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dilemmaontwolegs · 4 months

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Not A Verstappen: A New World {8}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It's you first ever first anniversary and you hope you got it right. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, fluff, angst WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine

Round Fourteen - Dutch GP 2023

It was the 1-2 finish you should have had a year ago and thankfully Max didn’t crash into you this time. Standing beside him on the podium as the home crowd cheered almost brought tears to your eyes. It wasn’t your ‘home’ race like it was for Max but the people had adopted you under their flags and banners anyway.

“What’s your plans tonight, zusje?”

“It’s date night,” you said with a grin before handing over the jeroboam bottle of bubbly to your team. They deserved a piece of the celebration for their hard work on the car and you didn’t want to get drunk before the night began. “Charles is heading to Maranello tomorrow for testing so we are going to celebrate our first anniversary tonight.”

Max’s mouth parted in shock and he brushed a hand through his damp hair. “It has been a year already? Did anyone remind Lando?”

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics. “He’s not that bad at remembering dates.”

“Not that bad,” he echoed with a mocking tone. “He would be screwed without you and Charles to remind him.”

“Then it’s a good thing he has us,” you said as you waved to the crowd one last time before heading off the platform and back to the garage. You parted ways from Max as you went to the Aston Martin hospitality and he diverted to the Red Bull one. He was going to visit Jos while he was in the country, and you were glad he didn’t ask you to come, it saved you both from the awkwardness of the situation.

Lance looked defeated as he sat alone in a booth, everyone giving him a wide berth. Steering away from the path to your room, you took a seat opposite him.

“Tough race,” you commented softly.

His shoulders bounced with a laugh that held no humour. “Not for you, you got points.” His hands fidgeted with a napkin and he tore it to little shreds as he glared at the engineers walking into the motorhome.

“You looked like you had a good break, did you do any sim work while you were on holiday?”

His lips twisted into a sneer and he shoved the rubbish across the table, the paper drifting onto your lap like snowflakes. “I can have a break and still keep up with my training.”

You rolled your eyes as he pushed off from the table. “That’s not what I meant, Lance. I practised with the new upgrades last week and it really changed the drivability. I was just making conversation.”

“Sure you were,” he huffed as he grabbed his bag from under the table and left.

Cleaning the napkin off your suit, you stood up and felt your stomach grumble at the smell coming from the kitchen. One more stop on the way to your room, you thought as you headed to the chefs.

“You have hardly touched your food,” Charles said with a frown as he saw your plate still full while his and Lando’s were empty. “Do you not like it?”

You clutched your stomach and pushed the plate away. “I ate too much before we left, damn chef’s were making waffles in hospitality.”

Lando chuckled at your weakness but happily took your plate and stabbed his fork into the schnitzel. “So I guess you won’t want dessert then, pretty sure I saw stroopwafels on the menu.”

You perked up even with your stomach bloating and protesting the thought of any more food. “I might find room to fit one or two more.”

“I thought so,” he chuckled before reaching under the table for his bag and producing a gift box. “I know we said no presents but I’m terrible at listening and got one anyway.”

“Me too,” you said as you reached into your handbag.

Charles shook his head, and you almost believed he had followed the rule he had set, but his lips tipped up. “My present is already hanging in our bedroom for when you get home tomorrow.”

“Is it a nude?” Lando asked with a nod. “Please tell me it's nude. Blink twice if it’s a nude.”

“It’s not a nude, mon cher,” Charles clarified with a laugh.

“Dammit.” He sent Charles a smile to show he wasn’t actually as disappointed as he made it seem and Charles reached across the table to hold his hand.

“Here, you two can open this,” you said as you slid the box towards their hands. “I’ve never had a first anniversary so I didn’t really know what to get but I saw this and thought it was kind of fitting…” You fell silent as Charles untied the bow and Lando lifted the lid. “But if you don’t like it I can get something else…”

Lando reached for one of the items first, lifting the chain up so he could see the pendant that hung on it, identical to the other two necklaces. Charles picked his one up next and examined the detail that had been masterfully engraved into the white gold.

“It’s a trinity knot,” you said as you pulled a card out from under the last necklace, yours. “There’s a whole lot of symbolism in it like the past, present and future, but I like that it's just like us, you know, three connected. It’s stupid, isn’t it, I’ll take them back.” You felt like an idiot as you reached for them but they both pulled away before you could swipe it from their grasp.

“Hey, this is mine,” Lando huffed as he clutched it to his chest. “Get your own.”

“We love it,” Charles assured you as he took your hand and kissed your knuckles. “I think we were both stunned, in a good way, mon amour.”

“Not me, I just liked hearing her ramble,” Lando chuckled and you sent him a dirty look. “It’s adorable, love.”

“You suck,” you groaned as your cheeks heated.

“I do, asked Charles.”

“Will you help me put it on?” Charles asked as he held his up, ignoring Lando’s cheeky comment.

You rose from your seat and walked behind Charles, unclasping the necklace before draping it around his neck. The chains had been made longer since both of your boyfriends had thick necks from their training and when you let it go the trinity knot settled over the centre of his chest. Dipping your head down, you kissed him sweetly and whispered, “Happy anniversary, baby.”

While you were up, you took Lando’s and did the same before he grabbed the last necklace and patted his lap. You were grateful the restaurant had been hired out for the night so you could have the privacy to share the intimate moment as you sat down. His fingers were warm against your skin and you smiled as the cold chain balanced out the heat. It wasn’t enough to quell the fire that started when he kissed your nape where the clasp locked together.

“I love you,” he whispered as his hands started to drift up your thighs. “How about we skip dessert and head back to the hotel?”

“What about your gift?” Charles asked, rattling the box in his ear to try to guess what it was.

“Bring it,” Lando winked. “I’ll come in handy for what I have planned.”

Round Fifteen - Monza GP

You had felt off since FP1. There wasn’t anything wrong, you just didn’t feel right. Your mother pressed the back of her hand to your forehead as you curled up on your couch and napped between the practices, but you didn’t have a fever.

“I’m just tired,” you mumbled as you pulled your cap down over your face to block out the lights. “I’ll be fine after a little sleep.”

She had disappeared after refilling your drink bottle and went to visit Charles since it was his team’s home race. He was feeling more nervous than usual with the added pressure of the tifosi out in force and he wanted to make them proud, make Ferrari proud.

“Hey, love, wake up,” Lando coaxed you awake, a frown on his face at how long it had taken. You were like Charles, who, unless completely drunk, was a light sleeper. “It’s time for practice.”

“Shit,” you groaned as you saw the time, still a little lethargic and drowsy. “I haven’t even warmed up. Why didn’t anyone wake me earlier?”

“Kristian tried, but he came and found me. I think you would have killed him if he found an air horn to wake you. Are you feeling okay?”

You nodded as you sat up and stretched your back. Accepting his hands to pull you up, you used the momentum to crash into his chest and snake your arms around his waist. “I’m fine, but if you want to piggyback me so I can sleep on the walk then I will love you forever.”

“You are already going to love me forever,” he smirked confidently before it faded away and he pouted his lips, his brows softening above his smouldering eyes. “Could you ever hate this face?”

“I hate it when you do that,” you groaned as you felt your body awaking in response. “Goddammit, now I’m horny.”

“Good, at least that means you are wide awake now, come on, time to go.”

You would like to say the weekend improved after that but the car really struggled and you weren’t much better. You still bested Lance with your 9th place finish and another two points to the tally. It wasn’t much but it was enough to strain the already tense relationship with your teammate.

“I lost Charles,” you commented from your spot on Lando’s lap, having to talk right into his ear as the music was so loud. The nightclub was packed with Ferrari supporters and the two of you hidden in the VIP lounge were definitely the odd ones out.

“He’s over there,” Lando pointed out, spotting the head of dark hair making his way through the crowd back to you.

A round of boo’s started to grow towards the entrance and it drowned out the music as Max walked into the club. Even from across the floor you could see Max roll his eyes at the sound he was growing used to, but you rose from your comfortable seat as it grated it on your nerves. Dressed in a white shirt and jeans, you were grateful your brother didn’t arrive in Red Bull merch and antagonise the crowd further.

You shoved your way through the crowd and Charles changed his direction as he spotted you heading to the exit, intercepting you as you finally reached Max. “Shouldn’t you be celebrating your win?” you asked, elbowing a particularly annoying drunkard who was shouting at Max in Italian.

“They aren’t the same without you there.” His eyes widened and he caught your shoulder, tugging you into his side as the crowd swelled closer, the anger growing by the second as Charles stood in front and Lando covered your back. You could hardly breathe as you were surrounded by the three of them and Charles shouted back in Italian, but they weren’t listening to the man they had idolised only minutes earlier.

“We should get out of here,” Lando shouted to the group, the charged atmosphere bringing security inside. You were escorted out of the club and Max was quiet as he slid into the back of the SUV with you while Charles rode shotgun beside Lando. Worried eyes searched for yours in the rearview but you were frowning at your brother.

“Well, that was fun,” Charles broke the silence, twisting in his seat to look at Max too. “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t mean to spoil your evening,” he answered quietly, staring out at the street while Lando drove back to the hotel.

“It’s fine, we were going to head back soon,” Charles said with a shrug.

“I was getting tired anyway,” you added as you dropped your head on his shoulder and yawned. “I just want to have a break for a few days, but I can’t even have that.”

“Why not?” Max asked, since the next race was just under two weeks away in Singapore. Everyone was having a short break before the long cross-continental trip but given the wince he saw on Charles' face before he turned forwards in his seat, you weren’t one of them.

“Kristian,” you huffed resentfully.

“He still has you on that bullshit training programme? Tell him to fuck off.” Max shifted so your head could rest more comfortably. “Are you flying with me to Singapore?”

You shook your head and yawned again. “Charles has to fly with Vista for a promo.”

“And let me guess, you can’t really can’t go a few hours without him? What happened to bros before hoes.”

“Hey,” Charles feigned indignance and scowled at Max. “I can’t help it, I am so irresistible.”

Max gagged and reached for the car door. “Lando, let me out. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Fortunately for him the hotel was in sight and Lando pulled into the turn, trying to park in the valet area while struggling with laughter. He hadn’t even put the SUV into park before Max’s door was opened and your pillow was gone with him.

Your stomach rumbled as you headed into the quiet hotel and you blamed Max for mentioning food as you entered your suite. “Where’s the menu for room service?”

“I don’t think anything here is Kristian approved,” Lando commented as he read over the options but you pulled it from his grasp and reached for the phone.

“Fuck Kristian and fuck his diet, I’m hungry.”

Lando held his hands up in surrender before walking off with a laugh to Charles. “And you say I have attitude.”

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader

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disneyprincemuke · 4 months

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it’s when we’re in a crowded room

alternatively: the little ways they show each other affection when they’re in a public function

in which they’ve got their own little ways to communicate their feelings for one another while they’re under watch of the crowd that’s not supposed to know of their relationship

(series masterlist)

-> fia thursday press conference, bahrain, 2023

she frowns, walking into the press conference room. it’s good that she’s got the time slot to be in the same interview with logan, but it suddenly doesn’t look all fun when she sees that lance has already taken the spot next to logan.

perhaps logan had a point when he told her to arrive earlier. or simply just arrive with him at that point.

“hello,” lance greets her, tapping the empty spot next to him. “you’re early.”

“of course. it’s my first media day of my career,” she beams.

“hey,” logan simply says to her, sparing her a generous smile before resuming his conversation with lance.

she sighs, dejectedly dragging her feet against the floor to the empty spot next to lance. she looks down, taking the mic into her hands and a placement card with her name on it.

then she notices a small flower, a lonesome white flower, as if it’d been picked up off the floor just by the paddocks. it’s taped to the cue card, with a familiar smiley face drawn on the bottom left corner of the card.

she smiles to herself and happy takes the empty spot next to lance. she moves her head past lance and lifts up the card to show logan that she acknowledges his little gesture.

logan glances at the card, then at her and flashes her a smile.

she spends the entire press conference admiring that small white flower. when she goes back to her driver’s room that evening, she presses the flower between the pages of her diary to bring back home to the uk in mint condition.

-> photography studio, bahrain, 2023

“alright, (y/n), you’re up.”

she shakes her arms, jumping in her spot. she turns to oscar. “how do i look?”

“great,” oscar answers simply. he reaches out to fix her hair. “although… okay, perfect!”

“nice.” she turns on her heel, lifting her eyes to meet logan’s, who’s stepping off the designated area where the cameras are pointed at.

“good luck,” logan grins. as he walks past her, one of his hands taps her shoulder, then gives her a light squeeze. “coffee?”

her shoulder goes numb, that one touch from logan reminding her how much she’s missed the sensation of him all day. she feels her stomach churn, though she’s unsure if it’s caused by the cameras or it’s just the effect he’s still got on her.

“if you’re getting coffee, then sure!” she smiles, stepping behind the camera. “do i look good? cunty graphics for the fans?”

“cunty graphics even without the camera and lights,” logan grins at her, holding up two thumbs up. “i’ll be back with coffee.”

she shakes her shoulders, trying to rid herself of the nerves. but her laughter and smiles are genuine that afternoon, with the thought of kicking off her shoes and laying back with her boyfriend that evening.

she glowed even brighter when logan came back into the room with her coffee in hand.

-> martin’s grid walk, suzuka, 2023

“here we have one half of the history maker this season, it’s (y/n)!”

she steps back in shock, not expecting for a mic to be held up to her face when she stepped out of the pitlane onto the grid for the race build up.

“hey!” she smiles. “i was wondering if i’d see you at all today.”

“oh, thanks for stopping by!”

she nods, clasping her hands behind her back as martin starts to ask her something. her mind quickly becomes clouded when she catches a whiff of a familiar cologne.

“excuse me.” logan says lowly, one hand on her back and the other on her shoulder as he tries to manoeuvre his way around her. it’s not an easy feat: walking out of the pitlane to get where you need to be.

“sorry,” she smiles, taking a step forward to let logan pass.

he scrunches his nose at her as he passes, his fingers chasing her skin. before the hand on her back disappears, she bites down on her bottom lip when he manages to catch the skin on her waist between his fingers.

the blush on her face stays prominent for the rest of her time with martin before she joins him at the end of the grid for the opening ceremony.

-> fia thursday press conference, monaco, 2023

she’s early today, surprisingly. perhaps sebastian was right when he urged her to leave immediately after their team meeting.

she scans the mic in her hand, turning it around over and over as if a new detail would show itself the longer she stares at it.

“hey. you’re early.” she looks up, smiling when she meets logan’s bright green eyes. he moves the mic from the spot next to her and takes a seat. “team meeting went great?”

“i don’t have much to say anyway,” she shrugs with a smile. she crosses her legs and turns slightly towards him. “you think oscar’s coming early so we can sit together today?”

“hopefully,” logan smiles. he turns slightly towards her, one arm hugging the back of the couch while he turns his head to look at her completely.

she glances at his arm placement. it’s crazy, but she can practically feel his arm around her when he places it behind her like that.

she cannot hide the smile on her face for the rest of the interview, and logan doesn’t remove his arm from the back of the couch until they have to leave.

it raises eyebrows, but not enough for them to receive any questions regarding their close friendship to the naked eye.

-> nightclub, singapore, 2023

“yeah, i can tell people i’ve been on the podium, baby!” she shrieks, raising her arm in the air with a shot in her arm. “congrats to carlos too, for being the only one to beat max this season!”

“hey,” logan mutters with a smile, tapping her shoulder. “don’t stand on the seat — you’ll fall down.”

“oh, okay.” she nods, holding onto logan’s shoulder as she carefully steps off the seat she’s stood on. meanwhile, he’s got a hand protectively on her waist in case she falls.

“here, drink some water,” logan smiles, taking the full shot out of her hand and replacing it with a bigger glass, now filled with s different liquid.

she watches hopelessly as logan puts the shot away on the table, deeming in undrinkable now that it’s left her hand. “aw, but babe… that was a soju shot!”

“i’ll get you another one as soon as you finish this cup of water, okay?” logan smiles, lifting the cup to her lips. “hydration first, remember? you don’t want a hangover tomorrow. we’ve got a date.”

“oh yeah!” she giggles, scrunching her nose.

he never gets her that extra soju shot like he said he would, but she does make it back into his hotel room in one piece. and then they enjoy their date out and about in singapore the next afternoon without hangovers and vomit.

