and Max look up, almost startled. He turned around to the mechanic, and nodded quickly before turning back to you.

But the moment was gone. You took a step back, letting go of his hand in the process. You smiled at him, though nervously, „Good luck, champ.“. And with that you left him standing there, your heart still aching for so much more than a simple ‚good luck‘.

I appreciate your comments and reblogs so much!

here’s my kofi if you‘d like to leave a tip 🩷

#f1 x reader #angst #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #mercedes #mercedes f1 #redbull f1 #formula one #f1 #fluff #formula one x reader

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neilperryismine · 2 months

Text

dps rewatch thoughts: part 2

(just my random + film student thoughts)

“…and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.” *silence*

“Meeks put your coat down. Picnic blanket. Right here.” “Yes, sir.”

“Wait a minute, who gave us half a roll!” “*mumbled* I’m eating the other half” “come on” “you want me to put it back?”

I love Meeks and Pitts

TODDS SO CUTE CLAPPING HIS HANDS😆

THEYRE DANCING

the cave meeting ends - bell (at midnight)

“Mr anderson are you a man or an amoeba” 😟

HOPKINS THATS HIS NAME

“Don’t believe me, come see for yourself” neil and charlie jump out of their seats and go up first without hesitation. the others wait and Meeks looks at them, hesitating. 👬

They get on the desk first, and while charlie looks around and admires the view, neil looks forward and then jumps straight down. He looked at the world from a different perspective, but only one.

RADIO FREE AMERICA🗣️🗣️🗣️

Stick fencing!!!!

LETS HAVE A PARTY WOOO LETS HAVE A PARTY👯‍♀️

unhappy anderperry…

“You look as stirred up as a cesspool”

“I appreciate this concern…”🧐

“I can take care of myself just fine” “no.” so you want to care of him??!!!!!

“what do you mean ‘no’?” “no❤️😊”

“we are dreaming…poetry…I’m being chased by WALT WITMAN”😊

Meeks during football/poetry: 😶🤓

“Charlie I got the part! I’m going to play puck!”

“Nyah!”❤️

Neil’s happy stims😊

“I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world. W. W.”

“Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold. You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.“ wow.

Neil: 😍

TODD JUMPS INTO NEILS ARMS

NEIL HAPPY JUMPING

Knox falls over twice🤦🏼‍♀️

“That-a-boy pittsie. Inhale. Deeply.” 💀

“Your parents collect pipes? Oh! That’s really interesting!”

“Duh it’s a lamp Meeks!”

“This is the god of the cave” *looks and smiles at todd*

“Poetrusic by Charles Dalton”

“Laughing, crying, tumbling, mumbling. Gotta do more. Gotta be more. Chaos screaming. Chaos dreaming. Gotta do more. Gotta be more.

“The saxophone is more…sonorous.”

“If I don’t have chris I’m gonna k*ll myself” *cut to neil*😭

“Knoxious you gotta calm down”

CHARLIES BERET

“Carpe diem…even if it k*lls me” KNOX😭

NEIL AND TODD EYE CONTACT AND LAUGH AHHH (AND MEEKS NOTICES)

Todd’s hair💀

Scarf flip😭

“Exercising the right not to walk” - Charlie’s ahead of the others.

“It’s your birthday, happy birthday!”

“It’s rather aerodynamic isn’t it”

“Oh my!”

I LOVE THE DESK SET SCENE

THE POETS IN THE CAVE SCENE:🧍‍♂️😳 no one can tell me they’re straight after that

Pitts hits his head again

The whole film is getting darker

Uh oh…the party scene

ANDERPERRY GLANCES👀

“Me and Pitts are working on a hi-fi system” “I might be going to Yale…uh but I might not”

Charlie is so enjoying watching the awkwardness of them trying to interact with Gloria and Tina

“I published an article in the school paper in the name of the dead poets. Demanding girls be admitted to Welton. So we can all stop beating off.” WHAT

“Alright but you still shouldn’t have done it CHARLIE” woah angsty neil

Neil staring at todd and then pretending he wasn’t!!!!

Meeks jumper alert!!

“Sucking the marrow out of live doesn’t mean chocking on the bone.”

Stick talking spotted!!

