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adventuringblind · 3 months

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Don't Leave Us

Lestappen x Reader

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: With the mass amount of online hate and a relationship that's not public, it all gets too much.

Warnings: graphic depictions of self-harm, graphic depictions of suicide

Notes: I hope you're doing okay, Nonny! Maybe this will help you like it does me :)

side note: I am not above begging for interaction. Fill my inbox with feral driver thoughts! Interact with my posts! It feeds my praise kink and makes me giggle and kick my feet 🥰

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It's not like the toxicity of social media is a new thing. She's always known that it could happen. She just wasn't expecting it to be so... much.

Her relationship with Max and Charles isn't out for the public. There are dangers that come with opening that up for everyone to get a glimpse of. Reporters waiting to make snide remarks. Fans that want to bash on the drivers they dislike.

Plus, she's not famous. People don't notice her. At least - they didn't until recently.

Some WAG account had managed to get photos of her with either Max or Charles. Not the three of them together. Speculative fans determined she must be playing both of them.

Not all of them, some people defend her. Those comments make her cry out of relief that at least someone isn't trying to tear her down.

She doesn't bring it up to either of the boys. They have enough on their plates as is. Stress and sickness become her new best excuses to not go out in public.

Sure, she's isolating herself and not talking to anyone. Carmen and Lily keep trying. She's just not ready to show her face.

Nothing is sacred anymore. The rumors are too much. Even avoiding all social media isn't enough. She can't even leave her house without someone trying to discreetly take her photo.

Her skin burns with attention every time she steps out the door. She can't eat knowing people are always looking at her. She can't even go to the shop to get groceries or to her mailbox.

It gets worse by the day. Soon enough, someone figures out where she lives. Knowing she has a stalker makes every ounce of security she once had vanish.

It's miserable seeing her information leaked out for everyone to see. Privacy is now a luxury of the past. It's enough to send her spiraling.

When her safety is called into question, Max and Charles bring her to Monaco. They are willing to risk it for her. Their attempt at giving her some piece of mind by staying in the same apartment only makes her thoughts darker.

She's the reason there is so much negative publicity. The sharks are circling them, just waiting for one wrong move. Is she ready to be the catalyst for her lovers' downfall?

The thought sends her stomach up her throat. The thoughts swirl around her head, paralyzing her body into a perpetual state of fear. Stuck in a luxurious Monaco penthouse. Because people being toxic and stalking her is such a horrible problem to have. She should just suck it up; pretend everything is fine.

So then, why is it so hard? Why can't she just be alright?

One week. A plan in her head and a smile plastered on her face. The boys haven't asked about it. Their concern shows in the facial expressions, but they don't push. Maybe it would be better if they did. Send her already crumbling walls to the ground.

She deep cleans on Monday. She does her best to make sure the apartment isn't in disarray, that her own things are packed away, so they won't have much to deal with. The contrasting red and blue of Max and Charles' clothes are the only things left in the closet when she's done.

Speculations start again on Tuesday. Max and Charles spend all day in some PR meeting about it. It gives her time to sort out her affairs without them hearing her. She cooks them dinner to help ease the frustrations. Their teams don't want them to come out, but they do.

Wednesday, they leave to their next destination. She doesn't leave the hotel room despite the concerns of others. Carmen and Lily come around at some point. They eat in with her and kick out the boys. It feels normal for the first time in months. She almost breaks and tells them.

Thursday is media day. She feels for both boys as they get asked invasive questions about their love life. They look stressed. She gets hugged a little tighter that night. It calms the thoughts, but it's not enough. They hurt more every day. She's just wants it to stop.

Practice on Friday goes well for both. Max and Charles are in better spirits. She drags herself out to eat with them. the boys don't care who sees. She does. The anxiety nearly suffocates her. eyes crawling over her skin. Please, make it stop.

Saturday is a wreck. The qualifying is difficult for both her partners. Their relationship status is once again coming under fire. The speculating is becoming extreme, enough for the whispering of the paddock to become deafening to her ears. She spends her time hiding away, writing her last thoughts in messy scrawl.

Sunday, they turn the weekend around. The podium has always suited them. Smiling for everyone to see and dousing each other in champagne. She smiles too, even though it hurts.

They fly back to Monaco that night. Conversation turns to going public despite team wishes. They are willing to risk it for her. She can't bring herself to say yes. They worked hard to live their dreams; she won't ruin it for them.

Monday comes around again. The notes are laying out on the table. The boys are with their friends, some kind of brunch get together.

She leaves the bathroom door unlocked.

The bath filled, her clothes still on. Her thoughts finally still. Tears streak down her face.

The water is cold.

Then it's red.

~~~~~

"I worry about leaving her alone." Charles pulls the car back into its spot.

"Well, if we brough her along it wouldn't be much of a surprise, yes?" Max checks his watch again. "Plus, what could she have done in the fifteen minutes we were gone?"

They haul the ridiculous number of snacks to the front door. They decided last week they would see if they could coax the female out of her depressive state, just for a little while. Maybe get her to confide in them. If not, then at the very least a therapist.

The distance is damn near suffocating. She's so close physically, yet so far away mentally. Always staring at the walls with a distant look in her eyes.

The apartment is eerily quiet when they step inside. The kind that Charles despises after living in a chaotic house with two brothers and three busy schedules his Maman had to keep track of.

He drops the bags and peers around the entry way. Then searches the corridors until he finds one of the bathroom doors closed.

Charles knocks on the door but receives no response. "Cheri? Are you not feeling well?"

Charles almost dives out of the way when Max comes barreling down the hallway. The Dutch tries the doorknob, heavy breathing filling the odd silence.

Charles pales at the sight revealed to him. Paralyzed that this horrific scene could even be a possibility. Is he dreaming? He has to be - there isn't any way for this to be real... right?

"Charles!-" the Monegasque is dragged from his thoughts. Real or not, Max needs his help. Scratch that - she needs his help. "- Get an ambulance!"

Charles fishes his phone out of his pocket and makes the call. Max is desperate trying to stop the bleeding from the vertical slit traveling her forearm. "Is she...?" He can't finish the thought. Heart being through his chest at the possible answer.

"Pules is there but faint." Max sounds like he's desperately trying to hold back his tears. His mind working desperately to keep her alive.

Charles must space out. He doesn't remember opening the door or watching her be carried out by the swift paramedics. The car ride doesn't register, not until they are already in the waiting room.

Max hands him her notes. The paragraphs she wrote to them. A final goodbye in messy scrawl, but the tails of her letters still curled.

"She did it for us, Charlie, because she thought she was hurting us."

They both break down in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Charles violently sobbing. Neither of them respond to their messages. Phones buzzing with calls that go to voice-mail.

A doctor comes calling her name. Charles is only half listening. Specifically looking for either a confirmation of death or the relief of hearing that she's okay. Max seems to be paying attention. His shoulders sag, and there is a soft look on his face when they are left to their own devices.

"She's alive, Charlie."

He erupts until tears once more.

~~~~~

Everything hurts. Her thoughts are fuzzy. There is something soft beneath her.

The white ceiling is paired with the burning smell of alcohol. A sterile environment. Meaning-

Fuck. How did it go so wrong? How had they managed to keep her alive?

The beeping on the heart monitor picks up. A sign that she's definitely alive and in a hospital.

Her attempts at moving are futile. There is too much pain and exhaustion to do so. A pulsing behind her ears drowns out the thumping of her heart.

"Rest now, amour."

It takes a single stroke of Charles' fingers on her cheek to make her entire facade shatter into nothing.

She's mumbling incoherent words. It's a string of apologies, rants of anger and embarrassment, and confusion at why they are even here with her. They are continually reassuring her. They coo into her ear how they are so glad she's alive. That she doesn't have to fight whatever battle through hell this is alone.

Recovery is difficult. They have to put her on a suicide watch, but Max and Charles somehow manage to keep her out of the psychward. Mostly because they want to be with her at all hours of the day.

They miss a singular race for her. Then drag her to the next. Part of the deal they had made was that they won't sacrifice their careers for her.

They negotiated with the teams. Managed to wriggle around their soft spots and get them to approve going public. Max and Charles want to openly defend her. No more public executions. They'er pulling her out of the shark infested waters that is the media.

It's slow. People ask about it sometimes; why Charles and Max had missed that race. None of them give an answer. They aren't obligated to.

"Why fight for me?" She asks. a year after the events.

"Because chéri, we love you enough to help you carry the burden."

"Honestly liefste, we fight for what we believe in. We believe in you and the love you have for us."

"Maybe it's selfish, but we want to share that with you. Keep you here with us to go on adventures and explore the different paths life offers."

"So don't leave us yet. You are worth every sacrifice."

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coco-loco-nut · 13 days

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Mama

pairing: Pierre x reader

summary: Pierre and his annoyed, heavily pregnant, wife

TW: references to spicy activities, pregnancy, cussing, use of French learned via Duolingo and high-school French class from like 4 years ago

————————

“I regret ever letting your French ass charm me,” you scowl at your husband who picked you up at the train station in London. He had been away for a week, and initially you did miss your husband, but the pregnancy began to really wear on you this week.

“I missed your too, mamour,” Pierre kisses you, taking your bags and placing them in his rental car.

“I should’ve stayed home,” you grumble as he helps you into the car. You missed your French home, the villa was sunny and it wasn’t England, but you promised your sweet husband you would come to Silverstone. He came straight from

Pierre knows you are hurting, the third trimester taking a toll on you, so he doesn’t take any of your words to heart, instead he intends on showing you how much he loves you.

“I wish I were home too,” Pierre squeezes your hand gently once he is in the car. He has been hoping and praying that the baby comes during the summer break, just so he can spend time with you. You hadn’t been to a race since Imola and Monaco and you were able to hide the pregnancy pretty easily with flowy dresses. Despite being pregnant with twins, you didn’t balloon up until right after.

“What would Mrs. Glasly and the Baby Gasly’s like to do first, get to the hotel or get some food?” Pierre asks and you think about it for a second.

“Mmm food. Chicken nuggets and fries, preferably,” you give Pierre puppy dog eyes despite telling him you hated him moments ago.

“There is a McDonald’s in the next town over from Silverstone. I won’t tell if you don’t,” Pierre says, you swear in that moment that you fall in love with him all over again.

“I would never,” you gasp before yawning a little. At this point, you could take a nap anywhere, despite being extremely uncomfortable with the babies dropping. Some luck happened and your thirty-sixth week of pregnancy falls at the very start of summer break.

“Take a nap, chérie, we have about an hour and a half,” Pierre tells you as he pulls out of the parking lot, turning the music on softly. You don’t need to be told twice as you doze off. You don’t even wake up to Pierre ordering a ridiculous amount of food at McDonald’s, you only wake up when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“Mon ange, tu dois te lève,” Pierre says gently, coaxing you awake.

“Mm, mon bonhuer, feed me and take me to bed,” you say sleepily, a sly smile on your face.

“The things you do to me,” Pierre groans, getting out of the car. You carry the food into the hotel from the garage so his trainer can’t yell at him.

“Y/n! How are you doing?” Charles comes up beside you. He knew about the pregnancy, despite Pierre and you keeping it under wraps, only because the both of you attended dinner at the Leclerc’s house during the Monaco GP. It's only natural, you were Pierre's childhood best friend. Charles was Pierre's childhood best friend, you tolerated the both of them.

“How do you think,” you glare at the Monégasque.

“Maman asked me to give you this, and I added a little something too,” Charles says, handing Pierre a bag and kissing your cheek.

“Thank you, Charlot,” Pierre waves to his friend, guiding you to the hotel room.

“Pierre, this is so good,” you practically moan as you eat the nuggets.

“You gotta stop talking like that, you’re driving me nuts,” he groans. You grin, biting into a fry.

“Or what?” your tease, his eyes darken. As soon as you both finish your dinner, he is kissing you.

“Pierre!” you groan, he helps you stand up, moving towards the bed.

"Do you want to do this?" Pierre looks at you with concern.

"Pierre, I am not a glass doll, I am pregnant and horny and I miss your cuddles, and I haven't seen you in weeks. I think you know what I want," you look Pierre in the eyes who is quick to help you into a safe, yet comfortable position. It is safe to say that the two of you missed each other very, very much.

You woke up in the morning, a rare occurrence of sleeping through the night, to your husband's arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

"Pierre," you nudge him. He hums, only half awake. "If you don't let me go, I may puke on this bed," you whisper to him. Pierre quickly wakes up and helps you to the bathroom. He had to get up soon anyway for the race.