-> fp1, red flag, las vegas, 2023

she sits in her garage, arms folded over her chest as she hopelessly sits in her beanbag. she’d dragged it out of her driver’s room all the way here after sebastian had told her that the night has yet to come to an end.

the fia decided to keep everyone here to finish up with the first evening of practice while they fixed the manhole cover that came out.

“hey, you got a minute?”

she turns her head, smiling at logan who’s standing outside her garage. “hi!” she feels a surge of energy as she jogs over to where he is. “what are you doing here?”

“missed you,” logan whispers, leaning on the wall as she comes to a stop. “and, it’s kinda cold tonight. i was in my driver’s room and i saw you left your beanie.”

he presents her with the familiar black beanie, pressing his lips into a thin line. “keep warm. you don’t want to get sick in this weather.”

“of course,” she giggles, letting logan pull the beanie down her head. “thanks. sleepover in my room tonight?”

“absolutely. i’ll head there right after this is all over,” logan mutters. “you wanna grab some hot chocolate in the paddocks? oscar says they’re good.”

“it’s a date.”

together, they walk the paddocks in pursuit for some hot chocolate and comforting marshmallows to go with it. the night might have ended later than they hoped for, and she’s typically tucked in by 2, but time seemed to fly by when he was right next to her.

taglist: @myxticmoon

#hehe #this was ok too #kinda rushed #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial

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delulujuls · 5 months

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emotional support rivals | ls18, sp11

hi! i dont know how to comment on this one, basically i thought that i would try to tame sergio and lance a bit because i know that some people may not like them as much. but they did pretty well here!

anyway, enjoy!

summary: reader is having the worst day of her life aka first day of her period, lance and sergio dont know how to act but they tryna be supportive

warnings: none i think

pairing: lance stroll x fem!mclarendriver x sergio perez

This day was terrible. And that was it.

But you might ask, how could a day be terrible when it hadn't even had a chance to start? Y/N just felt in her bones that this would be the case. She also knew her current schedule of duties, which considering the current jetlag that weighed heavily on her mind, added quite a bit to her already full plate.

Of course, days like these were allowed to exist; balance in life was the norm. Nevertheless, Y/N fervently wished for this one to, as soon as possible, come to an end.

Unfortunately, a quick end was out of the question, as her alarm had just rung. She struggled to open her sleepy eyes and saw the gloomy 6:30 on her phone's display.

She sighed and sat up in bed, feeling an unpleasant sensation in her stomach. She was familiar with this feeling and it signaled one thing and one thing only.

"Oh no, it can't be."

Y/N muttered under her breath and quickly reached for her phone, opening one of the apps. The notification confirmed her worst fear. "Your period may start today!"

"Fantastic, just fucking fantastic."

In a already bad mood, she tossed her phone into the pillows and got up with a symphony of groans, sighs and curses. As soon as she got out of bed she checked the sheets but the snowy white fabric assured her that today would be a one big roulette of waiting for her period to start.

When she showered and got ready to leave, she also packed her emergency kit for days like this. She had to use it partially though, because the pain in her stomach was simply unbearable. And it wasn't the typical stomach ache that everyone thinks of when they hear 'oh no, my stomach hurts' but this stomach pain was the Lance Stroll of all stomach pains. It doesn't seem to hurt too much, but it spoils your whole mood with its terrible nature.

Since talking about Stroll, it happened like that she still had practice laps that day, which she failed to pass while everyone else did. As it turned out, the same task was waiting for Lance, because in the cafeteria, apart from the busy employees, there was him. And that damn Mexican, too.

"What time are you supposed to be on the track?"

Checo asked from behind her when she was grabbing breakfast from one of the swedish tables.

"What happened to 'hi, good morning'? 'Buenos dias,' at least?"

She muttered, pouring syrup on her pancakes.

"Normally you don't talk to me, so I figured there's no point in trying."

He replied, somewhat thrown off by her response.

"Hello Sergio, nice to see you too and yes, it just happens that we're stuck with each other today. I'm on at 10am, you're ahead of me at 9, and that Aston idiot is at 11."

Y/N said sarcastically, putting on the nicest tone she could muster.

Sergio didn't know how to respond, so when she turned to leave for her table, he simply stepped out of her way.

Lance ate in silence, observing the scene quietly. He was watching the McLaren sun, today completely covered by stormy clouds, going away and sitting alone. Inadvertently his gaze met with Checo, who just shook his head and returned to choosing his breakfast.

Y/N sighed heavily, sitting at one of the empty seats. She ate absentmindedly, not used to the absence of Oscar and Lando. They had different things to attend to that day, so it wasn't unlikely that they wouldn't even cross paths. Maybe it was even better for them; each of them would probably receive a monthly dose of sulking. The charms of being the only girl in the company could be really tough at times.

And it's not that Y/N was a pain in the ass only for Oscar and Lando. She got along well with most people she interacted with daily. A few times she even went out with other girls; she wasn't limiting herself to the company of guys only. Unfortunately, Oscar and Lando had happened to take a particular liking to each other, which made the trio basically unseparable.

There were people with whom she didn't have frequent contact, or with whom she only exchanged smiles in passing but she had never had the chance to exchange a word.

It's also known that in life you can't be liked by everyone and not everyone can be liked by you. In this case, there was no magical exception. It just so happened that she would spend today in the company of those people who sat at the other end of the cafeteria, occasionally throwing her stolen glances.

After finishing her meal, the girl got down to her duties, wanting to bring this day to an end as quickly as possible. At the appointed time, she appeared on the track, quickly changing into her racing suit. She put on her helmet and after a brief discussion of notes, she sat in the car. That's when she felt that something was wrong. The worst-case scenario flashed before her eyes.

"Can I quickly go to the bathroom?"

She asked, looking at the technician nearest to her.

"We're a bit behind schedule. Can it wait?"

Y/N resignedly nodded. She knew there was nothing left to salvage.

She adjusted her straps and when she got the signal to leave the garage, she drove outside and headed straight for the track. After the radio test and receiving permission to start, she clenched her fists and roared the engine.

She was angry and as it's known, there's nothing worse than a female rage.

She was angry at this day, at herself, at this damn car. She was angry at the bloodstain on her damn orange suit, even though she hadn't seen it yet.

She was so hormonal that if it weren't for the helmet restricting her movements, she would have screamed at the top of her lungs.

However, female anger was priceless.

"Best lap time, I repeat, best lap time."

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel, not responding to the message.

In moments like this, she didn't care about anything. And it's pretty well known that a person who doesn't care has nothing to lose.

When the session ended and she received the message that she could pull into the pit lane, she complied. Mechanics rolled her into the garage and only then did it dawn on her that her hands were still clenched on the steering wheel. When she managed to free herself from the car, she immediately checked her seat. She cursed under her breath and took off her helmet, placing it aside. Quickly grabbing the nearest rag, she began to wipe away the stain of shame on her seat. The technician, whom she asked about going to the bathroom before the start, when he realized what had happened and what she was doing, just gave her an apologetic look.

She unzipped her suit and slid its top off, covering the stain on her backside. Zac wanted to congratulate her on the result and discuss the outcomes, but she apologized and grabbed her emergency kit, heading straight to the bathroom. She changed into her unstained clothes, guarded against another unpleasant surprise and bundled up the suit, muttering under her breath that a visit to the laundry awaited her later that day.

When she returned to the McLaren garage, Zac, upon seeing her, immediately smiled.

"Young lady, you charmed us today! You literally flew in that car!"

"I guess that's good, I think."

The girl replied, mustering a smile as she glanced at the monitors in front of her.

"Good? It's brilliant!"

Zac replied with a smile and checked his notes.

"After checking the car, I would ask you to put on your suit again for a moment because we need to do a few more laps on different tires."

"I thought that was it for today."

Y/N replied, looking at him.

"Now, you were driving on mediums; it would be good to know what time you can achieve on the hard compound."

The girl tightened her suit under her armpit.

"But—"

She started, but it felt silly, so she lowered her voice and approached him, "My suit is not suitable."

"How so? What happened?"

He frowned and looked at the bundle she was holding.

"I won't be able to drive in it anymore today."

Zac looked confused, so she just said "period" without using any words. He quickly understood and immediately nodded his head.

"Ask someone if we have another suit in stock. It would mean a lot to me if we could finish these tests today."

Y/N nodded and walked away, sighing heavily when she was out of his reach. However, as it turned out, racing suits are not as straightforward as one might think and the only McLaren suit in this garage was hers—rolled up into a ball of shame and unfit for use. One of the women upon hearing her situation only gave her a comforting hug and suggested borrowing a suit from Sergio or Lance, taking advantage of the fact that they were only drivers nearby. The situation was exceptional and it was all about internal measurements.

Disheartened by the fact that she would be forced to confront the men, she left the garage and looked around. Checo and Lance were sitting nearby, chatting in front of the Aston Martin garage. Y/N gathered herself and approached them, causing them to immediately pause their conversation.

"Can I borrow a suit from either of you?"

"You drive for McLaren, not for Aston or Red Bull."

Sergio said, taking a sip from his bottle. The girl involuntarily clenched her fists. Be professional, she thought and took a deep breath.

"If I didn't have to, I wouldn't ask. I need a suit; mine... is not suitable for driving."

"What happened?"

Lance asked, glancing at her. His expression lacked the hint of malice that Sergio currently possessed.

"I just need one; is that not enough?"

"Give a good reason and I might even give you mine."

Pérez said, crossing his arms.

"I just got my period which means my suit is having a fucking bloodstain on my ass and even though I feel like they're cutting me in half completely alive I have to do some extra laps because this fucking fat idiot didn't think about pitstop to change my tyres and let me go straight to the track" Y/N she spoke quietly and calmly, but her voice was dripping with fury "So do me the pleasure and let one of you give me your overalls before something hits me, for fucks sake."

Lance and Sergio stood still. Sergio's face lost its fierce expression and Lance suddenly realized that he had started holding his breath out of stress.

"I'll give you mine, no problem."

Stroll spoke up, starting to unzip his suit.

"Yours is light, you idiot; if something happens again, everything will be visible."

Pérez scolded him and turned his gaze back to the girl.

"Wait a moment; I'll bring you mine right away."

Y/N nodded and watched him leave.

"Do you feel very bad?"

Lance asked, looking at her. He couldn't wrap his head around how the girl standing in front of him, bleeding and all, could endure such a great strain and still set the best lap time.

"It's been better."

She sighed.

Lance, not knowing exactly what to do or how to help, reached out his hand with a bottle in it. Y/N looked at the bottle first and then at his face. Seeing that he was genuinely concerned, she whispered a quiet 'thanks' and took the water from him.

Sergio returned shortly after, handing her his suit.

"I hope it'll fit well for you."

The girl handed back Lance his water and thanked Pérez as well.

"Good luck, tigresa."

Y/N nodded at them one last time and returned to the garage, changing into the borrowed suit and taking her place in the car again.

As she sat there, waiting for permission to leave the pit lane, she noticed that she wasn't angry anymore, at least not as much as she was some time ago. When she drove out and headed towards the track, she passed Lance and Sergio once again, who were giving her thumbs up.

For the first time that day Y/N genuinely smiled and who would have thought it would be thanks to her rivals, who had now become her emotional support ones?

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lance stroll x reader #sergio perez x reader #sp11 #ls18

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autisticlancemcclain · 3 months

Text

“This your place?” Keith asked, panting.

His host raised his eyebrow, pushing open the door.

“No,” he deadpanned, “this is my annoying neighbour’s house. He’s on holidays. I’m staying here and using all his things to take revenge for hours of small talk.”

“Oh,” Keith replied, impressed. “Cool.” He’ll have to do that next time Lance is on a solo mission.

“No, I’m – I’m kidding, Paladin.”

“Oh,” Keith repeated, disappointed. “Less cool.”

“Just – get in the house.”

Keith didn’t argue. He followed his host into the small building, nodded as he was pointed to a guest room, and passed out the second his head hit the straw-stuffed pillow.

— — —

When Keith woke, it was dark outside. A scarred face was looming over his, and he bit back a scream, hand flying for his knife on reflex.

“Peace, Paladin,” said Ares, holding up a hand. “I startled you. I did not mean to. It’s time for the feast.

Keith slumped. His heart slowed from its jackrabbit pace. “Yeah. Yeah, man, thanks. I’ll be right out.”

His host nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Keith took one minute to calm himself, closing his eyes and counting his breaths. Once sixty seconds passed, he stood, glancing down at his armour.

That was…fine, right?

They always wore their armour to diplomacy missions. Well, mostly because Keith threw a massive hissy fit the second Coran attempted to force him into the worst, most restrictive suit he’d ever seen. His armour was battered, unpolished, and honestly kind of rank, but it wasn’t like he had many other options. He held out his helmet, inspecting himself in the reflection of his visor.

Shiro would tell him to brush his hair.

Too bad he didn’t have a hairbrush.

He walked out of his room, shrugging. His host was waiting for him by the small hearth in the middle of the house, standing as Keith approached.

“Shall we make our leave?”

“Sure.”

He followed his host back out of the little house. They walk in silence. Keith’s feet begin to hurt by the five minute mark – he has no idea how long he slept, but it was not long enough, and exhaustion still pulled at his frame.

Dryope had mentioned food, though. And something like a party, but one lucky thing about Ares – he doesn’t seem to be much of a partier, either, so hopefully Keith could ditch that bright and early and go right back to sleep.

They walked along the same hills Keith’s host had led them down earlier, only this time they were going up, so it was worse. Thankfully, though, the walk was just barely shorter – they weren’t walking back to the beach, but to the hearth, the big fire pit Keith noticed walking in. All the houses they passed were empty, not even a light by the window.

“Is everyone at the – party, thing, whatever?” Keith panted.

Ares eyed him briefly, not pausing his stride. “Look for yourself.”

They crested the top of the hill, and Keith’s jaw dropped.

The hearth was blazing. The flame burned so brightly and hugely that Keith was half-convinced it was out of control. Surrounding it in hundreds of chattering groups was every single Aegian, tall and wide and small, smiling and laughing. As he watched, an Aegian called something in a language Keith couldn’t understand, and immediately dozens of the tree-warriors rushed up to join hands in a big ring around the fire, twirling and dancing as the watching Aegians chanted and sang.

Keith’s first thought was, Aren’t these guys made of wood?

His second thought was, This looks like a hippie commune. Time to ditch.

Unfortunately Ares caught him before he could go right back the way they can, spinning him around and shoving him down the hill.

“Real hospitable,” Keith grumbled.

His host seemed, as much as such a scary person could look, amused. “On you go, Paladin.”

Keith stomped on. He probably could take Ares in a fight, at least normally, but he was exhausted and injured and weak. Plus, if he was the reason behind yet another failed diplomatic mission, Lance would gleefully hold it over his head for weeks, and Shiro would be disappointed if Keith finally killed him. Plus, Allura would be upset with him, and having Allura upset with you kind of feels like taking a kitten that loves and trusts you and drop kicking it into the sun. Very quickly, you realise that you are the scum of the Earth and the worst person alive. It’s generally just something you should avoid.

As he trudged down the hill, he quickly recognised three familiar suits of armour. They were kind of hard to miss – even as scuffed as they were, they glinted in the light of the massive fire, shining like a bunch of precious stones. Pidge, sulking somewhere near a table of desserts; Hunk, chatting with his host; and Shiro, speaking with the Aegian leader like the tryhard little teacher’s pet he was. Coran stuck out, too, in his bright blue Altean uniform that was somehow pristine even though Keith watched him get flung at a wall and shocked by a bare wire from the broken control centre back on the dead castle.

All the Aegians wore some kind of bedsheet, or their Tinkerbell clothes. Interestingly, the dryads were not the only Aegians present – there were others who looked a little more human, although they had plenty of strange features that reminded Keith they were not. A group of laughing girls looked like they were made from the bottom of a pool in the sunlight, skin shifting with dappled light. Several guys walked around with half a donkey hanging out of their drawers. Keith spotted some honest-to-God centaurs. One girl appeared to be made out of blowing, spinning wind.