#I love this film so much and it just fills me heart (until after this point which is pure torture)#dead poets society #neil perry #todd anderson #robert sean leonard #anderperry #ethan hawke

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captainzigo · 4 months

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really like the idea of making a pony who’s cutiemark is reminiscent of wwii bomber nose art. so I made her. wwii bomber/fighter plane inspired pony. i’d like her to be friends with prickly pear and all those, but im worried there isn’t room for two bandanas on the team. i’m not a huge military history person, and I think I got over my like a fighter planes when I was like 11? so while I think I did a good job with design under those constraints, I have no idea what to name her. i’m really leaning towards stealing the name of my favorite transformer, Starscream, but I’ll put it to a vote including some suggestions from my friends

#mlp oc #mlp oc art #pony oc #my little pony oc #oc pony #my little pony #mlpfim #fanart #friendship is magic #mlp #mlp fanart #mlp fandom #mlp au #mlp au art #poll #mlp oc pony #my ocs #mlp fan character

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bad268 · 1 year

Note

Could u write a princess of Monaco and Arthur lecrelc , I see this being written so much for Charles and none for Arthur

thank you :)

Queen of Monaco (Arthur Leclerc X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (haha we have the same mind bc I was already drafting this before you requested it)

Warnings: death of parents and brother (mentioned), google translate, the Monaco curse is affecting Arthur now and that's a warning itself bro. I am in denial about the race results today, so I made this to make me happy.

Pronouns: She/Her

W.C. 4108

Summary: The beginning of the relationship between Arthur Leclerc and the Queen of Monaco.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Arthur's insta from January 29, 2023)

It was a normal day in Monaco. It was not a race week, and there were no pressing matters to attend. I had just returned to Monaco last week after attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States, but I just received my Bachelor's degree and wanted to return home before starting my Master's. I decided to take my first semester online, so I could go home and spend time with my family.

When I got back, my parents urgently began to train me for the throne even though I was not next in line. Despite having an older brother who was scheduled to become the King of Monaco after my parents, he had to serve in the military before he could move forward. They wanted to have me prepare in the event that something happened to him in battle.

I had never really been in the public eye due to my brother being the next in line. He was always the one attending meetings, trainings, and keeping up appearances. I was free to do as I pleased for the most part, but in 2015, they sent me to a training school in London. It taught the basics of monarchy and the foundations of how to run a country. It was the same one my brother attended. Even in my spare time, I found my passion in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics. It took some persuasion, but my parents allowed me to attend MIT after my graduation because they were so sure that I would not be needed. My brother is in the final stages of the training. All he needed to do was finish the last few months of military training, and then he would be crowned.

Upon my return, I learned that my mother was ill, so they wanted to get my brother crowned quickly. However, they practically had to start from square one since I was provided very minimal training in London. My father was furious, not at me, but at the situation they had been placed in. They told me the best thing I could do while they prepare the training is to memorize Monaco as it had been nearly seven years since I had been here.

I was walking down the pier, looking at all of the little shops that lined the pavement and the boats at the dock. There was a small ice cream shop, a couple of clothing stores, a few restaurants, and a salon. I realized that I had not had my hair professionally done since before college, so I thought it would be a good idea to treat myself.

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vou aider? (Hello, how can I help you?)” A lady greeted me as I stepped through the door. It was a small shop, no one else was in there, but it was cute and welcoming other than the fact that I could not remember French for the life of me.

“I’m sorry, my French is no good,” I replied sheepishly, fully prepared to leave, but the woman stopped me.

“Oh, not a problem, dear. My name is Pascale, what can I help you with?” She smiled, kindly, leading me over to one of the chairs.

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hair done in almost four years, so I think it’s time to freshen up,” I explained.

“Oh perfect, I can most certainly help with that,” She laughed, placing an apron around my shoulders. “Are you thinking about dye, highlights, trim, cutting…” She started listing more but I couldn't follow along with all of the terminology.

“Uh, probably just a trim,” I chuckled, “my parents would kill me if I showed up with short, dyed hair.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grinned and began cutting the ends, little by little, as we made small conversations. “What do you do for work?”

“I actually don’t have a job at the moment,” technically, “but I just came back from the United States. I was at MIT for the last four years, getting my bachelors in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics, and before that, I attended boarding school in London.”

“That’s interesting,” she hummed, “Sounds like you like Formula 1?”

“Not so much the races. I just like the cars,” I laughed in response. “I like learning what could make the cars better, faster, stronger, and safer, but the actual races aren't something for me. I watched one too many accidents end badly, so I can never find enjoyment in it anymore. The last race I went to was in Japan, and I lost my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Pascale consoled. I looked at her confused through the mirror. She just set the scissors down just as her phone got a notification. She pulled out her phone and opened the notification. It was a text message with a picture. “That is my son, Charles, and his best friend, Pierre. They’re in Formula 1. They went out karting today, and he just sent me this.”

“Oh, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly! I know them,” I recognized immediately. “That’s your son?”

“Yeah, he’s always had this passion for driving, so I’m proud to see him living his dreams,” She smiled, putting her phone back, and resumed cutting my hair.

“Well, I’m proud of him too, and I don’t even know him.” I laughed.

“Maybe, if you’d ever change your mind, you could join us for a race,” Pascale offered. “Only if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll have to see, but probably not,” I declined nervously.

“It’s not a problem, dear,” She said, patting my shoulders. “But you are all done. How do you like it?”