"You ok?" Pierre continues rubbing your back after you've puked.

"I look like shit, feel like shit, and you watched me puke, I think the answer is no," you groan, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Why don't we shower, then I'll order some breakfast while I get ready?" Pierre offers, helping you undress and get into the shower. Like the gentleman he is, he helps you clean where you can't reach anymore, and in return, you scrub the shampoo into his hair.

The two of you eat quickly and get ready for the day. You both get in a chauffeured car and head to the circuit, you left a little later than usual due to eating breakfast in the hotel instead of in the paddock. Cameras capture the two of you walking in, more like you waddling as Pierre walks with an arm around you. He heads into a strategy meeting while you rest on the couch in his room.

"Apparently social media is blowing up over pictures of us walking in. They may love pregnant you more than I do, and that is nearly impossible," Pierre tells you when he gets back, the F2 race playing quietly in the background.

"I'm glad someone is enjoying it, because I want them out," you groan as they kick you simultaneously. Pierre helps you stand up and wraps his arms around you, hands under your bump. You relax into his chest, letting him take some of the pressure off of your body for a little bit. His touch always seems to calm the babies down.

"I know, just another month, then we will have our precious babies. You are doing incredibly, you will be the best mom," he praises you causing you to blush.

"They will have the coolest daddy," you hum, enjoying the temporary relief.

"Pierre, you gotta do your warm-ups," his trainer knocks on the doorframe. "Y/n, I can help you with some stretches that may provide some relief and better mobility," the trainer offers as Pierre slowly lowers your stomach, trying to ease the weight back. You follow Pierre and his trainer to the weight room. The trainer mainly focuses on helping you, claiming Pierre knew what he was doing, only stepping away when a spotter was required. Apparently, his wife was recently pregnant so he did a lot of research to help her.

"Congratulations, Y/n, you and Pierre will make great parents," despite neither of you particularly caring for Esteban, you thanked him anyway and wished him a good race. Pierre took you on some light strolls across the paddock, frequently being stopped by drivers, before the race where you sat in the garage and watched with his team. Pierre got in the points and you both celebrated by going home to France and sleeping.

By the time summer break rolled around, the nursery was filled with gifts from drivers and teams. Charles was begging the both of you to either name one of your babies after him or name him godfather. He was pleased to learn he was going to be named godfather regardless. A few days into break, your babies decided it was time to meet the world.

"Pierre, car, now," you look at your husband from the passenger seat.

"Charles! I am panicking! Yes, I am getting in the car. Fine you, can talk to y/n while I drive," Pierre says, frazzled, as he drives away from your home, the back seat filled with what you might need, two car seats already installed.

"Hello Charles," you say into the phone, quite amused despite the contractions becoming more frequent.

"Hi y/n, are you ready to meet the two rascals who have been torturing you for months? You will get to be a mom to three babies, god knows Pierre needs his mom right now," Charles laughs, helping to distract you as Pierre flies down roads.

"Mhmm, I'm excited to know the genders if anything. Are you still coming out later this week?" You ask him, the conversation oddly calm.

"I'm getting my plane ready now, I have to be there to meet my godchildren," Charles informs you and you feel another contraction coming on.

"Great, I'll be sure to hold them in for you. I gotta go, see you soon," you laugh through the pain, quickly hanging up. Pierre cut off an impossible amount of time, granted you didn't live too far from the hospital. Pierre is more stressed than you are, it's cute.

After 6 hours of labor, you and Pierre have greeted the most beautiful babies, at least in your eyes. The love of your life has now expanded to include the little bundles.

"Congratulations," Charles says, the first to arrive since you and Pierre didn't live too close to your families.

"Meet your godchildren, Anthoine Romeo and Genevieve Charlie," you smile tiredly at Pierre, who helped you through your labor, even as you screamed some very nasty things at him.

"They are perfect," Charles looks at you, a little teary as he holds Genevieve, "thank you," he says softly.

"We named them after the two people who have always stood beside us," you say, Pierre fascinated by his son. You really were the luckiest woman alive.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly imagines #charles leclerc

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everythingne · 3 months

Text

wing damage - mv1 [2]

Max spends the weekend with you to hopefully lift your spirits. A night out leads to a bit more than both of them are expecting as feelings easily resurface and are created with the assistance of being blackout drunk.

max verstappen x influencer!horner!reader

fc: sophia la corte

warnings/notes: implied blackout drunk sex (towards the middle), very suggestive scene (towards the middle), drinking in general, allusions to coping via alcohol, max and nadine made bad decisions (also a reminder the readers nickname is nadine and is used as placeholder for y/n!) also not me coming back over a MONTH later with part two <3 i hope these feeds u

(part one)

It takes two rings for Max to answer my call.

I feel a little desperate when I ask if he can swing by my apartment, knowing he wasn't quite back in Monaco yet. He says he's stopping by the store, voice muffled by the wind, and that he'll be over in thirty or so minutes. The apartment is too quiet and I take the time it takes for him to get here to clean up my mess from the past few days of rotting in the suffocating silence of my apartment.

Without Jacob I felt weird. Lost. Like there should be something there, but I'm met with quiet. But, I guess that's what happens when the person you've lived with for years is suddenly dead to you.

The loneliness I had expected has arrived, even with two roommates. I've isolated myself far away from them.

Max knocking on the door brings me out of my thoughts and I grab the door handle moments later, swinging it open nervously as greeting him as cherrily as I can.

Being immediately brought into a hug by Max lets me know I didn't do a good job.

"C'mon. Pop open this wine, throw on Legally Blonde." He hands me a bottle and grins at me, squeezing my wrist before bringing inside a pack of sodas in one hand and a blanket and bag of snacks in his other hand.

“For you," Max holds out the blanket with one hand, "I was on the phone with your dad when you asked if I could swing by, so I asked Geri for her best post-breakup gift and she made me go buy… everything that’s in this bag plus the blanket—minus the drinks."

I find myself laughing out a thank you, taking the world’s softest blanket into my hands and promptly smacking my face into it.

“God, my mom is a saint.” I mutter into the fabric, before throwing it over my shoulders and bringing him inside. Max kicks off his shoes at the door, tucking them next to my heels from going out to party the past few nights.

"Looks like you've been having fun." He chimes and I shrug, sitting at my kitchen island and leaning on the counter. Max pauses when he notes me not leaning into his playful attitude and a small pout forms at his lips.

“I have the dough for pasta out to thaw,” I say over my shoulder to him as he follows and sits next to me—laying the bag of treats and the sodas on the counter. He just nods in response and we lapse into silence as he looks at me and tries to figure out how to approach this. When we'd been in the paddock, he'd be so angry I was surprised his head didn't burst into flames, but now that it was just us in a much more subdued moment, I could tell big bad Mad Max Verstappen didn't know what to do.

“Hey,” he says after a few moments, leaning over to squeeze my knee in a motion so similar to my father I wondered if he picked it up from him. I hum in response and Max's eyes flicker around the room before settling on me.

“Uhm. Jacob was a jackass. He shouldn’t have done that to you, and he…he’s a dick. I’m not very good at comforting people but if you ever need to just…vent or let off steam. Yeah. I’m here.” he folds his hands into his lap, partially leaning towards me.

I can’t help the little smile that breaks across my lips and I nod, “yeah…thank you, Max.”

"Now come on," He grabs me by the waist and hoists me up, resulting in a high-pitched laugh to echo from my throat. He grabs the blanket and throws it over me once again, before he snags the bag of treats and moves to the couch. He sets me down gently, which I'm thankful for, before he throws himself down next to me and grabs the remote.

"Are we watching the first or second Legally Blonde?" He asks, letting me rest my head on his chest as I toss the blanket over us both.

"The first." I hum, "Not feeling very Elle Woods patriotic today."

"We can watch that tomorrow." Max hums and I look at him briefly. His eyes meet mine and he smiles, shifting so he can pull me to his chest as he says, "What? You think I'm just gonna leave you alone while both of your roommates are out this weekend? Nah, you're stuck with me."

I laugh softly, finding a blush forming on my cheeks and I snuggle in as close as physically possible, "I don't mind being stuck with you at all."

thenadinehorner made a new post!

Around midnight Max and I make the pasta, because my apartment is too cold for the dough to thaw, I end up ditching the completely homemade idea and just use pre packaged noodles. We've decimated the first wine glass, and thats when I find my courage to ask,

"Do you wanna go out tomorrow?"

Max turns to look at me out of the corner of his eye, stirring the pasta into the mix of lemon, alfredo, and cilantro in the pan and he narrows his eyes, "How much have you been drinking this week?"

"I just broke off a several year relationship, Max." I sigh, "Come on, tell me you don't wanna go party!”

"Didn't answer my question." Max turns to me, looking over with a tiny grin and I groan, moving to press my chin to his shoulder and blink up at him in my wine haze.

"Past seven nights? Four days, including tonight. But come on, I've never seen you party in person!" I take another sip of my wine and he laughs softly, lifting to plate out the pasta for the both of us.

"Fine, but don't tell you father I'm taking you out. He'd probably kill me with his bare hands for even letting you drink alcohol with me." Max laughs softly and I laugh as well, happily taking the plate of pasta from his hands.

"Oh come on, he practically treats you like a son." I slurp up some of the pasta and groan, rolling my eyes back at the taste. Max watches me and I notice his smile wobble as he turns his head away, choking out a laugh.

"Yeah, but you're his daughter, that's like... a line." He hums, holding a hand over his mouth as he speaks with food in his mouth, and I narrow my eyes at him. I shrug, swallowing some of my wine and walking back over to the couch as I glance at Max over my shoulder,

"I'd cross it." I say. Though, I don't know what I mean when I say it, or how far I would cross that line. But it riles Max up enough for me to choke on the pasta and sputter out a reply,

"No, no," I wave a hand, "I mean, like I'll cross the line and go to the club."

"Oh, good—Okay, Christ." Max laughs, sitting down next to me and taking a good sized bite of his pasta. We leave the other bottle of wine for another day. Maybe to pregame tomorrow.

nadi.h.jpg made a new post! (private!)

liked by blubellhals, oliviahorner, danielricciardo, and 204 others...

nadi.h.jpg: IM SO DRUNK!!!

tagged: maxverstappen

danielricciardo: OH GOD.

landonorris: u ok hon?

bluebellhals: NADINE HORNER. (u look sexy but CALL ME GIRLIE?)

oliviahorner: OH MY GODDDD AHAHAHAH MAX CHUGGING THE FUCKING BOTTLE IMC RYINGGG

charlesleclerc: oh my god???

carlossainz: OH?? estas borracha ??!!

"Nadi!" Max laughs, dragging me by the elbow down the nearly empty London roads. I giggle and cling to his arm before he scoops me up, considering I'd given him my heels long ago to carry.

"Max!" I giggle back, pressing my cheek to the side of his head as he situates me in a hold against his chest. He laughs and half presses me to the wall so he can fiddle with the keys to my apartment building, and then when he gets it, he lifts me so I'm over his shoulder.

"How are you doing this blackout drunk?" I slur and giggle, kicking my legs in my short dress as one of his hands comes to cover my rear from poking out. He takes a few tries to hit the right floor on the elevator as he sways,

"I'm so fucking drunk I have no idea." He laughs back, his hand absentmindedly squeezing me a bit when I slip and I let out a little gasp that makes him chuckle, "Ay, don't get any ideas alright? Just making sure you don't fall and die."

"Aw, you care." I laugh as the elevator dings and he brings me out and to my room. When we get there he sets me down and helps me out of my jacket before I do the same to him, my scattered mind letting my hands linger a bit too long on his sides.

"We're already gonna be hungover when we wake up," I hum, trailing my fingers along his ribs, since I can feel them on his sides through his shirt, "We can have more wine, right?"

"You don't need more," Max laughs, resting his hands on my hips, "I don't either, I'll end up vomiting."

"Ew!" I giggle, leaning into him for support in the tiny hall. His hand rests on the entry table to balance himself as he wraps his arm tighter around me, I blink up at him and watch the way his eyes flicker around my skin. His eyes lower to my lips and I feel my breath hitch, I step closer until theres no more space and look through my lashes before tilting up and grinning at him with a drunken giggle.

"Like what you see, Maxie?" I hum, sliding my hands up his sides until wrapping them around his back, nails slightly scratching through the thin white shirt as I tilt my head at him in tease.