Hundreds of eyes seemed to follow Keith as he joined the crowd, glancing at him and then back at their friends, whispering to themselves. Keith shrunk into himself, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes – no one looked mad, or angry, or cruel, but no one looked exactly welcoming, either. Ares had disappeared at some point, not that he was what Keith would consider a friendly face.

Keith needed to find someone he knew, stat.

His first instinct was Pidge – the two of them usually slunked in some corner together whenever they were forced (often at gunpoint, thanks, Lance) to some stupid party. They had a running game called How Many People Can We Convince That Barking Is A Polite Human Greeting Before Shiro Finds Out. So far their score was 135-149, Pidge in the lead. (Keith very much intended to catch up.) But before he could make it over to where she was hiding, a group of water-girls descended upon her like a pack of piranhas, giggling and shouting something about braiding and eye makeup. Keith decided he would rather chew off his right hand than put himself anywhere near that, and did an abrupt 180 in search of Hunk.

Unfortunately, the big guy was still preoccupied. His host – Elijah (or something, Keith would be reminded of his real name eventually) – was showing him some kind of metal box that opened to a bunch of intricately placed gears and bobbles and wires. Hunk was staring at it like the Holy Grail. Not even Keith’s best pleading eyes and sad orphan story would convince him to babysit Keith and glare at anyone who attempted to socialise. Another dead end.

Keith sighed. That really only left –

“Hey, squirt!”

Keith went bright red, cringing with his whole entire body. He loved his brother, he really, truly did, but Shiro was as out of depth as he was at stuff like this and tended to overcompensate by being affectionate. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except he had a bad case of Foot In Mouth Disease and knew Keith at his most embarrassing early teenage emo.

So.

“Hey, Shiro,” he said stiffly, trying not to die inside as the man pressed a smacking kiss right in the centre of his forehead.

A tall, handsome guy somewhere to their left raised his eyebrows, smiling with amusement. Keith thought he could die. Sometimes, he thought his brother was secretly a forty-six year old suburban mom of three.

“We missed you!” cried his embarrassing brother. He was so genuine about it, it was hard not to smile back at him. “You took so long getting here!”

“My host’s place is at the farthest corner of the city,” Keith explained. “Had to hike here. Thought I was gonna bite it by mile six.”

Shiro snorted. “Drama queen.”

“Yeah, yeah. You try hiking after getting shaken around like a bobblehead. I bet your place is, like, twenty feet away from here.”

“Pretty much,” Shiro agreed, smile turning into more of a smirk. He attempted to dig his knuckles into Keith’s skull, but Keith was well used to his brand of crap and squirmed away at the last second. “Akeso’s sorta the main healer around here – at least I think? They’re not much of a talker – so they live in this building that’s attached to the infirmary. One of the big buildings in the inner circle.”

He pointed to one of the more rectangular buildings Keith had seen on the way in, with a much smaller, rounder building attached to it like one of those suction fish on a shark. It was hard to make out many details in the dark, fire’s light only able to stretch so far, but it looked pretty infirmary-ish.

“Hunk’s staying near the forges. He loves it, you should talk to him about it. He’s all cute and excited, you know that look he gets. Elatreus is impressed with him, practically made him an assistant.”

Elatreus! That’s the host’s name. And Keith absolutely knew what look Shiro’s talking about – the wide brown eyes, clasped hands, talking a mile a minute. He smiled softly. Nothing better for the soul like watching an ecstatic Hunk.

“That’s good. Glad he’s happy.”

“Yep. And Pidge is in a regular house like you, little more in-city. Next to some kind of trap shop? I don’t totally get it. Apparently Dysnomia needs a lot of supplies. Pidge was being all sketch about it.”

“That’s not super reassuring.”

“It is not!” Shiro agreed. He led Keith to one of the many tables laid out, absolutely covered in food. Keith realised he was ravenous, piling up a plate at least a foot high with meats and breads and foods he couldn’t even identify, but that smelt positively godly. At Shiro’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes and selected a single vegetable.

“Make sure you toss some in the fire,” Shiro advised.

Keith squinted at him. “I’m…not gonna do that, thanks.”

“No, no, you have to.”

He pointed to the edge of the fire, where, sure enough, some Aegians were scraping the edge of their plates into the flames.

Keith wrinkled his nose. “The hell are they burning their food for? What a waste!”

Shiro shrugged, stepping into the line. “Akeso said it’s an old tradition, something that their ancestors felt protected them and gave them good will and peace. No one really wants to mess with that mojo, so. Portion of the food is sacrificed.”

Keith would be less pressed about it if the food didn’t look and smell so good. Scraping perfectly good food into fire felt like spending hours polishing a sword only to scratch it three seconds later – effort for no reason. When it was their turn, though, Keith did as the custom dictated. He’d learned enough about questioning weird traditions.

He held eye contact with Shiro and flicked his one vegetable into the flames. Delightfully, his brother’s eye twitched, like he was considering shoving Keith into them. Suddenly, this custom was Keith’s favourite he’d ever been forced to partake in.

By the time they finally sat somewhere to eat, Keith was so hungry he was ready to eat his fingers along with the food. He inhaled his food for a good five or six minutes, ignoring Shiro’s attempts first at conversation, then at slowing him down.

“Christ, kid,” he said, voice tinged with either horror or awe. Maybe both. “Eating like I never fed you in your life.”

“You haven’t,” Keith replied around a rib of some kind. “Adam fed me. You made ash of everything you touched.”

Shiro’s expression soured. He poked sullenly at some kind of leaf. (Serves him right for trying to be some kinda health freak now that he’s in charge. Keith once watched him eat an entire Costco sheet cake at three in the morning, and that had been his first and only meal of the day. Keith enjoyed bringing it up every time Shiro preached about the benefits of salad and watching him just start screeching to drown Keith out. Good times.)

“I didn’t turn everything to ash, you ungrateful brat. I made muffins that one time!”

You microwaved an already cooked muffin, Keith thought, wisely choosing to eat some kind of rice dish instead of bringing it up. And it tasted like erasers afterr. So.

“Sure, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, satisfied. He picked up the leaf, sprinkled with some…orange thing, maybe, Keith couldn’t tell exactly, and took a delicate bite. He looked less satisfied.

“So,” he said, setting down his plate like he was looking for an excuse not to eat it. He looked at Keith expectantly. “You must want an update on Allura.”

Keith blinked. “Oh, shoot, yeah. I didn’t see her. She good?”

“Yeah, from what we can tell. When we got to the infirmary, Akeso stitched up my knee, then we –”

“You had a knee injury?” Keith interrupted. “You should have said something!”

Shiro smiled gently. “I got it treated, dork.” He bumped their shoulders together, trying to ease Keith’s upset expression. “I’m fine, okay? If Akeso didn’t bring it up, I would have. Promise. It wasn’t too bad, anyway, I swear.”

Keith frowned harder. He had noticed Shiro shifting slightly when they were first confronted by Dryope and her army, but Shiro had walked away without limping, so he’d allowed himself to stop worrying. A stupid mistake, and one he should know better than making. He knows his stupidly self-sacrificial brother.

“Keith, seriously,” Shiro assured. He leaned down, unlatching his thigh and knee braces, then pulled back the rip in his undersuit. Keith wasn’t comforted by the size of the rip – nor the placement of it – but the wound didn’t look too bad, and was stitched neatly. Some kind of salve was spread all over it, under the clear wound dressing. As he watched, the wound seemed to contract, shrinking ever so slightly.

“Healing magic,” Shiro explained, putting his armour back. He patted Keith’s shoulder. “Akeso is super practiced at it. They stitched me up but warned that overdoing magic healing is as bad as cheating death, so it’ll still take a couple weeks to heal fully. Just won’t hurt so bad and might heal a little faster than with just stitches.”

“That why Allura is still out?” Keith clarified, finally letting go of the tension in his shoulders. Shiro looked relieved. “No speedy magic?”

Shiro nodded. “Exactly. After Akeso stitched me up we went to go visit Rhea, check on Allura. She’s tucked in this massive bed-nest thing, snoring away. She’s fine. Just super drained and needs all the rest she can. She’s in good hands.”

Relief punches out of Keith like a physical force. It’s one thing if his friends are injured, a whole other if they’re unconscious – but with Shiro’s assurance as well as Coran’s confidence earlier, he can relax. The two of them can read people like no one else on the ship – except maybe Lance. She’ll be fine.

“Speaking of Lance,” Keith said.

“No one brought up Lance except your own brain,” Shiro responded patiently. That infernal smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Keith went red, barrelling right on. “Where is he? This stuff is right up his alley, I figured he’d be out twirling until he passes out in the punch or something.”

Shiro frowned, looking at him funny. “He is? He’s been over –”

Just then, the music that had been playing in the background changed – there was a collective inhale, then all the instruments played something at once. Keith didn’t know much about music, but the something felt intentional, deeply so. A song was beginning, rather than endless background music.

Excited murmuring moved in waves throughout the gathered Aegians. People started shifting. High above everything else, loud and excited, rang a disbelieving laugh – a very familiar laugh.

Keith whipped his head up, roll dropping from his hand and bouncing into the dirt. At the edge of the crowd, lit softly by the orange golden flames, was Lance – but it was no wonder Keith had missed him before. He wasn’t wearing his armour.

He was wearing a dress!

Well, not really a dress. One of those ancient Greek toga things, that looks like a droopy bedsheet. Keith had noticed it on several – almost all, in fact – of the Aegians; a draped, white garment, cinched in the waist, pinned at the shoulders. It hadn’t looked anything special on them.

Lance, though, wore it like it had been made for him. Maybe it had. Most Aegians wore the toga-thing pinned at both shoulders, but Lance’s was only gathered at one, the rest of it falling artfully on his chest, looking dangerously like it was about to fall off. The cinched golden rope acting as a belt made his waist look downright tiny, like someone could pick him up around his middle and throw him, or something. It wasn’t crazy short, or anything, but Lance surely didn’t wear it down to his toes, like some others did. A pair of simple brown sandals wrapped all the way up his calves.

There were actual freaking laurels in his hair, along with what Keith could only assume were gold threads, wrapped around a few tiny, careful braids. A golden bracelet wrapped around his bicep, contrasting with his many Earth-made bracelets and anklets, and his plastic blue Moana watch that he never took off.

“He looks ridiculous!” Keith cried.

Shiro tried poorly not to laugh. “I think he looks nice!”

“He looks like a freaking Roman statue!”

The music started to swell, and Lance reached out to grab an offered hand, and suddenly Keith’s blood went cold.

“What is he doing all over Lance,” he hissed.

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “His…host?”

“Hosting immoral thoughts, maybe!” Keith protested. Shiro choked on his drink. “Look at his damn hand! Gripping Lance’s waist like there’s a magnet involved! What’s he want, to pick Lance up like a prize and show him around, or something? What a creep!”

But Lance wasn’t scowling, or even using his polite I-hate-you-and-can’t-wait-to-talk-crap-about-you-to-my-friends smile. He was just smiling, and concentrating hard on his feet, wrapping his own hands all over Mr. Creep. As the music got more complicated, they started dancing.

“What’s your deal with Peithos?” Shiro questioned. “What’s he –”

Keith ignored him. “And they have some kinda dance prepared? He’s supposed to be helping Lance recover, not teaching him a dance! How long have we been here for?”

Shiro finally sighed, giving up on his questioning. He watched the dancing duo, although with significantly less (zero) animosity than Keith.

“‘Bout ten hours? Give or take.”

“Ten ho – ten hours,” Keith said, stumbling over his words. He tore his eyes away and stared at his brother, alarmed. “We’ve been here ten whole hours? I thought it was, like, three!”

Shiro nodded, taking a long sip out of his cup. “Yep. Surprised the heck outta me, too. Went for a nap after checking on Allura, and boom, sun’s down, Akeso’s waking me up, and my leg hardly hurts anymore. Exhausted sleep is sleep, man, I feel you. Pidge, Hunk, and Coran knocked out, too. Only Lance stayed up. That’s why he’s not in armour. And why he knows this dance, apparently.” He nudged Keith’s shoulder, expression suddenly much more solemn. “You know how he is with sleep.”

Keith softened. He turned back to the blue paladin with a sigh, watching the half-Aegian twirl him around. The music got faster and faster and the man grabbed Lance around the waist and lifted him, twirling them both like it was easy as pie. Lance threw his head back and laughed, cheeks flushed and nose squinted like it does when he’s really laughing.

“Yeah, I know. Still, though. I don’t trust that guy. Too friendly. And Lance is too comfortable.”

“That’s fair.” Shiro was staring at him, too. “I don’t really trust many people here, actually. I think Rhea is trustworthy. And Elatreus. The other people, I can’t say yet. But Dryope…”

He turned to glance at the leader, who watched the festivities over the rim of an ornate glass. She sat on a carved rock, her father next to her. The rock-seat to her right was left empty. Keith could guess who it was for.

“There’s something they’re not telling us,” Keith finished, nodding. “Agreed.”

He turned back to look at Lance and Peithos. The song had ended, but they were still standing close to the fire, bent close. Lance was gesturing like crazy, smile lighting up his face. Peithos was intently watching his every move.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Shiro promised. His smile was small and reassuring. Keith glanced at the half-Aegian, then back at his brother, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”

After the weird dance, the party started to die down. People slowly started to head out, first in singles, then in couples, then in large swathes. Pidge was one of the first to make her getaway. Keith looked around for his host, but couldn’t manage to land his eyes on him. He hoped he hadn’t already left – he had no clue how to get back to his guest room in the dark, and wasn’t super pumped about sleeping on the ground if it came to that.

“You know where the house is?” Keith overheard Peithos murmur, so close to Lance there wasn’t a place they weren’t touching.

Lance grinned up at him. “Yep! I’ll meet you there, don’t worry about me. Go do what you need to do.”

The half-Aegian smiled gratefully at him, then rushed off.

Some host, Keith thought bitterly.

His glare was apparently pretty pungent, because now that Lance’s distraction was gone, he looked over quickly. He brightened, jogging over.

“Keith! Hey! I haven’t seen you all night.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” muttered Keith sullenly.

“I hope you –” Lance frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Keith repeated, mocking. He rolled his eyes. Unfortunately he still managed to notice the expression on Lance’s face – wounded, not mad. He faltered.

That wasn’t how their arguments were supposed to go. “You know what it means,” he insisted, but it sounded unconfident even to his own ears.

“I really, really don’t. I looked for you earlier, I couldn’t find you when everyone else –”

“You looked?” Keith asked incredulously. “I couldn’t’ve pried your eyes away from Tall, Dark, and Handsome if I plucked them out of your head!”

Lance’s already-present flush exploded out of control, so bright Keith could see it even in the dying embers of the hearth. “I wasn’t – he’s not – you’re not – what are you talking about!” he finally managed, tripping over his words in a way he usually didn’t. “Peithos and I were just – were just – we were only dancing! He taught me the Spring Dance, earlier, when he was showing – showing – me the wildflower fields, and –”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He realised for the first time that Lance was swaying, slightly, and even as he talked himself out of his embarrassment, the red didn’t totally fade from his face, staying high on his cheeks.

“– I don’t know what your problem is, I swear, every time I have fun you live to ruin it. Gods, can’t I even have – have – have one thing, I just –”

He kept tripping over his words, like his tongue wasn’t working with him. Keith frowned harder.

“Lance, are you – drunk?”

“What? No!”

That Lance said clearly. He whirled on Keith with a new layer of clarity in his eyes, dark like pits and absolutely flashing in fury.

“You think,” he seethed, stepping forward, “that I am so freaking irresponsible, so absolutely stupid and idiotic, that I would get intoxi – intoxish – intoxicat –”

He couldn’t even say the words. Keith stared at him in alarm, because he raised a good point – Lance liked to pretend, but he really wasn’t irresponsible like that. Keith had never heard him swear. He went to bed at the same time every night. As far as he knew, he’d never actually touched a drop of alcohol in his life – it would be out of character for him to get wasted at a diplomatic mission, late at night, when they were separated and wary.

Something was not right.

“Lance, I think you should maybe –”

“Gods, you ruin – you ruin everything.” Lance blinked, hard, then glared at Keith, shoving off the steadying hand Keith had placed on his elbow and stumbling backwards. He held his gaze for several moments, absolutely glowering, and then – to Keith’s great horror – his brown eyes watered. Tears built up faster than he could wipe them away, tracing a line down his cheek. Keith staggered backwards.

