vainvenus

[vainvenus]

Hi! Can I be added to your taglist for Code Red please?

Ofc luv!!

[vainvenus]

proofread possession | op81 | pt. 1

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It's been a few weeks since the best day of Oscar's life and now it's the weekend of the Australian GP aka the weekend that replaces the best day of his life.

Includings: Journalist/photographer!oscar, mclaren driver!reader, oscar fanboys to the max in this, he's kinda of normal in this too, light stalking, reader is an absolute sweetheart we love you!!, this is short and surprisingly tame!

An: Triple header? Nah triple post!!! Sorry to my Oscar lovers I've been neglecting this fic 🫶🏿

@vanteel

It had been weeks since the best day of Oscar’s life.

Weeks since you had noticed him like really, truly noticed him.

Weeks since you’d walked onto that carpet at the F-175 event in that stunning black dress of yours and made eye contact with him of all people.

Weeks since you stopped, looked him right in the eye, and smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing to his brain.

And then you’d talked to him. Laughed at how eager he was on the red carpet. Got personal as if the two of you had known each other for years. Said you hoped you’d see him again at the next Grand Prix.

Oscar had been living on that memory like oxygen. Replaying your words in his head. Writing a half-baked piece about your mental toughness that never saw the light of day because every paragraph turned into a love letter disguised as sports journalism.

Now it was race week.

Media day loomed close and this time, Oscar had the flight back home booked, his camera gear cleaned, the badge request submitted through his publication.

But he didn’t have a paddock pass, the network he was with was supposed to get him one but now it was too late.

He was still going, yes but as a regular accredited photographer, buried under fifty other journos with lenses pointed at you. He’d get a glimpse. A quote if he was lucky. Maybe a photo from twenty feet away.

That should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t. Not after you said you’d hoped to see him again. Not after the way you looked at him like he was worth noticing.

Oscar didn’t want just a glimpse anymore.

★

The brunette nearly missed the package.

It was sitting at his door when he got back from a morning shoot, slim and nondescript, the kind of thing he almost left untouched. No return address. Just his name, written in blocky, clean handwriting.

He crouched down and picked it up before entering his house. He felt the weight, oddly light, but something rigid inside.

His fingers fumbled the edge.

Inside: a sleek, velvet-lined envelope with the McLaren logo embossed in orange. And tucked just underneath it—

Two passes.

One was a paddock pass with his name printed in bold, and the other was a McLaren garage guest credential.

Not media access. Not a press group badge.

A personal pass.

A you’ve been invited by the team pass.

A you’ve been invited by her pass.

Oscar’s mouth dropped open.

And then he saw the note.

"Didn’t think you’d want to watch from the sidelines! I'll see you Thursday, bring your camera. – Y/N"

He let out a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and a whimper. He dropped into a crouch on the floor, holding the note in one hand and the passes in the other like they might vanish.

Oscar whispered, “No. No way.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like if he blinked too hard the passes might vanish, like the entire thing was some elaborate hallucination born out of too much admiration and not enough sleep.

But the credentials were real. The lanyard had weight. His name was printed in official McLaren font. And that handwriting? He’d stared at it long enough on hats, jackets, papers, and photo backings to know—it was yours.

That did it.

Oscar screamed.

A full, unfiltered, disbelieving scream that bounced off the walls of his house.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!”

He paced, hands in his hair, shaking the note like it was some kind of sacred artifact.

“She remembered me! Actually remembered me!”

He dropped onto the couch, then immediately jumped off it again. “Im gonna be in the McLaren garage as her guest. What the actual fuck! This is mental!”

He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, breathing like he’d just finished a race. “Bring my camera? I will. I will bring twelve.”

Another scream burst out of him, one pure joy.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die and I’m gonna haunt that garage forever. She’s gonna think I’m gonna be chill and normal about this and I am absolutely not. Oh my god.”

He clutched the note to his chest like it was oxygen.

He was already planning on having it framed above his bed.

★

Oscar barely slept on the flight over.

Between refreshing his email, triple-checking the guest pass, and trying not to combust thinking about you, the three-hour flight felt like thirty minutes.

Conveniently or maybe fatefully his publication had booked him at the same hotel as most of the drivers, teams, and press. He hadn’t seen you in the lobby, but he swore he caught a glimpse of your race boots peeking out of a gym bag yesterday when he passed the elevators.

He didn’t linger.

He wasn’t a creep.

Now it was Thursday morning. Media Day.

And Oscar was inside the paddock again, only this time not as just another photographer. This time, his McLaren guest badge caught the sunlight like a VIP pass to a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

Every step closer to the McLaren garage made his stomach twist tighter. He couldn't help but let the nerves get to him, be had been personally invited by someone he idolized for decades. He was nervously biting on his lip as he looked around like a lost child.

And then he saw you.

And all thoughts stopped.

You were walking through the paddock like you owned it, chatting beside someone in McLaren gear holding a clipboard. Your outfit was simple yet so you.

You wore a vintage papaya graphic tee, which he found cheeky and your jeans were that perfect mid-wash, straight-leg kind that fell just right over your burnt orange Gazelles.

Hair done. Nails done. Sunglasses sitting on your nose and your jewelry shining against your skin each time the Australian sun decided to shine on you.

Oscar already started to move his hands around his camera in attempts to get a candid shot of you speaking with whoever that was.

And then—

You spotted him.

He barely lifted his camera to his chest before you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your entire face lit up.

“OSCAR?!”

You were already jogging over, a grin stretched wide across your face like you were the one starstruck.

“Oh my god! You’re here!” You gasped, wide-eyed and glowing. “I didn’t think the passes would get to you in time!”

Oscar opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Because this felt unreal.

Because you remembered.

Because you cared.

“I...yeah...I got them.” He said breathlessly, laughing a little. “Tuesday afternoon. I practically screamed.”

You reached for his hand like it was instinct, tugging him a little closer into the shade of the McLaren hospitality unit. “I seriously was about to text someone like ‘if Oscar Piastri doesn’t show up today I’m throwing a fit.’ I’ve been checking every time someone came in—”

“You were…looking for me?” He asked, still stunned.

You looked at him like he was being ridiculous. “Obviously. I invited you.”

And God, you were close.

Oscar could smell your perfume—soft and clean. He could see the tiny smudge of eyeliner beneath your sunglasses. The flash of a smile that said I’m glad you’re here. The way you kept holding onto his sleeve like if you let go, he’d vanish.

“C’mon,” you said. “You’re not staying out here all day, are you? You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “With you? Like...now?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do have a camera, don’t you?”

He nodded, stunned.

“Then yeah." You grinned. “Come on, you're not my special guest for no reason. I’ve got press rounds to do and so many mini challenges with Lan and I need someone to make me look good.”

Oscar followed, limbs weak and heart doing laps in his chest.

Your special guest.

He was your special guest.

He didn’t know what he expected from Media Day but it wasn’t this.

He did not expect you to react as if he were an old friend you hadn't seen in years.

He did not expect you to tug him into your space, dragging him through the paddock with his head spinning and your laugh dancing in his ears.

And still, somehow, it felt exactly right.

[vainvenus]

mind games | ln4 | pt.8

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're out of the bath after the entire situation with Lando and he's still there and trying to convince you that everything is normal and fine.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, obsessive/possessive + manipulative + delusional behavior, emotional coercion, forced proximity, power imbalance, sweet(ish) lando ig????

An: "Next chapter drops this weekend" I said then I got obsessed with the new season of love island and forgot 💔💔

@eclipsedcherryblossom @slutforvoldy @alliseeisversainz @taylorrtgs @lorena-mv33

You spent a little more time in the tub than you would normally have and to your surprise Lando didn't come back there. He was strangely quiet after you heard the rummaging through your drawers end, the faint sound of your TV playing instead.

You got out, towel wrapped around you as you stepped back into your room and say him laying on your bed, his head back against your pillows as he was watching the TV.

He was just sitting there like he belonged there. Not only was he sitting there but he had also somehow changed into much more comfortable clothes which was both confusing and unsettling to you.

He glanced back over to you, a small smile spreading across his face as he sat up. "How was the rest of your bath?"

"Fine." You murmured as you grabbed the pajamas he picked out for you. It was just a simple t-shirt with plaid pajama pants. You looked back over to him to see that he was still staring at you and you narrowed your gaze.

"Are you gonna watch me change?"

"I'll look away if you want me too." He shrugged. "But it's not like I didn't just see you naked."

You didn’t reply to that.

Instead, you turned your back to him and slowly began to change, slipping on the soft cotton t-shirt and plaid pajama pants he had picked out like he knew your drawer better than you did.

Your hands were trembling. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you had to breathe slowly to keep them from fully giving you away.

Behind you, the mattress creaked as he shifted, but he didn’t get up.

Didn’t leave.

Didn’t even pretend like he wasn't looking.

You could feel his stare, heavy and unrelenting, like he was memorizing the curve of your shoulders, the movement of your spine, the delicate way you folded your towel and placed it over the back of the chair.

You finally turned around.

He was still watching you.

His eyes weren’t devouring, not in the way you would’ve expected after everything.

No, this look was worse. It was soft. Gentle. Intimate. Like you were already his, like everything that happened before had been nothing more than a fight between lovers. Just a bump in the road.

He gave you a smile. Small. Pleased. Like your body in pajamas that he picked out, in front of him, letting him be there like it was some kind of win.

“Feel better?” He asked, voice smooth and casual like it was any other night, like the air between you wasn’t dense with fear.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. Your mouth was too dry.

He raised an eyebrow at your silence, tilting his head slightly. “You were in there a while. I thought you fell asleep. Or maybe you were hiding from me again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Why are you still here?”

Lando leaned back into your pillows like they belonged to him. "I've got nowhere to be at four in the morning on a Monday."

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He gave you a look like you were the one being unreasonable.

“I brought you home, ran the bath for you, picked out your pajamas,” He slowly said, listing off each point like they were all huge favors. “I waited. I gave you space. I didn’t even come back when you were washing up. And now I just want to spend time with you.”

You stared at him. “You drowned me.”

He winced at the word.

“Almost drowned you." He corrected softly, like it mattered. “And only because you kept ignoring me. I didn’t want to do that. You made me do that.”

Your breath caught.

“It made me angry.” His eyes met yours, almost sincere. “When you wouldn’t talk. When you shut down like that. You made me feel like I didn’t exist to you.” His voice cracked a little. “And it made me think of that day again. When you wouldn't give me a second of your time like I was useless."

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. It felt like the floor had tilted.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I just needed you to see me again. To hear me.”

Lando sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was pleading now. “Everything I’ve done, everything I do, it’s because I love you. And you keep running from that like it’s some kind of threat.”

“It is.” You whispered.

He paused.

The silence stretched long between you. The TV was still playing in the background, but you couldn’t register what it was saying. It was just noise now.

Then, he let out a small laugh, almost breathless. “You’re still scared of me.”

He said it like it was a discovery. Like it wounded him.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.” He continued, voice quieter now. “I thought once you were home, once you were safe, we could just...reset.”

Your brows furrowed. “Reset?”

Lando nodded. “Start over. There's no race this week, no pressure. No media. Just us. Maybe we could cook something later. Watch a movie. Go somewhere quiet."

He was talking as if this were normal, as if the two of you were a normal couple. As if you were a couple at all.

"You can wear that white sundress you like. I’ll take you somewhere private so it's just us."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your expression neutral but your bottom lip was wobbling. “There's no us, Lando."

His entire body stilled.

But he didn’t snap. Didn’t yell. He just inhaled slowly, like he was trying very hard to keep something inside from cracking.

He stood up, not fast, not aggressive. Just…calm. Methodical. Like he was controlling himself.

He walked to your side of the bed. You tensed, but he didn’t touch you.

“I know you don’t see it yet.” He murmured, standing close enough that you could still smell the faint scent of your perfume. “But you will. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. So we can keep pretending this isn’t happening, or…”

His eyes burned into yours.

“…you can accept that you already belong to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smiled again, soft, but with an edge. “We can have a quiet day for us later on today. Then Tuesday or Wednesday we can go somewhere more public so the media can get a couple pictures, get some fans to start up some rumors."

“No.” You managed to say, your voice barely audible.

He hummed like you hadn’t said anything at all. “Then we can post a few pictures of each other, nothing with our faces in it of course. A soft launch. Everybody loves a good soft launch."

You stepped back again.

This time, he let you.

“I’m going to stay here tonight.” He said casually, like he was announcing the weather. "You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. So have I.”

You stared at him like everything was happening in slow motion, blinking as you slowly shook your head. “You...You can't stay here.”

But he was already settling back into your bed, pulling your blanket over himself, hands behind his head like he owned the space. “I'll sleep better near you."

You stood frozen in place, heart racing, skin clammy.

“Come on." He murmured, patting the space next to him. “Let’s just…lie down. No fighting. No more stress.”

His voice was too soft. Too gentle. Like the last hour hadn’t happened.

You didn’t move.

He patted the bed again, more deliberate now and his voice a bit more needy. “Please?"

You didn’t move.

“I’m not gonna do anything.” He said after a beat, his tone quieter now. “I just wanna be near you.”

You stood there for another long moment, heart hammering. He was watching you like a hawk—smiling softly, like this was something gentle and sweet, but his eyes said something else.