"Oh, don't do this to me." He groans, eyes rolling and shutting tight as he lets out a breathy sigh, "Don't do this to me, Nadi."

"Do what?" I question with genuine concern, watching as he opens his eyes and his grip tightens partially. He's in my space, nose almost touching mine, but he's not invading me. Infact, I'd let him stay here forever.

"You know you are a line I can't cross." He murmurs, lips ghosting mine and I want to connect us so bad but when I tilt forward he pulls back and groans in the back of his throat. I hate the way it makes a flame ignite in my stomach. I'd never seen Max like this, but yet in the past four years I'd been infatuated with the guy who broke my heart.

"I don't want you to do this and regret it." He whispers, "Because I've loved you for a very long time, and if you let me do this, it won't be good for either of us. And we're drunk as shit, so I'm not thinking straight and I doubt you are too."

"You're a very coherent drunk." I hum and Max snorts, watching me sway in place as the world swirls around me.

"Thanks, it's the trauma." He says and I laugh, pitching into him hard enough he stumbles. Pushing me the other way so I don't fall, he catches me against the entry way table, his hands on either one of my hips and holding me tight to make sure I stay put.

Was he always this attractive, or was I just stupid drunk?

"Y/n." Max whispers out a whine of my birth name, all it does it make my breath hitch and my heart thrum as he brings a hand to my throat and feels my pulse under his thumb. I close my eyes, rolling them as he pulls me in with that hand, ghosting his lips along the edge of my jaw.

I find enough courage to whisper, "But what if I said yes, hm? I don't have a problem with doing this with you."

"Do you know how many times I've imagine this exact moment?" He growls against the skin of my neck, teeth nipping at the skin with each word he breathes out heavily against my perfume covered skin. I bring a hand to the back of his head, bump his teeth into the skin, and to my delight he bites.

"Fuck." I whisper, "we can't."

"Oh, but you just said we could," Max lifts his head from my neck, eyes meeting mine, his hand dips and I flutter at the feeling of him tracing a tiny shape into the inside of my thigh. He indents it with his nail, leaving a crescent as he whispers, "didn't you, sweetheart?"

As he accentuates his words with a soft kiss to soothe the bite, his fingers skim the edge of my skirt and tug to lift it up a bit higher. I bite my lip and he uses a thumb to my chin to pull it back out, capturing me in a slow kiss as his hands drop back down to my thighs to pick me up, setting me on the entry table.

He kneels, looking up at me with those big eyes and he asks permission, and my hands find his hair as I nod and that stupid cocky grin splits across his lips and makes my heart tumble into his hands.

Thank god my roommates are gone.

I wake up with a splitting headache and a bout of nausea that makes me almost lose it over the side of my bed. I don't remember much past leaving the club when I'd started to get super drunk and force myself to sit up to check the time.

And then I realize I am very much not wearing clothes.

"Oh fuck." I hiss, turning to look around my empty room. Well, save for the familiar blonde man shaped lump next to me in bed.

Wait a fucking second.

"Oh my god!" I shout without thinking and the mass stirs, a soft mess of English and Dutch seeping from his lips. He pushes himself to his forearms and looks over, blinking before his face drops into the same horror I'd just gone through.

"Oh fuck." Is all he can manage, then there's a soft banging on my door and my step-mother's voice echoes through the apartment and Max brings a hand to his mouth as he groans, "Oh, I'm so dead."

"We both are! Get up!" I hiss under my breath, scrambling to get out of bed and curb my nausea as I grab the first big knit sweater and leggings in my hamper and throw them on while Max roots through his suitcase to find something to wear. I dip into the bathroom and throw my hair up to mostly hide its mess, luckily the sweater covers most marks left on my skin. When Max comes in I grab his face and squint at him through my hangover.

"If anyone asks, you slept on the couch, and I let you use my bathroom to get ready because the warm water isn't working in the guest bathroom." I hiss out and Max nods, a blush on his face as I slam the door shut and call out to my step-mom that I'm coming to answer. Making my way into the foyer, I scoop up the discarded clothing and astray items, tucking them into a bin by the door and quickly doing a once over of the main room of my apartment.

I needed to light a candle.

I unlock the door and pop it open, rubbing at my head and Geri chuckles at my clearly hungover state as she asks, "Bad time?"

"I'm so hungover I might throw up." I say and she nods, giggling as she continues with a slightly curious look in her eyes. I know she's trying to figure it out.

"You don't exactly sleep in until four in the afternoon for fun." She hands me a bag, "Max is still here I assume, he left these. Just stopping by to give them back."

"He's showering, yeah. Geri, if I saw you were coming I would've grabbed them so you didn't have to come up here." I laugh, taking the bag. When the collar of my sweater shifts, Geri's eyes flick down and she raises her eyebrows at me and it's that moment I know she's caught me.

"Don't say a word." I point and she raises her hands with a shocked laugh, nodding to me.

"I don't even want to know who gave it to you," She says looking away with red on her cheeks and a loud laugh, "I'm just gonna go, because if I'm here any longer your father might get impatient. Also you are an adult, and it’s none of my business!”

"Thanks, Ger." I run a hand through my bangs to smooth as best I can and Geri nods, flicking her eyes across my body with her new knowledge and stifling a laugh into the back of her hand. Part of me wants to reach over and whack her, but I refrain from letting my embarrassment get the best of me. She gives me a tight hug, wishes me well, and starts to walk away. Before I can shut the door, she calls my name over her shoulder and I poke my head out to see her standing in the elevator doors as she shouts,

"Tell Max to be a bit softer next time!"

And my response is a slam of my apartment door and a loud groan into the wooden material it's made of. I step back and turn to see Max poke his head out of the doorway of my bedroom.

"Just Geri, this is yours." I say, walking over to him and setting the bag into his hands, "and..."

"I'm sorry." He sighs, running a hand through the front of his now wet hair. I try to ignore how much I want to do the same thing. I swallow it down and bury it as far as I can. He's twenty seven, not much older but enough for my father to raise an eyebrow. I was only twenty two, barely so.

"I'm just as much at fault, it takes two to tango, y'know." I hum and he huffs out a laugh, and despite myself I say, "if it makes you feel better, even if it was a stupid decision... I don't entirely regret it. Even if I don't remember it that much."

"I don't remember much either." He agrees, "can we just agree to not... ever, talk about this happening again?"

"Happily." I nod as I feel a weird sort of relief and embarrassment rush across my skin. I would happily pretend this had never happened. But when my eyes meet his, theres something within their depths that tells me this wouldn't be a one time hookup. Call me crazy, or horny, or whatever you want, but there was something that has shifted. Something new was settled between us, and Max and I would never be the same.

But we painfully would pretend to be. To save face.

taglist (thank u for ur support <3!)

@rosegasly @uuzhanggggggg @biitch-with-wifi @1655clean @struggling-with-delia

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fic #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic

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blorbocedes · 5 months

Note

Age difference marriage for your choice of hornstappen or nico/mika please!!!!!

When Mika proposes, it's with the latest 2010 Mercedes sportscar model. Nico jumps into his arms, and then immediately reaches for the key. It's better than any ring, he tells himself.

"Did you know I used to have posters of him on my wall when I was a boy?" Nico wiggles his brows to the strangers at the Ibiza party lounge. Nico knows why Mika wants to get married in the party capital with no one else in their distinguished motorsports circle around. He's embarrassed. 42 year old, second marriage, pretty young thing on his arm. It all screams midlife crisis.

Well, Nico doesn't need to make it easy for him.

"Mouse." Mika's voice is warning, hand on his shoulder. Nico immediately turns to Mika, smiling, and crawling on his lap.

"What, it's true," Nico toys with Mika's collar. Mika's blonde hair falls over his eyes, hiding the carefully botox'd crows feet when he frowns. "You remember."

Mika's hand rests on Nico's hip. "Don't be trouble." Nico grinds down on him.

The strangers now look away from their public display, embarrassed, and Nico takes it as a win.

A GP2 crash shattered Nico's motorsports dreams, and he kept his word to his father, did 3 years at Imperial, graduated with flying colours with an engineering internship at Williams waiting with his name on it. Nico opted to instead chase after rallying and endurance races, cheering for Mika and waiting for him. It wasn't even hard, after Nico decided his favourite Finn was his white whale. Slipping into the hotel sauna where they were alone, and not wearing much. Mika objected weakly, the flimsy excuse for his conscience, and gave in anyway.

Nico grew up like a little prince so it's hard to spoil him. Mika does, anyway. A short fling of a childhood infatuation turns into something akin to whirlwind romance, it's dangerous and fun and a little bit taboo, and Mika leaves his wife for him.

Nico knows his father would disapprove. Mika knows it too, even as Nico shows up beside him more often than not. But it's nice, Mika's a large, protective figure behind him and always has a sweet name for him: mouse, pigeon, pet, darling, something in Finnish Nico can't quite decipher.

When they're in bed together, Nico can think of how neither of them are going to F1. Yes, Mika's technically on 'sabbatical' but everyone knows. The slight swell of his gut gives it away, but it's okay Nico will be fit enough for both of them, breaking up his croissant so it's harder to notice he hasn't touched it and feeding Mika. He likes that Mika has that touch of vanity of him, that keeps dyeing his hair blonder and is susceptible to the Monaco lifestyle of keeping everything looking young, tight, tucked in procedurally. It makes Mika not the dashing hero from his childhood dreams, humanizes him. And when Mika calls Nico beautiful, it is both a fact and tinged with envy.

"Pigeon, we have to go to the F1 paddock this weekend." Mika tucks Nico's long lock of hair behind his ear.

"Why?" It's technically their honeymoon.

"Mercedes are trying to get Lewis. Hamilton-Schumacher lineup. Ron called me to convince him to stay."

Lewis... Lewis Hamilton, 2008 world champion. The wonder rookie. Nico knew him once upon a time, when they both promised they'd make it to Formula 1 together, childish promises of becoming World Champion. Only Lewis kept up his end of the bargain. The thought of seeing him again makes Nico feel funny, like he wants to hide away. Nico hasn't even gone to Monaco in years.

At the British Grand Prix, Mika Hakkinen enters the McLaren garage with relative fanfare of a Formula 1 World Champion. Nico stays out of the cameras, doesn't have to field any interviews -- people generally don't know him without his dad around. The smell of the rubber and engine fuels and screams of thousands of fans, it's all reminiscent of his childhood. Nico idly thumbs the car keychain in his pocket, waiting for Mika.

"Nico? No way, is that you, man?"

#mika/nico #so you fucked your childhood hero that your dad wouldn't approve of and now you're in a serious adult relationship in your early 20's #I looooooove complicated relationships #f1 rpf #my fics #mika's sugarbaby nico is my strongest headcanon

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blamemma · 11 months

Note

19. dare

nsfw x

"I dare you to text Christian." Max says, his eyes narrow slits, gin & tonic clasped in his hand. His cheeks are flushed, but Daniel watches, in the moonlight eclipsing their Monaco balcony, as they become a slight tinge darker.

"Text him what?" Daniel asks.

Knowing Max, it could be something insane, stupid, dumb. Tell him you're abandoning the reserve driver role to replace Pierre at Alpine, is one thing. Offer to babysit his kids next race weekend, is another. Ask him how many more race weekends Checo has to fuck up till you're put in the car, is the one Daniel wants him to dare him to do.

Daniel could have sit for hours, drink another whole bottle of wine, and come up with thousands of things Max could choose to dare him to do. But when Max says, "A photo...of us," Daniel audibly gulps, feels his own cheeks become filled with blood, and blinks slowly.

Christian knows. And Daniel knows. That Max and Christian--used to. When Daniel left. Then Max won. And Daniel and Max started again. Max and Christian soon stopped.

Daniel has lain below Max, as Max has kissed has down his neck, over his chest, recounted the stories. Grasped both their dicks and jerked them off whilst whispering to Daniel all the lewd things they did together in Christian's office. Daniel left Red Bull, left Christian, left Max, left Max, and had felt king of the world, left his once loyal subjects shocked. But they had coped--without him.

Had found each other.

Then Max had found Daniel again. Daniel had come back home.

And it was in that first factory visit, when Christian had ordered the cameras away, that Daniel was faced with the starkness of it all. Looked around and thought --

You pushed Max to his knees right here and fucked his face.

Max has bent you over this desk and cum inside you

You both jerked off into Max's first WDC trophy over here.

Looked around and thought when will that be me.

