thatdammchickennugget - Tumblr blog

thatdammchickennugget · 24 days ago

Text

You Kiss Like You Drive

pairing - sirius black x fem!reader

request - "hiiii! i love your writing so much. Could you do a Sirius Black x reader Formula 1 AU enemies to lovers, like where they're rivals and then idk something happens and it's kinda spicy??? it's okay if that's too complicated lol"

warnings - formula 1 au, rivalry, teasing, some sexism, slightly suggestive at the end I guess, probably super unrealistic and lots of terminology used wrong because I don't know a lot about f1 (my dad came in clutch answering all my questions tho)

a/n - sooooo, look who finally managed to finish something and not completely hate it into deleting it. a little surprising that this request from—hold on, let me check my notes—april 2024 was the one getting me out of my writing slump, but I'm not complaining. to the person who requested this, I'm so sorry it took me this long. hopefully you'll still see this.

wordcount - 3.7k

You’re halfway into your suit when Sirius leans on the front wing of the car like it belongs to him. Arms folded. Knees hitched a little. Sunglasses on, even though you’re inside and the lights in the garage are a bit too yellow to justify them.

“You gonna stand there all day or are you waiting for applause?” you ask, tugging at the zip.

He glances up lazily. “Just wanted to offer the pleasure of my company, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

He pushes off the wing with a little theatrical stretch. “Sure thing, darling.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, just pull your sleeves up and fasten the Velcro at your collar. The fabric’s a bit scratchy from too many washes. Or maybe that’s just your nerves. Practice doesn’t usually rattle you—but he does, Sirius Black, Grimstar GP’s golden boy, always half-smiling like he knows something you don’t, always one foot over the line, and not just on the track.

“How’s the balance?” you ask flatly, brushing past him toward the gloves on the table.

He follows, too close. “Twitchy in the rear. Bit like you.”

“You’re obsessed with my rear.”

“That’s not a denial.”

You throw him a glare over your shoulder. “Tires?”

“Softs. Didn’t last long, but then—” he flashes her a grin, all charm and sharp teeth— “neither do you.”

You smile. Dangerous, all teeth. “You talk a lot for someone I out-qualified two races in a row.”

“And yet I’ve got the better lap record on this circuit. You remember Silverstone, don’t you?”

“Of course. I was watching from the pit wall when you binned it into the barriers at Copse.”

He hums, unbothered. “Showmanship.”

“Lack of grip.”

Sirius tilts his head toward you, voice dropping just slightly. “Lack of fear.”

You hate that he says things like that, low and quiet, like you’re having a real conversation. Like there’s something genuine hiding under the bravado. You hate even more that he gets this close and you don’t step away.

You pull on one glove, slow and precise. “Your telemetry says otherwise. You lift in Maggots like a coward.”

His eyebrows go up. “Reading my telemetry now? That’s cute.”

You pull the other glove on with a sharp tug. “Someone has to make sense of the mess you leave behind.”

“I thought you liked my mess.”

“I like beating it.”

Sirius chuckles, brushing past you again, close enough that his elbow grazes the material of the suit covering your ribs. He smells like expensive cologne and heat, like engine oil and cockiness. You hate that too.

He stops by the nose of the car, crouching just slightly to inspect something. You watch him from the side, his long fingers brushing the carbon fibre of the front wing, featherlight.

“You know,” he says, not looking up, “I think you’ve got a little crush on me.”

You blink, once. “Excuse me?”

“Just saying. All that attention. All that sharp little commentary.” He stands again, slow. “You’re obsessed.”

A laugh breaks from your lips, disbelieving. “You’re deranged.”

“You’re pink in the face.”

“I’m boiling alive in Nomex.”

Sirius tilts his head. His smile softens—not smug, not teasing, just something else. Amused. Knowing. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, new girl.”

It makes you stiffen. There it is. New girl.

“You keep calling me that,” you say, voice tight, “like it bothers me.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t have to bother you. Just has to remind you.”

“Remind me of what?”

He leans in slightly, speaking over the sound of engines starting up down the row. “That you’re still catching up.”