You knew what happened when you didn’t listen. What he was capable of when ignored.

So you forced yourself to move.

Your feet felt like they were filled with sand, but you crossed the room, inching closer to the bed. Every step made your chest tighter. Your breath shorter.

You sat. Carefully. Barely on the edge of the mattress.

Like the moment you relaxed, you’d fall into a trap.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“See?” He murmured. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer.

He turned his body slightly toward you, close but not quite touching. You felt the heat radiating off of him. It made your stomach twist.

“You don’t have to be scared of me." He said after a moment. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you if you just—”

“If I just what?” you whispered. Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. “If I just… do what you say?”

His jaw tensed.

You turned your head just slightly, enough to see his face. “Is that it?”

“I’m trying,” Lando said, like you were the problem. “I’m here. I’m being calm. I gave you space. You won’t even look at me.”

Your mouth was dry. “You tried to drown me.”

“You we're being mean.”

You blinked. “I wasn’t even saying anything!"

“Exactly!” He said, almost sharply. “You shut me out. Like I didn’t matter. I couldn’t take that again. You don’t know what that feels like.”

You flinched.

He softened again in an instant. That fake, practiced tenderness crawling back into his voice.

“I’m not the bad guy here." He murmured. “I love you. I want this to work.”

Your breath hitched. He noticed.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” He asked gently.

He inhaled slowly, exhaling through his nose like he was keeping himself in check. “I want to start over with this, pretend that what happened earlier never happened."

“No.” You whispered.

“It's kind of hard to forget something like that, Lando.” You said before you could stop yourself. Your voice was too shaky to sound brave.

He was quiet for a beat. Then he said, almost heartbreakingly, “Do you really think I can't fix this? That we can't start over?"

You didn’t respond.

He looked at you like you’d just torn the sky apart.

“Right.” He muttered, sitting back against your pillows. “Okay. Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.”

You didn’t ask what that meant.

You didn’t want to know.

You stood up silently and pulled back the covers. You crawled in slowly, limbs stiff, hands trembling as you tucked the blanket over yourself. You turned your back towards him, staring at the wall.

You didn’t say goodnight. Didn’t ask him to leave.

You just laid there, chest tight, stomach churning and back turned to the boy who still thought this could be turned normal.

The mattress dipped as he shifted in beside you.

It was silent, just the hum of your TV until he spoke up;

“Goodnight. I love you.”

Your throat tightened as you clenched your fists around the cover, voice soft and barely above a whisper.

"I wish you didn't."

You heard his breath hitch like you told him you hated him.

Maybe in his mind there was no difference.

[vainvenus]

code red. | charles leclerc + alexandra saint mleux | pt.1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Synopsis: You and Charles meet up for lunch to get to know each other and shake off any awkwardness before the season starts.

Includings: Charles centered chapter, pretty fluffy, gentle teasing, subtle comforting + flirting, anxious behavior, themes of self doubt, charlie and alex being obsessed

An: Don't worry guys well get some Alex and reader love soon, trust

@samantha-chicago

Monaco was unusually calm for a weekend. The sun warm, breeze light, the quiet hum of city life drifting through the air like background music.

Charles sat at a corner table of a small, tucked-away café just above the harbor. The kind of place tourists rarely found. The kind of place with iron chairs that creaked a little and tomato plants growing in clay pots against the wall.

He had suggested, said that it wouldn't be too packed since it wasn't a local spot. He knew that you would like the sound of that.

He got there early. Water glass half-empty, thumb tapping nervously against the table.

And then you arrived.

Not loud. Not even dressed to impress. Just… there.

You were wearing a soft cream sweater tucked into dark jeans, your styled simply yet unintentionally graceful. You looked like you were trying not to draw attention, though Charles had a hard time looking away.

He stood as you approached, offering a small, warm smile.

“Hi." You said softly.

“Bonsoir. You found it okay?”

You nodded, fingers brushing against the sleeve of your sweater.

He gestured to the seat across from him. “I figured somewhere off-grid would be better than a packed touristy cafe.”

You sat carefully glancing away from him, as if you were afraid the chair might not be meant for you.

“Thank you. It’s…nice. Quiet.”

Charles smiled. “I thought that might be your style.”

You blinked at him. “You did?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “I may have…looked through your page a little. I'm also good at reading people.”

Your eyes dropped to the table. “My page PR stuff mostly.”

“It still tells you something." He said gently. “The photos you keep versus the ones you post. I wonder what photos you keep for just your eyes.”

"Maybe one day you'll see." You murmured and he smiled at that.

He let you study the menu without pushing. When the waiter came, you asked for a specific kind of pasta, asking for light cilantro. Your voice just above a whisper. Charles ordered for himself then folded his hands loosely on the table.

“How're you liking Monaco so far?” He asked, leaning in a little.

“Oh it's gorgeous. I haven't been back for a while but I'm here visiting a friend.” You replied. "Trying to decide if I should get a home here."

“You should." He said. "Most of the drivers live here and it'd make it easier for you to connect with them. Plus, no taxes." He joked with a small chuckle.

And although he mentioned you connecting with the other drivers he hated the thought of that. You didn't need to socialize with anyone else on the grid besides him.

“I just don’t want to be recorded all the time." You sighed. "I know Monaco has no paparazzi but...it's like a gold mine to find a driver.”

Charles tilted his head. “You should get used to it.”

Your lips pressed into a tight line. He backtracked, voice softening.

“I just mean…it’s not something you can stop now. You’re with Ferrari. That alone makes people watch, living in Monaco wouldn't change much."

You looked up at him slowly. “I didn’t expect them to pick me.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not…loud or flashy like the other rookies this year. It kind of makes me feel like I'm falling behind or something." You sighed.

Charles leaned forward, his voice low. “You don’t have to be loud to be great. You're a F2 champion, that says enough."

You blinked at him. For a moment, you looked like you didn’t believe him. But your shoulders relaxed just a little.

When lunch arrived the conversation stayed light. He asked about your favorite circuits, your earliest memories of karting, what your helmet colors meant.

You didn’t offer stories unless asked, but when you did, they were quietly poetic. Little glimpses of long nights in cold paddocks. Mornings where your dad made you coffee before races. The moment you got the call from Ferrari and didn’t speak for ten seconds because you thought it was a mistake.

Charles listened like every word mattered. Because to him, it most certainly did.

At one point, you paused mid-bite, eyes flicking toward the sidewalk.

There were two people with phones out, casually pretending not to take pictures.

You shrank slightly into your chair, keeping your gaze down on your plate as you spun your fork around your food.

Charles noticed instantly.

“Hey.” He said softly. “You okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line before you glanced back over at the window.

He followed your gaze, then turned back to you.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said gently.

You were used to the fame from F2 from F1 was other worldly. The fans were so much more intense and unapologetically themselves in the worst ways sometimes. “The cameras. The looks. The attention. It’s annoying, but it’s part of it now.”

You looked down. “I don’t want people making things up. I've seen so many gossip pages and I don't want to cause a problem for my PR team already."

“They will anyway." He said with a shrug. Charles had had his fair share of tabloids that spewed rumors that were far from the truth. “Let them. You just stay exactly like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you." He said simply. “You don’t need to worry about rumors when you know the truth and when you know who you are."

You raised a brow. "Which is?"

He paused, giving you a once-over that lingered just a second too long before his eyes found yours again.

Warm, full of something soft and kind. Like he was looking at the girl who didn’t just hang the moon and stars, but made the whole sky spin just for him "Perfect. Ferrari wouldn't have signed you if they thought otherwise.”

You stared at him for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.

Then you smiled.

Small, real, and almost private.

“Thank you.”

The silence after was warm.

When the check came, Charles didn't even allow you to look at it before he snatched it up and pulled out one of his cards from his wallet. And when you tried to offer your card, Charles just shook his head with that teasing glint in his eye.

"Charles! I can pay for my own meal." You shook your head as he had a tight hold on the check, waving his hand as you tried to give him your card.

“I'm paying and that's final.” He said, leaning back. “You can pay me back by not outqualifying me at Australia.”

You laughed like really laughed. For the first time that day.

And Charles? He could've recorded it and listened to it every single day.

★

The door hadn’t even clicked shut before Alexandra called from the kitchen, “Well?”

Charles let out a soft laugh, tossing his keys into the dish by the entry. “You didn’t even give me time to take off my shoes.”

“Because I know you.” She said, poking her head around the corner, a grin already forming. “You’re smiling.”

“I always smile.”

“Not like that,” She teased, setting down her glass and leaning against the counter. “That’s a she’s so pretty and I’m a little obsessed smile.”

Charles didn’t deny it. He walked into the kitchen, still in his jacket, hair a little windblown. His face had that softness it always carried when something— or someone got under his skin in the best way.

“She’s…” He paused, looking for the right word. “Quiet. Really quiet. But in a way that makes you want to wait for what she’ll say next.”

Alex's brow lifted. “So a little mysterious?"

“She barely talked unless I asked, but when she did—” He shook his head with a smile, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge. “It’s like she’s scared to take up space. But she should.”

Alex’s grin grew. “You’re whipped.”

"How could I not be? She's...perfect."

Alexandra couldn't help the smile continued to grow on her lips. “What’d you talk about?”

“Karting. Her helmet design. Her reaction to being told the news. How she doesn’t like people looking at her.”

“Rotten luck.” Alex said, hopping up to sit on the counter. “She’s with Ferrari. They’re going to look.”

“I told her that." Charles said, smiling like he still hadn’t quite come down from it. “Told her she didn’t need to change. That she already belongs.”

There was a small beat of silence before Alex said, “You’re already so protective.”

He gave a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “She just makes you want to be.”

Alexandra huffed. “I want to meet her.”

Charles hummed. "You will, mon amour. You will."

There was a beat of silence before Alex spoke again.

“Do you think she knows how cute she is?”

Charles looked away with a soft chuckle, then back to Alex. “I don’t think she knows anything good about herself. From how talented she is to how cute she is."

And that sat between them for a moment. A quiet truth neither of them liked.

Alexandra slid off the counter and touched his arm. “Then lucky for her, she has us.”

"Lucky indeed."

[vainvenus]

I don't know if you do tag lists, but if you do, could you add me to the tag list for Charles and Alex please. I can't wait to read it. There needs to be more fics for them!!

I dooo! I got you bb!! And I swear it's so underrated like stop making Alex the rude and evil jealous ex/gf, they all get to be in love your honor!!

[vainvenus]

I LOVED CODE RED PROLOGUE!!!!!! cant wait for the next part <3

THANK YOUUUU🤭🤭

I'm writing it rn so hopefully you guys won't be waiting for another month but hey....

[vainvenus]

omg vee!! i really missed your writing 😭😭 mind games was soo GOOD, my fav chapter so far

and i can't wait for more parts of the dark!Charles and Alexandra one!!

(that's actually me whenever I see your posts)

YOU MISSED MY WRITING? LIL OL ME???? OH STAWP ITTTT. ( we're getting married )

Stealing that nando gif that's me when you in general

[vainvenus]

code red. | charles leclerc + alexandra saint mleux | prologue

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader x Alexandra Saint Mleux

Synopsis: When Ferrari announces their newest driver, the internet lights up and so does Charles' and Alexandra's Leclerc’s curiosity.

Includings: Dark!Charles and Alexandra, slight smau, aurelia nobels as the faceclaim!, reader is described as quiet/shy, slight cyberstalking, possessive behavior, kimi won't have a seat + lewis stays at merc

An: I feel like they're aren't enough Charles x reader x Alex stories so I'm contributing!!!

The day started like any other quiet one.

A little sunlight slipping past the curtain. The scent of coffee drifting through the apartment. A soft clink of spoons and ceramic in the kitchen.

Charles was leaned back on the couch, hoodie sleeves bunching at his elbows, legs stretched out, phone balanced loosely in his hand. Alexandra sat on the floor, back against the couch, scrolling with the same lazy attention.

“Wait,” She said suddenly, breaking the silence with a whisper instead of a shout. “Charles.”

He hummed, distracted.

“No, seriously. Look.”

She turned her phone toward him.

Instagram. Ferrari’s account. A new post, just dropped.

@scuderiaferrari

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tagged : ynln95

scuderiaferrari: A new chapter begins. [Y/n] [L/n] will take the second seat at Scuderia Ferrari for the 2025 season. Welcome to the Prancing Horse! 🐎🇮🇹

Charles sat up, eyebrows furrowing as he clicked into the carousel.

The first image was striking and not in the flashy, over-posed way most announcement photos were. It was a shot of you from behind, the prancing horse was stitched into your back like it belonged there. Your last name printed bold in white beneath it.

There was something defiant in the way your shoulders squared.

Quietly proud.

Swipe.

The second photo was the one that made Charles go still.

You sat in a studio setup, clothed in all black — a mesh turtleneck and a fitted corset top. Sharp leather pants. One hand resting on your lap, the other gripping your red helmet.

You didn’t smile.

You didn’t perform.

You looked into the camera like you weren’t trying to charm anyone. Like you knew eyes would be on you, and had made peace with it. Barely.

There was poise in it. A kind of uncomfortable grace, like you’d been told to look confident and you did even if it didn’t sit naturally.

“She’s beautiful.” Alexandra whispered.

Charles didn’t answer. Not right away.