He knows, sitting here now, he's been played, toyed with, by both Max and Christian. That the lingering touches at the small of his back as Christian guides him around the paddock were meaningful. That Max's continuous insistence they should fly out to Oxfordshire soon and visit Christian and Geri is purposeful.

"Which photo baby?" He asks. He wants to crawl under Max's t-shirt and feel his chest heat up, hear his heart beat impossibly fast, as Max has to explain he doesn't want Daniel to send a normal, innocent selfie of the two of them.

He settles for walking over to him, leaving his wine on the side table, and watching Max's legs opening wider instinctively, so that Daniel settle between them. He leans over him, kisses him harsh and fierce, feels Max moan into it, and then gets down on his knees, bites down on Max's thigh and relishes the sharp intake of breath Max takes, then lavishes his tongue over it.

"The one we took in front of the mirror Monday night?" Daniel asks, kissing further up Max's thigh. Daniel stood fully naked, Max on his knees, Daniel feeding him his dick. You can't see Max's face, but you can see the way his hands grip Daniel's thighs tightly, his perky ass, the way he sits so pretty whilst he takes it.

Daniel looks up, locks eyes with Max, and Max shakes his head, lip caught between his teeth.

Daniel moves to the other thigh, bites, licks, kisses.

"What about the ones from Miami?"

A triumphant win for Max. One to silent all the people who suggested Checo would ever be in with a chance of the championship. They'd both gone out together afterwards, swarmed into a party attended by influencers, engineers and DJs galore. Max had pulled Daniel into a private bathroom cubicle, bent Daniel against the sink, and whimpered when he saw Daniel had already prepped. The photo is a mirror selfie, Max rucking Daniel's shirt up and coming across his back.

"No." Max responds, his voice quiet and high.

Daniel nuzzles into Max's clothed dick, feels where it's hard. He sits back on his legs, hands resting in his lap and pretends to think hard.

"Australia, my place?" He finally asks, and Max's head moves rapidly, nods quickly.

"Yeah, yeah that one. He'll like that one. That one Daniel." Max looks so eager in front of him, so desperate. Daniel doesn't even question if this is the right or wrong thing to do, if it's fucking weird to send your boss a picture of you and his star driver fucking.

Just reaches for his phone, goes to his locked album, and selects the photo, clicks Share, and opts to text it to Christian.

A blissful week where Max had stayed behind after the Australian GP, let Daniel drive him around in his beat up truck and show him the sights. He'd re-applied sun cream every hour to Max's pale skin, even though Perth was entering Autumn. Had watched pleasantly as Max had eaten gloriously, ordered Daniel's favourite sandwich from Daniel's favourite cafe, got three scoops of ice cream from the best deli in town, devoured Grace's cooking and comfortably asked for seconds.

The photo--golden hour. Settled on Daniel's porch swing. Covered in golden sunlight. Both of them stark naked, Max's back to Daniel's chest, Daniel's hands wrapped around Max, one twisting his nipples, the other jerking him off. Max's arm around the back of Daniel's head, tangled in his curls, pulling him impossibly close. They'd been kissing, but in the photo, this one screenshot Daniel had taken from the video, Max's mouth is wide open, a loud shout of Daniel's name falling from his mouth as Daniel had hit his prostate perfectly. They look glorious, blissful, hot. Daniel only has to look at the photo and can jerk off to the memory of it all. Doesn't need to watch the full video.

He ignores Max in front of him, can see in his peripheral vision the way he's palming at his dick a little, a small wet patch coming through his shorts, knows he's remembering it all as well.

Daniel opts to just stare at the photo.

Watches Sent turn into Delivered. Watches Delivered quickly turn into Read.

Watches a grey bubble appear with dots.

My beautiful boys. He reads.

"My beautiful boys." He repeats to Max.

"Do you think he'd like the video?" He asks.

#i think i hate this acc and if it lasts the night then god speed #but i just wanted to try something new and have been thinking about the wdc trophy scene for a while so thought fuck it.#max/daniel #but also #max/christian #and max/christian/daniel #dr #mv #ch #fic rec #my fic

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fire-on-thirst · 8 months

Note

Maybe an Instagram au of Charles and Lando?

The idea is they’re having a date in Monaco for the whole day for their 4 year aniversairy where they’re just constantly posting each other on their feed and stories being completely in love <3

landonorris story

charles_leclerc story

landonorris story

charles_leclerc story

landonorris story

charles_leclerc story

landonorris story

charles_leclerc story

landonorris story

charles_leclerc story

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, pierregasly, arthur_leclerc and others

charles_leclerc 4 years ago today I finally got the courage to ask you to be my boyfriend. We had been on several dates before and neither of us knew what we were. All we needed was a little push and once we had that I could officially call you my boyfriend. My caring, adoring and loving boyfriend.

Spending all day with your and just you was amazing and I couldn’t have imagined a better way to spend it and I hope our 4 year anniversary date was up to your expectations.

Honestly Lando, there are not enough words in the English language (even with my knowledge) to describe how much you mean to me and you do not know enough French for me to even try and attempt that. I’ll give it a go in English… Not long after we started dating the whole Anthoine thing happened and you stuck by me and was the one to get me back in the car the following day. Every year on the anniversary of one of their deaths you always make sure you are with me no matter what and I really do appreciate it. When you crashed in 2021 in spa I remember my heart stopping when my team told me that you had crashed and I didn’t calm down until I saw you once again and in that moment I knew that you were the only person in the world for me. You are the person who never fails to make me smile and laugh and the person I always myself searching for. If I make a joke I look around for you to see if you’re laughing or smiling because I know I can always count on you. When I win all I care about is you and seeing if you are proud of me. The moments that we are on the podium together are my favourite.

Lando Norris. I love you more than anybody can comprehend. I have loved you for 4 years and I will love you for many more. For as long as you let me love you for. ❤️

👥 landonorris

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landonorris Charles. This is so sweet and soppy. I love you too however I now have to change my caption to meet this level.

charles_leclerc You’re welcome. What were you going to put ‘happy 4 years to this idiot’?

landonorris Obviously and now I can’t or I seem like a horrible boyfriend

charles_leclerc I look forward to your new caption

pierregasly Comprehend… That’s a big word for you

charles_leclerc Not the only big thing I know 😉

charles_leclerc There was another one I wanted to use but didn’t know how to spell it

landonorris Do either of you think before posting comments? Ever?

pierregasly You cannot talk with half of the comments you make

landonorris Touché (see I know French)

charles_leclerc 🙄

pierregasly 🙄

carlossainz55 I bet you Lando is currently a pouting but also blushing mess

charles_leclerc Your guess is correct

charles_leclerc He started pouting more and mumbled that he hates us both

carlossainz55 Tell him that I love him too 😂

landonorris SCREW YOU. I HATE YOU.

carlossainz55 I love you too cabrón

carlossainz55 Also, congratulations on 4 years together

charles_leclerc Thanks Carlos. Lando says thank you too for pushing us together

landonorris DON’T GIVE HIM THAT RECOGNITION HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT!

lorenzotl Happy 4 years to the both of you! Papa would be so proud of you and adore Lando (he’s probably be papas favourite son)

charles_leclerc Thanks Lorenzo!

landonorris Of course I would be. I’m everybody’s favourite 😇

landonorris Maybe that wasn’t the best emoji since we are talking about your dead father

landonorris Maybe I shouldn’t have pointed that out

lorenzotl Don’t worry Lando, after 4 years we’re used to you freaking out over things like this and then just keep apologising

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, maxfewtrell, charles_leclerc and others

landonorris Screw you Charles for making such a nice post on our 4 year anniversary because now I feel like I have to write something long and meaningful about you and we all know I’m no good with words.

Thank you for these past 4 years, they’ve been amazing. In 2019 I thought that driving that McLaren car would be the best thing that could’ve happened but a couple months or so into the season I was apparently proved wrong. I was just this shy, nervous-wreak who looked about 12 and you were... well you were you and I never thought that you would ever like me like that. All of our outings before you officially asked me out I thought were just you being friendly before Carlos actually knocked some sense into me. I don't know why you stuck around when I was doing that awkward flirting and the terrible joke but I'm actually glad you did. You will never be able to understand how much you mean to me and how much you have actually helped me out. When I get stuck in my own head and don’t want to let anyone in you’re the one person who manages to do so and help me out. You're honestly just amazing and probably the only person who can properly put up with my shit... I now feel sick after writing all of this. 🤢

Thanks for the amazing day that you had planned out it was better then I could've ever hoped for! Happy 4 years to this idiot!

P.s There is a no return policy so you're officially stuck with me forever.

👥 charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc The awkward flirting and bad jokes... you're saying that like you don't still do that now

landonorris Wha?? My jokes are amazing

charles_leclerc Whatever you say mon amour ❤️❤️

georgerussell63 Who wrote this for you because is was obviously not you

landonorris I wrote it all myself with no help

alex_albon He called me crying begging me to help

georgerussell63 alex_albon makes sense

landonorris Stop bullying me in my own comments

carlossainz55 Glad I finally get the deserved recognition for getting the two of you together Cabrón

landonorris I guess you somewhat deserve it

carlossainz55 Without me you would be sad and alone

landonorris 🖕🏻I would not be sad and alone

carlossainz55 Whatever you say Cabrón

maxverstappen1 Could've chosen someone better to fall in love with 🤷🏻‍♂️

landonorris You love him really. Last time we were together and I quote ‘He’s good for you Lando, don't let him go or fuck it up.' Pressure much.

landonorris Also 'You may be one of my best mates but if you hurt him and fuck it up I will not hesitate to find the most torturous way to kill you'

maxverstappen1 Proof?

landonorris I have recordings

charles_leclerc He does. I've heard them. You've said a lot of nice things about me Maxy.

danielricciardo I've heard it too. Both recordings and first hand

maxverstappen1 And this is why I never say nice things

maxverstappen1 Happy for you both though

maxverstappen1 I swear though if any of you fuck it up there will be no body for the police to find and you will suffer greatly

#instagram au #f1 instagram au #charles leclerc/lando norris #lando norris/charles leclerc #charlando #cl #ln

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chaiiitime · 1 year

Text

“I feel that if I'm to get back on the grid, I honestly believe I'll be a better version of myself. A more mature, experienced, complete version."

Daniel loves Monaco.

He bloody loves driving here - the bumps, the thrill, the unforgiving walls, the low grip, the risk. He loves how it demanded complete mastery because there is no room for mistake at Monaco - you miss and you’re in the wall.

He’s had the highest of highs and the lowest of lows here. He doesn’t think anything will ever compare to winning here. The fucking elation, the sheer disbelief that he’d done it as he had nursed his car over the line, that feeling of invincibility as he’d stood on the halo of his car - yeah, he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel that way ever again.

You needed to be ballsy to win here, and at one time, he used to have the balls to get closer to the wall than most others dared. What was it that Vid had texted him before the race last year? You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.

Yeah right, he hadn’t only been tamed but he’d been beaten into submission, stripped raw to the bones. Monaco last year was when things pretty much went to shit. After that crash, he’d realised things were getting away from him and McLaren, they weren’t really interested in helping him out.

He's happy now, he repeats to himself. He doesn't stay up all night thinking about what he could have done differently anymore. He's made peace with all the what has beens and all the could have beens, but today standing at the back of the Red Bull garage, all the coping phrases his therapist has given him feel pretty meaningless.

Because as he watches the mechanics put the cars through the final checks, Max and Checo standing off to the side, race suit hanging off their waist, listening to whatever their engineers are saying, all he felt was jealousy.

That should have been him. That should have been him.

You shall not covet your neighbour's house, that's what he had learnt a long time ago in Sunday school. Yet he can feel the jealousy, the envy run hot through his veins, bubbling like lava, corroding his flesh away, leaving a pulsing gaping hole inside of him.

He misses that moment of clarity he used to get before a race, that brief moment just before the lights go out, when he is alone in the car and the constant noise in his mind would stop. He craves that rush, that high he can only ever get from racing. Like an addict in withdrawal, he's convinced that the trembling in his limbs would stop if he can just get in the car again. Maybe, maybe, if he can just get in the car one more time, he'll feel whole again.

He wishes he could turn back time. Go back to 2018, with Simon in his ear, coaching him as they picked cars apart one by one with the clinical precision of a sniper. He wants to be that Daniel again, the one who could come from a long way back and still make the move stick. He yearns for that feeling he used to get when he would make an overtake. He yearns to feed on the terror of the other drivers when they used to see him in their mirrors.