My hair was shorter by a couple of inches, but it felt so much lighter and healthier than it did earlier today. “I love it so much, Pascale! Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, just promise you’ll think about joining us? It would do you some good to get to know more people, and you could even check out the cars before the race! If you’re not comfortable staying for the race, you can always leave. Just promise you’ll think about it before immediately rejecting it?” She pleaded.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I laughed, “but only because you were so persuasive!”

–

The next time I was out in the streets was nearly a week later. My time was being packed with different trainings and attending private events, but nothing public yet so as to not stir up controversy. I decided to go to a local bakery and get some tea and some food. The food in the castle just did not compare to my favorite bakery. Not by a long shot.

When I walked in, there were not a lot of people in there. It was a small shop with only two tables and a counter. There was the person behind the counter, Ella, and three people at the tables. One sat by himself and the other two occupied the second table. I approached Ella and ordered a tea and sandwich. She said she would bring it right over once it was finished, and I approached the man sitting by himself.

“Bonjour,” I greeted, my French was slowly coming back to me but not enough to carry a full conversation. The man looked up from his phone at me. He had blue eyes and shady blonde hair. He had airpods in and took one out as I approached the table. “My name is Y/n. Would it be alright if I sit with you? The other table is filled.”

“Of course,” He responded immediately, moving the bag that was hanging on the other chair to the floor. “I’m Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I laughed, taking the seat that he pulled out for me. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He chuckled along, “It was just empty anyway.”

That was the start of an inseparable bond. It was strange having someone so close again because even though I had some friends in school, they were never as close as Arthur was. For the first couple of months, any time that was not filled with training was spent with each other. Whether it be chilling in his apartment, driving around Monaco, boat rides, and random trips around France and Italy, we were content with doing random acts of entertainment. It didn’t take long before he asked me to be his girlfriend.

One thing we knew would be difficult is the time commitments. With his recent change from Formula 3 to Formula 2 and more royal training for me, we knew it was going to be more time-consuming. That didn’t stop us, however. Tuesdays were the most random day of the week, but neither of us had any responsibilities.

One day in particular, the day before he was set to go to Australia, we were at his apartment, and I was helping him pack since he *conveniently* forgot. We had gone to get smoothies and acai bowls earlier that morning before heading to his apartment. Then, after we ate, we put on some music as background noise while we packed and conversed back and forth.

“Would you ever come to a race with me?” He asked as he pulled a couple of shirts out of his closet. “I know you didn’t have a good experience at the last one, but would you be willing to give it another time?”

“I don’t know, A. I get anxiety just knowing you’re racing,” I explained. Moving to fold the shirts he’s pulling out.

“That sound like an improvement!” He laughed, jumping over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I put the folded clothes in the suitcase. “When we first started talking, you said no immediately. Now, you’re saying you don’t know.”

“What can I say?” I leaned back into his embrace, “You are pretty persuasive.”

“What are the chances of you coming to the Monaco Grand Prix with me?”

“The odds are in your favor since I don’t go anywhere,” I laughed in response. He turned me around in his arms. He was pouting and had his head tilted slightly. “No, don’t do the puppy face. You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Please?”

With a heavy sigh and a joking eye roll, I caved. I was about to vocalize my decision, but my phone started ringing. This time, my sigh was out of annoyance after seeing it was from Mila, my personal guard and trainer. “I need to answer that, but yes, I promise to go to the Monaco Grand Prix with you.”

“Of course,” He exclaimed, kissing me all over my face. “I will take care of everything. You go take the call, and I’ll finish packing in here.”

With a small smile, I walked out of his bedroom to the living room and stepped out onto the balcony before answering the phone. “Hi, Mila. What did I forget?”

“Nothing, but are you near the palace?” She responded. Just the tone of her voice made me nervous.

“Not really, I’m about 20 minutes away. Do I need to head back?”

“Yes, let me know when you get here.” And with that, she hung up. I walked back in to see Arthur with his suitcase fully packed by the door.

“I need to head home,” I started. “Something’s not right.”

“That’s fine,” He reassured, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll need to head out for my flight soon anyway, so I’ll walk you to your car.”

During the drive back, my mind wandered. Was there a meeting I missed? I couldn’t remember having anything scheduled on a Tuesday. Most meetings were on Mondays or Wednesdays and policy training sessions were Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe there was a last-minute meeting.

Pulling through the gates, I texted Mila once I parked in our car park, and a few guards were waiting for me. “Hi, what did I miss?”

“Y/n, we need to talk,” one of the guards, Chris, said, and right then, I knew things were worse than I thought. We walked through the corridors to reach one of the meeting rooms, but the only person in there was Mila. The guards immediately turned around and left the room.

“Mila-”

“Have a seat,” She cut me off, gesturing to the seat next to her. I took it hesitantly as I looked at her skeptically. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. As you know, your mother, the queen, was sick.”