The third photo was the official driver portrait. You in the full Ferrari suit. Hands planted on your hips, shoulders lifted like armor, eyes focused slightly off-camera. Your full name sat in white across your waist with your home country's flag to the right of it.

You didn’t look excited. You looked composed. But your lips held a small, unreadable curve. Like you were still deciding how much of yourself you were willing to give the world.

Charles scrolled back to the second photo. The black outfit. The helmet. Your stare towards the camera.

“Shes seems reserved.” He said at last. “Even here. You can see it in the way she holds herself.”

Alexandra nodded. “She looks like she didn’t want to be styled for this. But she did it anyway.”

“Like she's trying to not take up space." Charles murmured.

He clicked into your profile.

Public. Professional. Clean.

A mix of quiet lifestyle photos and track content. Almost no selfies. A few sponsor clips. Soft smiles at podiums. Eyes on the floor in media day pictures. Videos where teammates did the talking and you nodded quietly beside them. Even in press events where you were clearly the focus, you always seemed to shrink into the background.

“She doesn’t post much about herself." Alexandra noted, skimming your feed from over his shoulder.

“She does.” Charles said. “Just not loudly like all the other rookies do. No flashy vacations or posing in front of billion dollar cars."

There were photos of you cuddled up on your sofa with a book, near the fireplace with a book curled into your lap. A snapshot of your hand holding a pen on a hotel notepad, the corner of a breakfast tray in frame. Quiet moments.

He found a clip from three years ago. You were young— maybe seventeen. Sweat dripping down your face, helmet in hand, doing a victory interview after a karting win. The reporter was chirpy. You…weren’t.

You answered softly. Politely. Every few seconds, your eyes darted to the side like you were looking for an out, a safe place, anyone to step in and take the attention off of you.

But when they asked you how you felt crossing the line, you looked up, directly at the camera, and said:

"Grateful. I’ve worked for this for a long time and I'm still trying to process it."

That was it. Nothing flashy. Just the truth.

Charles rewound the clip and watched again. The way you tucked your hand under your arm. The way your thank-you was whispered, not said. The way you nodded when the camera cut off.

“She’s like a background character in her own story." Alexandra said gently.

“She doesn’t want to be seen,” Charles said, his voice barely a whisper. “But she deserves to be.”

Alexandra looked up at him.

“She reminds me of how you were when you first joined Ferrari”

He swallowed.

It wasn’t the same. He was loud sometimes. Defensive. Determined to prove himself.

But you...you didn’t need to be loud. You weren’t trying to prove anything.

You were already enough.

You just hadn’t realized it yet.

And maybe that was what Charles felt in his chest. A quiet kind of protectiveness he couldn’t explain.

He just wanted you to realize how amazing you were. For you to come out of your shell a little bit.

Alexandra reached for her coffee, smirking softly. “So,” She teased. “What are the odds you scare her the first time you say hi?”

Charles exhaled a breath of a laugh. “Probably high.”

“She’s going to be overwhelmed. You know how intense you can be with the things you like."

The Monagaseue shot her a look. "You're no better."

"I never said I was." She hummed, taking her phone back from Charles as she had clicked the follow button on your account and liked the post of your announcement.

He was in the middle of doing the same when a message from his PR manager had popped up on his screen.

Rebecca ( PR )

Hello, Charles! I see you've already seen and congratulated your new teammate, good work. She's currently in Monaco to visit her friend and I want to try and set up lunch for the two of you to get to know each other better before we have to take the 25' grid pictures on Friday. Would tomorrow at five work for you?

Charles smirked.

Hi, Rebecca. Tomorrow around five would be perfect for me. I even have a couple of restaurant suggestions if she's not too picky.

Rebecca ( PR )

Perfect! Send them and I'll ask her if she has any preferences!

"I'm having lunch with her tomorrow at five." Charles hummed with a large smile spread across his lips after he sent Rebecca a few suggestions and Alexandra raised her brows with a hum.

"You'll have to tell me all about her after! What she sounds like, what she smells like, if she's really shy or just a little introverted, favorite foods—"

"Mon amour, I think I'll be lucky if she even says hello back." He chuckled, shaking his head at her eagerness.

Plus.

If you weren't willing to share much, Charles would find a way to get that information anyway.

[vainvenus]

mind games | ln4 | pt.7

Pairings: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You're back at home but it barely feels like yours at this point.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris and i mean really dark in this chapter, unstable mood swings, emotional manipulation, nonverbal for most of this chapter, spiraling behavior, possessive/obsessive behavior, toxic dynamics, descriptions/attempts of drowning, petnames.

An: Hey....how yall doing...

I hate this chapter and will be disappearing for another two months!!

@eclipsedcherry @slutforvoldy @alliseeisversainz @taylorrtgs @lorena-mv33

The drive back home was just as silent as the one to the old karting track, except this time you hadn't said a word. Your voice felt lodged in your throat, tangled like it was caught between wires.

A mess of emotions churned inside you: frustrated, confused, distressed. And to top it all off, your clothes are dirty, and your lips still felt swollen from the less-than-gentle kiss Lando had left you with.

Once he pulled up to your house, you realized you didn’t have your keys but before you could dwell on it, Lando pulled out his copy from his keychain, unlocked the door and opened it for you, letting you in first. As if he were inviting you in and it wasn't your home.

You heard the door shut followed by a click as Lando locked it. You glanced around, looking over at the kitchen table before the couch in the living room. You slowly walked towards your bedroom, Lando's footsteps following just a few beats behind like a shadow that was out of touch.

Could you feel like an intruder in your own home? Because that’s exactly what this was. Your space didn’t feel like yours anymore. It felt borrowed, temporary. And now Lando was here, reclaiming it like it had always belonged to him.

You collapsed onto your bed, curling up in an almost fetal position and burying your face into the pillows. You felt Lando sit down near your feet as the bed dipped a little bit and he rubbed his hand along your leg.

"I'll run you a bath instead, yeah? I think that's what my sweet girl needs. A nice hot bubble bath." He offered.

You didn't answer. You didn't nod. You didn't even look up.

Just a small subtle shake of your head.

Something shifted. The soft demeanor he had since he had snapped at you back at the track, his hand pulling back slightly as if he were scared to make any sudden movements. He stared at you for a short while, brows furrowed.

"No?" He asked, like the word was foreign to him. His voice was barely above a whisper but it had a certain edge to it now. "You don't want a bath? You're all dirty, baby."

You wanted to ask him who's fault that was but all you did was bite down on your tongue, burying yourself further into the pillows and your bed wishing that it would somehow swallow you whole so you wouldn't have to deal with him.

You just wanted to be alone. You wanted to be away from him most of all. Being next to him felt like you couldn't breathe normally. He made you feel like you were holding onto your next breath because you didn't know when you would get the chance to inhale again.

Lando didn't take silence well. He especially didn't take it well coming from you.

He watched you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your posture and the bits of your face that he could see just scanning your expression. Like he was trying to read your mind or trying to pull some sort of reaction out of you.

He slowly got up, rising to his feet and walking over to the direction your head was turned.

"Talk to me."

The quiet of the room had shifted, tense and uncomfortable like the air itself was holding its own breath and Lando shot you a pointed look when you still didn't respond or even budge. His fists clenched at his side.

"Talk to me." He repeated, his voice much more strained.

Still nothing.

"You've just got to make things so difficult, huh?" He hissed, his lips curling into a sneer. You barely had any time to react as his hand closed around your wrist in a tight hold.

"You’re still not gonna say anything?" He muttered, more to himself than to you. His jaw flexed. "Fine."

He let go suddenly, your arm falling limp to your side. He turned without a word and stormed into the bathroom. You heard the rush of water a second later, followed by bags and bottles rustling.

When he came back, he was breathing hard, like even that simple act had taken everything in him not to explode.

"You’re dirty." He said flatly, voice sharp with something that wasn't quite anger but close.

His eyes scanned you like he was trying not to see what he'd done. Dirt smudged your clothes, your knees, your cheek. The faint trace of blood on your palms had dried.

His fault.

He looked away for a second too long.

"You need to wash up." He nodded toward the bathroom. "The tub’s ready."

Still, you didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

That’s when his patience cracked.

“You think I enjoy this?” He hissed. “You think I like being the bad guy here?"

You blinked slowly. He hated it. Hated that he couldn’t read you at the moment.

He stood suddenly, eyes narrowing. “You’re not leaving. You’re not running. You're not even crying or screaming. So what’s the point in acting like a brat right now?"

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Lando moved again.

You didn’t hear his footsteps, but you felt the moment he was behind you. His hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitating only a second before it wrapped around your upper arm, tight.

"Get. Up." He muttered. There was no kindness left in his voice. Just firmness and irritation.

You didn’t resist, but you didn’t help him either. He hauled you to your feet with ease, guiding you forward. Not forcefully, but with a grip that told you he would use force if you made him.

The hallway was silent, save for the soft rush of water still running into the tub. The warmth fogged the mirror slightly, steam curling in the air like the tension between you.

Lando pushed the door open and stepped in behind you, not letting go of your arm.

"Clothes off." He said, his tone clipped.

You didn’t move.

His grip tightened, not painful, but enough to make your skin prickle.

“I’m not going to say it again.”

There was no lust in his voice, no playfulness. Just control. Just the constant state of obsession from someone who had already decided you belonged to him, whether you liked it or not.

And when you still hesitated, he let out a sharp breath, spun you gently and grabbed the hem of your shirt. He pulled it up and over your head before tossing it into the dirty clothes hamper.

Not rough. Not tender. Just…mechanical.

“You’ll feel better soon." He murmured as he helped you undress. It didn't feel as sexual as it should have been, it was domestic. Almost. “You’ll stop looking at me like that. You'll love me and everything will be fine."

The way he spoke made your stomach turn, as if this had already been decided like he was planning out your future right in front of you and you didn't have a singular say in it.

You stepped into the tub, letting the heat crawl up your skin, settle onto the bruises, the dirt, the scrapes, the blood he let dry. A small breath you didn't even realize you were holding leaving your lips as you leaned your head back and shut your eyes.

You knew he hadn't left. His presence was suffocating even though there was a good amount of distance between the two of you since he was leaning against the sink which was a few inches away from the tub.

The silence stretched for a while, it wasn't uncomfortable but it also didn't feel safe. Like both of you were walking on thin ice, trying to see who would break it first.

It was lando who did.

"I'm sorry."

He said it so softly, so quietly that if it weren't for the complete silence of your home you wouldn't have caught it. He wasn't crying, but something in his voice cracked like he was going to.

“You probably think I’m fucking insane for doing all this over a Junior karting event.” The bitter laugh that followed was hollow. No humor in it. Like he hated how it sounded.

“I get how that sounds and looks, okay? I do. But you just stuck. As much as I wanted to forget about it and move on I just couldn't."

His gaze dropped to the water. His voice cracked.

“You’re like an itch I can’t scratch right. A noise in the back of my skull. I thought about you constantly. I fucking dreamt in your voice.”

You swallowed hard.

His eyes flicked back up to you. And for once, he looked... lost. Not angry. Not obsessed. Just wrecked.

“I love you.”

Three words. Three words that felt like a brick being thrown into a glass window. Fast, destructive and completely unwanted.

“I love you and I need you." He mumbled desperately. "I needed you then, and I need you now."

He sat forward, closer to the tub. His hand hovered over the edge, fingers flexing like he wanted to touch you but was afraid you'd recoil. "I don't regret anything I've done to get here but I am sorry." He paused. “For the stealing, the breaking in, making you think you were losing your mind, the whole Max thing."

You didn’t respond.

He stood slowly and reached for the washcloth again, dipping it into the water before pouring your body wash onto it. His movements were careful, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I’m not asking you to love me now." He murmured. “I just want you to stop fighting it. Let me take care of you. Let me do this right, I swear I can be good. I can be...normal.”

He knelt beside you, slowly trailing the cloth over your shoulder.

It was quiet again. The kind of quiet that pressed down on your chest and made the air feel heavier.

He washed your arms next, then your back. Gentle. Too gentle for the man who had shoved you to the ground and kissed you so hard your lips still felt sore.

He moved like he was making up for it now. Like if he could be soft enough, you'd forget the hardness that came before.

He set the cloth down and his eyes found yours again.

“We're not leaving this bathroom until you say something, Y/n."

It wasn't a threat. It was a statement. Like a mom scolding a troublesome child. You knew he would keep you in the bathroom until the bubbles disappeared and the water was cold.

Still, you didn’t answer him. You didn't know what to say or if there was a specific response he wanted.

The only sound was the quiet slosh of water as it rippled around your body. He sat crouched beside the tub, knuckles white around the edge, eyes drilling into you like they could dig your silence out from where you were hiding it.

Lando’s jaw clenched once. Then again. “Y/n.”

Your name cut through the air like a knife. You still didn’t flinch. He dragged a hand down his face, breathing in sharp.

He sat up to slowly get on his knees.

“Okay.” His voice was calm now. Too calm. “Okay, if that’s how you wanna do this…”

You barely had time to register the shift before his hands were on you. Fast, hot, unforgiving. One shoved your shoulder. The other grabbed your jaw. And then.

The world tipped backwards.

Water closed over your head with a violent rush. The warmth of it turned suffocating in an instant. It invaded your nose, your mouth, your ears, stole your breath before you had time to scream. Your arms shot up, flailing, clawing at nothing.