You open your mouth, breath caught sharp in your chest, but before you can answer, someone waves you toward the car—crew ready, engine primed. Sirius steps back just enough to let you through, but not without one last comment, delivered like a whisper against the roar of tires and machines:

“Try not to chase me too hard. Wouldn’t want you overheating again.”

You slide into the cockpit with your jaw tight and a fast pulse in your throat. As the wheel clicks into place and the halo closes over you, you can still hear him laughing on the other side of the garage.

You’re going to ruin him on track.

You hope. God, you hope.

.・。.・゜✭・.

The engine’s roar fills the cockpit as you accelerate down the pit straight, the Grimstar GP logo shimmering on the side of your car. You hit the throttle hard, feeling the familiar rush of power as the asphalt blurs beneath you. Just behind you, Sirius Black’s car—sleek, confident—cuts the air with a taunting ease.

“Sector one’s clean,” James’ voice crackles through your earpiece. “Keep that pace through the Esses.”

You push the wheel to the right, the car sliding just slightly as you take the first corner, teeth gritted against the twitch beneath your hands. Then the sharp ping of Sirius’ voice breaks in.

“Careful, rookie. Wouldn’t want to lose it before we’ve really started.” His tone is light but sharp, just enough to get under your skin.

You smirk despite yourself. “You talking to me, Black? Or the ghost in your mirrors?”

There’s a pause, the sound of tires brushing against tarmac, before he fires back. “Both. But mostly you. You’re slower than you think.”

“Funny,” you say, biting back, “I was just about to say the same. I’m just warming up.”

Remus sighs, the sound low but amused on the comms. “Focus, both of you.”

A chuckle from Mary cuts through. “Got a live stream going, and honestly, this rivalry? Pure gold for Grimstar’s PR.”

Lily’s voice follows, mildly exasperated. “Don’t encourage them, Mary.”

You take the next corner with surgical precision, feeling the car settle as you race against the clock and Sirius’ mocking words. The radio crackles again.

“You’re pushing too hard into Stowe. Tire wear’s going to bite you if you don’t back off.”

“Thanks for the advice, Black,” you snap. “Says the guy who ran wide last lap.”

“Touché,” Sirius admits with a laugh you can almost hear.

You press on, weaving through the track’s unforgiving curves. Sirius is right there, pushing you, but never quite close enough to overtake.

“Your brake balance’s off,” Remus says quickly. “Adjust it two clicks rearward.”

You twist the knob mid-corner, feeling the car respond instantly. Sirius’ voice cuts in again, playful but challenging.

“Nice fix. Almost had me worried for a second.”

You bite back a grin. “Keep talking, maybe you’ll spook yourself into a spin.”

“Not before I see you eat my dust.”

The radio goes silent except for the steady rhythm of your engines. You catch a glimpse of Sirius behind you again, then the gap closes, then widens.

Peter’s voice breaks the tension. “Okay, no crashes yet. Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius says. “I’m playing nice—for now.”

.・。.・゜✭・.

Back in the garage, the roar of engines fades behind the hiss of cooling systems and chatter of mechanics packing away tools. You pull off your helmet, hair damp and sticking to your forehead, and lean against the pit wall, letting out a long breath.

Remus appears beside you, clipboard in hand, eyes still sharp despite the long day. Marlene’s already wiping down Sirius’ car, shooting you a sideways grin as she passes.

You scowl. “Black’s insufferable out there. Like he’s got some personal vendetta against me or something.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, watching you with that calm, steady look of his. “You sound like you gave him exactly what he wanted.”

“I did not.” You cross your arms. “I kept my cool.”

Marlene snorts, coming to lean next to you. “Yeah, sure you did. Heard you snapping back at him on the radio plenty of times.”

“I was handling it,” you insist, but there’s a twitch of a smile at the corner of your mouth.

Remus smirks. “Handling it or enjoying the fight?”

You shift on your feet, not quite meeting their eyes. “I hate that he gets under my skin.”

Marlene chuckles, nudging you lightly. “I fear you secretly like it.”