“I hate you sometimes,” he said, and ran off.

Keith watched him go, aftertaste of the delicious food turning sour in his mouth.

— — —

all art by @jiveyuncle!!

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lunarmoves · 4 months

Text

mentions: horror themes, some blood :)

it was supposed to be a fun game of marco polo.

your hand—clammy and stiff—was clamped solidly against your mouth as you stuttered through breathing via your nose. the space you had crammed yourself into was small—barely able to hold yourself inside of it. your back was pressed against a wall, your legs were folded so that your thighs were flush against your chest. every small shift you made sounded like a gunshot in the stagnant air.

perspiration slid down the side of your face as you closed your eyes and listened carefully over the sound of your rampant heart. th-thump th-thump th-thump. it wanted to encompass everything and leave you to rely on your other senses—senses you could not use right now. not with the darkness of your hidey hole or the numbness of your hand. pain was starting to cloud your mind. you gave your head a small shake to snap yourself out of it.

you had to focus and listen.

everything was still. everything was quiet.

and then—distantly—you heard it.

"maaaarco."

a voice, disembodied and devastatingly low, rasped through the air.

you swallowed heavily, but did not respond. you didn't know what had triggered them this time. you just knew that you could not be caught. time was what you needed and even that you were not certain you had much of.

there was more silence. then, footsteps. clank clank... clank. careful and deliberate. your lips tensed together and you tried your utmost hardest to make yourself as small as possible. you made the mistake of moving your free hand—the one not clamped over your mouth. it burned something fierce up your elbow. you bit at the inside of your cheek and hoped it wasn't as bad as it felt.

clank clank clank. the footsteps grew louder. each one made you tense even further until you felt like a rubber band about to snap. "marco?!" the voice called again—this time in a higher pitched, frantic manner. "friend! marco??!!" it paused for the shortest of moments. then it took on a dangerous tone, poison lancing each and every word. "you do not seem to be f-following the rules of this game, friend."

the voice lowered. "and you know what we do to rulebreakers."

you wanted, more than anything, to be anywhere other than here at this very moment. you were starting to get woozy, and you weren't sure if it was from the lack of air in such a confined space, or the dark liquid that stained your shirt and pants. you could feel something warm trace its way down the curve of your arm—all the way to your wrist, where it dropped off with a small plip.

the footsteps—that'd been steadily getting louder—halted.

you dared not breathe.

it was a moment that felt like a century—too quiet and too nerve wracking. it put you on edge, made you dart your eyes around as though it would let you somehow pierce through the emptiness to see what was going on around you. a cold, cold feeling had long started to spread throughout your limbs, originating from the pit that'd formed in your stomach.

you waited.

and when they spoke once more, it sounded like it was coming from directly above you.

"marco," they whispered with all the danger of a lion stalking its prey. it made all the hairs on your body stand erect and a foreboding feeling to slide its way down your spine.

it was supposed to be, you thought to yourself devastatingly with a wetness lining your lashes, a fun game of marco polo.

you weren't given any time to react.

hands—as cold and unforgiving as death itself—wrapped around your arms and tugged. you were yanked out of your hiding spot with a yelp, eyes widening as mismatched lights flooded your vision abruptly and without mercy. it hurt, it hurt. and you could do nothing but hang there—withdrawing into yourself—as they crowded over your small body with a grin stretched uncomfortably wide and unnervingly thin.

"found you! we found you!" they beamed. something manic lined the edges of their smile. "f-found you, you little rulebreaker. time for—"

their voice cut off suddenly. you opened your eyes—you had not realized when you'd shut them—and stared up in surprise at their face. but they were not looking at you. they were looking at one of their hands—that'd been wrapped around your injured arm and had gotten coated with something that appeared black in the limited lighting.

you swallowed thickly. something indecipherable that'd been discoloring their optics seemed to vanish. their face seemed to slacken from its strained expression and took on something akin to... fright. and you dared to speak in a small, hesitant voice. "...guys?"

they went limp at the sound—slumping forwards onto you like a puppet cut from its strings.

"i— we're sorry," they whispered in a pained voice. clutching tightly onto you like you were the only thing keeping them rooted to the earth. "we're sorry. we're sorry. we're sorry." it was chanted with their head bowed to rest against your abdomen. as though in remorseful prayer.

you closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

and you— well... you didn't say a thing.

you didn't say... a thing.

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aezuria · 4 days

Note

Hear me out.. happy Golden Retriever bf x broody black Cat gf, but it's Jason Grace x daughter of hades reader 👀👀

*ੈ✎ light of my life, where are you?

content: jason grace x daughter of hades! reader

╰┈▸ warnings: none (until the ending oopsie)

librarian's annotations: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG ANON AND JUST SKIP THE ENDING IF U DONT WANT ANGST

maybe it was your gloomy disposition, or the fact that you were a daughter of hades, either way, most people avoided you like the plague. you didn't mind it all too much—you were usually one for solitude.

that was until you met jason grace. you disliked him from the start. dislike, not hate, because you couldn't bear to hate the person who always stuck up for your brother. but he was too bright, too overbearing for you. very much not your style.

(that's what they all say at the start)

he was just too good to be true! how could he be all these things everyone claimed him to be? they just had to be exaggerating.

but when he flashed his dazzling smile and tender gaze, you knew that all the rumors were true. even so, you pried your eyes away from him. you would not be wooed by a roman so easily!

jason did not make it easy for you. he followed you around camp like a lost puppy. he tried to be subtle, but his tall form wasn't exactly hard to spot. you went to your cabin? he followed you to the door, claiming he wanted to see nico. you went to the training grounds? he picked up a lance and started examining it a little too hard. when you finally confronted him about it, he just laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his head, saying, "i was trying to work up the courage to ask you to be friends."

how were you supposed to not like him after that?

despite your lack of romantic endeavors, you were sure that friends didn't do what jason did. he opened the door for you, made sure you ate proper meals—and sure, those acts were pretty "just friends" level. but he also tied your shoes, put flowers in your hair, and hugged you so warmly whenever you were feeling especially down. you felt the unmistakable flutter in your heart whenever he did those things, instead of your initial distaste for him.

your confusion was answered the next evening. you swore nico had muttered something about jason being the only guy (besides him) he'd trust with you, right before telling you to go into the woods. "there's a surprise there," he had explained. "just trust me, okay?"

the sun was starting to set, its rays darting between the leaves and casting a soft glow on the grass. "go to the woods... can he be any more specific?" you muttered, before you caught a familiar head of blond hair in the corner of your eye. you turned and walked towards him, brushing away the branches as you did so.

"y/n!" jason beamed as he caught sight of you entering the clearing. he straightened up and messed with something behind his back. he shifted his feet and pulled out a bouquet, offering it to you shyly. "i asked the dryads what your favorites were. do you like them? did i organize them properly? are these actually not your favorites and they were just lying to me-"

"jason." you cut him off and smiled, taking the bouquet and smelling the freshly picked flowers. "i love them, thank you."

he swore his heart stopped. your smile was the most gorgeous sight he's ever seen. you were like an angel; why was it that no one thought to make you smile more often? he met your content expression with a wide beam of his own.

"really? i'm glad!" jason sighed in relief, before clearing his throat. "um," his voice cracked, face flushing red at that. "i wanted to ask if i could be your boyfriend? i just, you're so sweet and strong, and pretty... anyone would be lucky to be yours. but, i want to be that lucky guy, if you'll let me?" he looked into your eyes so earnestly, there was no other answer but yes.

"you know i love you, right?" jason whispered into your hair. your warmth brought him comfort in his otherwise cold cabin, empty and unfeeling, just like his father's attitude to him.

"uh huh. and i love you too." you mumbled sleepily into his chest. "but do you have to go?"

he laughed softly. "yes, i do." jason combed through your hair, silk between his fingertips. "i'll be back before you know it."

"do you ever think that we don't deserve this?" you whispered, eyes already shut as sleep slowly overtook you. "that we shouldn't have to fight someone else's battles?"

"yeah." jason rested his chin on the top of your head and squeezed you tighter. "sometimes i think that too."

shadows pried your eyes open, then slipped around your heart and squeezed. he was gone. you could feel it. you knew and yet you hoped and prayed that you were wrong. he was supposed to come home later, right? he would.

but the darkness settled in your stomach and weighed you down until morning.

and so you waited and waited, for nico's familiar shadow, or a chariot riding from the sky. what came was the former. you felt the comforting coldness of your brother's appearance, but jason's warmness was nowhere to be held. nico's dark eyes were rimmed with barely kept tears, his shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

"he's gone." your brother's voice was as dead as jason, as final as his last breath.

never had you begged and pleaded to your father so much; never had you needed to. never had you imagined a life without the sun, your sun. never had the ghost of your soul escaped in a pitiful shriek of agony, or became one with the dirt as salty tears.

and you knew, just as you knew death, that a part of you had died with him.

#*ੈ✎ stories #jason grace #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo hoo toa

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scrollonso · 7 days

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idk how it’s gonna sound butttt… a new au where lance is single dad and nando is a stepdad 🥹 i’m dead every time i get to see nando with children GIVE THIS MAN A KID😭

TYSM FOR THIS REQUEST,, rn it's just a little blurb but I might make it a little more once i finish First Kiss 😭 (1.5k words)

Lance pulled into their new driveway, his daughter screaming excitedly behind him

"We're here, Lilah, wanna look at your new room before we take in groceries?" He said, not really meaning the we, a three year old girl wasn't much help.

"Yes, please!" She shouted, signing please on her chest. Lance had made sure to teach her sign language before she learned to properly speak, before she was born he had joined a "mummy and me" facebook group looking for help and that was one of the many things he was told to do.

Lance hummed, turning off the car and going back to take Delilah out of her carseat, helping her step out of the car before heading inside.

It was a gorgeous house in a safe neighbourhood, Lance figured as she got older living in a one bedroom apartment would get harder and harder so as soon as he had the chance he asked his best friend Esteban for help in house hunting and eventually moving the furniture in. Delilah's mom decided she didn't want to be in her life almost right agter giving birth to her, it had been scary, being a single dad at 22, but he had such a great support system and an even greater little girl.

"Come on, daddy" She spoke, snapping him out of his thoughts as she tugged on his pants leg

"Yes, yes, let's go baby" Lance smiled, quick to swoop her up and carry her upstairs to her bedroom, already adorned with all of her favourite things. The walls were painted a pale blue with cloud lights hanging from the ceiling, at the apartment they had before she was always sneaking out to play outside so he hoped making her room feel outside would limit that.

"This is mine, daddy?" She asked, looking away from all the toys, books, and stuffed animals to face her dad

"Yes, princess, all yours" He nodded, not able to help the wide grin on his face as hers lit up

"Thank you, daddy!" She signed again, holding her arms up to her dad to ask for a hug, he was quick to accept, squeezing her tight as she giggled

"You can play up here while I bring in groceries, okay? Then I'll make you lunch" He pulled away, the little girl nodding and running to the toy chest in the corner of her room to see what was in it as Lance made his way downstairs.

He finally finished putting away the gorceries, wandering back upstairs to ask Delilah what she wanted

"Lilah, are you hungry?" He spoke before walking into the room, startled at the emptiness "Lilah?" He called again, now beginning to panic at the absence of his daughter.

Delilah peeked past a tall white fence, eyes locking on a man who was laying down in the sun, he looked like he was sleeping

"Excuse me?" She spoke, the small voice causing the man to open his eyes

"Hello, sweetie" He spoke, sitting up and shooting her a puzzled look, wondering where she came from. He could tell by the change of her expression that she'd never head an accent like his before

"My daddy said laying in the sun causes you to get red and hurt" She spoke matter-of-factly

"Your daddy sounds very smart, where are your mommy and daddy now?" He asked, now a little concerned

"My daddy is in the kitchen, mommy left"

Fernando tried to hide his shock at the bluntness of the little girl, just nodding at her words

"I see, where is your kitchen?"

"In my new house!" She said with emotion for the first time "Me and my daddy just moved in, he painted my walls blue and i have clouds in my rooms sky!"

He couldn't help but smile at the talkative little girl, part of him worried at how quickly she was to be comfortable around a stranger

"Do you remember which house is yours?"

"Uhm..." She trailed off, tapping a finger on her chin before swiftly shaking her head and muttering a nuh-uh

Fernando nodded, standing up from his chair and holding out his hand "Let me help you find it"

"My daddy said I shouldn't go places with strangers"

The Spaniard couldn't help but laugh, this little girl wandered into his backyard and now that he was trying to return her she was worried about him being a stranger

"I pinky promise I'm nice, I just don't want your poor daddy worrying about you, sweetie"

"My daddy isn't poor! My poppy says we have all the money"

"Of course, Sorry for assuming" Fernando smiled down at her, crouching and holding out his hand "Now, how about we get you back to your rich daddy?"

She furrowed her eyebrows, her small thinking face was extremely endearing. She held out her pinky to the strangers hand "Pinky promise you're not mean"

He locked pinkies with her right away, shaking their hands a little bit before standing up "I pinky promise"

"Okay!" She smiled, grabbing onto two of the mans fingers as they walked, Fernando almost not noticing how she was just staring up at him

"You need to look for your daddy, not at me, sweetie"

"You're handsome, do you wanna meet my daddy?"

"Do I-" He laughed, shaking his head at the little girls comment as he picked her up "Let's focus on getting you home"

Lance was horrified, he checked every room in the house before realizing he didn't shut the door after bringing groceries in, leaving the house to see the white gate was open too

"Fuck, oh my god." He muttered under his breath, trying to stop himself from pulling his hair out as he look around the yards and sidewalks nearby. Delilah was smart, she was cautious most of the time so he knew she wouldn't have crossed the street without a hand to hold but he also knew she was way too friendly

"Daddy!" He heard a voice call after what felt like forever, his head turned to the voice and before he knew it he was scooping her up from the strangers arms, hardly acknowledging him

"God, Lilah, You can't do this now that we have a new house, I had no idea where you where."

"I met a nice man, daddy! He's just like those guys you call cute in the movies!"

Lance had to stop himself from covering her mouth, taking a deep breath before turning to the man

"I'm so-" Fuck. Delilah was so right. He was just like the guys he calls cute in the movies, he was gorgeous, Lance almost collapsed at the sight of the brunette man in front of him

"I'm Fernando" The older man spoke, holding a hand out to the young dad "I live two houses down"

"Hi, I'm Lance" He smiled, taking the (audibly) Spanish mans hand with no hesitation "Thank you so much for bringing her back, please don't think badly about me this doesn't usually happen" He tried to laugh it off to hide his embarrassment

"Is okay, she was great company."

"Are your kids older?" Lance asked, figuring that since the man was so amazing with Delilah right away he mustve beem a dad

"I wish, no, Is just me"

"Oh" Lance nodded, hoping his excitement wasn't visible

"Daddy, he's single!" The little girl whispered (very loudly), Fernando smiling at the pair

"Lilah, You can't just-" He began to speak

"Are you-" Fernando started, both of them pausing to let the other speak "Would you want to get coffee or something? Sometime, or not, is okay if no"

Lance laughed, something so charming about the comdination of the mans accent and flustered blabbering "I'd love to, I hope you don't mind if Delilah tags along?"

"Of course, could I have your number? To plan, of course"

"Yes, to plan" Lance smiled, taking the phone Fernando was holding out to him and putting in the numbers "Can't wait, Fernando"

He smiled, nodding at the two before stepping back to leave "I'll see you soon?" He half questioned half stated, Lance begining to respond before Delilah cut him off

"Yes! Bye bye, Nando!"

"Do you like him daddy" Was the first thing out of the girls lips once they got inside, her dads face flushing at the suggestion

"I think its bedtime" He teased, picking her up as she began wiggling in his arms

"Daddy, no!" She giggled, trying to squirm her way away from him "I'm gonna tell Nando to not go out with you if you make me go to sleep!"

"Fine" He groaned, a smile on his face right after, looking forward to whatever was to come with him and the Spaniard (and his little princess)

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shatterinseconds · 2 months

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“It’s a simple three step beat; what aren’t you understanding about it, Mullet?” Lance asks, annoyance beginning to leak through his voice. He’s tried to cap his frustration as much as possible throughout the past hour. But this has become ridiculous. If anything, Keith has gotten worse at dancing than when they started the lesson. Brief pain sparks through Lance’s foot and he cracks. “And stepping on my toes isn’t one of them!”