But he held you down.

One arm across your chest. His knee dug against the bathtub. You tried to rise, to buck against him, but his grip was unshakable. Like holding you under was the most natural thing in the world.

Seconds blurred. Your lungs convulsed, begging. Every part of your body screamed for air. You thrashed harder until Lando yanked you up by your shoulders, water splashing over the side of the tub as you coughed and sputtered, trembling in his grasp.

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t look scared. Just… expectant.

“Say something,” He ordered, voice low and clipped, like he wasn’t kneeling beside the girl he just nearly drowned. “Anything.”

You coughed again, chest heaving, throat raw. Still, you stayed silent. You couldn’t tell if it was defiance or terror that glued your voice inside your chest.

That made it worse.

His hand moved again. Slower this time, as if he regretted it already, but had to do it. Like silence was a sickness and he was going to drown it out of you.

You gripped onto the fabric of his shirt, scratching and trying to hold yourself up as his hand cupped the back of your neck.

But he didn’t stop.

You went under again.

This time it was slower, steadier. Like a ritual.

Like he believed if he just did this right, the words would come.

You fought him. Less violently now, weaker. The panic was the same, but your body wasn’t keeping up. The ache in your chest spread to your limbs. The water felt colder. Sharper.

When he pulled you up again, you were already sobbing. Loud, wet gasps tearing out of your throat. Your nails dug into his forearms as you clung to him.

“Lando!—” You coughed. "Stop, please! I'll talk!"

He froze.

Then let out a breath of relief.

“There we go." He cooed. His hand cradled the back of your dripping head, holding it to his chest. “That's all I want from you. I feel like I'm not asking for much.”

Your body trembled against him. His grip was too tight. His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths like he was the one coming down from drowning.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He said quietly. “You know that, right? I’m trying. I’m trying so hard but I need you to work with me, baby.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t, still trying to breathe normally.

He didn’t care.

Lando placed a soft kiss on the top of your head, mumbling into your hair. “When you’re quiet with me like that… it makes me feel like that little boy you ignored. Like I’m nothing to you. And I can’t be nothing. I won’t.”

He pulled back, his fingers resting softly against your jaw, eyes sinking deep into yours. His hazel-green gaze was no longer filled the warmth you knew. The usual light had faded, leaving pupils so wide and dark they seemed to swallow the green.

"So when I ask you to talk to me, you're gonna listen. Right?"

You nodded and his grip tightened a little making you wince.

"Yes." You murmured and a warm smile spread across his lips.

"Good girl." He hummed, voice a tender hush as he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. He pulled away slowly, like it physically pained him to do so.

He stood up, shirt slightly damp from all the splashing you had done as he had set your washcloth into the palm of your hand.

"I'll let you finish washing up, okay? I'm gonna go get you some pajamas to change into."

"Okay." You whispered, your eyes following him as he left the bathroom and you could hear him rummaging through your drawers.

Rummaging through your drawers like he knew exactly where everything was and there was no doubt in your mind that he did. You stayed still for a while. Knees drawn in, the warmth of the water fading against your skin, the washcloth growing cold in your grip.

It was quiet again.

The silence was calm, but beneath it, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being completely on edge.

[vainvenus]

jealousy jealousy | ll30, ka12, ih6, ob81, jd7, fc43 and gb5

drivers: liam lawson, kimi antonelli, isack hadjar, ollie bearman, jack doohan, franco colapinto and gabriel bortoletto

synopsis: when another man gets too close, each driver makes sure to remind everyone and you exactly who you belong to.

includings: established relationships, petnames, jealousy, possessive/obsessive behavior, heavy pda, mild threats, not fluff not smut this is kind of just my usual content!

an: no one requested this i did it purely because i love the 25' rookies

part one → here

꩜ liam lawson

The late afternoon sun glinted off a line of luxury cars in the paddock parking lot, each one more polished than the last. You stood near a particularly flashy one—a sleek, matte black McLaren that looked like it hadn’t touched a speck of dirt in its life.

Its owner leaned against the hood like he thought he was part of the display. Young, cocky, wearing a sponsor cap tilted just enough to look effortless.

“So,” He drawled, tossing his keys into the air and catching them. “How about it? I’ll take you for a spin. No cameras, no seatbelts.”

You gave a tight-lipped smile. “No thank you."

He leaned closer, hand brushing against your arm as he gave it a small squeeze. "Oh c'mon, why-"

“She said she’s not interested.”

The voice sliced clean through the air, deeper than usual. Familiar. Dangerous.

Liam.

Jaw tense, sweat clung to his forehead and hair. His eyes weren’t on you.

They were on him.

And they were burning.

Without a word, Liam grabbed your waist, spun you around, and pushed you gently but firmly back against the hood of the guy’s car. His hands were on your hips, and then he was kissing you.

But it wasn’t just a kiss.

It was a statement.

His mouth crashed onto yours, lips parting yours with zero hesitation. His tongue slid into your mouth like he owned it. like. Your fingers fisted the front of his shirt as he kissed you deeper, harder, practically bending you back over the hood.

One of his hands tangled in your hair, tilting your head just how he liked it. The other gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. The metal of the car was cool against your back, but Liam was burning. His kiss wasn't just deep it felt filthy and drawn out.

He didn't care if people were walking by and gawking when they were exiting the paddock. He didn't care that someone could snap a photo, hell, he wanted someone to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen, breath heavy. Your chest rose and fell against his. You didn’t dare look at anyone else.

Liam’s eyes snapped to the other guy.

And his tone turned lethal.

“You touch her again,” He said, voice cold and measured, “and I’ll make sure the next thing you’re driving in is the back of an ambulance.”

The guy stood frozen, mouth slightly open and Liam gave a small, cold smirk then turned back to you, brushing his thumb across your lip slowly, purposefully, smearing the kiss like a mark.

“Let’s go,” He said.

꩜ kimi antonelli

Kimi didn't usually raise his voice, he didn't need to.

There was something that was more dangerous about his silence, the way he just stared without blinking when he saw something he didn't like. Right now he was watching one of the mechanics chat you up by the Mercedes motorhome.

He was all smiles and hand gestures and you were softly laughing. Completely oblivious to the storm brewing from across the room.

He moved towards you without hurry but with swiftness. When Kimi stood next to you it was like the world went still as you turned your head to smile up at him.

"Hello my love."

"Hi." He hummed as he leaned down for a kiss and at first you thought it was going to be a soft and quick one.

You couldn't have been anymore wrong.

The kiss was consuming. His tongue slid past your lips, lips parted and greedy. His hands rested on your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he were scared that somebody was going to try and take you while he wasn't looking. You felt the best of his body pressing against yours, solid and grounding.

When he finally pulled away you were dazed. Your lips were tingling, heartbeat stuttering against your ribs. Kimi didn't even look back down at you as he gave him attention to the poor mechanic who stood there in shock.

"Stay away from her." He said, no kindness in his tone as he pulled you closer like that was even possible. "If I ever see you near her again I'll make sure you're replaced."

The guy swallowed and Kimi smiled yet it didn't reach his eyes.

꩜ Isack Hadjar

Hospitality tents were usually a circus that Isack didn't mind. Usually they led to him and Liam having to record a few videos or just relax with a nice lemonade. He didn't mind them until now.

You were seated across from one of the engineers, chatting while you waited for Isack to finish with media. The guy was smiling, leaning in, complimenting your outfit. He asked how long you'd be in Monaco, if you'd be free to “hang out” after the race.

You laughed awkwardly, trying to change the subject.

Isack didn’t like that.

You glanced over at him, trying to give him a look that screamed for him to drag you away from the conversation but he was already walking over before you could even look away from the other male. His jaw was clenched, irritation written all over his face.

Before you could even greet him with a warm hum his mouth was on yours.

It was hot, the searing kind of kiss that made you clench onto the sleeve of his shirt. His tongue tangled with yours, his hands firmly on your waist with a tight hold like you were going to fade away if he ever let go. He made it obvious that this wasn't just a kiss but a warning.

He only pulled away when he heard the guy clear his throat awkwardly when he stood up.

Isack turned his head, slow and deliberate with his fingers still tight around your waist.

"She's mine." He stated, voice flat as he narrows his gaze at the engineer. "Not sometimes but all the time and I don't share." Then he had smiled.

"The next time you try flirting with her I'll make sure I kiss her while you're standing there with a broken nose."

꩜ ollie bearman

It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon in the paddock. Media day had slowed down, most of the drivers had already filtered out, and you were just chatting with one of the newer PR guys near the hospitality area.

He was nice enough just too talkative, a little too confident, leaning in like he wanted something more than a friendly chat.

You shifted your weight, glanced around, hoping it looked obvious you weren’t interested.

He didn’t get the message.

“You’re not here with anyone, right?” He asked with a crooked grin. “You seem too cool to be just someone’s girlfriend.”

You opened your mouth to answer but the conversation cut short before you could get a word out.

Because Ollie had showed up.

You felt him before you saw him. That quiet storm energy he always carried. Calm face, small smile, sharp eyes. He wasn’t walking fast, but there was a purpose in every step as he crossed the paddock. He didn’t even look at the other guy.

His eyes were locked on you.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t ask what was going on.

He just stepped right into your space and kissed you.

His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him as he tilted his head and kissed you like he couldn’t hold it in another second. Tongue, lips, breath. His other hand curled into your hair, anchoring you in place, not letting you look anywhere but him.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were pink, eyes a little darker, chest rising with quiet intensity.

Then, and only then, did he turn slightly. Not even all the way to glance at the guy.

“She’s taken,” Ollie said coolly, voice even, controlled. “So stop looking at her like you’re about to make a mistake.”

The guy blinked. Mumbled something and walked off quick.

Ollie didn’t watch him go.

He just looked back at you with a softened expression. “You okay?” he asked, like he hadn’t just kissed you breathless in front of everyone.

You nodded.

He smiled, squeezing your hand and pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. “Good. Because if I see anyone else try that again…I won’t be this nice.”

꩜ Jack Doohan

You were just being polite.

That’s what you kept telling yourself even though you knew the guy had been hovering for most of the evening, slipping in and out of conversations with you at the team event, waiting for Jack to be distracted.

He wasn’t even that bold. Just slippery. Friendly smiles. Little touches on your elbow. Inside jokes that weren’t really funny, but you laughed anyway because it felt easier than brushing him off and accidentally causing a scene. You hadn’t seen Jack in over ten minutes

And then he did.

You caught the flicker of him from across the room, jaw tight. You recognized that expression. The kind of stillness that only meant one thing: jealous.

You stepped forward to greet him, to defuse the look on his face and hopefully the interaction that was going to happen but the other guy said something just loud enough to stop you.

“So, do you and Doohan actually have a thing,” He said, grin cocky, “or is that just paddock gossip?”

The next second felt like a blur.

You felt Jack’s hand slide around your waist from behind and yank you back into him. His fingers curled against your side, possessive, as he turned you in his arms.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation.

His mouth crashed into yours, deep and open and full of tongue, swallowing your startled sound with a groan against your lips. His grip on your body didn’t loosen for a second, one hand in your hair, the other on your lower back, pressing your chest flush to his. You could taste the bite of champagne on his tongue.

People were watching. The guy behind you? Staring. But Jack didn't stop. Didn't pause.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, lip-gloss smeared, heart thudding like you’d been spun around.

Jack didn’t even glance at you.

He looked straight at the guy and smiled. But it was sharp, with no warmth at all.

“You want to ask that again?” He said, voice low, lethal. “Because I’ll happily take her into a back room and remind you how real it is.”

The guy held his hands up, backing off.

Jack turned his attention back to you, eyes heavy with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.

“Next time,” He muttered. “You walk away the second someone thinks they’ve got a shot. I don’t like sharing, baby. Not even your attention.”

꩜ franco colapinto

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been talking to the guy.

He was funny, you’d give him that. He was some visiting engineer, a bit older, cocky in that way that made most people overlook it because he smiled a lot.

It made Franco's smile drop, lips curling in disgust as he watched the way the man leaned in. The way his eyes dipped too low when you laughed. The way you twirled your hair, not even realizing you were doing it. The way you always did when you were nervous or unsure.

Franco could tell you weren’t flirting. But the guy? He didn’t care. He thought he had a chance. Thought he was getting somewhere.

And that was enough to set Franco off.

You didn’t see Franco walk up.

You just felt a hand slide onto your waist, tugging you away from the table with such smooth confidence that your conversation cut off mid-sentence. A breath hitched in your throat as you turned.

But you felt a breath of relief leave your lips when you saw it was just him, smiling warmly you opened your mouth to greet him but he was already pressing his lips against yours.

Hard.

It wasn’t tender, wasn’t soft. It was deep and possessive, lips bruising. His tongue sliding past yours like he needed to wipe away the sound of your voice when you were talking to anyone else but him. One of his hands tangled in your hair, holding you there, and the other pressed firmly to your lower back, anchoring you in place.

The room didn’t matter. The people watching or taking pictures didn’t matter. Even the guy still standing behind you faded into nothing.

When Franco finally pulled back, his lips were red, your chest rising and falling fast. He didn’t say anything to you at first. Just turned, slow and deliberate, toward the man behind you who was now gaping, awkward, stunned into silence.