Daniel thinks that's how predators feel like when they sink their teeth into their prey and the warm blood gushes out - sustenance, breath of life, a necessity to survive. That hunger now made the muscles in his belly spasm, like if he doesn't feed it soon, the chasm inside of him will deepen.

The hand on his shoulder felt heavy. Christian.

That's another thing Daniel wishes could go back to how it was in the past, his relationship with Christian. Daniel doesn't know how he should feel towards him. He is grateful that Christian basically created this role for him, but he is also resentful of him. He hadn't been golden enough for Christian to fight for back then. Hadn’t been perfect enough. Hadn’t had what Max apparently had. Maybe if Christian had taken his side against Helmut, had fought for him to stay, he would never had left Red Bull and he would never had ended up at McLaren.

Daniel can sense the concern in Christian's gaze. Has he somehow let on about what he's been thinking? People rarely look beyond the smile, but if there is someone who knows him better than himself, it is Christian.

"We've had some bloody good races here, haven't we?" Christian looks back at Daniel, and the smile on his face is knowing, almost calculated.

Daniel licks his dry lips, almost tasting the metallic taste of blood. He looks on as the cars left the garage to line up on the grid.

Next time, it will be him in that car.

He turns back to Christian, his head tilted up as if to say I'm ready. He smiles, not his usual sunny smile but the one that Christian knows belongs to the Daniel who once punched a hole in the wall of his driver room.

"Yes, we have."

#daniel ricciardo #ficlet

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angel-inrealtime · 1 year

Text

November F1c Prompts Day 22

Day 22 - Sound (Settlement)

It's so quiet, on the ranch. With Christmas decorations half up and no plans for the day, stretching out warm and golden before you. Daniel hadn’t done much other than sleep for the first few days once you landed. A whirlwind trip to London and then back to Monaco to pack for an extended time away had been exhausting, it turns out.

You’ve had his friends around a few times, they went and camped overnight on a fishing trip the second weekend you were back that Michelle used as an excuse to stay over and catch up. Which really meant drink a couple of bottles of wine – Daniel got back at midday and laughed at the state of the two of you on the couch, barely moving for the sore heads (he did drive to McDonalds for you though).

You spend four days by the beach, petsitting for one of his school mates. Their black Labrador (Woof, which you think is a hilarious name for a dog) loves Daniel, but it’s nothing compared to their little orange cat named Max who trails him around the house, chirping and mewling like the two of them are carrying on a conversation.

“You’re a weird little dude, Maximus.” Daniel tells him on the first day, looking at the cat like he doesn’t completely trust him. Still, he holds out a hand for him to sniff, might smile a little when the cat pushes his face against his finger.

By the evening they’re a package deal, and as Daniel feeds the animals while you’re throwing together a grazing platter for the two of you to eat, you hear him answering the cat like they are having a conversation.

It’s all very domestic.

He treads back out from the laundry towards you. “Animals fed. The cat’s a little weirdo.”

You grin at him. “He’s your new little bestie.”

“A cat?” He reaches over your shoulder and grabs an olive from the bowl. “Unlikely.”

You poke him in the side. “Little weirdos named Max - with the utmost affection - deciding you’re their favourite isn’t unusual for you, though. Get the back door?” You pick up the platter and start towards it. “Can you grab me one of the sours and a glass too?”

He laughs with his head thrown back (and sends a picture of the cat to his friend, you see their chat thread lighting up later in the evening, and he spins his phone to show you the picture of Max’s very unimpressed looking cats) but slides the patio door across for you

Daniel settles on the lounge next to you, hands you the beer already poured and sighs contentedly as he looks out at the sunset over the water. “That’s glorious.” He kisses your cheek. “Thanks for dinner.”

He opens his mouth with laughter already in his eyes and you shove a cracker with cheese in to it. “Do not make a shark coochie board joke.” You warn, and he laughs and laughs.

The animals trot out side by side when they’ve finished their dinner, and Max the cat hops onto the lounge between you (but tucked firmly against Daniel) and promptly falls asleep, belly up and legs akimbo just like his big brother Woof on the deck at your feet.

You catch Daniel smiling in profile, golden and rumpled but finally looking rested again, beard just getting thick on his jaw and the dark circles finally (finally) gone from under his eyes.

The waves crash on the beach below as the sun starts to dip lower, and Daniel hums happily when you thread your fingers into the curls at the back of his head, settled.

#f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfic #November f1c prompts #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1blr #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 x reader

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maxverstepponme · 11 months

Note

Hello again,

I am the anon who works with a Luxury House.

I took the time to check Kelly’s Instagram in depth. My specialty is not social media, but branding.

And my issue with her, if she is reading this:

Kelly doesn’t has a brand

A brand is recognizable and tells a story

I’ll give here a free brand masterclass for you all and Kelly

What do we think when we think

CHANEL: feminine, empower woman, soft, French, old money

DIOR: feminine, silhouette, elegant, black and white, french

GUCCI: logo, Italian, opulent, street wear

Could be many more, but this is basically the story telling of the brands.

Brands can use their own history like the old fashion houses, or they can make up a story like Ralph Lauren did.

When you use social media to build your brand you have to use the feed to be storytelling

I’ll use Victoria and Sophie as examples

Victoria: mom, luxury, lifestyle

Sophie: mom, grandma, travel

You can see 3 photos and say “okay, I know what’s about them”

When you see the mess that Kelly has, it’s all over the place, this is her feed to June 2nd, 2023.

VOGUE, VOGUE, VOGUE

VIDEO, MAX, SELFIE

CANNES, CANNES, CANNES

CANNES, CANNES, CANNES,

SELFIE, HER KID, WEDDING

MIAMI, FAMILY, MIAMI

MIAMI, NEW YORK, NEW YORK

HER KID, MONACO, MONACO

What is the story there?

There’s no story at all. It’s just her wanting to have as many pictures of her out there as possible.

She has: Netherlands Vogue Cover Girl January 2023

Congrats girl! Now you want a Balloon? Here 👉🏻🎈

That’s your whole persona?

Well only lasted until January

How many models have that on their profile? Non. Because they have way more other jobs.

Ok. So we can see you’re not a model, since you only have one gig. Good let’s move on.

Are you a mom?

Posting next to a kid doesn’t necessary show you’re a mom.( sounds harsh I am not sorry)

It’s not necessary to show your kids face everywhere.

What about a post making her lunch, asking moms in the comment for healthy lunch box recipe.

Decorating, show that room renovation, share tips, mom loves aesthetic tips Instagram.

Do mom things!

But you only show your kid like “hey look I still have a kid” sounds harsh not sorry, but there’s no story there. And I can see how it seems Kelly is using her kid for likes.

So Mommynstagram? No.

What about embracing that you’re a rich girl living in Monaco?

I am not talking about having photoshoots around Monte Carlo, I am talking about embracing the lifestyle.

But no, because Kelly only have 2 posts about Monaco and are the Monaco Tenis Open.

Now, what about embracing that you are a supporting wag? Be proud and just post Max

Many wags in the US do that. And their whole thing is being a wag but they embrace it and it’s actually nice.

But no, because she wants to pretend she is not famous because of him.

Kelly has no brand

There’s no story.

She will get invited somewhere, she will say yes, and she will post it 12 times

Great! Let’s see if that works out once you’re not a wag 👍🏼

There’s a public for every Instagram, come with a narrative, tell a story and sell it! People will hate you anyway! At least do a good job!

That’s it! I want you know that I charge for this type of class, but I like this blog so is Free

I can analyze other wags brands

But next week, I have ton of work this weekend

Enjoy the weekend bye

This is what I’ve been saying! Thank you so much for this insight, after all I’m not crazy. And feel free to do any wag you like!

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danielsdecanter · 2 years

Text

beautifully unconventional - part two

pairing: daniel ricciardo x f!singer reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention, not quite pure smut yet but it’s a little spicier

word count: 2.5k

summary: daniel ricciardo is famously a music fan. you’re the lead singer of one of his favourite bands. match made in heaven - right?

author’s note: thank you so much for all the love for part one!! i genuinely didn’t expect it so it’s really lovely to see, and it helped me churn out part two even faster. writing this has already extended my plans for the series by one part (you’re welcome) which will most likely be written early next week.

if a taglist for updates would be helpful for anyone, please let me know - any comments/suggestions/requests etc are always welcome in my inbox too! another thank you to @kingeomer once again for beta-ing for me - i hope you enjoy! 🥰

read part one here

you hadn’t seen daniel since your run in after your new york show. you’d run some quick mental maths as you lay in bed the following morning scrolling through his instagram, realising that he must have stopped off in new york city on his return from the japanese grand prix, which had been the previous weekend with the US grand prix in austin in a couple of weeks time. almost as if some mysterious force above was at play, it practically coincided with your tour date in the city.

spooky.

not seeing him though didn’t mean that you hadn’t been in touch. you knew he’d been back and forth and all over in the weeks that followed your meeting, seeing him on instagram in woking (where you soon learnt his team’s headquarters were), as well as back at his home in monaco where he’d filmed himself getting particularly sweaty during a training session with his coach, who you’d discovered was called michael. one thing you were sure of, is that you’d be taking the number of times you’d watched that particular instagram story to your grave.

the distance and time however gave you plenty of opportunity to conduct a little research into your new friend. could you call him a friend? you’d met once, but that one meeting had felt like a reunion rather than an introduction, something you hadn’t really experienced before, even with your closest friends. as your tour bus made its way around the sprawling mass that was the united states, you’d found yourself curled up in your bunk hitting play on episode after episode of drive to survive, just to find out more about daniel - no matter how much it felt like a reality tv series rather than a documentary at times. you’d also taken to sending him the random posts that popped up on your own instagram feed, whether they be from shitty meme pages, cute dogs or even f1 jokes, which you’d proudly tell him you got the reference of now. you felt a strange need to remind him of your presence without being overbearing, and so far your strategy was working well.

before you knew it, your austin date had arrived. it was a couple of days after the race weekend, so you didn’t bother to message daniel to let him know you were around - besides, your avid research had told you that he had the mexican grand prix the following weekend, and you couldn’t envisage him still sticking around in the city. you had watched the race though, on the tiny tv that sat in the ‘lounge’ of your tour bus, cheering wildly for him as he tried to battle his way through the field after a disappointing qualifying, finishing a very respectable 5th. you hadn’t noticed at the time, but your bandmates could all see what was happening - the fondness in your eyes as your yelps got louder, the way you could hardly remain in your seat as he overtook his fellow drivers again, and again, and again. they knew you were down bad - you just hadn’t realised that yourself yet.

the show itself went as well as it could have done, but it was nothing special - it was no new york. you didn’t think anything could come close to just how good that night had felt, and wouldn’t for a very long time, so you weren’t too disappointed. good was still good enough - not everything had to feel like fireworks.

with a few days off between tour dates, you and the band had decided to descend on a local bar that came highly recommended by the crew at the venue. apparently tonight was open mic night, and you were all having a giggle about how funny it’d be to enter yourselves - especially after a few drinks. while you and your band weren’t exactly nobodies - you were on your second american tour after all - you weren’t household names either, meaning you’d probably get away with it too. you just had to try and not get too pissed before you could even get going.

before you knew it, your table was littered with various drinks as round after round was ordered. you were by no means sloppy, but you’d seen off a good few gin and tonics, and you could feel the warmth of the alcohol making your cheeks flush. it also made you laugh a little too loudly as the MC for the evening called out your name for your open mic slot, giving your howling bandmates the finger when it was announced that you would be singing sweet fucking caroline. as you took to the stage you tried to compose yourself as the house-band began playing the intro to the infamous neil diamond song, closing your eyes and taking a big, deep breath to do so. as you began to sing, you kept your eyes firmly shut as you felt that with one misplaced glance at your very unhelpful friends, would leave you in a fit of laughter on stage.

as the music continued you finally felt comfortable enough to peek your eyes open, especially as the big chorus was approaching that you were determined to have the whole bar singing along to.

the eyes you met as you did were not the ones you were expecting, but they were most certainly not unwelcome.

daniel was there, his face alive with excitement at watching you make an absolute tit of yourself on stage as you laughed, loudly, into the microphone. you watched as he pulled his phone out, no doubt to film you.

two can play at this game, ricciardo, you thought as your own face lit up with a grin. turning to the band behind you, you signalled for them to stop for a second, before you spun back round to the crowd of patrons, impressed at yourself for not falling flat on your arse.