“Some of us didn’t get three years of ballroom dance lessons,” Keith snaps, irritated.

“Which is why I’m teaching you. But you’re not listening to a single thing I say! You can’t even get close to me.” Lance tries to tug Keith forward but he remains just as stubborn as always, aggravating and infuriating.

What looms between them is a larger gap than needed, with Keith holding him at an arm’s length as if he’s a poisonous snake ready to bite. A balloon would fall straight through to the floor; Lance’s arms are almost entirely extended. He thought Keith would be a little more willing considering the stake of the mission.

Keith clenches his jaw. “I’m trying.”

“For someone as coordinated as you on the battlefield, this shouldn’t be this difficult.” Lance scowls, taking a page out of Keith’s book.

“Me not knowing how to dance isn’t going to break the alliance.”

“Were you even listening to Allura?”

“Were you?” Keith bites back, too smirky for Lance’s taste. Yeah, he may have been fiddling with his comm device under the table, trying to play an old earth game Pidge had downloaded onto it. That’s beside the point.

So Lance ignores him. “The Zolxox see dance as a creation of trust and loyalty between two groups of people. If we miss a step, they won’t join the coalition.”

“But why’d it have to be us?” The Zolxox only needed a pair of dancers, not their whole team.

Lance rolls his eyes. “Because I have three years of dance experience, duh.” But his annoyance quickly fades when Keith doesn’t snap back with their classic banter. In fact, he continues to stand there, his hands not exactly touching Lance anymore but hovering. Keith stares at him with such a blank expression that Lance allows a bit of the truth to spill. “And–And because I work best with you,” he mumbles, ducking his head to avoid any minute reaction from Keith. When he does flick his gaze up, Keith remains impassive. “But you gotta listen to me, Mullet. Why won’t you just follow what I say?”

That’s when Lance loses Keith entirely. He steps back from Lance, arms folded against his chest, not loose at all. Keith can’t seem to look at him anymore either. “It’s awkward… being close to you.”

“Oh.” Lance drops his empty hands, suddenly despondent. He didn’t know Keith felt that way about him. He thought they’d finally become friends, maybe inching toward something more. Maybe Lance should have chosen Allura for this mission like everyone thought he would. His shoulders begin to hunch forward.

“Shit, no, not in that way.” Keith groans as he cards a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself. Strands stick out in multiple directions, silly enough that Lance wants to punch through whatever new wall is between them and fix it for him. But Keith wouldn’t appreciate that. “I just meant, I know the way I feel about you isn’t how you feel about me and I don’t want to make it weird for you.”

“How do you know how I feel about you if you never once asked?”

Keith gives him a look. “Please. You flirt with everyone but me. Even I understand what that means.”

“That’s not—That’s—Oh my god—” Lance suddenly steps forward, waving his arms as he talks, too flustered to be rational. “With everyone else, it’s fun, meaningless, a way to lighten the mood.” His skin heats enough that he must be glowing from embarrassment. “But you—With you, it’s different. I try to spend time together and constantly try to get your atten—wait.” Eyes popping wide, Lance starts to point, jabbing his finger into Keith’s chest. “You just told me you liked me!” His brain finally internalizes what Keith had said, what Keith implied. It immediately derails his train of thought. “You like me!”

Keith startles before his entire expression pinches. He growls. “Uh uh, we’re focusing on you and your terrible flirting techniques.” He steps up to Lance and keeps stepping toward him until he is the only thing Lance can focus on. Those violet eyes bore into Lance, head tilted and brows drawn. “How was I supposed to know I was different?” he asks, low and steady.

“Goddammit, Keith.” Lance surges forward and kisses Keith square on the mouth. His hands weave through Keith’s hair, musing it further, while Keith’s strong grip lands on his waist, fingers hooking into his belt loops. He pulls Lance in and tugs on his lower lip, his teeth scraping slightly but in a way that buzzes across Lance’s skin. When they part, Lance is breathless with swollen lips and eyes half-lidded. It’s a struggle to speak but he manages to mumble, “Does that clear things up?”

Keith nods. Blush stains his pale cheeks though he holds Lance’s stare, never wavering, and he even starts to smirk the longer they remain in silence. Like he knows that he affected Lance just as much as Lance affected him.

He’s going to be the death of Lance one day; this man…

“G-Good,” Lance finally says, struggling to regain his composure, if he ever had some to begin with. “We’ll talk about this later. But right now, we dance.”

Kith groans, though less annoyed than before, and for the first time, effortlessly moves all the way into Lance’s space, smiling a small smile. They dance without any issues, except for maybe a few butterflies.

#klance #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #klance fic #keith x lance #my writing #happy valentine's day!!

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epicbuddieficrecs · 3 months

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Throwback Rec!

Helloooooooo!

I've mentioned this when I first started the blog, but unlike with my previous rec blogs, there was quite a long period of time between the time when I started reading buddie fics and when I started this blog (live, five-ish months). Consequently, there's a lot of fics I've read during that period that I've never recced! So I thought I'd try to do a "Throwback" rec once in a while to rec these fics. Enjoy!

this must be the place by euadnes/ @kananjarus (Canon Divergent, Post-Shooting | 75K | Teen): Every life altering event is often led up to with a series of other important events. In this case, there were at least three: An unstoppable fire. An afternoon spent underneath a blanket of California blue sky. But firstly, and maybe the most important of all: There was the impeccable aiming of an ex-sharpshooter. *** Or, the Buck is also shot by the sniper AU that no one asked for.

🔥 Benign Fatality by EtoileGarden/ @etoilegarden (Time Loop AU, Season 2-4 | 23K | Teen): Buck repeats days until he doesn't die in them, has an underdeveloped sense of self worth, and Eddie is the one who wants to step in with him.

must be some kind of twist, I could get used to this by soyxunxperdedor/ @messyhairdiaz (Post-S4, Accidental Marriage | 38K | Explicit): He doesn’t remember much from last night, even less after the fourth or fifth tequila shot. So he certainly doesn’t remember bringing someone back to his room. He steels himself for the lancing pain and cracks his eyes open. Oh. Oh no. This is either really bad or… Well, not really good, but just. Not really bad, and that’s probably all Buck can ask for it to be. Because Eddie is in his bed, Eddie’s arm is wrapped around his waist, Eddie’s legs are tangled with his. And he has no idea why.

🔥 in the night we trust by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Canon Divergent, Pre-S4 | 29K | Explicit): Eddie and Buck start sleeping together when they're all stuck at Buck's place during lockdown. It still takes them almost three years to notice that they're in love.

🔥 Didn't think you meant it by EtoileGarden/ @etoilegarden (Friends to Fiancés to Lovers, Post-S5 | 33K | Explicit): “I want - I want to get to - to have some sort of - of promise that I’m… loved. And. And worthy. And that I get to always go to bed knowing I’m - I’m fully, like, mentally, physically, legally committed to this person who - who’ll always have my back, who’ll always - always be there when I need them. But I guess,” Buck shook his head. “I guess I’m starting to really - really believe that maybe I’m not actually built for that. For - for someone actually wanting to commit to me, to marry me. So I - I think seeing the wedding today just kinda cemented in my brain that no one would want to marry me.” “I’d marry you,” Eddie said, patted his knee.

🔥 standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-Shooting | 71K | Mature): In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

oh, my dream (never quite as it seems) by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (S6, Friends with Benefits | 44K | Explicit): In which Buck and Eddie are trying out a friends-with-benefits thing (that's rapidly turning into more) when the world comes crashing down on them. As Buck hovers somewhere between life and death, Eddie has to deal with their friends, family and the Buckley parents.

It’s Not the Roaring Dream, It’s the Silent Lightning by giselleslash (Coma AU | 15K | Mature): Buck gets struck by lightning and wakes up in another life where he has everything he’s ever wanted, but soon that life starts to crumble around him and the painful pull back into reality nearly breaks his heart. (or the one where Buck is married to Eddie in a coma dream and he doesn’t want to let the dream go.)

found a park bench for a throne by withoutthetiger / @rewritetheending (Post-S6 | 23K | Teen): Set in S7, when Buck goes back to therapy and Eddie is there to comfort him after each session, much like Buck did for him in 5x14. They're friends, of course, but Eddie can only soothe Buck for so long before it becomes impossible to deny that they're also so much more.

I love the way you spoil me, baby by rosebuddiekin/ @giddyupbuck (Sugar Daddy Buck AU | 33K | Explicit): Buck is a sugar daddy who wants to spoil Eddie rotten and take care of everything for him. Eddie has never had that sort of relationship but is willing to give it a try. There is plenty of adventure along the way.

🔥 In the Gray You are Golden by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 26K | Explicit): When the world fell apart, Eddie did his best to keep his son safe. But now winter's coming on, their supplies are dwindling, and Christopher needs medical attention, so Eddie takes the chance to move them across the country to the west coast, where the rumored 118 Safezone takes in all survivors. Buck's proud to be a member of the 118's search and rescue teams, but he can't shake the conviction that his lost sister is still alive in the wasteland. When he sneaks out to find her, he runs into Eddie and Chris instead, and vows to get them to the 118 safely. But the wasteland has many ways of tearing people apart, and the undead are just one trick up its sleeve...

🔥 you and me by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (S6 Fix-It | 55K | Mature): An alternate ending to Season 6, where Buck realises that what he's been searching for has been right in front of him the whole time.

🔥 The Education of Eddie Diaz by mansikka (Pre-S4, Friends With Benefits | 32K | Explicit): Eddie doesn't really know how it happened. One moment the 118 are drunk in a bar after a hard shift, confessions slipping from his mouth as he playfully kisses Buck on the cheek. The next he is on Buck's couch, taking up Buck's offer of an education that could be asking for trouble. But it's just sex, and they're just friends; it doesn't mean anything to either of them. So why is his time alone with Buck the highlight of his week?

🔥 i see you in my sheets (i see you in my sleep) by elless (Post-S6A, Friends with Benefits | 25K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie are FWB, act like boyfriends, and are suuuuper dumb and oblivious about everything.

🔥 a bleeding sun on a silver screen by rarakiplin (gmontys)/ @hoediaz (Actors AU, Friends With Benefits | 130K | Mature): One day, Buck will tell an interviewer that he would be happy to make movies with Eddie Diaz until the day he dies. But first, years before that, he sees Eddie for the first time on the set of Chimney’s fifth movie.

handle me with care by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Canon to S6E9, Getting Together | 42K | Mature): In which Eddie tries dating again, and slowly comes to terms with his feelings for Buck.

Your Kiss Might Kill Me (So Won't You Kill Me) by morganofthefairies (PWP, BDSM | 9K | Explicit): Buck hadn’t been a virgin by the time he’d hit Peru – not even close. He still considered Peru a critical point in his sexual history, though, because Peru had brought him Fiona, and he was pretty sure he could credit her with like 80% of his sexual knowledge. None of that was the point, though. The point was that, six years later, when Eddie called for the jaws to get to a woman pinned in her car while responding to an 8-car pileup, and absentmindedly called him a good boy as Buck handed them over, he had a totally normal reaction to it.

#epic buddie fic rec #buddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfiction #buddie fanfic #buddie fic rec

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dilemmaontwolegs · 8 months

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Not A Verstappen: A New World {2}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Unexpected allies and strange changes are happening both on and off the track. Warnings: 18+ only, mature content, we got another period WC: 2.4k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three

Round One - Bahrain 2023 “Nice work out there,” Lance said as he clapped you on the back as you began your return to the motorhome smelling like champagne.

“You too, not a bad start at all,” you said with a grin. It was the first race and already you had scored a podium for Aston Martin, albeit behind both Red Bulls.

“Not sure your boyfriends would agree. Have you seen them yet?”

You sighed and shook your head. Charles had out-qualified you, both Ferrari’s starting a row ahead, but in the end he hadn’t been able to finish the race. Lando wasn’t much better, coming in last with who remained in the race.

“I’ll hunt them down after I find my mum. She’s probably lost and confused by now.”

“She’ll get used to the paddock soon enough. It must be good to have her finally come to your races.”

“I’m not sure she would say the same thing,” you chuckled. “Did you see how nervous she was at testing last week? Thought she was going to have an aneurysm when she heard my top speed.”

“Dad was like that when I started too.” Lance opened the door for you to the Aston Martin motorhome and grinned at the cheer that erupted. The race had only finished an hour ago and already the motorhome was being dismantled to move on to the next destination.

“One more race like that and we’ll already have more points than we had all of last year,” Lawrence said as he threw his arms around both you and his son. “Sensational! That’ll show the bastards at Red Bull they have a competition on their hands this year.”

“Can’t wait,” you smirked at the idea.

Lawrence squeezed your shoulder. “Show them what a mistake they made, alright?”

“With pleasure. Thank you for giving me the chance.”

Lawrence sighed and took a seat at an empty table, pointing you to the one opposite and he sent Lance off to get changed. “You’re a great driver, there’s no disputing that, so I’m happy to have you on the team - especially if you keep performing like you did out there. You could have an entire harem for all I care.”

“I’m happy with two, thanks,” you said with a laugh. “It does suck not being able to go out and celebrate though.”

You had received a warning letter before the season began with an outline on which countries you would be arrested in for showing any PDA, same with Lando and Charles. Bahrain was one and the next stop in Saudi Arabia was another. Lewis had tried to speak up but his influence couldn't change the laws that were going to be upheld and there would be no leniency.

“I’d rather not have to bail you out of jail so early in the season.”

“I can cover bail, just don’t rip up my contract,” you joked. “Please.”

“That wasn’t right. I have a daughter so I know full well the different treatment you ladies get no matter what you do.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice as he jutted a thumb over his shoulder, “They don’t even seem to remember Checo’s scandal in Monaco last year. It just goes to show that it wasn't because their ‘core values’ were breached. Red Bull is led by misogynists. End of.”

“Well don’t hold back, Mr Stroll.” You grinned at your boss and sat back in your seat feeling even more comfortable with your choice in employer. You had offers from Williams and Alfa Romeo, as well as a reserve driver for Mercedes, but you were glad you took the Aston Martin seat, even if green wasn’t your best colour. “I feel like I should set you up on a soap box outside their garage.”

“I’ve found they don’t pay much attention to words, we’ll just have to beat them instead,” he said as he rose from the table and wrapped his knuckles on the wooden top. “Have yourself a good evening.”

“You too, boss.”

After showering and searching the motorhome and failing to find your mum, you went in search through the paddock, finally locating her in McLaren’s hospitality.

“One race and you ditched me already,” you said to her as you stole one of their bottles of water from the fridge.

“I knew you were fine, so I thought I would check in on sweet Lando,” she said with a sad smile. “He’s not too happy with his result.”

You snorted a laugh and she slapped your arm as she shhh’d you. “What? No one jumps for joy at last place. It’s kind of obvious.”

“Just go and check on him okay? I’ll see you all for dinner later.”

You watched her navigate her way out and trusted that she could find her way back to Astin Martin. Kristian was staying in the same hotel so she was going to get a ride back with him while you rode with Lando and Charles after finishing the debrief and interviews. She had the endless patience of a saint, except when it came to the media.

You rapped your knuckles on the door before opening it and found Lando pacing the narrow space, his phone to his ear. “-least yours was a mechanical failure, my car is just shit. Oh, she just got here. We’ll see you soon. Love you.”

He tossed his phone onto the table and opened his arms, welcoming a warm embrace after the terrible performance he had endured. His chest was still damp from the shower and he smelt edible like a key lime pie when you kissed his collar bone.

“Proud of you,” he murmured into your neck where he buried his face and inhaled your body wash too.

“Proud of you too.”

He pulled back and shook his head like he didn’t believe you and you caught his face in your hands, forcing him to face you. “I am proud of you, baby. What you did today was much harder than me…the fact you still finished the race and held your head high shows how resilient you are. I probably would have done a Kimi and just fucked off mid-race.”

His chest bounced with a small laugh because you both knew it was true.