Franco’s jaw flexed. His accent curled around the words, soft but edged with steel.

“Next time you try talking to her like that…” He tilted his head. “Make sure I’m not around. Or do, I’d love to show you what happens.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

The guy took the hint and walked away without another word.

You blinked, breathless, still trying to recover from the kiss. “You didn’t have to do all that."

“I did.” He said, voice low. “I needed him to see it. And I needed you to feel it.”

꩜ gabriel bortoleto

Media days were always chaotic. Cameras flashing, press buzzing, voices overlapping but somehow you’d managed to carve out a little calm. Gabriel had been by your side most of the time, fingers brushing yours when no one was looking, always leaning in to say something only you could hear. That boy never liked being away from you long.

But he’d been pulled away for literally one minute.

That was all it took.

You were standing just off to the side, not even in frame, when one of the photographers, someone clearly new or just feeling brave turned his lens away from the drivers and started snapping you.

Not in a quick, professional way either. Lingering.

“You have a great look,” He said, camera dropping for a second so he could smile. “You model? If not, you should. Mind if I get a few more?”

You shifted awkwardly. “I’m not really- I just-"

You didn’t even get to finish before Gabriel returned.

And he saw everything.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stepped in quietly, like a shadow, placing himself between you and the camera. You could practically feel the shift in the air. It was calm on the surface, but charged with something simmering underneath.

Gabriel didn’t look at you. His eyes were on the photographer.

And his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Didn’t realize you were doing personal shoots today,” He said casually, tone light enough to pass as playful. “Or are you in the wrong paddock?”

The guy hesitated, clearly unsure whether to joke back or apologize.

“I wasn’t doing anything weird,” He said. “Just thought she looked good in the light.”

Gabriel’s jaw tensed.

He stepped forward, just slightly, his voice dropping into something softer. More dangerous.

“Here’s the thing,” He said. “You don’t point a lens at someone who isn’t yours to shoot. You don’t stare like that. And you definitely don’t talk to her like she’s available.”

“Man, I didn’t—”

“She’s not your model. She’s mine.”

Then, before the guy could say another word, Gabriel turned to you and kissed you.

Right there in the middle of the paddock. On media day. Where millions of cameras were already flashing.

It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t for show. It was slow, deep, his hand curling around the back of your neck like he needed you closer. His tongue slipped against yours in a way that left no room for misinterpretation.

By the time he pulled away, your head was spinning.

Gabriel looked back at the guy. “Next time, focus on the cars or drivers.”

The photographer nodded stiffly and walked off without another word.

Gabriel didn’t say anything at first. He just slid his hand into yours, gently this time. But when he leaned close again, brushing his lips near your ear, his voice was back to that low, private tone he always used when he was only talking to you.

“I hate when I have to share you with this world,” He murmured. “But I’ll remind everyone as many times as it takes.”

You didn’t need reminding. But you didn’t mind the way he did it.

[vainvenus]

jealousy, jealousy. | mv1, cl16, ln4, lh44, op81, gr63 and cs55

drivers: max verstappen, charles leclerc, lando norris, lewis hamilton, oscar piastri, carlos sainz and george russell

synopsis: when another man gets too close, each driver makes sure to remind everyone and you exactly who you belong to.

includings: established relationships, petnames, jealousy, possessive/obsessive behavior, heavy pda, mild threats, not fluff not smut this is kind of just my usual content!

an: wanted to try some drabbles since i've got writers block for my main stories and just need something short and fun to do! i'll probably end up doing the other half of the grid if wnated

꩜ max verstappen.

It started as a harmless chat.

You were in the Redbull hospitality area, talking with the new logistics guy. He was young, eager and maybe a little too confident with how he carried himself but you supposed if you got a position at Redbull of any sort your head would also be huge.

But his confidence was less of the many men you had met while getting familiar with the Redbull garage. Instead of the usual cockiness of the job he seemed more cocky in a flirtatious way. He leaned closer with each comment, laughed a little too loud at your jokes and his gaze seemed too focused on your lips than the actual words leaving them.

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes whenever his piercing green eyes locked onto yours for longer than necessary. You weren't stupid. You could practically feel the back of your neck burning from the heat of his gaze.

His gaze of course being Max. He was watching the interaction the entire time. His arms crossed over is chest, jaw tight. He hadn't moved but you could feel the tension in the air coil tighter and tighter.

And then when the guy let out another loud chuckle and touched your wrist as he complimented the Redbull bracelet ( that had Max's initials and number ) it snapped.

Max didn't speak. He didn't even call out your name. He just moved.

You didn't notice him until he was already there with a hand curling around your waist and pulling you back against his chest. The sudden movement made your lips part in surprise, a small gasp leaving your lips and in that moment he cupped your jaw and his mouth was on yours.

Similar to how Max was on the track, the kiss was demanding and quick.

His lips crushed against yours with enough force to make your knees buckle, his tongue forced its way into your mouth like he was tasting something he already owned. It wasn't gentle, it was possessive and rough. His hand moved to hold the back of your neck, keeping you still as he deepened the kiss.

He didn't just want to kiss you, he wanted everybody to know that only he could kiss you like that.

When he pulled back, your breath was caught in your throat. He kept his grip firm yet soft as he turned his head just enough to look at the other man who had gone pale.

His voice was quiet but he made up for it in tone. "Touch her again and I'll make sure you can't even land a job at a rundown hobby lobby."

The guy stumbled over an apology, practically sprinting away without looking back. Max didn't even bother to watch as he walked away, keeping his eyes on you.

"You let him talk to you for so long. Made him think he had a chance or something, how mean."

You frowned, shaking your head. "I wasn't—he's just new and I was making conversation." You huffed. "You can be so jealous sometimes."

Max leaned down again, his mouth brushing across your cheek much slower this time with a tenderness the earlier kiss was lacking.

"You think that was me being jealous?" He whispered before scoffing. "That was me being polite."

꩜ charles leclerc

The paddock was in full swing per usual. You were off to the side, waiting for Charles to finish up a few press duties, just answering a few questions here and there. But your attention was pulled away from him as someone hummed a 'hello' beside you.

He was charming. That kind of sly, media-friendly energy you could spot from a mile away. He wasn't a part of the Ferrari family, you could tell that judging by the Aston Martin cap he was wearing. But he was familiar, from a sponsor dinner. Too many compliments. Too much cologne. And now, too close.

Charles had seen him before, multiple times in fact. He made a mental note of how "friendly" he seemed at the table a few months ago.

But this? This was audacity.

Charles attention drew away from what he was originally supposed to be doing. Ignoring the mic clipped to his collar and the journalists waited a few feet away as his eyes were locked on you. He watches how the guy leaned in and how you gave him a tight smile.

Polite, as always.

He watches how you fidgeted with one of the many bracelets a fan gave to you when you walked through the paddock that day. A small nervous tick of yours.

That did it.

He handed the mic to someone without a word and crossed the distance in a few sharp strides.

He was in front of you in seconds and before you could even open your mouth to ask if he was finished he had kissed you. And it was far from soft or sweet.

He kissed you like you were oxygen and he hadn't been able to breathe for weeks. His mouth pressed against yours, lips parting yours with practiced ease as tongue swept in with a possessive urgency. His fingers curled into your hips as if daring for you to pull away.

When he finally broke the kiss it was slow. He dragged his mouth from yours like he loathed the feeling of letting go. He pulled you close to his side, keeping his hand comfortably on your waist.

Then his eyes slid over to the man that was once beside you.

"i think you've had enough of her time." He said, voice calm. Too calm. "Unless you're wanting to lose more than your dignity today."

The man raised his hands and backed off without a word, not even looking back at you as he turned around and disappeared into the crowd.

Charles exhaled through his nose and turned his head to look back to you, his eyes much softer now.

"Was that really necessary?" You asked.

He tilted his head, brushing your lower lip with his thumb before giving a curt nod. "Absolutely."

"He wasn't even flirting." You murmured. "He was making conversation."

Charles smiled yet you could see that there was no humor behind it. "He thought he had a chance." He hummed, leaning over to press another kiss against your lips. This one much softer than the last, much more innocent. "He won't make that mistake again."

꩜ lando norris

You laughed. The joke wasn't even that funny but you were laughing and of course Lando could hear it.

The guy standing next to you was some guy on McLaren's PR team, cracking jokes and clearly trying too hard to impress you by making you laugh. Lando was a few feet away, pretending to check something on his phone but it was obvious that his eyes were locked on you. And your laugh. Hearing you laugh that hard from a man who wasn't him made something inside of him turn.

Then the guy lightly touched your arm as he laughed with you. Too soft. Too close. Too casual. Too familiar.

He moved.

One moment you were laughing politely and the next, a firm hand wrapped around your waist and spun you around to face him. Lando's mouth was on yours before you could even open your mouth to ask him what was wrong.

His kiss was different. There wasn't any softness, no playful grin pressing against your lips—just hunger.

His tongue swept past your lips with no hesitation. One hand was gently wrapped around the base of your throat while the other held your hip in place as he kissed you like this was going to be the last time he would see you for years. He kissed you until your laughter was gone, replaced by breathless confusion once he pulled away.

He stared down at your lips like he wanted to go for another but he turned his attention back to the other guy.

"You're not funny enough to keep her attention." He said. "So why don't you go joke around with someone who shares your awful sense of humor."

The man blinked and backed off without another word, turning around to leave the room.

You stared up at Lando, blinking. "That was.."

He gave your waist a small squeeze with a hum. "I saw the way he was looking at you. I wasn't just gonna stand there and make him think he had a chance with my girl."

You raised a brow. "Jealous much?"

Lando leaned closer to you, whispering against your lips.

"Jealous would've been watching. That was me making it known you're mine."

꩜ lewis hamilton

It wasn't your fault the guy was flirting with you.

He has cornered you in the lounge during a downtime between practice sessions. At first you thought he was just being nice, trying to make conversation when asking how your weekend was going and what you thought about today's sessions. But then his eyes dropped to your neckline. His hand brushing against your arm when you shifted.

You didn't realize how uncomfortable you were until Lewis walked in, searching for you.

He stopped mid-step.

You felt him before you saw him. His jaw clenched. Something sharp flickered in his eyes as he locked in on the guy like a predator sizing up it's pretty.

"Love," Lewis hummed, voice smooth and calm. Too calm.

You turned your head towards him, opening your mouth to greet him but his mouth was already there on your lips.

It was a slow kiss at first, almost romantic. But then it deepened, tongue sliding into your mouth with deliberate slowness. His hand cupped your jaw while he kissed you hard enough to make sure that the guy got the message.

When he pulled back, your lips were slick and swollen and you could feel your shoulders rising and falling from the breathless kiss he stole from you.

Lewis slowly turned his head towards the guy.

"Back. Off."

There was nothing loud about his voice but it landed like a stone in water.

The guy mumbled an apology before quickly walking away.

You blinked, still catching your breath. "Lew.."

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, wiping it with a hum. "He knew you weren't his to flirt with. Thought I'd just sit back and not do anything ."

You leaned into him, brows furrowed slightly. "And you had to do...that?"

"He got the memo, didn't he?"

꩜ oscar piastri

Oscar usually didn't react like this. He was calm, collected and smart. He was also very secure in his relationship so he usually didn't act out.

But today? Today, you were talking with a guy from Alpine's crew. Someone Oscar had never liked. You were smiling too politely. And the guy was standing too close. Laughing too hard.

Oscar had seen enough.

He walked up behind you without a word, a hand sliding around your waist like it belonged there. You turn, startled and then his mouth met yours.

Not careful. Not shy. And definitely not calm.

He kissed like a man who had been robbed of one for decades. Tongue tracing yours, his hand gripping onto your jaw. He kissed you like someone who hated being questioned about where you stood with him. like someone who wanted everyone to know where you belonged.

When he pulled back, his hand stayed at your hip as his eyes flickered over to the guy.

"Try that again and I'll make you regret it."

The guy stared, brows furrowed. "Mate, it was just a conversation-"

Oscar's voice cut through his. "Did I fucking stutter? Just walk away already."

And he did without another word, scoffing under his breath.

You looked up at Oscar. "What was that?"

"He thought you were an option." He shrugged, voice much softer than earlier. "I just had to remind him you're not."

꩜ george russell

George always looked and acted like a gentleman. Crisp shirts, polite smiles, soft kisses, perfect posture. So when he crossed the paddock and saw you talking to a guy who clearly didn't know his place, you would have expected him to be rational.

He wasn't.

The man was either a journalist or reporter. Either way he asked too many questions and had that annoying fake charm he hated. He touched your shoulder and all of George's common sense was thrown out the window.

He didn't say a word. He just stormed over, hands sliding around your waist and pulling you into a kiss so quickly you gasped against his lips.

His mouth was hot, demanding, tongue sliding into yours with enough force to have you breathless. He wasn't just trying to kiss you, it was like he was trying to consume you. Possessive. Demanding. As if the guy needed to see every second of it.

When George finally broke the kiss, he turned, his expression clean but eyes burning.

"She's taken."

The guy stammered, confused. 'I didn't mean-"

George didn't even blink. "Then you won't mind walking away before I make a scene."

The man left.

You looked up at him, a bit dazed. "That was a bit... intense."

He adjusted his cufflinks and the hem of your shirt like nothing happened.