“sorry everyone, i’ll carry on in just a second - i’ve just spotted we have a very special guest here this evening”

you smirked as every man and his dog started practically breaking their necks to try and spot who you were referring to, as daniel gave a look as if to say - you’re a dickhead.

“daniel ricciardo is here ladies and gentlemen! who thinks we should get him up here to sing along with me?”

the cheer you were met with could only mean a resounding yes. you batted your eyelashes at daniel in the crowd, pouting slightly like a child who was trying desperately to get what they wanted, before cracking into a cheeky smile as he eventually stood from his seat and started working his way towards you.

“big round of applause please, everyone!” you urged the crowd as he approached you.

throwing his arm around your shoulder (you tried to ignore how it made your stomach jolt with butterflies and your breath hitch) he pulled you close, far enough away from the microphone so that he couldn’t be heard.

“you’re a little arsehole, you know that” he murmured into your ear, while giving you a one-armed hug. you weren’t sure if it was the australian accent or if it was just him but he didn’t sound all that aggrieved, your suspicions being confirmed when he pulled back and gave you a look that made you beam, your nose scrunching up as you did so.

his arm remained around your shoulder as the band kicked in again, swaying you both in time with the music as you made your way through the song. you’d clocked a number of phones recording your rendition, but didn’t really mind - you were drunk enough not to care and in reality, you couldn’t really imagine it painting either of you in a bad light, so what was the harm. as the song came to an end the crowd erupted into cheers and you watched as daniel pulled away from you, only to take your hand and pull you down into a dramatic bow. glancing across at him as you were both bent over, you poked your tongue out slightly to tease him.

“drink?” you asked, watching him nod in response.

keeping hold of his hand you pulled him off the stage and led him through the crowd towards the bar, where the barman greeted you both with a shot of something amber looking, telling you it was the least he could do after such a passionate performance. turning to one another, you clinked your shot glasses and saw it off, wincing as whatever the hell it was burned your throat.

“that was fun…” daniel said, wiping the corner of his mouth. “probably shouldn’t have done that, i’m supposed to be on a flight down to mexico in the morning”

you laughed, realising he was probably about as drunk as you were.

“we should probably stop meeting when there’s alcohol involved” you replied, making no effort to wind the evening down.

“ah, but that would involve either of us having a smidge of spare time” he countered, to which you could only nod in agreement.

“well done at the weekend by the way, that was a really great drive” your voice was slightly softer now, it always seemed to mellow when you weren’t trying to one up him on the banter scale, and instead spoke genuinely.

“thanks…” he raked his fingers through his curls, almost embarrassed by the praise coming from you. “annoyingly, probably one of the better drives of the year, just annoying that the form is coming this late on”.

you led him back over to your table where yet again your bandmates had mysteriously gone missing - they had a habit of clearing off when daniel was around, you thought. just what were they trying to make happen?

picking up where you left off before you’d been beckoned to the stage, you started sipping on your gin and tonic, while daniel helped himself to a beer from the bucket of drinks that you’d ordered for the group.

“one more can’t hurt” he said with a shrug.

for the second time in the space of just a few weeks you easily fell into conversation, catching up on the events of the austin grand prix, and daniel asking question after question about the various cities you’d been to since you’d last met. talking to him felt easy. there was no awkward eye contact (or lack thereof), and he didn’t shy away at your habit of putting a hand to his arm or knee when you laughed or reacted to something he said. if he was being honest, it felt normal.

you’re not sure how it happened, but before you knew it you were playing the listening ear as he poured his heart out to you about the trials and tribulations of his past year, your heart aching as he touched on the contrasting highs of his first home grand prix in three years, versus the gut wrenching lows of races like bahrain and barcelona. you didn’t interrupt once, choosing to let him speak - it felt as though he’d had this on his chest for a while, so didn’t want to knock him off his flow without realising.

when it eventually became clear that he was finished, you gave him a sweet, reassuring smile. “can i tell you something…?” you say, the soft voice from before making its reappearance.

“sure” he replies, just as gently, catching your eye.

you shift so you’re sat facing him, interlocking your legs without really meaning to, but making no effort to shift away either. you feel nervous for some reason. you’re not sure why.

“i - this is probably a stupid thing to say but - i dunno, to me, every race you get to finish no matter where you’re placed is a win. i know the points are important but you’re one of the best. no one can take that knowledge away from you even if it feels hard to believe at times. you get to live your dream every single day - and that makes you a winner in my book…”

there’s a brief silence and you think you’ve messed up, cursing yourself in your own mind for being so fucking clichéd. he’d probably heard that a million times.

“hey…” he catches your attention, ever so gently guiding your chin up with his knuckle so that you’re looking at him. you blink as you clock his eyes glancing down towards your lips - you must have been imagining things.

“thank you for that…” there’s a gravelly quality to his voice now, as if the talking and singing and general debauchery of the night was catching up on him. “you’ve got his quality of making something that would sound like bullshit from anyone else sound like the most profound thing anyone’s ever said… or maybe i’m more pissed than i think”

you laugh, taking the complement as it was intended. “you’re welcome, it’s the least i can do really…”

your eyes are still locked.

his tongue darts out to wet his lips, distracting you momentarily as you watch, before averting your stare back up to his.

“actually, i think the least you can do is kiss me…” he’s practically whispering, but you still hear every word - and you don’t need telling twice.

darting forward, you capture his lips with yours, every so carefully bringing you arms up to loop around his neck and keep him close. you’ve had your first taste now and you weren’t going to give it up easily. the kiss was slow, but not without purpose, your fingertips playing with the hair at the base of his neck as your tongue teased his gently, forcing soft, satisfied sounds from your mouth as your dance continued.

with your legs still locked, you didn’t think as you moved forward, desperate to be closer to him as his knee knocked into your core, making you pull away from the kiss with a stifled gasp.

“fuck…” you mumbled against his lips, unwilling to be any further away from him.

“fuck indeed…” he breathed back, a shit eating grin on the lips that you were kissing just moments ago.

“i’d say we could go back to mine, but ‘mine’ is currently a bunk bed on a tour bus…” a sad smile gracing your face.

“we could go back to my hotel…?” he suggested, as your eyes flicked up to his with a mixture of hesitancy and need.

“didn’t you say you have a flight to catch…?”

“i can set an alarm - that is, if we get any sleep”

you slapped his chest playfully before taking the chance to lean in and kiss him again.

“i don’t want to get you into any trouble…” that was your main concern. if you chased down your desire and only your desire at this point, there was a risk that you’d get too carried away. what if daniel missed his plane to his next race and ruined his schedule? what if he was distracted or too tired from the night’s antics and had a bad race - or god forbid, lost control of his car because of you. your mind raced with the various possibilities.

almost as if he could sense your impending spiral, he brought you closer so that he could lean his forehead against yours.

“i’m a big boy, i’ll be just fine…” he offered you a reassuring smile.

“promise…?” you had to ask.

“promise” he replied.

“then i think you should lead the way…”

- - -

danielricciardo now i get why english people go absolutely bonkers for sweet caroline

yourinstagram it’s our national anthem babes

- - -

part three coming soon!

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you

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adventuringblind · 4 days

Text

Chin Up, Princess (2k words)

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: Ghoulverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Jos oversteps and causes a whole lot of hurt for Max and his mate, he takes things into his own hands and ends up resorting to extreme measures in order to save his lover. (Background Landoscar, Charlos, and Sewis)

Warnings: Mind control, talks of eating people and mentions of gore but nothing explicit, ghoul on ghoul violence, burning of a character, major character death (not a good guy tho), ED but like... also not an ED, soulbonds

Notes: Ironically the most tame ghoulverse fic I've done thus far. Thank you to🏍️for the amazing idea!!

Side Note: Feed my praise kink please?

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

It’s raining again. The kind of rain Monaco doesn’t see often. The torrential downpour that keeps everyone hidden away inside to keep warm.

She watches the water droplets race down the window, wondering which one will hit the edge first. It’s not productive, but she needs something to distract her from the ache in her bones. The hunger pains have gotten progressively worse over the last three weeks. Still, she’s finding ways to cope. She has to manage; the pain is what’s keeping her sane.

It’s nice being home and hidden behind the water covered window. It means she’s free to drop the human look. All horns and tail, long tongue and sharp teeth, dark eyes and pointed ears. It’s natural - or it used to be.

It doesn’t quite feel like her anymore. Like somehow everything that had once been a part of her is now irritating. Her horns are heavy and her tail refuses to be anywhere but the ground. All because his words sit in her head and bounce around the cavity in her chest.

He changed her.

~~~♡~~~

A month ago, she ran into Jos in the paddock. Even though she doesn’t like the guy, he’s still technically her king - and Max’s dad - so her father in law in a way. Max had mated with her (a heavenly feeling) but had done so without the consent of his father.

Jos doesn’t like her one bit. Which she doesn’t care about. If Max is the prince of the demons and set to take up leadership at some point, that makes her a princess. They both dislike each other but in the essence of keeping things civil, she makes it work.

“I didn’t expect to see you here today!” She nodded her head to show respect. Opting for that instead of bowing to this man in broad daylight.

“I wish I hadn’t seen you at all!” Well - fuck you too - she supposes. She’d fallen into step beside him as they made their way to the Redbull garage.

She nearly crashes into him when he stops abruptly. He grabs hold of her bicep and drags her down some alleyway between buildings. She goes with compliance, hell only knows what this man can and will do to her.

Her back hits the wall with a disorienting force. “You’re not enough for us.”

“I think you mean for you.”

Jos hisses close enough to her face that she can feel his saliva hitting her. “The council decided you’re not one of us-'' He grabs her chin and she watches as his eyes fade to that deep dark color that usually means something bad is about to happen.

“You will not eat. You are not one of us. Am I clear?”

She snaps at him. Her attempt at fighting his hold is futile. Not when the damn demon king is trying to hypnotize her. “No!”

He clamps a hand over her mouth and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. The open flame hovers just above the healed over scar on her clavicle. She shakes, desperate to get away from the heat. “You will not eat. You are not a ghoul. You are not one of us.”

It’s a hypnotic tone that seeps through her ears and floods her veins. The heat of the flame no longer her one weakness as her mind submits itself to the will of her king.

~~~♡~~~

Her jaw snapped shut. Her vocal chords refused to work. Her throat constricts around liquids. Her teeth become glued to each other each time she tries to bite down into something of nutrients.

A month of this torture and she can feel herself getting progressively more ravenous. Slowly they’ve exhausted all of their options. No matter how desperately she tries, she can’t get any substance into her.

Max’s reflection appears in the window. A frown etched upon lips. It doesn’t suit him; Max was made to smile. She likes being the one to cause it. These days it feels like all he’s doing is trying to ease her slow and painful death.

He sits opposite of her and heaves out a gust of warm air on the window. His pointer finger paints a simple picture of a stick figure. It’s - objectively - a terrible drawing, but it serves its purpose and makes her laugh.

“I’m scared, Max.”

“I know, schat.”

They continue to stare out the window. The bond doing the talking for them, passing their emotions back and forth. He can feel her pain and she can feel his inner rage.

Humans don’t understand. Maybe they never will. They fear those who are different. Think this way and do this thing or you're a monster. Certainly not all of them. Lando and Charles are prime examples of this. Still - surviving amongst them gets harder each day.

“I know what you want to do.” She turns towards him. Unbidden in the comfort of their own home. His tail flicks in uncertainty. A habit he picked up from Sebastian. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“It’s inevitable. Just earlier than planned.” He won’t meet her gaze. “I can’t watch you suffer when I can stop it.”

“You have always been the chivalrous type.”

Max slides closer to her. His thumb comes to the underside of her chin and pushes it upward. Her eyes have nowhere else to go, forced to get lost in his. A never-ending sea of endless dark that she’d willingly drown in.