“You are going to be a world champion one day, I know it,” you swore as you pressed your forehead to his and felt him shake his head. “You don’t have to believe me, Lando. I believe in you. You deserve it, you have the raw talent - and one day you will have the car to match. Then you will be unstoppable.”

The door swung open as Charles let himself in and you delighted in the way his face lit up upon seeing you both opening your arms for him to join. “Mmmm,” he sighed as he closed his eyes and tipped his head onto Lando’s shoulder. “What a fucking day…Can we go home yet?”

Round Four - Baku 2023 You were a shoo-in for a podium place. It was in reach for the fourth race in a row, until the pain began. Sudden and strong, you nearly missed the corner as the ache in your abdomen grew to a point you couldn’t ignore it. You felt even bump in the road, every force of the turns, the pressure from your harness.

“Fuck,” you growled through gritted teeth. “How many laps left?”

“Five, why? Woah, your heart rate is through the roof,” Chris exclaimed, not nearly as calm as Nicholas would have been.

“Yeah, kind of happens when I’m in pain,” you retorted as you thought you could probably handle five more laps. There wasn’t another option anyway.

By the penultimate lap Charles had overtaken you and you saw his helmet turn your way ever so slightly, like time slowed as he passed. There was no way to see under his visor but you knew there would have been a look of concern on his face.

“Try to at least maintain your pace, Sainz is currently gaining.”

“I’m fucking trying alright.”

You managed to remain in fourth position as you crossed the finish line and then returned to the pits to see Charles’ Ferrari taking the last podium parking spot. You would have liked to have parked there but if it had to go to someone else you were glad it was him.

“Where’s Lando?”

“Ninth.”

You laughed happily at the news that he had also made it to the points again and turned off your engine to start unstrapping yourself. You reached between your legs for the buckle and swore under your breath as you felt the sticky residue on your race suit that was definitely not sweat.

Charles had been celebrating with his team before the final weigh in but when he returned to take a drink of water he noticed you still hadn’t climbed out of yours. He could see Lando’s car a few behind as he arrived but even he was touching down on the tarmac and pushing his steering console back into place.

“Charles, you’re up,” Max interrupted the step he took towards you. “What’s she doing? She’s not crying because she lost, right?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered half distracted before realising what Max had said and rolled his eyes. “She’s not crying.”

He seemed proven wrong when you pulled your helmet off your head and he saw tears streaming down your face. Max turned to Sergio and pointed to the interviewer waiting by the Sky News cameras. “Mate, can you go first?” They didn’t wait for an answer as your face contorted with pain and your head fell forward.

“Baby, you alright?” Lando asked as he reached you first, reaching in and taking your steering wheel out for you as you shook your head. “Here, let me help you out.”

“I can’t get out of the car,” you admitted as tears of embarrassment wet your hot cheeks.

“That's okay, I can carry you,” he murmured as he reached for you but you slapped his hands away.

“I can’t get out of the fucking car!” you snapped, immediately getting the attention of Charles and Max who had arrived too, only increasing the anxiety that you were feeling. “Please, just get my pit crew to jack up the car and wheel me to the garage.”

“Why?” Max asked as he crossed his arms, but then they dropped as he barked a laugh. “Did you pee in the car?”

“Fuck off, twat,” you grunted as Charles hit him on the shoulder with a, “Mate, it happens, leave her alone.”

You hunched over and clutched your abdomen as a cramp wracked your body and a pained groan slipped out. “Oh, oh shit,” Lando reacted first, knowing exactly what was happening after surviving three of your menstrual cycles over the winter break.

“Charles, Max, interview time.”

They both glared at the FIA official but Lando nodded his head. “Go, I’ll take care of her.”

Three Days Later Your knee nervously bounced as you sat in the doctor's room. “I never get periods during the racing season, something must be wrong.”

“Well, your test results were all normal.” She pushed her glasses back up her nose as she changed the folders she was looking at. “Are you feeling stressed?”

You pondered the question for a moment, not really having realised how different life was in Aston Martin and not having to hide your relationship. “Not really, no.”

“But you used to be,” she noted as she read through her past comments on your file. “Stress, as you know, can upset your hormonal balance quite significantly.”

“So I’m getting my period again because I’m not as stressed? That’s inconvenient.”

“It’s how your body should function.”

“I need it to stop.”

Reaching into her drawer, she grabbed a few pamphlets and laid them across her desk. “There’s certainly options, but they could have other side effects.”

You left the office with a prescription in hand but you weren’t sure how your boyfriends were going to take the news. They were always concerned about your health and wellbeing that it could go one of two ways.

“I thought the hormones would mess with you,” Lando said as he shook the box and heard the rattle of the foil trays inside.

“They are messing with me now.” You dropped down onto the couch as he passed the box over to Charles to read. “Who knew Red Bull could be so stressful?” you mused.

“Pierre, Albono, Kvyat,” Lando listed with a smirk.

“I think you should take them, if you think it will help,” Charles decided as he placed the box back in your hand.

“There’s only one way to find out,” you shrugged, cracking the foil seal on the first tablet. “Plus, we’ll save a fortune not having to buy condoms.”

“Wait, what?” Lando’s face lit up like a kid at Christmas. “I thought this was to stop your period.”

“I mean, it stops them, as well as having babies, like a two-for-one deal.”

“I could get on board that.” His lips curled up into a sexy smirk as he dropped into the space beside you and draped his arm across your shoulders. His body was already stirring at the idea and he looked up at Charles who had gone to get a glass of water for you. “Tell me you haven’t dreamt of this day.”

Charles rolled his eyes but didn’t refute him as he handed the glass over and watched you swallow the little pill. “Of course I have, mon cher.”

“Sorry, boys, it takes seven days to work. You’ll still have to wrap it if you want to tap it.”

It was mean but you took some pleasure in the collective groan they made.

“Block out your calendar,” Charles chuckled as he bent down and kissed you. “Seven days and we plan to absolutely ruin you.”

You squirmed at the thought, imagining the feel of their cum dripping from you after they filled you and it drove you feral. You grabbed Charles and pulled him onto the couch as he laughed at the sudden urge you had to feel his body on yours.

“Tell us what you need, chérie,” he teased while Lando’s lips found your racing pulse.

Your core clenched and reminded you of the emptiness within. “You,” you begged as your hands disappeared up their shirts and felt the hard muscles beneath your palms. “I need you to ruin me.”

Click here for part three.

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @zendayabelova @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3 @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302

#Charles Leclerc x reader x lando norris #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #Charles Leclerc imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n

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nico-di-genova · 25 days

Note

strollonso + marriage proposal.

Genuinely, thank you so much for sending this, it is such a simple request, and yet the idea of them married has now fully consumed me.

Warnings: NSFW, they are fucking nasty style.

The thing about them is that they’ve never been normal. Not when Fernando kissed Lance for the first time post Bahrain, all sweaty and roaming hands, crowding Lance against the door of his hotel room and then standing before his father the next day saying Lance was already like family. Not when Lance went down on him for the first time, choking himself on Fernando’s cock while the man sat on the phone with his engineer discussing set-up of his car. Normal was not something that came to them easily, Lance supposed their proposal wouldn’t be any different.

He just hadn’t expected Fernando to ask him right as he was bottoming out.

Right as Lance was muffling a moan into his pillow and gripping the plush material in his hands with white knuckles.

“Marry me,” Fernando grunts, and Lance hardly hears him over the blood rushing through his ears.

He moans as Fernando thrusts with practiced ease.

“Yes or no?”

Lance cannot even follow the question. He’s too busy thinking of how Fernando’s cock feels inside him, too busy arching and pushing back for more. Fernando gives it to him, leans forward so he can rest a hand on the mattress next to Lance’s face pushed into the pillow, his other hand gripping Lance’s hip tight enough to bruise.

When Fernando begins thrusting at a brutal pace Lance lets him. He lets punched out noises fall from his lips and tangle in the sweat soaked sheets beneath them.

When he comes, it’s with the shape of Fernando’s name in his mouth.

"You did not answer,” Fernando muses afterward. Lance’s head is resting on his bare chest, his fingers threading through sweat soaked strands of jet black hair.

“Answer what?” Lance mumbles, fucked out and limp against Fernando – like a sack of potatoes Fernando had once teased, boneless and immovable. He was falling asleep, his voice groggy with the promise of it.

“Marry me,” Fernando says again, a statement instead of a question.

“Later,” Lance grumbles, curling closer to Fernando.

He is rarely the little spoon, what with the size difference between them, but his thigh slots perfectly across Fernando’s hips and his head can rest nicely beneath his chin if he maneuvers enough. He can feel Fernando’s come dripping out of him, his own drying against his stomach, but the need to give into the oblivion of sleep is stronger than the need to shower.

“But yes?” Fernando asks, to which Lance makes a noise that might have been agreement, at least he aims for that.

It’s not romantic, certainly not how Lance thought his proposal would go. For one, he did not think he would be the one proposed to. In his mind there had been an expensive trip to Bali, rose petals in the sand, a girl who he’d get down on one knee for with a prenup and a ring. But the girl never had a face, nothing distinguishable about her other than the dress she wore that would flutter in the breeze and her giggle when Lance slid the expensive rock onto her finger.

This is better, half asleep against his childhood hero with his limbs still aching from how hard the man had drilled him into the mattress. Feeling warm, content, wanted – not just for his trust fund but because he was also really good at sucking dick.

Maybe it was a self-deprecating thought. He didn’t care. He falls asleep like that, with Fernando’s fingers in his hair and wrapped in the scent of him. When he wakes, it’s to the man easing him out of the bed and into the warm bath that waits with steam rising in tendrils from the water. It’s easy to let himself be taken care of, to let Fernando massage the knots from his shoulders and clean the come from his body. Easy in the same way it is to let a nameless driver cart him around Montreal or let the rotating staff dust his frequently empty loft, different in that Fernando presses kisses to his neck, his shoulders, his spine, the crown of his head and tells him how good he was.

Lance rests his cheek against the curve of Fernando’s neck while water is poured down his back, soap lathered into his hair, whispers of praise warm against his ear. Fernando uses his own shampoo, his soap, so that Lance no longer smells of sex but of citrus and sandalwood.

Fernando doesn’t mention marriage again, but he does dress Lance in a pair of his own boxers and eases him into bed with a gentleness that Lance has learned to associate with post-coital bliss.

It’s the sun that wakes him up next, and Fernando’s hand thwacking against his face when the man shifts in his sleep. He smells of Fernando and is wearing clothes are too small for his frame, and it’s familiar. At some point, it became almost normal.

A month later he gives Fernando a ring, a silver band rimmed with a strip of carbon fiber from his own car and his name engraved in Hebrew on the inside. It matches the font that’s inked across his ribs. Hurt a hell of a lot less though and cost him significantly more. His dad’s accountant questions the amount, asks Lance if he bought a new place, and Lance just shrugs it off – says he bought a snowboard or a car or a race track just to see the way the man’s lips press into a thin line as he jots something into the books.

“I’ll marry you,” he says, when he slides the ring in its velvet box to Fernando across the table of the taco place they’re at. It comes to a rest beside the chips and salsa.

Fernando stares. There’s a stray piece of cilantro sticking to the corner of his downturned mouth.

“If, uh, if you still want me to. I’ll marry you.”

“A ring?” Fernando asks, motioning at the box with the overfilled end of the taco in his grip. A stray piece of carne asada falls, plops onto the paper lined basket beneath him.

“Yeah, it’s stupid, but you know-“

“It’s not stupid,” Fernando cuts him off, annoyance lacing his tone as he sets the taco down next to the escaped piece of meat, “Don’t say that. It’s not stupid.”

Lance blushes, ducks his head, stares down at his own untouched taco and the box that Fernando still has not reached for. There’s chip crumbs sticking to the velvet. His dad would have a conniption if he saw, the same way he did when Lance would show up to events in a suit that was too big on him with an untucked button-up peeking out from beneath the oversized fabric. His dad would hate that they were even eating here, which is maybe precisely why Lance had chosen it. Something bold, something his, something that wasn’t stamped with the Stroll name and wrapped in a pretty package.

“It’s not stupid,” Fernando repeats, “But it’s for me?”

Lance feels his palms go clammy, feels suddenly like he is getting hit by a bus. His appetite leaves him with the whoosh of breath from his lungs. They hadn’t talked about it since Fernando proposed the idea when he was balls deep inside him. When Lance was moaning his name into the pillow and choking on his own tears from the pleasure. He feels suddenly stupid, hollow, the same way he feels when reporters ask him why he bottled it into the wall on the easiest part of the circuit with condescension lacing their tone. Like they could do any fucking better.

“You- fuck.”

“Lance?”

“You didn’t mean it did you? Oh, man, uh. I’m- fuck.”

Lance doesn’t cry, at least not in public. He’s become well trained in blinking back tears and biting off the quiver in his voice that gives him away. But he comes close, feels the stinging heat of them building in the corners of his eyes and has to blink violently until his vision clears. Fernando watches him, watches as he fights against the rising tide of not good enough, stupid, never enough that rises inside him suddenly and rapidly and threatens to drown him while he swallows down the bile and sour cream taste that’s building at the back of his throat.

It takes him longer than it should to stop the shaking of his hands.

“Sorry,” he says when the world settles a little beneath his feet, when he doesn’t feel like he’s going to say something spiteful just so he can see Fernando’s expression twist with the same hurt he feels. It wouldn’t work anyway, Lance has thrown nearly every well aimed bullet Fernando’s way and they land, but they never seem to hurt.

“Let’s just- let’s just forget about it, yeah? It was a dumb thing, I don’t even-,” he reaches to grab the ring box but is halted by Fernando’s hand over his own. Fernando’s fingers wrap around his wrist, strong, sturdy, unyielding.

“Stop calling it that. Let me answer, yes?”

Lance nods, braces himself for the inevitable rejection, for the floor falling out feeling and the rush of wind in his ears and the impact of his body against the pavement. It’s not a strange feeling, to be dumped by his hero and hung out to dry, doesn’t hurt any less the second time around though. He just wishes Fernando would be mean about it, the niceties hurt more, he’d rather it just be quick – it’s what he would have expected from the man anyway – a sharp dagger to the side or the bite of a blade against his throat, not the gentle press of the knife sliding between his ribs in some false semblance of mercy.

Fernando brushes his thumb along the inside of his wrist, over his pulse point, parallel to the surgical scars left from his accident. He sometimes gets phantom twinges, the memory of a snapped bone, but nothing now. Now he just feels empty.

“I did not ask you properly,” Fernando explains, sounding, strangely, sad.

“I didn’t answer properly,” Lance counters, nodding to the box that still sits between them, unopened, next to the chips and a bottle of hot sauce like it is another spare condiment. It cost him a quarter of a million, and Lance threw it down like it was the spare jalapeno sauce the waiter had left them.

“I should have,” Fernando presses, exasperated, like he’s frustrated that Lance is not understanding him, “it’s important to me. This. Us.”

Us.

Lance feels like that twelve year-old boy standing in the Ferrari garage when he says, “I don’t understand.”

Like he’s watching the race unfold with noise muffled by the earmuffs over his head and his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder. Like he can see it all, close enough to smell the rubber and the gasoline, but far enough away that it still seems unobtainable. Fernando may as well still be in that car, separated by a screen and Lance’s idolization for all the difference it makes now.

“You want to marry me, yes? Honest. This is- this is you? Your choice?”

“Who’s else would it be?” If Lance has a gun held to his head it’s one that he hasn’t spotted yet, metal pressing against his temple, and he’s somehow mistaken it for a kiss.

Fernando’s lips press into a thin line, the curl of his lips curving further downward.

“I’m sorry, Nando.”

“Stop being sorry. You do not need to be sorry. I am sorry. How I asked, when I did, it was…wrong. I should have waited. I should have asked correctly.”

Fernando’s grip on his wrist tightens, instinctively, enough that Lance winces when it shifts something beneath the skin, and he feels the hint of pain. More of a familiar ghost than anything real. Fernando pulls away anyway, sudden, leans back in his seat and tucks his hands beneath the table like his touch has somehow burned Lance.

Slowly, Lance understands.

“Wait- you- baby did you think I wanted a proposal? Like down on one knee ‘will you marry me’, proposal?”

Fernando arches an eyebrow, “You do not?”

The floor stabilizes slightly, stops feeling like it’s going to fall out beneath him. Lance breathes and when he exhales a laugh accompanies it.