“Please,” you say, trying to sound indignant but failing.

Remus chuckles softly. “We all know you don’t hate it, not really. Otherwise, you wouldn’t keep letting him get to you.”

You glare, but the warmth in their smiles makes you relax just a little. Marlene ruffles your hair. “Admit it. You’re hooked.”

You shove her hand away, laughing. “Not hooked. Just… competitive.”

.・。.・゜✭・.

Lap 36. You’re running first. Sirius in second, chasing hard.

“Gap to P1 is 1.4 seconds,” Remus says over the comms, calm and steady. “You’re faster in sector two, keep it clean.”

You press harder, chasing the apex. The world narrows to tyres, tarmac, and static crackle in your ears.

Then: click.

“Move it, sweetheart.”

Black.

You scowl, biting your tongue as you flick through your gears.

“I’m not in your way.”

“You’re always in my way.”

“Then you’d think you’d be better at getting past me by now.”

He laughs, crackling in your ear. “Don’t flatter yourself. You brake like you’re afraid of the car.”

You take the next corner hard, kissing the kerb. “I brake like someone who finishes races.”

“Ouch,” James cuts in, low and amused from the pit wall. “We keeping this professional, kids, or should we dim the lights?”

“Tell your golden boy to focus,” you snap.

“I am focused,” Sirius says. “I’m focused on how good your rear wing looks from back here.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, adjusting your line to take the hairpin wider, defensive. You can feel him closing. You can feel it — heat in your mirrors, like his smirk is actually materialising behind you.

“You get this feisty with everyone you can’t shake off, or just me?” he asks, a little lower now, smoother.

“Don’t make me slow down just to ruin your front wing,” you say, though your pulse is rabbit-quick and your grip on the wheel too tight.

Peter comes in over the radio, tone clipped. “Energy mode three, recharge after this straight. Sirius, stay in tow if you want DRS.”

“Copy,” Sirius says, but he’s back in your ear half a second later. “Not sure I want DRS. You swerving all over the place like that. What’s wrong — nervous I’m catching up?”

You slam through the chicane, aggressive. “I’m not swerving. I’m defending. There’s a difference.”

“You keep whispering like that and I’m gonna think you like me breathing down your neck.”

Your engine screams through the straight. Your tyres kiss the edge of the track and Remus’ voice is calm in your ear, “He’s going to look for the inside on the next corner. Don’t give it to him.”

“Oh, I won’t,” you mutter.

You brake late — too late, almost — diving into the corner and squeezing Sirius out wide, forcing him to lift or lose his wing.

Static. Then: “You little—”

“Say thank you, Black.”

“For what?” he snaps.

“For the front row seat. Hope you enjoy the view.”

James barks a laugh over comms. “Alright, alright, both of you — bring it home in one piece, please.”

The laps fall away. He tries again. You block again. He’s better on the straights, you’re sharper in the corners, and every time he gets close enough to lunge, you meet him with teeth bared.

Last lap. You’re still ahead. And you’ve never wanted to win anything more.

“Still here?” he asks, breathless.

“Still behind,” you say.

He laughs, and it sounds real. Almost proud. “Yeah. You’re annoying when you’re fast.”

“You’re annoying when I’m anything.”

You cross the line half a second ahead of him. First place. The checkered flag waving like salvation.

Your hands shake around the wheel. Remus is in your ear, cool and composed. “P1. That’s a win. Breathe.”

Sirius crackles through, breathless and wry. “Nice race, darling.”

You grin despite yourself, heart pounding. “Thanks. I’ll make sure to wave next time I lap you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.

The media pen is loud — always loud. Mics in faces, cameras clicking like insects, the scent of sweat and champagne heavy in the air. You’ve barely stepped off the podium, still half-buzzing from the win and the adrenaline crash after.

Sirius stands beside you, visor up, hair wild, black race suit unzipped to his waist. Of course, he’s glowing. P2 and smug about it. Always smug.

A reporter from TrackLine TV flags you both down — tall, overdressed, and grinning like he’s walked into a dream. You recognize him. Everyone does. Harry Digby. Always a bit too smooth, always just on the wrong side of professional.