“I assume she died then? That’s what this was for?” I cut her short. However, there was something on her face that said she wasn’t finished. “Okay, I’ll let you continue.”

She shook her head dismissively, “No, it’s fine, but you’re right. She passed away early this morning.”

“So my brother will be crowned when he comes back?”

“That’s the next news,” Mila paused. I encouraged her to just rip the bandaid off because I was getting impatient. “Your father went to the base to get your brother, but there was an explosion. There was a gas leak, and somehow the building they were in exploded. We’re still waiting on the details.”

“Wait, so my entire family…” I trailed off, but she knew where I was going. She just nodded solemnly as she pulled me into her side. “So that means…”

“It means you are to be the queen.”

Third POV

Ever since the Melbourne Grand Prix, Arthur has been talking about how his girlfriend was going to join him on the paddock for the Monaco Grand Prix. To say that his friends and brothers teased him would be putting it lightly. Any chance they could, they asked questions about this “girlfriend” of his that they had never heard of, and Arthur was willing to spill all of the details. On the Thursday before the Monaco Grand Prix when he was driving to the track with Charles, he accidentally let it slip that he actually had not heard from her recently. He asked Charles to check his phone to see if she had texted him recently.

“Wait, you haven't heard from her in over a month and you’re not at all worried?” Charles asked, very concerned for someone he’s never met.

“No, we’ve definitely texted recently,” Arthur responded in disbelief. When they pulled up to a red light, Charles showed him that the last message from her was April 1. “No, we’ve definitely talked.”

“Here, pull over. We’ll switch, so you can call her, and I’ll drive us the rest of the way to the track,” Charles said, already getting out of the car as soon as they were on the shoulder. He immediately dialed her number, and after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He thought about leaving her a voice message, but she was already calling him back before he could start.

“Hey, traffic is hideous, but I’m almost there,” She started her explanation. She was sitting in the backseat with a couple of guards, and Mila as her driver took them to the track. “Are you already there?”

“No, we’re not there yet,” he laughed. “Charles and I are still stuck in traffic, but we noticed that I hadn’t messaged you since the Australian Grand Prix. Thought I would call to see if you were still coming.” Charles was half listening to the conversation, but he was smiling to himself, hearing how lovestruck his younger brother sounded.

“Oh, definitely,” She chuckled. Mila nudged the girl with a knowing grin. “I’ve just been insanely busy recently, but I promised. On the bright side, I finished my training!”

“No way, I’m so proud of you, ma chéri!” Arthur cheered. Charles was a little confused as he pulled into the track, but let it go, knowing Arthur would explain it later. “Does that mean there will be a ceremony or something?”

“You could call it a ceremony, yes,” She giggled. She noticed that they were only a few blocks away from the car park of the track, so she turned her phone away toward her shoulder as she directed a question to Mila, “Could I jump out and meet up with Arthur before the race? I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll be in the box before it starts.” Mila turned to discuss it with one of the guards who was entirely against it. “Please, I won’t leave Arthur’s side, and you know he’s trustworthy.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight, Mila!” Arthur’s voice could be heard through the phone despite it not being on speaker. She gestured to the phone at her shoulder as Mila tried to reason with the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” Mila said as she started collecting their passes and jumping out of the car that was stopped in the traffic going into the parking lot. Y/n immediately climbed out of the back, pulling her phone back up to her ear.

“Alright, Arthur, where do you want us to meet you?”

First POV

“You seem to have gotten shorter since Melbourne,” I laughed as I ran into Arthur’s arms from where he was waiting at the Dams garage.

“You’re wearing heels,” he pointed out after we pulled away. “What are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“You say that like you don’t like me in heels,” I teased back.

“Ok, lovebirds,” Mila pulled our attention away from each other, “I am going to head up to our seats. Don’t tell anyone I left.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Thank you, Mila,” I responded as she started walking away.

“You have seats?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to rely on you for the passes for Mila, so she bought us hospitality seats,” I explain. It wasn’t the whole truth, but I could not just tell him that in the open. “Is it possible to talk somewhere away from the cameras?”

“You’re not breaking up with me, right?” He immediately jumped to conclusions.

“No, no, no, no,” I quickly shut down. “Je t’aime trop pour partir, mon amour. I just want to tell you something. (I love you too much to leave, my love)”

“Je t’aime, ma belle, (I love you, my beauty)” He whispered, pulling me in for a light kiss before leading me back towards the driver’s room he shares with Ayumu. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on one of the beanbags as Arthur sat right next to me. I took a deep breath before deciding the best way to tell him was just to say it fast. “Arthur, I need to tell you about my family.”

“Are you trying to have me meet your family already? You could meet my brothers and maman today if you want,” He rambled.