“No, Fer. Fuck no. Please no, actually.”

“But you got me a ring,” Fernando points out, points at the jewelry itself, like rings and proposals must always go hand in hand. Like they’re supposed to be the blushing bride and groom. Like there’s not a seventeen year age difference between them and their first kiss wasn’t accompanied by Fernando spitting the name ‘princess’ into his mouth like it was a slur.

Lance can’t stop laughing.

Fernando still can’t seem to find the joke.

“This is not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

Funny that his boyfriend became his fiancé when he was fucking him so hard Lance probably wouldn’t have even remembered his own name. Funny that he bought a ring before they’d even discussed it when their dicks weren’t out. Funny that Lance mistook Fernando’s chivalry for abandonment. It’s funny in a way that isn’t, and so he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him in heaving breaths and spills across the table, the floor, the whole of the crowded restaurant. He knows what he must look like, wide grin and crinkling eyes, and the familiarity of his face nagging at the brains of those who turn to stare at him.

He doesn’t care if they recognize him, or, more realistically, Fernando. He doesn’t care and it’s one of the first times that he thinks it and realizes it’s probably true.

“Stop laughing.”

“I can’t,” Lance wheezes, “We’re both so fucking stupid.”

Fernando rolls his eyes, shifts in his seat, waits until Lance’s laughs fade into breathy little huffs and passes the time by picking at his now cold taco. Lance watches him, watches the twitch of his lips and knows Fernando is biting back laughter too.

Finally, he leans forward on his elbows and says, “I want to marry you. Of course I want to marry you.”

He pushes the ring box further along the table with an index finger, until it’s touching Fernando’s plate. The man looks from the velvet box to Lance’s finger and travels along his arm until there’s nothing between them, but the table and the chips and Lance’s name engraved in Hebrew on a solid gold band.

“Do you want to marry me?”

He doesn’t have to wait for Fernando’s answer, it comes in the darkening of the man’s expression, his pupils blowing wide with want and the way he hooks his foot around Lance’s ankle beneath the table.

“Come with me. I will show you how much I want to marry you, Lance Stroll.”

Three months later, Lance wears a matching gold band, Fernando’s name engraved across the inside and resting warm against his skin. When people ask if he’s married, always as a joke, always assuming the impossibility, he laughs and tells them yes. Fernando wears his on a gold chain tucked beneath his nomex. It is the last thing they take off before getting in their cars, the first thing they put back on when getting out.

“Mine,” Fernando will whisper to him at night, Lance’s fingers pressed to his lips and warm breath ghosting along the ring.

“Yours,” Lance will say when he loops Fernando’s chain around his index finger and pulls until the man comes to him, and there is no separation between them at all.

#file this under #another prompt that got away from me #this shit is 5 pages #I don't know short apparently #strollonso #formula 1 #fernando alonso #lance stroll #my fic #anyway them!!!#THEM!!!!#they're toxic and messy and in love!!!!#smut

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darsynia · 1 year

Text

Hands Off | Ch 3: Alchemy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

gif by @fandomsunited (not sure why that didn't persist in my final edit but I posted this late last night sorry about that)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

Summary: Steve’s loved hearing about you from Bucky. He doesn’t want anything to derail the progress his best friend has made toward being a whole person again, which is why he’s going to use every ounce of his slowly-deteriorating willpower to resist touching you, tasting you, taking you. After all, he’s just met you, and his own integrity, not to mention Bucky’s trust, is important to him.

Neither of you are prepared for the catch.

Length | Warnings: 2,772 | Sex

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan

Alchemy

Electricity. The second your leg touches Steve’s hand, you feel a jolt of searing need that flashes across every inch of your exposed skin. The tiny amount of self-discipline you’d been clinging to has completely evaporated.

You’d already been reaching for him when Steve had started sliding his heated hand up your leg, leaving eddies of anticipation in its wake. The way you beg out his name sounds overeager even to your own ears.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, the words rough and reluctant.

“Absolutely not.” You curl your fingers around his wrist and pull his fisted hand up to kiss his knuckles. Even your lips feel swollen and sensitive, something that’s enhanced when Steve’s hand flexes after your kiss to press his thumb against them.

Both of you make noises in the dark at that.

“I shouldn’t listen to you,” Steve whispers hoarsely, snatching his hand away.

You feel desperate and empty. “It feels like I’ll die if you don’t touch me,” you plead. “I thought you were a hero, Steve Rogers!”

There’s a loud sound behind your head that can only be Steve slamming his hand flat on the headboard, and then his lips are sucking a groaning kiss onto your shoulder as one hand drags away your loosened bra. His frantic need touches up a sharp stab of fear that’s oddly erotic, but it’s the way his knee presses up between your legs to spread them that undoes you. You grab a handful of his shirt to anchor yourself right as he tears your flimsy lace panties off.

“I can’t see y-- I need you to--” he blurts out haltingly, hand gripping your hip so hard it’s definitely going to bruise. You want it to.

“What is it?”

Steve quests for you in the dark, forearm grazing your nipple deliciously on his way to taking your hand and placing it on his bicep. “I need to hear or feel that you’re with me, or I’ll never--”

As soon as he says the word ‘feel,’ you reach for him, pulling at his tank top, stroking his hip with your leg, tugging, begging, pleading.

“I hear you, I’m here, I--” he mutters, meaning you’d been saying those things out loud, but then you find each other, and he lances into you. The pure pleasure and relief is enough to take your breath away. “Oh,” Steve breathes into your hair, holding still.

You feel both pierced and enclosed, surrounded by this man you’ve heard and cared about by proxy over the past few months. The sensual heat of his body against and inside is filling you more than you were prepared for, as though the intimacy itself has healing properties.

Then, Steve moves his hips.

“Oh my God don’t you ever fucking stop!” you gasp out, moving to meet him when he rocks back in.

“I don’t think I can,” he says brokenly. The way he sucks in a breath as your rhythm matches his sends sparks of pleasure from every place you’re touching. “This is--”

“Ruinous?” you ask, deliberately angling your hips and tightening your inner walls around him. It’s rewarding as fuck, literally, because Steve Rogers grunts out his approval and speeds up, slamming into you with glorious fervor. All you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride, the fleeting thought passing through that you really wish you could see his face.

There’s reward in the clench and release of his muscles under your hands, in the noises he’s making, but then he shifts his weight and cups your face with one hand, his thumb caressing its way over to press on your lips again. You’d loved that the first time, but you aren’t ready for Steve to lean his head a breath away from his own thumb, almost kissing it, his other hand holding your hip possessively.

The tenderness of his gesture during such a frenzy rips away the secret armor around your heart before you realize it’s happening-- because this is the very last barrier he has, the only part of himself he’s holding back.

Kisses are for lovers, and he’s being a hero.

After a thought like that, everywhere you can think to put your hands feels like trespassing, even though he’s fucking you into the mattress. There’s no comfort you can give this man, but you can show him that you’re an eager participant, that you’re not merely enduring this, but enjoying it, actively. You roll your hips with every thrust, stroking your hand along his bicep instead of his face like you want to.

It’s obvious that it feels as good to him as it does for you, because Steve’s response is to huff a heated, grateful moan against his own thumb, his other fingers curling in pleasure on your face. You hum in appreciation, forgetting the way the sound will resonate on his thumb and his lips.

Steve licks his lips, and the brush of his tongue is napalm-sweet, destructive and delicious. You throw your head back and clench yourself around him as you arch up, hands sinking into his hair despite your determination not to. His response is to groan low and deep, sinking his face into the pillow beside you. You catch your breath when he runs his free hand along your leg, his hips stuttering with his lost concentration.

That’s heady enough, and you can feel a catastrophic orgasm on the horizon-- but then he keeps moving his hand, stroking and searching until he’s pulling your hand from his hair and slamming it down beside your head. Then Steve sucks in a breath, clasps your hands together and comes.

He comes, like it was a surprise, like the act of holding your hand was enough out of all the filthy, sensual, glorious things you’ve been doing together. Like Mistress wasn’t enough, like the room smelling like the musk of arousal wasn’t enough, but a palm to palm connection with you sent him over the edge.

Every second of his agony is almost as intense for you as it clearly is for him. The weight of what’s just happened floods your eyes with tears that you know Steve wouldn’t understand if he could see them. That’s reinforced when, after going limp on top of you for a few seconds, he moves to rest on the mattress beside you. The fingers he’d been brutalizing your hip with smoothe a caress over to your stomach… but he doesn’t let go of your other hand.

Lifting Thor’s hammer couldn’t have made you feel more worthy.

After a moment, the hand on your stomach starts to slide down, thank God.

“Do you want--” Steve asks, and there’s enough Mistress in your system that your body answers for you. His deep chuckle sounds relieved rather than mocking to your overstimulated ears, but mostly you just chase his twisting fingers with your hips as you whisper barely-respectable encouragement.

It doesn’t take long for the tide of onrushing pleasure to start cresting for you, and you devolve into gasps and sighs that grow more desperate the closer you get to coming. Steve’s been making little encouragement noises that have barely registered for you because, whether he realizes it or not, he’s also been squeezing your joined hands in rhythm with his other hand’s movement.

There’s something hot as hell about that, for some reason, but trying not to squeeze with him has drawn out your pleasure in wonderful and frustrating ways. You’re scared you’ll remind him that you’re holding hands, and he’ll stop-- but then Steve does something with his hand, something that only works if you’re strong and your hand is large, and you arch up, babble something incoherent, and squeeze the hell out of his hand.

“Ahhh!” Steve says, hand shifting so he can press his thumb in a warm sweep against the very center of your palm-- and that’s it, you’re destroyed for anyone else, forever. As you writhe in the throes of the best orgasm you’ve ever experienced, the thought that no other man’s going to play with your clit and your palm at the same time occurs to you, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

You black out.

When you wake up, you recognize the clinical setting of a hospital room, and the huge, terrified breath you suck in alerts multiple people to the fact that you’re awake.

“You’re okay, Dee, you’re fine, you made it,” Bucky says from somewhere in the room. The light is too bright, his voice is too loud, and you let out a sound of distress that sounds so much like a sex noise you swear out loud. “There she is!” your asshole best friend crows. Only then does he look over at you enough to realize what’s going on. “Light too bright?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, noting that there’s an actual IV in your arm, when you go to cover your ears. “Everything’s too much. Light, sound…”

Blessedly, someone flips a switch, and most of the lights in the room go out.

“I’ll mark that down,” a woman’s voice says softly. She’s wearing a white coat and an ID badge, but the badge is turned toward her chest, and the coat is covering what look like regular clothes, not scrubs.

“Whose insurance is this under?” you ask, suddenly uneasy. You’ve been uninsured for a while, ever since stepping away from your day job to work ‘full time’ as a vocalist. In reality, you’ve swapped to doing charity work in exchange for a small apartment above their office, with fewer hours, but the result is the same.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Miss--”

“Stark’s mistake, Stark’s funds,” Bucky interrupts. His voice is loud enough that it takes your muddled brain a little while to understand what he means. Your expression must look pained, because when he speaks again, it’s much quieter. “Can we have a few minutes?”

“That depends,” the doctor/nurse/indiscriminate medical professional says, sliding her glasses down her nose to address her next question to you. “Do you feel any residual effects of your exposure?”

Sure you do. You’re shaken to your core, literally and figuratively. Your concept of heroes has been drastically changed.

You’ll never feel satisfied with sex ever again.

But that’s not what this woman is asking.

“No, I--I pretty much feel like myself.”

“Took you a minute,” Bucky mutters.

“Answering a medical question right away just makes doctors dubious,” you sniff.

“Quite right,” the woman says, sliding her glasses back up. “Three minutes.”

She’s already walking out the door when Bucky chases after her, hissing, “I won’t be done talking shit in three minutes!” You’re grateful he’d done that instead of yelling, because everything is intense right now.

“You’re never done talking shit,” you point out, holding up your arm. “So, I needed an IV? Please tell me it wasn’t for fluids.”

Bucky starts coughing. “Shit, I thought I’d have to wait a month before I could make jokes!”

“Oh, you do. I don’t.” You grin at him.

“Got it,” he says, clearly suppressing a smile. The expression shifts, and Bucky says, “You're in the tower infirmary. Steve says he’ll clear out if you want to visit the apartment. I told him you’d probably never set foot in there again.” He looks over at the window, obviously uncomfortable, so he doesn’t catch your stricken expression. Steve had done everything possible to treat you with respect. You don’t want him to think you’d be that… flippant about everything, at least, not with him.

“He knows you didn’t talk to me first before you said that, right?” You wonder if Steve needed an IV at all or if his healing factor meant he was fine by the time the two of you were rescued.

You also wonder how long he held your hand, after you passed out-- but shove the thought away.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. How did I end up here?”

Bucky walks over and seems intensely interested in the IV bag, avoiding your eyes.

“You didn’t break in, did you? Steve says there was some kind of toxic gas that would get released if we broke the door barrier dow--”

“I did not break into my apartment, no,” he says over the rest of your sentence.

“Okay, you are not subtle, which tells me you want me to know that you broke in somewhere,” you say, your scattered mind bumping into some conclusions you can’t quite bring into focus. The only one you can get a grasp on makes you frown and reach for him. “You felt helpless, didn’t you?”

Bucky squeezes your hand for a second, and you tighten your grip when he goes to pull free. The signals he’s sending are clear, but now is not the time. You yank at his hand to make him look at you, and tune the dial back to levity.

“Hey, at least one thing went right, right? You’re in a new shirt!”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, tensing up.

“Woah, there. Do what?” you ask. Bucky’s pulling at his hand again, and you look down in time to see that there’s some blood on it, before he uses his superior strength to get free, the thing he’d avoided doing before. “Gig’s up, Buck. What did you do?”

His lips twist to the side like he’s five years old and you’ve caught him stealing cookies. “I reassigned some priorities.”

“How does that put blood on your hand? Is it yours?”

An alarm starts going off in the room. It’s too loud, oppressively so, enough that all you can focus on is blocking it out.

Two awful minutes later, the sound stops, and you emerge from your pillow refuge to see that Bucky’s nowhere to be found. The white-coated woman from before is now tapping away at the machine next to your IV pole.

“Your blood pressure rose very quickly,” she says, frowning.

“Okay, you know what? Your blood pressure would rise too if you’d had that conversation, so how about you tell me when I can get out of here, and in return, I won’t rip this IV out and make that decision for both of us?”

You very much need to go home and start the process of forgetting what it feels like to hold hands with Steve Rogers, because that’s the part that’s fucking you up. It feels dangerous.

Disapproval is wafting off of this nurse/caretaker/doctor person, but she nods, pulling an envelope from the pocket of her coat to hand you. “I can remove the IV now, but as for release, give me a half hour? Yours was one in a long line of disturbances today.”

You spend the whole IV removal affronted by the characterization of what happened to you as a ‘disturbance,’ until you realize that was her goal. It had kept you quiet and still as you seethed.

You stew on that while you open the envelope, but the letter inside makes you forget all of that.

Hey, Chickadee. Tony Stark here. Good news! There is zero surveillance footage of your presence in the tower today. I snatched snagged a few images you might be interested to see, though. Please don’t sell them for money. Your phone data should be copied over to the new model I took the liberty of picking out for you by the time they let you leave. I know this makes me a dick jerk, but I take the safety of my teammates very seriously, and you’ve done wonders for that, so it’s the least I can do. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about my part in what happened today. I fucked screwed messed up, and I’m writing this on some serious pain meds. I owe you some favors, is what I’m saying, and the phone is only the first of them. I’m fine, by the way. Just fine. Stark

You’re pretty sure he wrote this himself with zero oversight, and though you probably should be offended by the insensitivity, the letter is pretty ballsy and hilarious, which is on brand, really. Bucky had implied that Steve’s accident with Mistress was Stark’s fault, and if that’s true, you have some questions, but right now you’re so shaken by the effect that you don’t have time to contemplate the cause. Inside the envelope is a second envelope, and inside that is two pictures.

One is a picture of Tony Stark with a black eye.

The other is a picture of Steve Rogers with a black eye.

Next chapter...

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

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autisticlancemcclain · 8 months

Text

Keith is acting suspicious.