“Chin up, love. There is going to be a crown on your head soon. I’d hate to see it hit the ground.”

~~~♡~~~

She hates not being able to go inside. She understands why she can’t though. She already has the weight of one hypnosis spell weighing her down; she’s more susceptible to another.

Still, waiting is nerve wracking. The sound of familiar roars fill her ears. Occasionally wincing when she feels Max’s pain. Mild compared to what it is for him.

Lando and Charles are sitting on the ground with her. Their mates are inside with Max, along with Lewis and Sebastian. She attempts to hold close to the bonds of their tribe. They’ve been planning this for the last couple of weeks. Every hole is plastered with flexi tape.

“Relax, chéri. They are fine.”

She won’t open her mouth to mutter a thanks. Not when she’s already salivating and can smell exactly where their pulse points are. Not when she can hear the steady rhythm of their hearts.

No, she can’t eat, but she’d also rather not risk it.

“Do we have to bow to you after this whole ordeal is over?” Lando looks at her with a curious expression. “Cause like - Oscar doesn’t bend like that.”

Both her and Charles gape and the odd statement. Lando looks like he’s just stated the weather on an average Monday morning.

“Lando, are you sure it’s not you who doesn’t bend like that?”

“I think I know how I can bend mate! How do you think we broke the table-“

Charles grimaces, his nose scrunching up and cheeks turning red. “Bleh! I don’t need to know how Oscar bends you.”

“You asked!”

“And now I regret it…”

Another roar bellows into the night sky. It’s loud and painful. She looks to the boys beside her for confirmation that it’s not Oscar or Carlos. They nod at her, leaving only three options.

She bolts inside.

The roars turn to whines. The fire rages over the body of Jos Verstappen. Max has sunk to his knees, the sunset hues of the flames reflect in his eyes and illuminate the tear tracks on his cheeks.

She falls beside him. Panicked hands search for any possible wounds; any burns in need of immediate attention. Max is crying as she does so, but he’s smiling at the same time. There are a million emotions running through the room. The large flames a mercy to the now deceased king.

A fallen king lay before them. His body burned to ashes. They watch as he is devoured by the fire. The silence is deafening. The only noise being the roar of the flames. An irony that doesn’t go unnoticed. To feel serene with the one thing that would surely kill her if the starvation doesn’t first.

Max is the first to approach the pile of ashes on the ground. He creeps up to it like they might reanimate. Like they might take back what they once had and reestablish their hold on her mind with no chance at her escape.

Sebastian meets Max in the middle. He scoops handfuls of the ash and decorates Max’s skin. The Dutch looks miserable when Sebastian dumps a handful into Max’s own cupped hands.

“Do I have too?”

“Do you want your fathers powers?”

He groans, but doesn’t wait any longer. He tries to be serious, but there is an element of humor here despite the situation.

“Does this mean Max is a cannibal now?!” She supposes Lando is trying to whisper, but the building they are in echoes. He chokes when he hears it.

“Lando! I am trying to eat my father!”

“So you are a cannibal!”

Oscar slaps a hand over his mate's mouth. Briefly, a look of disgust flashes across his face. “If you really think licking me will work, you are mistaken.” Muffled sounds from underneath Oscar’s hand escape, but nobody understands.

Max is finally able to choke down the ashes of his father. Certainly not the most conventional of coronations, but she can’t picture it any other way.

“Never thought I’d see the day where we were dropping to our knees for this guy.” Carlos chuckles from somewhere beside her as they close in on the new king.

Not a prince anymore - a king.

It suits him more, she thinks. Standing tall in front of his tribe, still laughing at Lando and Oscar and their odd positioning. At Carlos and his playful pride as he kneels. He exchanges a smile with Charles after years of rivalry now comes a shared respect. He turns endearingly to Sebastian and Lewis looking at him like proud parents.

Then to her. She’s on the ground, her knees bruised already. Max pulls her up into his arms. He brings his hands to her jaw and once again she drifts into the calm of his endless eyes.

Soft fingers massage her jaw. The one that aches with a desperate need for something she hasn’t had in so long. He’s gentle with her, like an antique porcelain doll that might break if he applies too much pressure.

“You are worthy of every good thing. You are one of us, just as you always have been and you are deserving of your life.”

The cement that had been fire in her veins vanishes as he speaks. Max keeps talking, but she’s too lost in the relief from these heavy feelings - the euphoria of knowing she belongs again. The cavern of her chest is beating with words of comfort.

Her horns don’t feel like extra weights and her tail finds Max’s with immediate ease. They intertwine like they had before.

“You are here and loved. You have a place with us.” He tilts her chin upward like he’s done since they mated. “Chin up, your highness, you’re a queen now.”

~~~♡~~~

Sated.

Her body aches from a full belly instead of the hunger pains. As does the rest of their tribe, she presumes.

Max keeps getting phone calls… and he keeps ignoring them. Instead opting to keep his attention focussed on his tribe. His love for them - for her - is radiating through his every move.

“I think King Max sounds good on you.” She flashes her teeth at him. The others are either chatting, or if you’re Oscar then you’re using Lando as a blanket and sleeping. They are paying no attention to them.

“You think? I’d always resented it.”

“You’re going to change things, Max. That’s not something to resent.” They hook tails again, a comfort she’d missed dearly. “Plus, you’re stuck with me now since you saved my life. I’m going to be the most demanding queen.” She waves her hand around for dramatic flair.

“Oh yeah? How so?”

“First I’m going to demand that you cuddle me - and I’ll figure out the rest later!”

“As you wish, your highness.”

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vro0m · 1 year

Text

vro0m’s rewatch - 142/310

2014 Italian GP

Welp. So last GP was absolutely insane in terms of narrative. Let's see how this one goes. I guess we'll get the final words on what happened last time around but I already explained all that in my last review so I might not go into details here, except if there's new information.

But first : quali report. Raikkonen was out in Q2 because of a lock up, he's 12th. Alonso is only 7th, the highest placed car without a Mercedes PU. Both Mclaren on the third row. Williams filled the second row, while the Mercedes locked the front row. And this time, it's Lewis on pole.

We get a Lewis interview. This is his first pole since Spain. It's been a long time. He's enjoyed it, he says, but it's a long way to go the next day. She says he's been more chill than she's seen him in a while. She asks if it's experience or age? He hopes it's not age, "cause… I'm definitely noticing that". He does think it’s through all these experiences, he's matured, and he'll continue to make mistakes "and do and say the wrong things" but it'll make him grow. He thinks this year with all the pressure and everything that's gone on, he's learned to recover quicker.

The journalist says since Spa Mercedes has backed him and supported him a lot and said all the right things in public and she asks how big of a conversation there was between him and the team and between him and Nico. He says it wasn't that big of a thing. He came to Italy with some friend early in the week and literally as he got there he received a message that he had to be at a meeting the next day in the UK.

And so he asked if they couldn't do it on Skype and they were like "no, we need you here" so he went and first it was just Toto, Paddy and him, and it was just a normal meeting and very relaxed but very serious, and then they had a collective meeting but again it was pretty relaxed "and the end result was 'so we'll leave it to you… to race' and I'm like… 'and you called me all the way here to tell me that?'" he jokes. "Like I could be chilling sipping piña coladas man!" He reiterates it was relaxed even though it's a serious matter as they have the potential to be one of the most successful teams. She asks about his trust in Mercedes and whether he's always felt supported this season or if there were times when he doubted if they would back him. I love her for asking that question because it feeds directly into what I was talking about in the previous review. It's the key point.

"I've never ever felt that… the team hasn't backed me," he says. "I've felt… I'm sure back in Monaco, felt a bit… weird, it was almost like irony, there's only me that's a certain way and… everyone else is a different way but… it's okay we've moved on from that but generally the team has just been… fantastic. I've never felt so good in a team."

(Note the hints of paranoia again, whether based or not. During his answer about Monaco we're shown images of the GP but once we go back to him he's taking his hand off his ear and we've already established that this is his tell. He might not have moved on as much as he says.)

She reminds us the stewards didn't see a problem with what happened in Monaco, and they didn't see a problem with what happened in Spa either. She asks if he sees a problem with these or if he's forgiven Nico for these situations. He doesn't take a moment to think before he answers.

"It's not a case of forgiving, it's in the past, there's nothing– there's no point dwelling on these things. Can't go back and change it so all I can do is shape the future so that's what I'm gonna try and do."

She asks if he trusts him going forward. He says again it's not really the question. Of course on track you need to be respectful and hope the others will also be. He says he's had incidents in the past and you can't go into the next race worrying about what will happen if you're next to the same guy again. You have to go into it thinking it's not gonna happen again and it's gonna be a good race. She straight up asks who's stronger on track. OK girl. He says (very smart answer) : "That's for you to decide, and for the fans to decide. I mean, it doesn't really matter what I think. I do my talking on the track and that's what my dad has always told me to do." She says then that presumably if she asks him who's stronger mentally he'll give the same kind of answer. He talks over her to say Nico is very strong mentally. She says he is and they tend to think about him as being much more emotional. He doesn't agree. He says he thinks having handled "hopefully not too badly" all the things he's gone through and being 30 points behind and still fighting and still thinking he can win, "it hopefully shows some of that strength". (He's right, it does. And being strong has little to do with being or not being emotional.) She asks what it's going to come down to, winning the championship. He says reliability, it's what he's been struggling with, and yes, mental strength. He says he now has to do what he did this weekend (getting on pole) every weekend. And every weekend he has to do what he hopes, what he plans to do during the race.

DC says Lewis is a changed man compared to last year, much calmer, much more confident. He says Nico tried to race like him and failed and got chastised and the public didn't like it so Lewis knows he has him beaten in every wheel to wheel situation from now on. "Psychologically he just knows he's the better racer."

On the grid Niki says the mess has been sorted out and they had a good driver meeting in the morning. "The message is very simple : race against each other… but USE YOUR HEAD."

It's time for the race!

Formation lap.

And they're racing!

Terrible start from Lewis! A few meters off the grid he's already lost two places. What the fuck. I thought it was Nico at first, wow. Lewis what the absolute fuck. So now it's Nico in the lead then Magnussen, then Massa, then Lewis. And now his recovery systems won't work. Oh apparently it's race start mode rather than recovery system (they're saying RS over the radio everyone is confused about the meaning). Massa overtakes Magnussen for P2. And… yes! Lewis overtakes him as well. Ted says the team confirms it's the start mode that fucked up hence the terrible start. Now he's back on the pace and matching Rosberg. And Chilton is beached in the gravel and DNF. Lewis says his rear tyres are going but he's absolutely flying. OH! Nico locked up and went straight on at the end of the straight! He has to slalom between blocks and he loses a bunch of time! He's still in the lead though. He's lost 1.8 seconds. It could have been way worse.

Lap 10. Nico, 1.9 seconds ahead of Massa, 0.3 seconds ahead of Lewis. Then 5 seconds down we have Magnussen, Seb, Jenson, Alonso, Perez, Bottas and Raikkonen in P10. Lewis catches up in the pit straight and goes round the outside in the first corner which gives him the inside line in the second corner and he is ahead! P2! Now it's all about the chase. He's been chasing all season, not much of a change. The gap is 2.2. Now 2. 1.6. 1.2.

Lap 20. It's not a fascinating race. Nico, Lewis +1.1. Then Massa 7 seconds down, Magnussen, Valtteri, Jenson, Alonso, Raikkonen, Daniel and JEV. The pit stops are starting which explains why Seb disappeared from the top 10. Massa pits from 3rd. Rosberg should come in soon as per radio comm. "It's hammertime." Nico pits. Valtteri pits. Lewis comes in. He's still 1.5 behind Nico. Daniel pits. Bono tells Lewis he'll need the tyres at the end but Lewis sets the fastest lap anyway, and then also sets a fastest first sector, so Crofty and Brundle agree that he's clearly ignoring him. And he's already down to 0.6 behind. Imo he knew he had the pace to pass him now instead of waiting for the end of the race and he's going for it. AND NICO GOES DEEP AGAIN IN THE SAME PLACE! AND LEWIS IS AHEAD! Let's gooooo! And there's yellow flags out, Alonso has stopped.

It's lap 30. Lewis sets another fastest lap. Now it's Rosberg's engineer telling him he has to look after his tyres to attack at the end. Lewis is already 2.6 seconds ahead, a lap and a half after he's taken the lead. I'm bored, which hasn't happened a lot this season. The gap is now 4.3.

It's lap 40. There's really not much happening, even down the field, very few overtakes. Lewis is still 4.3 ahead of Nico, then we have Massa, 15 seconds down, and Seb 18 seconds down on him. After that it's Valtteri, Magnussen, Perez just overtook Jenson for P7, Ricciardo, and Raikkonen is P10. And Daniel overtakes Jenson for P8, and then Perez for P7. Jenson overtakes Perez for P8, but he fights back and gets his place again. Nothing else is happening.

10 laps to go. Daniel attacks Seb for P5. Seb defends but can't hold him off too long. 5 laps to go. Nico is not closing that gap. Suddenly Lewis locks up badly and it's down by a bit but that's not even threatening. 3 laps to go. 2 laps to go. Kvyat went straight in the chicane and hit one of those blocks. He's fine and still going. Final lap.