“I can meet them, but you won’t be able to meet my family. That day you left for Australia was the day I found out they passed away.” I paused looking at his reactions. He looked sorrowful as he grasped my hands and ran his thumbs across the backs of my hands. “Maman had an illness, and papa went to get my brother from the base.”

“Your brother’s in the military?” He asked.

“Was,” I answered. He looked even more confused at that before I continued. “He was serving in the military as his last stage of training. Kind of like my trainings, he had to serve in the military.”

“What kind of training did you need to do? Was this part of your degree or something?”

“No, that’s the big secret I haven’t been able to tell you,” I whispered, putting my head down as I felt guilty for not explaining this sooner.

“Anything you have to say, I will accept you either way,” He reassured me as he pulled me into his chest and kissed my head. “I understand that you have your reasons for hiding some things, so whatever this is, it is not going to stop me from loving you.”

“What if it is complex with more spotlight than you already have?” I asked, throwing my head to rest on his shoulder and looking into his blue eyes. “What if it’s a big change?”

“When we go public, it will be a big change, but I’m willing to do anything for you, ma princesse.”

“Reine, (Queen)” I whispered.

“Quoi? (What)” He responded just as fast.

“What if I told you my parents were the king and queen of Monaco? And my older brother was the prince of Monaco? And now that they’re gone, I will be the queen of Monaco? What would you do?”

He went silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you serious?” My silence was enough of an answer for him to jump up, pulling me with him as he starts laughing and spinning us in circles. He set me down after a couple of spins before holding me at arm's length, “I would completely understand. I mean you probably didn’t plan on taking the throne because of your brother, and you’d just come back from studying. I only tell people who need to know, and when we met, I wasn’t someone who needed to know. We haven't talked since you found out, so I could never be upset with something like that.”

“But now, if we tell people, you will be heavily scrutinized as people will see you as a potential king,” I signed, happy to know he isn’t upset with me, but still wanting him to see all sides before completely agreeing to move forward. “You’d have more on your list.”

“The only question I would have is if it would interfere with racing,” He turned serious.

“I would never let them keep you from your passions,” I laughed. “They have to respect it by order of the queen.”

“Well, then I would see no issues against continuing to be by your side, ma reine,” he chuckled with a mocking bow.

“Merci mon beau prince, (Thank you my handsome prince)” I mocked back, “now by order of the queen, go win this race.”

“And Arthur Leclerc passes Fredrik Vesti in the final turn of the race,” Crofty shouted over the radio during the final lap of the race. I was up in the hospitality seats with Mila and the guards but headed down to the pitlane a couple of laps before since I was going to be presenting the trophies. I was standing at the pit wall with Charles, Lorenzo, and Pascale, who I met (again) just before the race. “The Monaco Curse is broken for Arthur Leclerc as he wins his first Monaco Grand Prix!”

I left the pit wall to meet everyone at the podium and stopped to meet up with Mila on my way over. She and the guards escorted me through the crowds. “I’ll tell you now, one of you will need to tell Arthur not to out our relationship when I give him his trophy.”

At the podium, I stood behind the steps as Alice announces the winners. “In third place, we have Théo Pourchaire! In second place, we have Frederik Vesti! And in first place, breaking the Monaco Curse, the home favorite, Arthur Leclerc! Presenting the trophies today is the future Queen of Monaco, Y/n.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said to Arthur as I handed him the trophy.

“Merci, now if only Charles could win,” He joked, taking the trophy and posing with it.

“I’ll tell him you’re talking crap about him,” I teased back, moving away to grab the next trophy for Dams. I handed them all out and expressed my congratulations to the other two drivers before posing for the picture and immediately ducking back as I knew Arthur would try to spray me. I walked down the stairs to meet up with Charles before he heads back to Ferrari for his own race. “Arthur’s talking shit about you. You better win.”

“I’m starting sixth, so we have hope,” Charles responded as he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t box for hards at the last lap again and you’ll be fine,” I laughed as if it were really that simple.

“Maybe I broke the curse for both of us or maybe I just had some good luck today,” Arthur said, coming up behind us and throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh yeah, what good luck did you have?” Charles teased, punching Arthur into me.