“Champ!” he says to Sirius, shoving the mic toward him. “Phenomenal drive out there. You nearly had it — just a hair away. Think you would’ve nailed it if you weren’t caught behind...?” He turns to you, smile razor-sharp. “Well, her?”

Sirius doesn’t bite. Just hums, tongue in cheek. “She drove a hell of a race. Deserved the win.”

You nod, cool. “Thanks.”

But Digby doesn’t look at you. Still angled toward Sirius. “Right, but let’s be honest — you’re the real draw, aren’t you? Fan favourite, fastest laps, charisma.” He laughs. “I mean, not to discredit the win, of course,” he adds, finally turning to you. “It’s just rare we see women holding off the charge like that. Must’ve been exhausting.”

You blink. “No more exhausting than holding off any other driver.”

“Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure,” he says, tone patronizing. “But it must be so emotional for you. Your first winning season? Tears under the helmet?”

You level him with a dry look. “If there were tears, they were probably from watching Black miss another overtake.”

That gets a laugh — even from Sirius. Digby chuckles, but it’s tight now. Forced.

“Right. Of course. But still,” he presses, “with your limited experience at this level, it’s got to be a lot to take in. Do you think you’re able to maintain this kind of pace? Or was today just... lightning in a bottle? It’s got to be difficult, with all those emotions stirring up, huh?”

You open your mouth, ready to snap back — but Sirius gets there first.

His voice is calm. Cold. Lethal.

“Do you ask the men that?”

Digby blinks. “Pardon?”

Sirius steps closer, eyes narrowed just slightly, half a smirk on his lips but nothing friendly in it. “You asked me about the car. About the strategy. About the race. You asked her if she cried and if she could ‘keep up.’ Sounds like you’re more interested in your assumptions than the driving.”

The air shifts. The other reporters pause — hungry for blood now, but silent.

“She won,” Sirius says, voice low and clear. “She outdrove the field. And me. So maybe start treating her like a racer instead of a novelty.”

Digby’s mouth flaps a bit. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, voice dry. “You never do.”

He turns, hand grazing your back — brief, grounding — and walks off.

You stand there for a beat, stunned. Not because you needed saving. But because he didn’t treat it like that. He just... had your back.

You look after him, heart still pounding — for reasons that have nothing to do with the race now.

You turn back to the cameras, meeting Lily’s gaze off to the side, sending you an encouraging nod.

“Any real questions?” you ask.

And for once, they listen.

.・。.・゜✭・.

The corridors of Grimstar GP are quiet now. Most of the crew’s cleared out, and the echo of post-race chaos has finally faded into the soft hum of vending machines and the low buzz of overhead lights.

You’re fresh out of the shower, hair damp, hoodie slung over your shoulders, still replaying the race in your head. Not the win — no, that part’s imprinted already. It’s him you can’t get out of your skull.

Sirius Black.

Your feet slow as you round the corner near the paddock offices — and speak of the devil.

He’s leaning against the wall just outside the driver lounge, a bottle of water in hand, half-zipped hoodie hanging open over a black tank top, hair messily tied back, still somehow managing to look like a magazine cover. He straightens when he sees you. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk. Just watches you approach with that unreadable look of his.

You stop a few feet away, arms crossed. “What the hell was that today?”

He blinks. “You’ll have to be more specific. I did a lot of things today. Lost a race. Nearly clipped your rear wing. Looked good on camera. The usual.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning back against the wall again. “The press conference.”

You nod, eyes narrowing. “That.”

He shrugs. “Figured someone needed to say something.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, Black.”

“I know.”

His voice is so calm it throws you off. He pushes off the wall, steps toward you — not close enough to crowd, but enough to make the air shift between you.

“I know you don’t need me,” he says again, softer now. “You’re better at handling yourself than half the grid. But they’re not battles you should have to fight in the first place.”

You stare at him, jaw tight. “So what — you suddenly decided to play knight in shining Nomex?”