"If he touches you again, I won't stop at a kiss."

꩜ carlos sainz

You were laughing. Like, really laughing and Carlos hadn't heard that sound all day. Not towards him, at least

You were sitting at a high top table near the hospitality suite, a drink in hand and some visiting Red Bull junior driver had made himself comfortable across from you. Too young, too smug and far too confident.

Carlos watched from a distance, jaw right and fingers clenched. His arms were crossed but his entire body was coiled as if waiting for an excuse to spring. Your head tilted back when you laughed again, and the guy leaned in too close. Like he thought he was winning.

He wasn't.

Carlos moved like a shadow. One second he was nowhere near and the next he was behind you.

You didn't even have time to turn before he wrapped a hand firmly around your waist and spun your stool to face him and he caught your mouth in a kiss that nearly knocked the air from your lung.

It was deep. Open. Tongue immediately sliding into your mouth like he had been craving you all day. His other hand slipped up your spine, holding the nape of your neck, tilting your head back so he could kiss you harder. Slower. Deeper.

The guy across from the table looked stunned, unsure whether to look away, walk away or stare.

Carlos didn't stop until your hand was gripping his shirt and your breath was gone. He only pulled back an inch, lips brushing against yours. His eyes were locked on you like you were the only thing that existed.

Then, without breaking eye contact with you he spoke to the guy behind you.

"You're trying too hard. It's embarrassing."

He turned his head slightly, voice dropping.

"Sorry you had to learn the hard way that she's taken."

The guy muttered something and got up, fast.

You blinked at Carlos, shaking your head. "Are you serious?"

Carlos tilted his head, as if he wasn't understanding the word coming from your mouth. "You think I didn't see the way e was looking at you?" He scoffed. "You're mine. And I don't share what's mine."

[vainvenus]

hi vee!! did u watch the last few races?? i think theyve been the root of my stress for the past weeks ngl😭 not even my job has got me this stressed fr

and btw, ive been rereading ur fics like crazy, literally cannot get enough of them!!

GIRL. UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE KEPT UP WITH THIS ENTIRE TRIPLE HEADER AND IM GROWING GREY HAIRS BECAUSE OF IT.

Like as a Lando and Oscar fan I've been yay but as a Ferrari and 1644 fan? I feel like I'm entitled for compensation especially when that double DSQ happened in Shanghai. I quite literally screamed into my pillow.

And like Charles being consistent with P4 but not happy with it made me tweak even more like cmon now give me either a double podium or a Charles podium or I'm genuinely gonna rip out my hair like???

BUT SAUDI ARABIA HAD ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT? THE FACT THAT WE HAD FOUR DIFFERENT RACE LEADERS IN THAT RACE WITH MAX, CHARLES, OSCAR AND LANDO WAS LITERALLY INSANEEE.

But towards the end I was literally yelling at my TV for him to go faster because the gap between him and Lando literally had me feeling like I was in the garage as his strategist like shut uppp he drove so so well and I'm so happy he finally got that podium

All in all it was such a good race and not just like the top teams, a lot of the midfield teams had so many good overtakes like Ollie and Hadjar like they were seriously pushing those tractors and double points for Williams was so so satisfying to see

So that's not all I wanna say I'm sure I'm forgetting more but I would ADORE it if we could keep doing these race week debriefs because Miami is coming up and while ik a lot of people don't like it because it's the most cringey and full of celebs who don't care much for the sport I love the energy of it and ofc the edits to Miami by Will Smith

ALSO THANK YOU SMMMMM LOVE! I'm planning on posting the next parts for my main ones and since I have a busy weekend coming up I'm trying to get all the drafts for them done and upload them Friday, no promises but hopefully!! 🤞🏾

[vainvenus]

mind games. | ln4 | pt. 6

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Lando takes you back to where it all started and explains just why he's doing all this.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, backstory time, slight bullying, lando doesn't know how to let things go, possessive, obsessive and delusional, behavior, unwanted touches, rough kissing, this is a little short!

An: how mad would we be if i ended the series here 💔

@eclipsedcherry @slutforvoldy @alliseeisversainz @taylorrtgs @lorena-mv33

The silence in the car was suffocating. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine, the soft noises from the quiet outside world and the occasional turn signal clicking as Lando navigated the roads with practiced ease. His grip on the wheel was steady, his expression unreadable in the dim glow of the dashboard.

You sat stiffly beside him, arms folded, staring out the window at the empty roads stretching ahead. The further he drove, the more unfamiliar the surroundings became. This wasn’t a direction you recognized, and that only deepened the unease curling in your stomach.

“Where are we going?” You finally asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

Lando didn’t even spare you a glance. “You’ll see.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “I’m not playing games with you, Lando.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, though there was no real amusement in it. “You already are.”

You exhaled sharply, pressing herself further into the seat, as if putting distance between the two of you would change the situation. The road stretched on, winding away from the city, from civilization itself, until finally, he pulled onto a narrow path and cut the engine.

The night was eerily quiet. The air smelled faintly of oil and old asphalt. You turned your head, your brows raising a bit when you realized where you were.

A karting track. Abandoned, weathered by time, but still standing.

"This…”

Lando cut the engine and turned to uou, an amused glint in his eyes. “You remember now?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. I raced here when I was a kid.”

His lips twitched. “You didn’t just race.”

A flicker of memory surfaced. The heat of competition, the roar of engines, the sharp thrill of victory. You had won that day. Easily.

You turned to look at him. “What does this have to do with anything?"

Lando exhaled slowly, then pushed the door open. He didn’t tell you to follow, but something about the weight of his silence made it clear you had no choice. Reluctantly, you stepped out into the cool night air.

“Do you remember who you beat?”

You frowned. “I don’t know. It was years ago—”

His jaw tensed. “Me.”

The air, even in a space as open as this had grew heavy. You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a joke, but there was none. Just something dark and unreadable lingering behind his eyes.

Lando walked toward the track, his hands tucked into his pockets. “It was years ago, yeah but you and I raced here once. Just a junior karting competition, nothing major.” He turned to look at you, and in the dim moonlight, his expression was unreadable.

“But you made it major.”

A pit formed in your stomach.

“You weren’t just faster than me that day,” Lando continued, stepping onto the track as he stared at it, his eyes glancing it over as if he was reliving each turn and curve. “You were brutal.”

“You didn’t just win. You made sure I lost. You boxed me out, forced me wide, laughed when I spun. And then—” He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head.

“Then you walked past me like I was nothing. Like I didn’t even exist.”

You stared at him, mind racing, trying to grasp the memory. You felt like you would remember being that mean, you felt like some reporter or journalist would've brought it up by now but right now it was all a blur—just another race, another competitor. It hadn’t meant anything to you.

But to him?

Lando turned to face you fully. “That day stuck with me. You stuck with me. Because you made me feel like I wasn’t enough. And I promised myself I’d never let that happen again.”

Your stomach plummeted, your heartbeat pounding so violently against your ribs it felt desperate to break free. “Lando—”

“You can pretend it doesn’t matter. That I don’t matter,” He interrupted, stepping closer. “But you’ve been in my head for years. And now, you’re here.”

You stepped back, but he mirrored your every move, closing the distance with each step forward.

"And you don’t get to ignore me or treat me like the fucking asphalt under your racing shoes." He spat before shoving you down. The impact barely registered before he was on you, straddling your waist, caging you in.

You tried to push him back, but he was faster, grabbing your face in both hands. His grip was rough, fingers pressing into your jaw as he forced you into a kiss—hard, bruising, nothing soft about it. You struggled, nails digging into his wrists, but he didn’t stop, didn’t even falter.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away, eyes raking over her with something that made your stomach churn. He let out a breathless chuckle, like he was exhilarated.

"Aw..." He murmured, thumb dragging across your swollen lips. "I bet now you’re about as fucked up about me as I am about you. Bet a day doesn't go by where I don't cross your mind."

"You're fucking insane. All of this—because I beat you? Because I was a little mean?" You mumbled, shoving his hand away, breath unsteady, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven pulls.

A slow grin curved his lips, something dark flickering behind his eyes. He scoffed.

"A little mean? No. You wanted to get under my skin. Now you’re under it, and I don't want you out."

Your breath hitched. The weight of his words pressed against your chest, heavier than the bruises forming beneath his grip. A part of you wanted to shove him away, to force distance between his heat and yours, but another part—one you refused to acknowledge—was frozen in place.

His fingers skimmed your jaw again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if he was committing the feel of you to memory. His thumb traced the outline of your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to make your breath stutter. He was studying you, savoring the way you trembled beneath his touch.

"You don’t get to decide that." You hissed, though your voice wavered. You hated the way it betrayed you, hated the way your body responded to him despite the fire burning in your veins.

His grin widened, sharp and knowing, like he’d already won. "But I already have," He murmured, tilting his head. "And you’ll realize soon enough that you don’t want out, either."

Lando's certainty was suffocating, wrapping around you like chains you hadn’t noticed until they were too tight to break. You pushed him back, but his hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist in a grip that was firm but not painful. It was a warning.

"Don’t." He ordered, his voice dropping lower, thick with something possessive. "You’re not running from me. Not now. Not ever."

Your pulse pounded so roughly you could almost feel in your throat and head. "You’re insane." You whispered, barely able to get the words out.

His gaze darkened, amusement flickering behind something deeper—something dangerous. "Maybe," He admitted, pulling you closer. "But that’s not what’s scaring you right now, is it?"

You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

His lips ghosted over your temple, breath warm against your skin. "No," He mused. "What scares you is that some part of you is starting to understand me."

Your entire body tensed. "I will never understand you."

He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. "You will." He promised. "And when you do, it won’t matter if you hate me. Because by then, you’ll be mine."

A shiver ran down your spine, and this time, you weren’t sure if it was from fear or something far, far worse.

He released your wrists, letting them fall limply into your lap, as if they no longer held any use to him. Rising to his full height, he loomed over you, his gaze dragging across your form—taking in the faint scratches marring your skin, the dust clinging to your clothes, the slight tremor in your body.

Your fists were clenched so tightly your knuckles had gone pale. He almost wished you'd swing at him, that you'd channel all that simmering rage into a single, satisfying blow. He wanted to feel it, to let it bloom against his skin, a testament to the fire still burning inside you.

But you didn’t move. You just sat there.

Lando huffed out a quiet, almost amused sound, tilting his head. "C'mon," He said, voice calm, almost indifferent. "Let’s get you home. You probably need another shower."

[vainvenus]

proofread possession. | op81 | prologue

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Oscar has always been in the background being a journalist and photographer but specifically he's always been in the background of your life and today he makes himself known.

Includings: Journalist! + Photographer!Oscar, mclaren driver!reader, playful comments from the reader, stalking, obsessive and delusional behavior from Oscar, this takes place during the 2025 season

An: This came to me in a dream ( my sleep deprived brain )

Oscar had always been fairly good at blending into the background. He wasn't the loudest journalist, usually having to speak up a bit more during press conferences when asking his questions and he definitely wasn't the most aggressively photographer, usually a bit off to where there was more room for him so that he wasn't practically being as invasive as paparazzi.

He was simple, plain, boring and he never expected to be invited to one of the hugest events in F1 History. The 75th anniversary of F1 and of course the best way to celebrate it was a livery launch with all of the drivers.

The red carpet buzzed with activity. Journalists scribbling down notes on their notepads, microphones echoing driver's words, chatter among the group as drivers continued to flood in, the sound of cameras flashing, heels clicking. It was a lot but Oscar managed to zone it all out, he wasn't worried about everyone else he was worried about one person.

His fingers tightened around his camera, eyes scanning around the crowd. He was waiting—no, searching for you. Then as if you had been placed there just for him you had appeared.

Y/n.

You had moved with such quiet poise, like you were made to glide, and yet there was nothing forced about it.

You wore a silk satin backless dress, sleek and effortlessly elegant, hugged your figure just right, with a thigh-high slit that revealed a flash of McLaren orange on the inside—a subtle yet bold detail that made his breath hitch.

Even after all these years of seeing you up close he never really knew how to take you in, it felt like every time he was in the same vicinity as you, you took his breath away.

He should have been used to your presence by now since he had been following you around since your karting days. Back when you were a rising star in the motorsport and he was a kid with a camera whose parents decided to let him indulge in his little fixation.

But back then, he had been invisible—just another kid with a camera, tucked away behind barriers, watching from the edges while you shone like the brightest star in the night sky.

He had memorized everything about you: the way you adjusted her gloves before every race, the flicker of frustration in your eyes when things didn’t go your way, how you messed with your nails when you were nervous, how he could tell when you was forcing a smile just for your PR teams stake.

But you never saw him. Not once.

That was fine. That was then.

But today, everything was different. He wasn't a little boy with a camera that his parents bought for him. He had carved a space for himself in your world and now at the F175 event right in eyeshot of you he wasn't going to allow himself to fade into the background.

Today, you were going to notice him.

"Y/n me! Me! Right here for me please!"

His voice cut through the chaos, a little too eager, a little too desperate. And for a moment he feared his voice would be swallowed up by the others attempting to catch your attention.

But then...you turned.

And your eyes landed on his, meeting his enamoured gaze and he saw your lips twitch into a smile of amusement.