“Maybe just the future queen of Monaco.”

~~~~~

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #formula 2 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #arthur x reader #f2 #f1 #dams racing

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luciusime · 10 months

Text

Kr & S1

In the early days of his creation when he was still small and had extra fat clinging to his cheeks, the pains of growing spreading all over his body, Kr was not surrounded by blindingly red walls that looked too much like flayed open flesh and the smell of ozone and formaldehyde. His first lab was plain, and he couldn't name more than half the things in it. Hell, he couldn't even speak or retain consciousness very well. He was like a newborn baby, and like a newborn, he picked up on the things around him.

The walls always crackled with the bright hum of electricity, grating annoyingly at the edge of his hearing in a fuzzy sort of way. The lights always flickered too dimly and at a speed too fast for normal people to see, but it irritated Kr's eyes. Several doors down from him one of the scientists repeated the same mumbled words over and over again every day,

" Our Father, who…"

And a couple of levels into the basement, there was a perpetual screaming. It didn't have a schedule, unlike the scientist. He'd float into the waking world sometimes and it'd be silent, and sometimes the screaming was so loud it made him cry tears of pain.

It was one such time when he was crying- wailing with all his limited lung capacity- when a scientist, not the Our Father one, stormed in and demanded he be silent. When words failed, she simply turned on the components of his first chamber that filled the tank with stasis fluid. As the charmer filled and he was forced to sleep, the scientist mumbled to herself.

" The first clone is a screamer and the second is a crybaby, go figure."

He didn't really have time to think about those words when she said them, but when he woke up after a week and heard the whispers, there was no forgetting them.

The voice in his ears was soft, warm even, but something about the rough and wet sound made Kr squirm.

" And so that's why Orion is named as it is. I'm not sure where we are, so I'm not sure what the sky looks like over us, but I'm fairly sure that if you looked into the endless expanse of the stars from here, you'd be able to catch a glimpse of it."

Kr wanted to ask what a star was, and what expanse meant, and what a sky was. He did nothing as the other boy continued on. Space, aerospace, science, mathematics, English, and various other subjects were all he would talk about during the first few days after Kr was awake. He'd paint pictures with his words, stumbling through descriptions of little lights dancing and fiddling across the sky, the layer above the earth that reflected light and protected the thing on the planet from the sun, a really big star. He'd ramble on about aerodynamics and the requirements for a functional spaceship, giant flying metal constructs meant to take people into the sky and then far beyond it.

Kr hung off his every word, cooing whenever the older boy went over something particularly interesting, like biology or engineering. When the lights went out into the lab and only the soft hum of the low lights and the older boy's words filled his ears, Kr was at peace.

Of course, peace never lasted after the lights came back up. The only upside to the screaming was that Kr learned to control his tears, dampen his hearing with a constant stream of his own noise, and speak. He spoke about nothing, mostly listing off the things in his little lab, listening as the older boy gave him the names of the things he described.

"The walls are grey in here, and there are…"

His voice trailed off as he searched for a word he could not find. The older boy held in a strangled cry and waited patiently for Kr to continue.

" It's shiny, and I can't move my head enough to see it, but it shows me the floor, even though it's on the ceiling."

" Mirror, aus." the other whispered back, barely moving his mouth at all as he strained against his restraints, the reinforced bonds creaking loudly with his every effort. Aus, that had started happening recently too, that word he couldn't define and the older boy hadn't gotten the chance to explain.

He repeated the word, mirror, then told the other about the things he saw there. He trailed into things he could feel as he started to repeat items he'd already listed.

" The pod is still cold as ever, and the metal isn't all that nice to be pressed against."

He kept making noise. When he ran out of words he hummed, cooed in that oh-so-familiar way that always made the other boy's chest rumble when he was pleased with Kr. He did so until the screaming subsided and they moved the older clone back to his own containment unit. Kr let the humming and cooing taper off as he waited for the other to say something.

" When I was little, still a fledgling, only about 2, and I looked it too, I managed to slip away from here. I ended up somewhere far, and a little redhead girl and her parents found me."

Kr wondered what spurred this particular story, but instead of asking, he cooed and settled himself to listen.

" The redhead, Jazz, she became my older sister. A female born before you sharing the same parents. Her parents were my parents, but more than that, she was my whole world for a while. We were close, and I was safe with her. She was the first one to ask me my name, and the first to give me something so precious so freely. She gave me Daniel, Danny."

A soft rumble echoed through the halls of the facility and up through Kr's chamber, shaking nothing but Kr's bones.

" I wish you could have met her aus, she was the smartest person I ever knew, probably still the smartest person I ever met too. Maybe, when I figure out how to get out of here again one day, I'll take you home to meet her, how does that sound?"

Kr cooed, no words coming to him in the intense emotion that swelled up from his chest and clogged his throat.