And it's the end of the race.

Well that was a good ol' boring one but at least Lewis wins! Nico is P2 and Massa P3. That's 238 points for Nico vs. 216 for Lewis.

"Nice work Lewis, get in there pal! Beautifully recovered mate, beautifully recovered," says Bono.

Lewis isn't too expansive in his body language as he gets out of the car. Very tuned down. Just a thumbs up.

While Massa and Lewis congratulate each other and talk joyously, Nico swears in Italian with the Mercedes representative for some reason. Lewis is just hanging out with a towel on his head.

Forever hiding his hair. It's such an insecurity to him. He turns around asking if they have the caps. Rosberg talks to Massa in Italian as well, he answers in a Latin mix of languages. When it's Seb there he often talks to him in German. Sometimes I wonder if he does it on purpose to keep Lewis out, but I don’t know. Crofty comments on Lewis hiding under the towel. "Doesn't he like his hairstyle at the moment?" he asks. "No idea," says Brundle. "But I'm not one to talk about hair." Yeah you both just stay off the subject, it'll be better for everyone.

I personally love his baby curls, he's so cute.

Idk who the guy doing the interviews is (it’s actually Alesi lmao) but he asks Lewis if he likes to complicate his own life. The crowd is a mix of cheering and a little bit of booing I think. Lewis thanks them anyway and comments on how big the crowd is. Doesn't answer the question. The man moves on to Nico. Some people in the crowd have huge poles and one of them gets theirs to him on the podium and there's a marker tied to it and Nico takes it to sign his flag but I think he doesn't do it in the end as he gets interrupted by the interviewer. He gets booed significantly more than Lewis as well. The interviewer asks a question I can barely hear and then turns to them and says "Ragazzi, no!" Nico says Lewis deserved the win and thanks the crowd in Italian, saying the atmosphere was fantastic. He gets more cheers now. Lewis grabs the pole/pen/flag to sign it. Then Nico signs it as well. Someone in the crowd has a Freedom For Lombardy flag which. Okay. The crowd reacts wildly to Massa. Loads of noise. Both the question and the answer are in Italian. He says there's no better place to be on the podium. He thanks the crowd. He says he's not red anymore but he's with them always. The man goes back to Lewis and Nico and says he needs to talk to them but can't do it very loud because it's a secret. "Are you friend again?" Lewis goes "huh???" and the man repeats the question. Nico has his arms crossed. Lewis says "of course" and touches his back briefly.

"We are teammates" (which isn't the same thing) "and we always will be so…" The guy interrupts him to say it's the best picture to see when they are friends because they've raced all their life together and they like the way they drive and the way they fight so they are very pleased to hear that. "Grazie a tutti !" Lewis says. That was awkward. The man goes back to Massa. He tells him he has to say something in English as well. So he says some normal pr stuff in English. He gets cheered loudly.

Lmao. So the post race content is from BBC again while the race was Skysports and both broadcasters have the same conspiracy theory : that mistake Nico made was so weird, was that the undisclosed penalty for Belgium? Jordan is crazy enough to ask Toto. Toto says "You mean whether we told him to miss the braking, go through the chicane and let Lewis pass?" with a smile on his face because he knows exactly how insane that sounds, especially when Lewis was supposed to be in the lead as he was on pole. Jordan says "I'm just asking a questi–" "No," Toto cuts him off. Then he laughs. "Sure?" asks Jordan. "Sure," he answers. "100%. I mean this for the drivers' world championship, it's very tight, he was under pressure, this is what you could see." He also says Lewis wanted the win and you can't take that away from him, his pace was amazing. He confirms the start issue was technical and on their side.

Lewis has a big smile. He says it was another hard day but he loved every minute of it. He says initially when he had issues and knowing how fast Nico would be he thought he wouldn't be able to make it but you can't get stuck in that kind of thinking. He says the issue at the beginning has to do with engine mapping and goes into an elaborate explanation that isn't very interesting to write down here. Anyway he had to floor it and he was grateful he didn't lose too many places.

She asks about Bono telling him to play the long game and him not listening.

He smiles as she asks the question. He says he has a great team working with him and guiding him during the race and what they're telling him is advice not orders and they work it out together. (Somewhat interesting that there was a whole issue last GP about him being able to trust his team or not and this time he decides to not listen to them and do his own thing instead.) He felt he had the pace and a good balance and had to seize the opportunity because in the first stint he caught up but couldn't overtake him on his old tyres. "I put pressure on him… you know I did it a couple of races ago and… he doesn't seem to like it so I try to do that always now," he smiles mischievously.

She says he's brought the gap down to 22 points. He says he still has a long way to go but one step at a time. He's more serious now. He talks of the fan support and his family being incredible so he's gonna take that energy and try to move forward. She asks if he feels like he's regained some control over the events. He hums. "I don't know, we'll see in the next race but… I just gotta take it as it comes, you know? You never know what's gonna happen, I mean, today I still had a problem. But to be able to be successful with that problem is a great feeling, it's even more empowering than perhaps starting from pole and just winning from there so… but I hope– I'm still looking for that weekend which… you don't have any problems."

Maybe next time?

I read on Wikipedia Lewis said he was uncomfortable with the public booing Nico.

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2014 #2014 italian gp

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kellyteaquet · 2 years

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serendipity181818: what is it and why is it relevant

time to discuss the serendipity drama. there might be a part two since we can’t fit all the images here. if there’s anything in specific you want us to talk about, just send an ask or a message ;) now to what we here for:

who’s serendipity181818 and why are they relevant? serendipity181818 is a spam account that started making appearances on certain posts, mostly f1 gossip accounts. what’s weird is that this user would only make an appearance when kelly was being talked about. this user will defend her to death, nothing wrong with it, but the things they said were sometimes weird, because of how much information they knew. take into account that this happened around the kellypiquetmemes account drama.

things like “spending quality time with mom and p” (sounds like they’re speaking in first person) “probably make a mistake with tagging” “she probably added the ‘paris’ effect” (too specific) are a bit weird to say, don’t you think? but what’s even weirder is that they know for a fact that when both max and kelly where in italy, they didn’t see each other because they wanted to get their jobs done like grown adults. there’s no way someone would know this unless they’re extremely close to one of them, or they’re kelly.

when speaking about kelly using max as a way to promote her tacky jewelry, they commented this. setendipity1818 was extremely sure that the only time kelly was ‘paid’ to make an ad, was in the monaco gp and russia gp. once again, there’s no way any of us could’ve known about this without having a connection to her.

again, setendipity1818 is completely sure that the reason why kelly suddenly ‘changed’ the ads on her story, wasn’t because people pointed it out (of course it was) but because of the deal. yes, deals have different contracts and things to follow, but how does this person know this?

after these events and constant appearances of the account on different posts, people started to speculate about kelly being the one behind this account.

as you see, serendipity was being brought up on her comment section. some thought it was going way too far, until she started deleting these comments. if you don’t know or have anything to do with it, why would you delete these comments? and before some of you go all crazy, google the definition of serendipity. it’s nothing bad, so there’s no reason to delete those comments unless she’s actually involved with this account, or behind it.

anons on tumblr were discussing this on different gossip blogs, and many found it weird that she was deleting these comments. the next day, people kept commenting serendipity on her feed, but conveniently, she didn’t delete these. coincidence? we don’t think so.

after this happened, a lot of people were trying to get more information on this, and oh boy, they did find a lot.

despite the account being private, someone managed to find that serendipity1818 was following a bunch of dilara sanlik accounts. and who is dilara sanlik? max’s unproblematic and extremely loved ex girlfriend. coincidence again? not at all.

a few days later, this happened.

this person posted a picture of max and kelly, the same picture many fanpages were posting at the time. miss serendipity181818, messaged someone on instagram and threatened them.

last but not least, after the serendipity181818 drama became a strong topic within the f1 fandom, serendipity was laying low. suspiciously janssenj776 appeared on the radar. this account was commenting on the same posts serendipity181818 commented in + some other posts. and guess what? all of them about kelly. more coincidences? not a chance.

people started speculating once again about who was behind these weird accounts that always manage to find kelly posts to defend her, and that they also use the same writing style and quotes.

after a while, both of the accounts were quiet, and people found it odd. someone messaged queenkellypq on instagram (exposing account for kelly) and asked if they knew anything about these two accounts, and here’s what they answered.

kelly blocked this account, they blocked serendipity181818, and magically janssenj776 started looking through their stories.

upcoming post: serendipity starting rumors and kelly’s email being linked to the account

#f1 gossip #f1 wags #kelly piquet #piquet #serendipity181818 #max verstappen

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm.

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit.

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman.

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked.

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen.

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger…

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him.

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage.

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you.

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging.

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch.

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock.

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch.

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

"Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust.

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

#my writing #pierre gasly #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf

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youjustwaitsunshine · 3 years

Text

Sebs interview with Der Spiegel, 26.6.2021, Part 1

please note that I'm in no way a professional translator so there might be some mistakes

Part 2

Q: Mr Vettel, when was the last time you refueled your car by yourself?

A: It's been some time. At home in Switzerland I drive electrically. Both my wife's and my car charge in the garage, so we always drive with a full car.

Q: Are those hybrid or fully electric cars?

A: Fully electric. For family trips, we have a minivan which is really practical with three kids. Now I remember when I refueled with gas the last time: on my way back from the Monaco Grand Prix. At night at a rest stop.

Q: You don't fly to races anymore?

A: Whenever I can avoid flying, I take the train or the car. For example to Monza, Imola or this week to Spielberg.

Q: How environmentally concious are you in your private life?

A: We have solar panels on the roof to produce our own electricity at least during the day. I changed our electricity provider years ago already to 100% renewable energy. And then we avoid using plastics whenever we can. We also only drink filtered tap water now. And when I go to the store, I always have a backpack or a bag with me. I once heard the phrase "It's only one plastic bag", said eight billion people. And there were eight billion plastic bags more.

Q: The four-time World Champion of the energy-guzzling full throttle business as an ecological example - don't you have to laugh about yourself?

A: When I started being more sustainable years ago, I of course had to ask myself the question if I wasn't a hypocrite. On one hand I damage the environment with my work, on the other hand I propagate things to protect the environment. So the first thing I did was change my own habits, for example the flying, and talked about it afterwards.

Q: Which habits did you change specifically?

A: We still eat meat, but we make sure it's not from factory farming. We also got away from the desire of always needing to have everything all the time and buying food that needs to be carted here from different continents. Instead we ask ourselves: Which products are seasonal? What grows in our area? We just don't want to leave such a massive ecological footprint.

Q: Did the pandemic influence your behavior?

A: Maybe I did have a bit more time and opportunities to think. But the most important factor are the children. They make you aware of how fast time passes - and how great the responsibility is.

Q: The discussion in Germany about short distance flights or more expensive fuel shows that there's still a lot of people opposing ecological impositions.

A: For me those are people who don't want to understand that environmentally conscious living has no alternative. This isn't a fad that comes and goes again. It's urgent. We shouldn't point a finger at others. And we shouldn't always talk about sacrifices. That's the wrong approach. The right one would be: asking oneself, what can I personally do to improve the future.

Q: Your plea in all honors. As a racing driver, you're in a business that produces many forms of pollution: noise, CO2, fine particles. You're an ambassador for luxury cars, before Ferrari, now Aston Martin - a blatant contradiction to your demands.

A: Firstly, I am of the opinion, that contradictions perk you up. Indeed, Formula 1 produces harmful things and I do criticise that publicly. Globalized Sport and Motorsports in particular should assume way more of a pioneering, an exemplary role. Racing drivers should show that they can live their passion in a way that is sustainable for the future and in accordance with the environment and not as a burden for others.

Q: What is stopping you?

A: The current hybrid regulations gave us the probably most efficient combustion engine of all time. No machine on the planet produces that much power, that compact with so little fuel consumption. Normal customers rarely benefit from the latest lessons car production companies learned from F1 - because the tech is hardly used in series production.

Q: Why is that?

A: Because the requirements for races are so different from normal road traffic. We drive full throttle all the time, brake brutally before corners and go full throttle again on the apex. And because it was believed that that was the technology of the future, the powertrain was completed with two electric motors that feed from brake energy and the hot exhaust air. Now we have 1000 horsepower, it's fascinating. Sadly it's way too complex and expensive for series production.

#sebastian vettel #f1 #interviews #my translation #this is about half of it

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