"I like him." You mused as you tilted your head slightly but walked across the carpet so he could get a closer shot. "He's all like, Y/n for me please! Me, me! I love the energy."

Oscar felt like the air had been stolen from his lungs, his heart racing in his chest the way you spoke about him with such praise. His hands trembled as he adjusted the camera, struggling to steady his grip. Each shot he took of you felt like a small victory, his focus narrowing entirely on you, trying to capture the moment, trying to hold onto it—desperate not to miss a single detail.

You were perfect, in every sense. Oscar didn’t need to say a word; you turned toward him as if you could read his mind, knowing exactly what he wanted without him having to ask. Each time the camera flashed, you shifted your pose effortlessly, as if you were a professional model, giving him the exact shot he needed.

Your eyes never left the lens, and for a brief moment, it felt as though you were locking eyes with him, the connection between you two more intimate than he could have ever imagined. It felt like you existed in front of his lens, only to be seen by him.

And then you were whisked away by your manager, guiding you toward your teammate so he could have his turn in the spotlight.

Oscar didn’t lower his camera, keeping it focused on you as you looked over your shoulder, a soft smile on your lips as you waved goodbye to the crowd.

You blew a few kisses in their direction as you exited which of course caused another flash of cameras your way and of course Oscar was one of—if not the first to capture the effortlessly cute moment from you.

Later that night, as you were fielding a few questions from a Sky News reporter, he had somehow navigated through the crowd to be near you again. This time, he felt an undeniable closeness. He could pick up on the subtle details of your makeup, the lingering scent of your perfume, everything about you captivating him even more.

When you glanced over at him after finishing your response, he was hit with a rush of disbelief. There was a flicker of recognition in your eyes, a smile, and then you made your way toward him—careful to keep a safe distance from the boundary that separated you, likely out of concern for the rules.

If there were no consequences, he knew he would have kissed you then, as if you were the last thing on earth that could give him air to breathe.

"It's you again!" You chirped, your bright smile spreading across your face, and he could tell it was genuine. He had studied you long enough to know the difference between your real smile and the one you put on for the cameras. Your eyes held a subtle gleam, and you showed fewer teeth.

He nodded, inhaling softly as he held out the microphone to you and hoped that you wouldn't notice the slight shake in his hands. "Me again."

"Are you stalking me or are you just everywhere?" You joked, tilting your head at him and he chuckled, shaking his head. If only you knew.

No, no, I’m just doing my job,” Oscar hummed, his voice light but his eyes focused intently on you.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift. “You’re a photographer and a journalist?”

Oscar nodded again, the faintest smile curling at the corners of his lips. “Why limit myself to one? Amazing pictures to go with an amazing interview.”

You chuckled softly, clearly amused by his confidence. “I see. So, what questions do you have for me? And please don't ask 'who are you wearing tonight' or 'what are your expectations for the year' I've heard it a million times."

"Alright, no clichés—how about this: With events as flashy as this and your fast-paced career, how do you keep yourself grounded?"

You stared at him for a small moment, a breathless laugh leaving your lips. "Wow. I wasn't expecting that."

"Hey, you wanted something different, didn't you?" Oscar replied, a playful glint in his eyes.

You leaned back slightly, your smile softening as you considered his question. "I guess it’s a mix of things," You began, the tone of your voice shifting to something more reflective. "I try to remember why I started in the first place. It’s never been about the fame or the spotlight—it’s always been about the track, the rush of racing. And when things get too loud or too overwhelming, I just take a step back and remind myself why I’m here."

Oscar nodded, his attention fully on you. "So, it’s about keeping that connection to where it all began?"

"Exactly," You said, your eyes meeting his. "And also, I have people around me who keep me grounded. My team, my family, my closest friends. They don’t treat me any differently just because I’m in this world. They remind me that I’m still the same person I was before all this."

Oscar's gaze lingered, captivated by your words. “That sounds like it helps a lot."

"It does," You said with a small, knowing smile. "It’s easy to get lost in it all, but staying true to who you are—that’s what keeps you centered."

Oscar’s gaze softened as he absorbed your words, the weight of your response settling in his chest. “That’s... really insightful,” He said, his voice quieter now, almost in awe. “It’s easy for people to lose themselves in the chaos of it all, but it sounds like you’ve found a way to stay anchored.”

You nodded, your expression calm but thoughtful. “I think it’s all about perspective. There are days when the spotlight feels too heavy, when everything seems out of control. But then I step back, focus on the basics, and remember that I’m here because of the love I have for the sport. That’s what keeps me balanced.”

Oscar chuckled softly, a little nervously. "I admire that. A lot of people would let the pressure consume them, but it seems like you've got a good handle on it."

You smiled, a small, genuine curve of your lips. “I’ve had to learn, honestly. It’s been a journey and a lot of PR training” You mumbled so that his microphone wouldn't pick it up and he couldn't help but laugh, nodding.

“But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This is what I’ve worked for."

“Yeah, I can tell,” He said softly, his microphone almost forgotten as he gazed at you. “I think that's why people are so drawn to you. Not just for the racing, but because you’re...real. Even in all of this.”

You met his gaze, a quiet understanding between you two, and for a moment, there was no noise, no cameras, just the two of you and the raw connection of the conversation. You glanced away from him.

"Alright," You said, breaking the moment with a teasing tone. "I've answered your deep question, now answer a question of mine."

Oscar blinked, his mind snapping back to the present, and he raised his brows. “Alright, deal. What’s your question?”

You leaned in slightly, your voice lowering to a near-whisper. "I'll be seeing you again at the first race week of the season, right? You're fun."

Oscar’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t believe it. You, the person he’d idolized for years, not only engaging with him for pictures and an interview but now teasing him with the promise of seeing him again.

"I’ll...I'll be there," He managed, his voice shaky, almost in disbelief.

"I’ll be expecting you."

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Oscar standing there, frozen in disbelief. His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of your words sinking in. She wants me. The thought echoed in his mind as he blinked, trying to ground himself in reality.

Suddenly, he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He had to get away, had to calm down. Oscar turned and walked briskly, almost stumbling over his own feet, desperate to put some space between him and everyone else.

His mind raced, your words repeating on a loop.

"I'll be expecting you."

He found a quiet corner, his back against the wall, and exhaled sharply. His hands were shaking and his breath was shaggy. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes with a wide smile.

She'll be expecting him.

Him.

[vainvenus]

꒰ :: Hello! 🍂

↪My name is Venus but you can call me Vee if you'd like!

↪I use she/they pronouns!

↪ I'm currently going to school to be a journalist! Leaning towards being a sports journalist ofc lol

↪Requests are :: Open!

↪Request page is here and masterlist is below the cut! Have fun!

Cobra Kai

Miguel Diaz

Nothing yet!

Eli Moskowitz

favorite boy in the valley pt.2 :: eli is feeling a bit insecure so you have to remind him that you love him and only him.

Robby Keene

Nothing yet!

Tory Nichols

Nothing ye!

Samantha LaRusso

Nothing Yet!

Anthony LaRusso

Nothing yet!

Daniel LaRusso

Nothing yet!

Johnny Lawrence

Nothing yet!

Kenny Payne

Nothing yet!

Kwon Jae-Sung

Nothing yet!

Axel Kovačević

Nothing yet!

Formula One

Max Verstappen

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Sergio Perez

Nothing yet!

Lewis Hamilton

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

George Russell

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Charles Leclerc

jealousy, jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

code red pt.1 : you're ferrari's second driver for the 2025 season and a certain couple takes a special liking to you upon your announcement.

Carlos Sainz

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Lando Norris

mind games. pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 :: lando is obviously messing with your mind but that's hard to prove when everything he does makes you look crazy.

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Oscar Piastri

proofread possession pt.1 :: oscar has been in the shadows for years, following your every step up until F1 and now he's finally got you to notice him.

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Fernando Alonso

Nothing yet!

Lance Stroll

Nothing yet!

Esteban Ocon

Nothing yet!

Pierre Gasly

Nothing yet!

Yuki Tsunoda

Nothing yet!

Daniel Ricciardo

Nothing yet!

Alex Albon

Nothing yet!

Logan Sargeant

Nothing yet!

Kimi Antonelli

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Ollie Bearman

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Jack Doohan

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Liam Lawson

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Isack Hadjar

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Franco Colapinto

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

Gabriel Bortoletto

jealousy jealousy :: when another man gets too close he can't help but show him that you're his.

OBX

John B.

pretty please? :: obx boys doing small acts of service for you

Pope Heyward

pretty please? :: obx boys doing small acts of service for you

JJ Maybanks

pretty please? :: obx boys doing small acts of service for you

drunk words are just sober thoughts :: while completely wasted JJ spews his feelings for you.

Kiara Carrera

Nothing yet!

Sarah Cameron

Nothing yet!

Rafe Cameron

pretty please? :: obx boys doing small acts of service for you

Percy Jackson

Percy Jackson

sweet Dreams :: percy can't sleep, good thing he has you!

scoreboard of embarrassment :: as percy fights for your attention he loses against embarrassment a few times before he wins.

Annabeth Chase

Nothing yet!

Grover Underwood

Nothing yet!

Luke Castellan

Nothing yet!

Thalia Grace

Nothing yet!

Nico di Angelo

Nothing yet!

Clarisse La Rue

Nothing yet!

The Hunger Games + TBOSAS

Katniss Everdeen

Nothing yet!

Peeta Mellark

Nothing yet!

Finnick Odair

Nothing yet!

Cato Hadley

Nothing yet!

Coriolanus Snow

Nothing yet!

Sejnus Plinth

hypnotic pt.2 :: like he's under a trance sejanus is instantly drawn to the cute violin player at the performing.

fence girl :: sejanus is terrible at his job but at least he's a good person

Lucy-Grey Baird

Nothing yet!

The Outsiders

Ponyboy Curtis

Nothing yet!

Darry Curtis

Nothing yet!

Sodapop Curtis

Nothing yet!

Johnny Cade

groovy :: johnny meets one of Dally's friends who's about a little different

Dally Winston

Nothing yet!

More shows/movies will be added to the master list once I write for them lol!

[vainvenus]

mind games. | ln4 | pt.5

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You finally tell Max what's been going on and despite your current state and despite being a bit skeptical he believes you.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, gaslighting, breaking and entering, paranoia, controlling + obsessive behavior, belittling, petnames, this is so short i'm sorry 💔

An: I've got a Dark!Charles x Tennis Player!reader in the crockpot rn...

@eclipsedcherry @slutforvoldy

The Uber was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing something neither of you were even remotely paying attention to. Max tapped his fingers against his thighs, glancing outside the window before he looked back over to you like he was trying to put a puzzle together with a few missing pieces.

"Okay." He said, exhaling sharply. "What was that back there?"

You inhaled, clenching the fabric around the hem of your dress as you stared down at your shoes. You almost didn't know how to explain all of it, the small things he had been doing to mess with you, how it was so obviously him who had been in and out of your house, shuffling things around so that only you'd notice. You shook your head. "I don't know how to explain it. It'll...I'll sound crazy."

He crossed his arms over his chest, raising his brows as a silent sign for you to carry on. "Try me."

You sighed. "He's...messing with me. Like in my apartment things have been moved, not enough to be a problem but enough so I know. Putting my shoes in a different order, rearranging my perfumes, putting my keys on the hold instead of the counter. Small things." You had explained and he nodded along, his brows furrowing a bit.

"Then stuff started going missing. Like my perfume and ring. And he...he was wearing it, Max. He was wearing it tonight, my ring just for me to see it so he could fuck with my mind like he's been doing all week. Like the press conference when he made me seem like I was crazy for saying he didn't defend in that face."

Max had just stared at you for a while as you finished explaining all of what Lando had been doing. The silence was almost more suffocating than when you first caught a whiff of your perfume when Lando was close enough. It made you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Say something, Max."

"I honestly don't know what to say. Do you really think Lando is capable of doing that?"

Your brows furrowed. "Do you not believe me?"

He quickly shook his head, putting his hands up and waving them in attempts to calm your own nerves when he saw how your mood had shifted. "It's not that I don't believe you, Y/n. It's just..."

"It's just what?" You spat.

"It's just weird, okay? How is he even getting into your house without a trace? No signs of breaking in or anything?" He questioned and your brows furrowed. You never really thought about that until now. Never a broken lock or glass, it seemed like he just effortlessly went in and out as if he lived there.

"I... don't know." You mumbled and Max seemed like he was trying to figure it out, bouncing his knee a bit.

"Does he have a key?"

The question through you off a bit, your brows furrowed. He shouldn't have a key, the only people you had given a key to your apartment would be Max, your best friend and that was about it.

"Weird."

"I know. Just...please. I need you to believe me so I don't feel like I'm crazy and it's all in my head."

The Uber had come to a stop and you almost forgot it wasn't just the two of you in the car. You have Max a pleading expression, your eyes searching for any bit of closure. One person. You just needed one person who believed you, one person who didn't make you feel like you were losing it.

"I believe you."

You let out a sigh of relief, feeling like some weight had been lifted off of your shoulders. You unbuckled your seatbelt and got out, leaning against the car door. "Can you at least stay?"

"Y/n. Nothing is going to happen to you, he can't get in without a key, right?"

"No, but-"

"Look, I can't stay. If he comes to the door, call me then the police." He stated. It was practical and logical and maybe you would have found comfort in his words if it were under other circumstances but right now you couldn't.