Of course, getting out again was a pipe dream for Danny, afterall, he couldn't do much with the whole basement level he was kept on bathed in ectoplasm inhibitors, low level kryptonite, and blood blossoms, preventing him from regrowing his arms and legs or breaking his bonds. But his precious star child little brother didn't need to know that. He also didn't need to know about the transfer order to move him to a new facility, the order that would leave Danny trapped in the basement with his precious star none the wiser of his existence.

" Alright star, I'll let you meet Jazz one day, it'll be fun."

#dp x dc #kon kent #conner kent #danny phantom #danny fenton #clone danny #there was a prompt for this #i simply dont remember by who #here have this thing thats been sitting in my drafts for forever

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ssentimentals · 20 days

Text

f1 pairings as famous love tropes: lando norris x oscar piastri

guy next door (neighbours!AU)

'and if only you knew that everything you wanted was right next to you'

oscar was fine. his vision was blurry and the same sentence he read four times stubbornly refused to make any sense, his head felt like it weighted at least fifty pounds and his fingers trembled a bit but he was fine. (he stopped being embarrassed long time ago for how horribly wrong his 'getting ready for midterms' routine went. said routine consisted of him pulling all-nighters while trying to finish dozens of assignments, getting anxious about his scholarship and slupring unhealthy amount of ramen noodles while dozing off on the kitchen counter). so yeah, oscar's got everything under control and he was fine. or it would've been if it weren't for loud screaming from his new neighbour in ungodly hours.

oscar squints at the clock on the wall and rubs his eyes for a good measure just to make sure he's not making any mistakes, but no, it really is two in the morning and aggressive screaming from the other side of the wall still continues. (for an hour now, oscar counted. he's mildly impressed, if anything). and see, oscar is not one to go and pick up fights. he's calm, minds his own business most of the time and has occassional rage moments here and there, nothing inadequate. and usually he'd ignore any kind of noise disturbance because he can sleep through anything, but right now? his fingers are itching with desire to punch something, strangled scream of frutration is stuck somewhere in his throat and this stupid essay on aerodynamics just really doesn't want to go anywhere after first two hundred words and oscar is scaringly close to throw his laptop out of the window. and as he's got no money for new laptop, which only frustrates him even more, he decides for a second best option - go and talk (read: fight, release his frustration) with his new neighbour. with determination he usually reserves for learning padel, he gets out of his flat and takes exactly five steps before coming face to face with the door. oscar knocks twice to be polite but when these knocks get ignored, he bangs on the door with renewed force, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

'hey, listen-' oscar starts in a clipped tone as soon as the door opens and promptly shuts his mouth, staring down at his new neighbour.

he's not what i imagined, is the first thought that crosses his mind but in reality oscar never really thought about his neighbour much. they never crossed paths and well, oscar never thought he'd meet someone like...that. green eyes stare back at him and tiredness that swims in them is all too familiar for oscar. bouncy curls in a haphazard mess and slouched pose with a definite tense line of shoulders make oscar pause. first of all, this guy is also a student, this despair in the gaze is reserved only for those who go through hell called midterms. second, they apparently go to same uni if his rumpled t-shirt with uni's name is anything to go by. which means they're on the same schedule midterms wise, which means-

'are you...' oscar clears his throat, changing his tone to a more neutral one because he has sympathy for any fellow student and because the guy is well, cute. if your type of cute is 'lost puppy who needs saving', that is. 'are you stress gaming at two in the morning?'

the guy in question blinks and rubs tiredly at his eyes. he tries to stiffle a yawn and while doing so barely manages to stay upright, ending up leaning on the wall for support. he pouts a little and oh. unfortunately, oscar's type is exactly 'lost puppy who needs saving' kind of cute. 'i, um,' he starts and it seems hard for him to form a coherent sentence at first, which in turn makes him frown. 'fuck. sorry, what again? i'm kind of-'

'out of it?' oscar suggests. 'mate, it's two in the morning and you're screaming something about some turns and laps. i live here,' he points to his own apartment and looks back, 'and i hear everything very clearly.'

it takes few seconds but oscar can practically see how his words reach the guy's brain and how realization sinks in. that's the cue for 'o' shaped mouth and regret on the face with pouty lips again. 'fucking hell, i'm so sorry. i just got so stressed and needed to get my mind out of that stupid exam before i set my apartment on fire and gaming's the best option,' he huffs, running his hands through his hair in frustration. 'i kind of lost track of time. clearly.'

his tone is dry and lacks any warmth, but his apologies bleed with sincerity and his eyes are big and almond shaped and despite redness that took over, they are so, so green that oscar's anger deflates like balloon. he gets is, just like probably any other student. if anything, guy in front of him looks even worse than he does and that really says something because oscar knows exactly in what horrible state he is at the moment.

'i'm really sorry mate,' his neighbour continues, sighing in defeat. 'i'll finish it up right now and you won't hear a thing again, i promise.' he then focuses on somewhere at the area of oscar's chest and even moves closer for inspection. 'is that a noodle on your t-shirt?'