He snorts. “Hardly. I was just sick of hearing the same bullshit day in, day out. You win and they act like you stumbled into it. I lose and they still line up to kiss my boots. It’s pathetic.”

You shake your head, scoffing. “You’re full of it.”

“Am I?”

You step closer, anger flaring now, fingers tightening in the sleeves of your hoodie.

“You’ve been riding my ass since I joined this team,” you snap. “Needling me in meetings, over the radio, on track. All those little digs, all that smug superiority. Don’t act like you’re some kind of ally now. You’ve been giving me shit because I’m a girl and you couldn’t handle it.”

Sirius just stares at you for a second. And then, he laughs — short, low, utterly without malice.

“Oh, please,” he says, shaking his head. “You think I’ve been annoying because you’re a girl?”

You cross your arms, stubborn.

He steps closer again, voice dropping low.

“No. I’ve been annoying because you’re you. Because you walk in, all sharp angles and quicker lines, beating me by milliseconds and mouthing off like you’ve been here for years.” He leans in, just enough that you can see the shift in his expression — from amused to something else. “Me getting on your nerves has nothing to do with the fact you’re a girl who can wipe the floor with me — and everything to do with how stunning you look with your face all red and scrunched up when you’re yelling at me.”

Your breath catches. Just a little.

He’s close now. You should step back. You don’t.

Instead, you glare. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, “here you are.”

Silence stretches between you, charged and crackling. His eyes flick from yours to your mouth and back, and your pulse kicks up in response — not from nerves, but from recognition.

Because you’ve wanted this. Maybe not in words, but in every tense moment, every overtake, every stare across the garage. Every time he made you want to scream.

You grab the front of his hoodie and kiss him first.

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s heat and teeth, the rush of engine noise echoing in memory. Sirius kisses like he races — fast, reckless, all-in. His hands find your hips, pull you closer, your back thudding against the wall. You taste adrenaline and frustration and everything you’ve refused to admit.

His hands are firm on your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie like he can’t stand the barrier between you. You don't exactly mind the wall at your back — it gives you something to brace against when his mouth moves from yours to your jaw, grazing it with a smirk you feel more than see.

“You kiss like you drive,” you mutter, breath hitching as he trails down the curve of your neck. “All ego and no caution.”

He laughs, low and rough against your throat. “You love it.”

You do. God help you, you do.

Your hands find their way under his shirt, palms skimming up his ribs, warm skin beneath soft cotton. He shivers at your touch — not dramatic, just a subtle tightening of his grip, the shift of his hips against yours. You tilt your head back, giving him room, and he doesn’t waste the invitation. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath stutters hard enough you swear he feels it.

“This why you’ve been such a pain in my ass?” you ask, voice thin and sharp like static. “Flirting like a damn schoolboy with a crush?”

“Wasn’t flirting,” he murmurs. “Was trying to survive.”

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. They’re darker now, blown wide and hungry, but there’s a flicker of something else under it — something quieter, more honest.

“You drive me insane,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s said anything real all night. “Every lap, every look, every time you pass me and laugh in the comms. I swear to God, you get in my head like nothing else.”

You blink. For once, your mouth has no comeback.

Then Sirius is kissing you again — deeper now, slower. His hands travel up your back, pressing you closer, like he’s trying to memorize every inch between the high of the race and whatever this is turning into. One of your hands fists in his hair, tugging gently, just to feel the sound he makes in your mouth.

The air’s thick around you, sweat and shampoo and the warmth of something that feels dangerously close to want. Real want. Not the push-pull of rivalry, but the kind that simmers low in your stomach and makes you forget the rest of the world exists.

You’re half-drunk on it when he finally pulls back, just enough to catch his breath. His lips are red. Kiss-bitten. His thumb drags along your jaw, reverent in a way that makes your pulse jump again.

“This is going to complicate things,” you murmur.

Sirius shrugs, smiling like a devil. “Good.”

You snort despite yourself, resting your forehead against his.

Masterlist

Requesting Guidelines

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x gn!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfic #harry potter #marauders #marauders era #mari writes #requested

104 notes · View notes