"Just...Just check the apartment with me,” You said, your voice quieter now. “Please.”

Max sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He was tired, confused and still trying to wrap his head around everything and he was just ready to get back to his apartment. But the way you were looking at him—like you just needed this one thing—made it impossible to say no.

“Alright,” He muttered. “Let’s check.”

You let out a breath of relief and unlocked the door. Max followed you inside, flipping on the lights. The place was silent, undisturbed. Still, he went through the motions.

Checked the kitchen. Empty.

Checked the bathroom. Nothing.

Checked the bedroom, even looking in the closet because he could tell you were too nervous to do it yourself. Still nothing.

You stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around yourself. “See? He’s not here,” Max said, trying to keep his voice even.

You nodded slowly. “I just had to be sure.”

Max exhaled, giving you a small nod. “I get it. But you’re fine. Lock the door behind me, alright?”

You hesitated. “You’re sure I’ll be fine?”

“He’s not gonna break in,” Max assured you. “If he shows up, call me. I’ll come right back.”

You didn’t love that answer, but you knew pushing wouldn’t do anything. So you just nodded again. “Okay.”

Max lingered for a second before turning for the door. “Goodnight,” He said over his shoulder.

You locked the door the second it shut behind him, standing there for a moment, listening.

Silence.

Forcing yourself to relax, you went through your usual routine. Makeup remover, cleanser, moisturizer—the same steps you always took, letting the repetition ground you. By the time you stepped into the shower, the tension in her shoulders had started to ease.

The hot water helped. So did the silence.

By the time you were done, wrapped in a towel, you felt like you had washed most of your worry away.

But the second she stepped into her bedroom, you froze.

Lando was there.

Sitting on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, fingers idly picking through the things on your nightstand. He turned a small bottle of perfume in his hand, rolling it between his fingers like he was trying to commit the shape of it to memory.

His head tilted slightly when he heard you.

"You started using this one when the other went missing." He murmured, holding it up for you to see. "I like this one a little bit better, less gourmand."

Your grip on the towel tightened. "Lando—"

"You took your time, love." He set the perfume back down, finally looking at you. He smiled, slow and unbothered. "Did it help clear your mind? Use that new body scrub you got the other day?"

Like this was normal. Like he belonged here.

You kept a tight grip on your towel and your gaze on him to keep track of any and all of his movements. "You need to leave. Right now."

"Or what? You'll call the police? Only for them to tell you it's nothing?" He questioned before continuing.

"Or maybe you'll call Max? He's known from the start." He scoffed, placing the perfume bottle back on the little shelf for all of your scents and upon hearing that you could practically feel your heartbeat in your head.

"He's..what?"

"He's known from the start. He was so good at playing along I definitely thought he would blow it at some point. Playing dumb and going along with everything especially the press conference this morning."

"No."

"Yes." Lando mimicked how dramatically you had said it, shaking his head a bit as he kept his gaze on you.

"I honestly thought you would be smart enough to put the pieces together. He showed up so conveniently tonight, he's the only one with access to your bag where your perfume mysteriously popped back up."

"So why did you let me leave with him tonight?"

"Why not? It gave you a false sense of security. You don't even know who to trust now, do you?"

He was right. Max was one of your closest friends, even beyond the team. You and him just had this undeniable connection that made everything feel effortless. The bond between you two was something you cherished, and if anyone were working with Lando, Max would be the last person you'd even consider accusing.

"You just can't seem to catch a break, baby." Lando questioned, his tone fueled with fake sympathy as he pouted at you and you could nothing but glare at him, one hand bunched around your towel and the other at your side.

Lando tossed the something at you and you didn't even bother catching it. You heard the metal clatter onto the floor before you looked down at what it was and it was a copy of the key to your home. You looked back up at him, watching as he crossed one leg over the other, watching your reaction with a kind of intensity that made your stomach sick.

"You can give that back to him. I've got a copy now." He said as if this were the most normal thing he had done and he tilted his head at you as he watched how all of this was starting to settle in your mind.

"You should just make this easy for the both of us. There's nobody you can call that'll believe you." He stood up from his spot on the bed and grabbed his keys from his pockets. You glanced over at them, seeing one that looked exactly like your house key.

"Get dressed. We're gonna go for a little ride."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Lando."

He chuckled, releasing a small sigh as his smile lingered. "Do you really want to test me right now? Every odds stacked against you, and yet, you’re still making dumb choices?"

His tone and gaze reduced you, making you feel like a child failing to understand something simple. He spoke with quiet authority, his eyes fixed on you—both possessive and assured, as if you were his to claim, his to control, without resistance or complication.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your grip on the towel tightening—of course, he noticed. The slight tremor in your hands, the way you chewed the inside of your cheek as if he was feeding off your fear.

"Get dressed."

Me bc I actually hate this chapter

[vainvenus]

mind games. | ln4. | pt.4

Pairing: Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Everything is unfolding right in front of you. You knew you weren't going crazy these past few weeks, you knew it. But how were you going to prove that to everybody else? Who would believe you.

Includings: Dark!Lando Norris, reader in obvious distress, panic attack, not being able to breathe, unwanted touching, almost passing out, gaslighting, manipulative behavior, power dynamics, Max to the rescue!

An: I lied this was my fave chapter to write

@slutforvoldy

The walls were closing in.

The music, once a distant thrum in your ears, now pounded against your skull—too loud, too sharp, each bassline rattling through your ribs. The air was thick, pressing down on your chest, laced with something sickly sweet that turned your stomach. Too many voices. Too many lights. Too much.

You needed to move. You needed to get out.

Lando hadn’t let go. His grip on your waist was looser now, but it was still there—a lingering weight, heavier than it should have been. Like an anchor. Like a trap.

“Hey, I got our drinks—”

Max’s voice barely cut through the haze as he reappeared, two glasses in hand, brow furrowing the second he took in your face.

You barely saw him.

All you could see was it. The glint of silver on Lando’s finger, the ring that shouldn’t be his, the one you had torn your place apart looking for. The one you had convinced yourself was just gone.

But it wasn’t gone. It was here. With him.

Your lungs stuttered, the weight in your chest pressing harder, constricting. Your fingers curled against the fabric of your dress, grasping at nothing, trying to hold yourself steady as the edges of the room blurred.

Lando made a small noise behind you, something thoughtful, something knowing. His fingers brushed against your waist again, subtle, deliberate.

“I’ll take her to the bathroom,” He said smoothly, already shifting as if to guide you away.

No.

Your body moved before your mind caught up, a jolt of energy snapping through your limbs as you shoved him off. Harder than necessary. Harder than anyone was expecting.

Lando barely stumbled, but he let go. His expression didn’t even flicker—no surprise, no irritation. Just smiling like this was some kind of joke.

Max, on the other hand, looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing. “Hey, what—”

But you didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Your feet carried you away before your mind could process where you were going, weaving through the crowd, past the flashing lights, past the heat of too many bodies. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, hands trembling as you pushed forward, forward, out.

You didn’t know where you were going—just that you had to go.

Your chest felt too tight. Your skin too hot. The air too thick.

Just breathe. Breathe.

Your hands found the first door that wasn’t locked, and you shoved through it blindly, stumbling into the dimly lit hallway that led to the restrooms. The music dulled slightly, muffled behind the thick walls, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink the second you made it inside, nails digging into the cool porcelain as you tried to steady yourself. The mirror swam in front of you, your reflection distorted, unfamiliar.

The ring. His ring. Your ring.

Your pulse was hammering too fast, a frantic, erratic rhythm that made your vision blur. Your own body was betraying you, lungs constricting, breath coming in short, useless gasps.

This isn’t happening.

But it was. And it was getting worse.

The door creaked open behind you.

You jerked up, stomach lurching, but the panic only doubled when you met his gaze in the mirror.

Lando.

He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world, that same easy smirk playing on his lips, like he wasn’t watching you fall apart in real time. Like he wasn’t the reason why.

“Guess I really touched a nerve back there, huh?" He mused, tilting his head.

Your nails bit into your palms. “Get out.”

Lando didn’t move. If anything, his smirk deepened.

“Funny,” He murmured, stepping inside, closing the door behind him with a casual flick of his wrist. “You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

Your stomach twisted, breath catching as the walls pressed in tighter, your mind spiraling too fast—the ring, the touches, the way he always seemed one step ahead.

“You—” Your voice came out thin, strangled, barely audible over the ringing in your ears.

Lando hummed, taking another slow, measured step forward. “I what?”

Your throat closed up.

His gaze dipped, taking in your trembling hands, your uneven breathing, the way you were losing control right in front of him.

And then he smiled.

Soft. Amused. Almost… fond.

“Relax,” He murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The room tilted.

And your knees buckled.

The cold tile rushed up to meet you, and for a moment, all you could do was focus on the burn in your lungs, the sharp sting of panic clawing its way up your throat.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But you couldn’t.

Your hands were shaking too hard to brace yourself properly, your vision blurred at the edges. The walls of the bathroom felt like they were closing in, pressing down, suffocating you.

And then—warm hands on your shoulders.

Lando.

You flinched the second he touched you, every nerve screaming at you to move, to fight, to do something. But your body wouldn’t listen. You were trapped in your own head, spiraling deeper, deeper

"Shh." His voice was low, almost gentle, but it sent a sharp shiver down your spine. "You’re okay."

But you weren't.

You couldn’t even fool yourself, not for a second, not long enough to catch a breath. Being near him was like drowning in air.

You tried to push him away, but your limbs were unsteady, disconnected from your own mind. Lando didn’t budge. His grip tightened, fingers pressing into your skin—not rough, not forceful, but there.

Grounding.

Trapping.

"Look at you, you’re shaking," He murmured, voice softer now, almost thoughtful. "Didn’t know I had this kind of effect on you."

Your stomach twisted. A fresh wave of nausea curled in your throat.

"Stop," You rasped.

Lando only exhaled a quiet chuckle, his thumb ghosting over the fabric of your dress, tracing an idle pattern against your waist.

"You always run," He continued, tilting his head like he was studying you, like you were some kind of puzzle he already knew the solution to. "Where do you think you’re going this time? You practically trapped yourself."

Your stomach twisted.

Something about the way he said it—calm, knowing, almost bored—sent a new kind of panic crashing over you.

You forced your arms to move, shoving at his chest, desperate for space. He let go easily, as if he had been waiting for you to do it, as if the whole thing was amusing.

"You don’t have to do that," He said smoothly, standing up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt like this was nothing. Like he hadn’t just watched you collapse in front of him.

"Fuck you," You rasped, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando exhaled a quiet chuckle, taking a step back, but not too far. "That’s not very nice. I'm trying to help you, yknow. You need to breathe,” He murmured, his voice lower now, softer—like he actually cared.

You squeezed your eyes shut, shaking your head.

“No?” Lando echoed, his tone almost amused. “You’d rather sit here and fall apart, then?”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to be the one seeing you like this, touching you like this, acting like he was the only thing keeping you from slipping through the cracks.

So you yanked your wrist back. Or—you tried to.

Lando barely reacted. His fingers flexed around you, keeping you still.

“Careful,” He murmured. “You might hurt yourself.”

A choked sob left your lips, panic pressing in from all sides, and you felt sick—like you were stuck inside your own body, unable to do anything but sit there, trapped between your own mind and him.

Then—a knock.

"Lando?"

Max.

Lando sighed, slow and measured, before he cracked the door open. Just enough to block you from view.

"Is she-"

"She’s not feeling great," Lando said before Max could ask. "Think I’ll take her home."

But Max didn’t just accept it. There was just something he didn't like about the McLaren drivers whole demeanor right now it was so...off. He frowned. "Let me see her."

Lando didn’t move.

That was enough for Max’s expression to harden.

"Lando." He said again, more forcefully this time.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak before Lando could find another excuse. "Max-"

The second your voice wavered, Max was pushing past him. His eyes found yours immediately, his frown deepening when he saw how glossy they were.

"You don’t look okay," He said, ignoring the way Lando exhaled sharply behind him.

"I just—" You hesitated, throat tight. "I want to go home."

Max glanced at Lando, then back at you. His lips pressed together before he reached out a hand.

“Come on. I’ll take you.”

Lando chuckled, low and knowing. “You sure?” He crossed his arms. “Youve been drinking. Is that really a safe choice?”

Max’s jaw tightened. His brows furrowed. “I'll call us an Uber."

Lando just smiled, unbothered. “Alright. Take care of her, yeah? So many weirdos out tonight."

Max didn’t respond, only studied Lando with scrutiny. The stare held, but Lando didn’t break it—he didn’t even flinch. No hesitation, no nerves, just that same quiet confidence he carried in debriefs.

Max turned back to you. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t hesitate. The moment you took Max’s hand, Lando’s fingers finally slipped from your wrist.

Max tugged you toward the door, his grip firm, protective.

"You alright?" he asked under his breath as you stepped into the hall.

You nodded, forcing out a quiet, "Yeah."

But as you glanced back, you caught it—Lando’s expression.

Not upset. Not angry. Not annoyed.

He looked casually entertained, small smile and his brows raised. Like he was watching a predictable game play out exactly as he expected.

You watched as his mouth moved, no words coming out but he said it slow enough so that you could comprehend it.

'See you at home.'