oscar follows his gaze and ah. 'yes, it is.' he states and grabs stuck noodle n his t-shirt and promptly chunks it to the bin on his left. and because it's the best moment for it, as soon as he turns, he extends his hand in a greeting. 'i'm oscar, by the way.'

'lando,' guy - lando - says and dwarfs his hand in a firm handshake. 'sorry again. i kinda thought i'm all alone on this floor, it's always so quiet from your side.'

and - is he trying to strike up a conversation? oscar squints at him, trying to get a good read out of the guy in front. he came with a selfish intention to let out all his frustration on the poor guy but now he hovers awkwardly next to his door, unsure of how to proceed. there's friendly glint in those green eyes behind all the tiredness and oscar's mind is too slow right now to be adept for social cues. he should probably go now, but his mouth decides to blurt out: 'we go to the same uni' instead and his legs act like they are stuck on the place.

'oh really?' the whole 'lost puppy' thing gets turned to 'excited puppy' and oscar marvels at the sheer energy, because lando is barely standing upright but still manages to be sincerely excited. 'which year? which course? are you also getting ready for those stupid midterms? are you-' he stops and bites his lower lip, looking up at oscar with apologetic glance again. 'i totally disturbed your studying sessions, didn't i? i'm so sorry-'

'so you've said,' oscar interrupts, not unkindly but a bit more forcefully, so hopefully lando will get that he doesn't want to hear any more apologies. 'i'm in my second year, studying-'

'you wanna come in?' lando jumps and when oscar's face does this weird thing when both eyebrows stick together and sides of his mouth turn downwards, he quickly adds: 'unless standing here is more of your thing? i can bring chairs.' when oscar doesn't immediately answer, lando strikes with a king card: 'i've got food.'

oscar blinks. 'food?'

lando nods seriously. 'real one, too. not cup noodles.' at oscar's eyebrow raise, he chuckles. 'no offence mate, but i've got chicken teriyaki.'

oscar whistles lowly at that, his stomach grumbling just from the thought of it. 'living lavishly, i see.'

lando huffs a short laugh at that and his smile makes oscar feel a bit better for some reasons he is not ready to address. rubbing selfconsciously at the back of his neck, lando stares at oscar with a mixture of embarrassment and hope. 'is this too random? you can tell me to fuck off, sorry, i think i'm really out of it.'

lando continues to ramble about how his mind is not working well, but oscar quickly realizes that he doesn't look like seeing this look on lando. this 'i am so stupid' kind of look, which is such a drastic change to his excitement just minutes before - oscar very much prefers his neighbour with shiny eyes and lips quirked up in a cat-like shape than this. maybe this is the reason or maybe his mind joined lando's somewhere in the pit of this ground, but he takes one step forward, effectively cutting off lando's rambling. 'i hope you know what you agreed to, because i'm a starving engineer student and i will eat that chicken teriyaki without ounce of shame.'

at first he blinks in shock, but then lando recovers instantly, smiling widely and stepping back to let oscar in. as they level and their shoulders brush (or more, lando's shoulder brushes somewhere a little beneath oscar's shoulder, which he notes pleasantly), oscar feels two things: how the tight feeling in his chest disappeared and how actually tired he is. with brain-to-mouth filter gone, he mutters: 'just to be clear, i usually do not take invitations from cute random strangers at two am to eat their chicken teriyaki. i have much more dignity when i'm not sleep deprived.'

lando is very expressive, oscar realizes. his face comes with subtitles that are very easy to read and when his mouth curls up and eyes shine with mirth, oscar somehow knows he fucked up. 'lando norris, forth year, business major. not a stranger anymore, am i? just a cute neighbour.'

there's not even energy left in him to get shy, so oscar simply stays silently and comes in. he has no time to take a good look around, because lando's big hand is suddenly at his back, guiding him towards the kitchen, which smells heavenly. with salivated mouth he watches how lando heats up his plate and yawns loudly, forgetting to close his mouth. it's all a bit surrealistic, if oscar is honest, but the food definitely is very real and smells very good right in front of him. he's not the most social guy and even though he knows it'd be good for him to keep conversation going, all he manages is an honest: 'there's a high chance of me falling asleep somewhere between the second and third bite.'

he expects a lot of things, but lando's soft smile is not it. 'i can work with that,' is all he says, handing him fork with a knife.

and maybe it's supposed to be very weird and it probably is very weird, but oscar relaxes completely in the unfamiliar kitchen of a ten minute earlier met neighbour, eating delicious chicken and doing so in a comfortable silence. it definitely shouldn't feel this good or like he's doing this for hundredth time, but it does and oscar is too tired to logic his way out of this. lando next to him looks like way more relaxed too and it's a win, oscar thinks. when lando turns at him and smiles, muttering: 'tea?', looking at oscar like he likes having him here, like maybe he doesn't want oscar to go and is happy that they are neighbours, oscar thinks it's a win for both of them.

a/n: whoa, first ever f1 post *claps myself on the back*. after over a year writing for kpop only, this definitely feels a bit different, but good different. let me know how it went, please 🥺 if it's good, i'll be moving on to other pairings (thinking pierre x yuki or dan x max next!) and please come say hi and suggest your own pairings/love tropes! - nini

if someone here likes kpop group seventeen, then my writing list for them is here

writing list for f1 is here

p.s. this is heavily inspired by my favorite fic ever 'the condominium community committee' by @jusst-you-race so check it out!!

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