Lance is sure of it. Beyond his usual shiftiness, his awkwardness, his tendency towards privacy. Lance knows his boyfriend, and he knows him well, and as such he knows enough to realise that his boyfriend is acting fuckin’ dubious.

Lance is going to snoop. (Yeah, yeah, ethical schmethical. Snooping fosters distrust in relationships and makes things tense blah blah blah. Lance recognises that. He also grew up with fucking Hunk Garrett and His Entire Family, so he also recognises that snooping is simply the best way to gather information. Fair’s fair.)

He waits until his boyfriend’s snores start to kick up, making the bedroom sound like an illegal motorized lawnmower race, and then carefully starts scooching out of his arms.

It takes a while — Keith likes to hold him. (Lance has to take a moment to calm himself down after the thought, lest he start to giggle giddily to himself, reminded that Keith loves him so much that at his most unguarded, his first instinct is to crush Lance in his arms. It’s exhilarating.) But slowly and steadily he manages to slide out of the arms around his waist, filling the newly hollow space with a pillow, and tumbles to the floor. He takes a moment, crossing his legs and sitting next to the bed, to look up at Keith, at the ratty mess of his bedhead and wide open snoring mouth and the tank top skewed across his torso, the hickeys Lance left all across his chest and collarbones peeking out.

“You are such a shit,” he whispers fondly. “I love you so bad it makes me want to, like, bite you or something. You make me weird.”

He watches Keith’s chest rise and fall until his legs fall asleep, wherein he flops onto the hardwood, wiggling his legs through the pins and needles and screeching silently into his arm (worst feeling in the WORLD) until his legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, and then he inches himself towards the right corner of the room like an inchworm.

(It’s three in the morning. No one is awake to judge him to give him shit or laugh at him or anything. He can do what he likes.)

He pulls himself up to his knees when he finally makes it to the corner, loosening his shoulders in preparation. The room is dark, so it’ll be a challenge, but this is not the first time he’s done this. Hell, it isn’t even the fiftieth. He’s a nosy person. He could do this in his sleep, probably, so in the dark is no problem.

As slowly as he can manage, to make sure it’s silent, he pries off the metal grate covering of the air vent, setting it down gently beside him. Laying down on his stomach again to get a better angle, he reaches down into the wide tube, following the curve of the cool metal, arm buried up to his shoulder, until he’s reached as far as he physically can. He carefully starts brushing his hands along the air vent, searching, feeling. It shouldn’t be too far down since his arms are way longer than Keith’s (Lance enjoys calling him T-Rex, which Keith hates and literally everyone else who knows them loves. It’s great).

Finally, his fingers brush on something small, compact, sturdy, and soft. He wraps his fist around it and slowly drags it out of the vent, keeping it in his fist as he crawls out of the bedroom and down the hall, somersaulting into the kitchen. He heads over to the fridge, figuring that if he uses the fridge light and Keith walks in, he can just pretend he’s getting a snack or something, shoving the thing he found into his pants. Keith’ll be too out of it to question it, anyway.

Laughing quietly and evilly to himself as he pulls open the fridge door, he brings his closed fist up to the light, examining the treasure he found. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, to take in what’s in front of him.

He gasps sharply when he processes, and the treasure slips out of his hands, clattering loudly to the floor.

He freezes immediately, listening for the telltale signs of his boyfriend snorting awake, noticing Lance’s side of the bed is empty, then the sound of his footsteps as he comes to look for him.

But, fortunately, there’s nothing. The only thing Lance hears are Keith’s continued snores.

Rapidly, Lance scoops up the box and brings it back to the light. It’s unmistakable — there’s only one thing that houses in a small hinged velvet box. It explains the shiftiness over the last few weeks, too, the nervousness that Keith has been disgusting as mysterious intrigue.

Keith is going to propose. Keith is going to propose!

Smiling so widely his face hurts, Lance flicks open the box, bringing his face closer to carefully inspect the ring inside.

It’s difficult to see in the dull blue light of the fridge, but Lance starts to cry when he sees it, because he recognises this ring. This is Keith’s dad’s ring; old, heavy gold, classic princess cut diamond, simple and polished and elegant. This is the ring Keith often wears around his neck, although he rarely has as of late, for now obvious reasons. This is the ring Keith has carried with him for almost two decades. This is, without a doubt, Keith’s most prized Earthly possession, and his intent is to gift it to Lance, as a promise of his love and trust and faithfulness.

Lance has to sit down so he doesn’t pass out. He grabs a dishtowel on the way to the floor, pressing it to his face to muffle his absolutely wailing sobs, the most ugly crying he’s literally ever done in his life.

He’s so glad he snooped. If he had this reaction when Keith finally summoned the balls to ask him, his engagement photos would be so embarrassing.

He paused mid-sniffle.

Actually.

A little embarrassed of himself, he slides up his phone, holding the ring box up to his tear-swollen and smiling face to snap a picture. He looks like a mess, but it’s important to him to have a physical memory of the moment he first learned Keith planned to marry him. He’s sure he’ll cry more over it the next time he’s feeling sappy and emotional.

He doesn’t realise how long he sits, fridge wide open, back to the cabinet doors of the kitchen island, staring in awe at the ring, until his watch starts to beep.

“Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to his feet. It’s six o’clock. Keith’ll be up in fifteen minutes to go on his morning run, Lance has literally been mooning over his ring for two and a half hours.

He runs back to the bedroom, barely remembering at the last second time muffle his footsteps, shoving the ring back into the vent and pressing the grate back onto the hole. Keith stirs slightly at the noise, so Lance abandons any thought of whether or not the ring box is positioned back exactly where he found it and fuckin’ dives for the bed, reburying himself in his boyfriend’s arms and hoping he can pass it off as just having shifted around in his sleep or something. Apparently he squirms and kicks a lot (which is a lie that Keith perpetuates to take attention away from the severity of his snores), so it should be fine. Probably.

“Wh—L’nce?” Keith mumbles, stirring from behind him. He inhales deeply, arms pulling away from Lance’s and stretching out above him. Lance’s heart pounds. He forces himself to stay relaxed, to avoid squeezing his eyes shut. He prays that Keith doesn’t notice how sweaty he is.

Keith leans over to press a lingering kiss to his neck, then chuckles. Lance can feel the imprint of his smile on his skin, and tamping down his own reflexive smile is literally the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his entire life.

“You’re warm as hell,” Keith murmurs, dragging his lips down his neck, across his shoulders. His hand comes to rest in his hip, curling into the hollow there. “Betcha you were squrimin’ around in y’re sleep last night, ya worm. Betcha I’ve got bruises on my shins.” His shoulders, pressed against Lance’s back, shake with his laughter, because he is a shithead who is so lucky that Lance loves him. He presses one final kiss to Lance’s skin and then rolls out of bed. Lance listens carefully as he gets dressed in his jogging clothes and runs a brush through his hair. He falls half asleep listening to the familiar sounds, rousing slightly again when Keith ducks back in to kiss Lance’s head one last time before heading out.

Lance smiles as he falls asleep for real, after the sound of the front door opening and closing.

He’s gonna clown that dumbass so goddamn badly.

———

Lance has a love-hate relationship with pranks. On one hand, the one and only time he was sent into an asthma attack so bad he had to go to the hospital was after he and Hunk wrapped every single thing in Veronica’s room with aluminum foil while she was away on a trip, and upon seeing her reaction laughed so hard his lungs basically collapsed. He still can’t think of that without laughing. On the other hand, he’s had more than enough cruel pranks shoved his way, and never in his life wants anyone to feel humiliated because of something he did.

He can’t not prank Keith, though. He’s literally beat Keith to his own proposal. A prank is in order.

Usually, he’d call Hunk for something like that. They’ve been partners in crimes for most of their lives, after all. Pidge too, honestly. He knows they’d both get a kick out of this whole situation as well.

But…even if those dunderheads were capable of keeping their mouths shut, which they’re not, Lance kind of wants to…well, he wants to keep his proposal to himself. He likes being in on it. He likes being to only one in on it, actually. Honestly, the only thing he wants to do is brag to Keith that he knows, which defeats the whole purpose.

He straightens abruptly. A smirk spreads across his face.

He has an idea.

———

The first step is recon. He needs access to the ring, regularly and long-term, but all will be for naught if Keith realises it’s missing. He needs to know if Keith stashed the ring when he decided to propose and avoided thinking about it, or if he checks on it frequently and stresses himself out about when he’s finally going to go through with it. Both are very Keith options. In fact Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow managed both at the same time, as impossible as that seems.

To get around the issue, Lance goes Spy Barbie. He waits until Keith goes out for his weekly coffee date with Shiro and Adam and then digs through his makeup kit, setting aside what he needs and sitting next to the air vent grate. He spends a good amount of time polishing the metal, making sure it’s as fresh and untouched as it was when it was first put in its package, and then he uses a wide end brush to apply a thin layer of highlighter to the white metal. He takes great care to ensure that no colour is visible, only a slight sheen if one were to look closely. And Keith doesn’t have any reason to look closely, and since Lance knows the universe loves him, he won’t.

The next step is waiting. Lance acts completely normally when Keith gets home, if a little giddy. Keith most certainly notices Lance’s giggles and affection and the way he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, but he doesn’t seem to mind or question it. Lance does sometimes get like this, after all.

He scored a hot as hell boyfriend. He’s allowed to be a little awed sometimes. He doesn’t feel weird about it.

He does, however, mellow out in the next few days. Keith takes him to a car show, which is fucking wicked, and somehow manages to get himself and Lance behind the wheels of two 200 horsepower Mustangs for them to race, which is so exhilarating that Lance doesn’t have words for it. He just yells and jumps around about it a lot. He doesn’t actually manage to find words for a couple hours after he totally smokes Keith’s ass, but whatever. It’s cool. Keith tried his best and everything, Lance is sure.

A week later, when Keith is out on his coffee date again, Lance gets to work. He cuts a large square of parchment paper and covers it with clear packing tape, careful not to touch the sticky side, overlapping strips so they make one giant tape sheet.

Once the parchment sheet is covered, he peels off the tape, and as planned it comes off in one large sheet, slightly bigger than the air vent grate. Again careful to steer clear of the sticky part, he places the tape sheet sticky side down onto the grate, pressing down hard and rubbing to smooth it out completely flat. Once he’s sure it’s totally stuck down, he picks at one corner until it’s loose, then slowly and meticulously peels the whole sheet back. He holds the tape, now showcasing the concealer-print of the grate, up to the light, examining it with the utmost scrutiny.

Not one single fingerprint in sight. Keith has not touched the grate at all, hasn’t dug into his secret hiding spot. He is taking the refusing to think about it route, then.

Lance smirks. He reaches down and scoops up the ring, placing the grate back where it belongs and skipping out to the living room, humming jovially to himself.

Excellent.

———

The first picture Lance snaps, while biting his lip so hard to keep back his laughter it bleeds, is once again in the dead of night, two weeks after Lance first discovered the ring. Keith is sprawled out on his back this time, arms and legs askew, sheets tangled somewhere around his legs. Lance shifts so they’re both facing the same direction, then holds up his phone camera, trying to figure out how to artfully position himself for utmost devastation upon discovery. He decides eventually on a classic.

He heads over to the dresser to pick out his cutest pajamas, settling on the red spaghetti strap top with lace and short-shorts, debating on accessorizing and deciding at the last minute not to bother except for lip gloss, which is always appropriate. He climbs into bed next to Keith, gently laying his head on his chest and maneuvering one arm to wrap around Lance’s hips. The other he leaves flopped on top of the pillows. He leaves Keith’s mouth wide open because it’s funny, and goes the extra mile to mess up Keith’s hair worse than it already is, because that’s funnier. Finally he flicks open the ring case with his left hand and holds it to his face, grinning widely, and uses his right to snap a picture of the two of them. Once he’s satisfied with it, he untangles himself from the bed again, puts the ring away, presses a sticky lip gloss kiss to Keith’s cheek for funsies, and crawls back into bed for real. His sleep is sound as a baby’s.

———

The next photo doesn’t actually happen for another month. Lance fears overdoing it, and also kind of fears getting caught with the ring, so he leaves it in its hiding spot until the opportunity for another cheeky photo presents itself.

The opportunity in question arrives when Keith announces that he has arranged to drive down to the secluded beach that Lance took him too early in their relationship to spend the day. At first Lance thinks he’s proposing for real, and to check he waits until Keith has the car all packed up and ready to go and then pretends to run inside to go to the washroom. Instead he ducks into their room and tears into the air vent, grasping around until his fingers close around the box.

He scoffs to himself. Wimp.

He quickly shoves the box into his fanny pack (fanny packs are COOL and CONVENIENT and Lance will not hear a word of controversy on the subject, they are absolutely nothing like Keith’s dweeb utility belt) and sprints back to the car. When Keith asks him why he’s smirking, Lance manages to convince him that he’s just excited for the beach.

Lance should have been an actor, honestly.

He mostly forgets about the ring while they’re there. He has enough sense to keep it in the car instead of on the beach so it doesn’t get stolen, unlikely as it is, and just enjoys the day with his boyfriend. He convinces Keith to go jet skiing with him and cackles to himself as he purposely sends Keith flying off the back of it. He screeches at the top of his lungs later when Keith scoops him up from his nap and literally chucks him into the ice cold water. The two of them make really garbage sculptures of their friends in the sand to amuse themselves. They gather ugly seashells and send pictures to their friends asking them if they’ve been turned into mollusks, since there is a resemblance. The whole day was a blast. Lance firmly slots it in his top ten days of all time.

When they go for a long walk to watch the sunset, Lance snaps a picture with the ring and a very teasing grin the second Keith has his back turned. He will bring up how this was a perfect moment to propose, and he will pat Keith’s head condescendingly about it. He can’t wait.

———

The third photo is another dead-of-night-situation. Lance knows it’s repetitive, but it’s easy and it’s funny and Lance can’t resist.

To change things up a bit, he decides not to be in the photo, and also to see just how much he can get away with.

Keith is on his side, this time, one hand tucked under the pillow, one hand held loose and open on top of it. He’s been tired, lately, and when Lance says he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, he is not exaggerating. In fact Lance is reasonably certain he passed out in the way down. He is KOed. He’s unconscious. He is absolutely dogged out.

The timing is perfect.

Carefully, aware of the consequences should Lance make a mistake, he removes the ring from its box. He realizes abruptly that it’s the first time he’s ever done that, despite his ridiculous quest, and he finds that he can’t quite let go of the ring just yet. The metal feels cool and smooth on his finger tips; worn, even. It’s shinier than it used to be, which means Keith has probably had it professionally retouched. Resized too, probably, although Lance can’t quite bring himself to check. The diamond catches the minimal light in the room and refracts into rainbows that fall softly on Keith’s lax face, highlighting his sharp jawline, his softly squished cheek, his relaxed brow. He looks so dorky when he sleeps, completely free of the furrow of concentration that usually resides in between his eyebrows, his resting frown. His mouth is always wide open when he’s out, and the echoing of his snores is so comically loud and ridiculous but absolutely something that Lance can’t live without. He has them recorded, actually, for the rare nights they’re not home together, on the rare night Lance has to sleep alone.

Smiling softly to himself, Lance places the ring in Keith’s open palm. He rests his hand on top of Keith’s for a moment, just because he can, just to relish in the scratch of Keith’s callouses on his skin, before pulling back and steadying his phone to snap a picture. He catches it right as Keith inhales heavily, right as his nose scrunches up.

It’s goofy as hell. It’s perfect.

———

The fourth picture is the riskiest, Lance thinks. He’s taken to carrying the ring around with him everywhere, almost as if he is the one planning to propose, just in case he has a moment when Keith’s back is turned. (There really aren’t that many. Keith faces him a lot. He likes to hold Lance hand and kiss his face, neither of which you can do from behind. Lance fucking loves his boyfriend so much.)

They’re at a Thing. Lance’s parents are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and obviously Lance is bringing Keith, and since Keith is his mother’s favourite he is encouraged to bring his family as well, which means Shiro and Adam are coming, and if Hunk and Pidge weren’t invited then someone would cry and nothing would be right in the world, and of course Veronica is bringing Allura, and Coran comes because Lance’s dad thinks he’s the funniest man to walk the Earth. And of course all Lance’s relatives are there.

The point is that it’s a full house. A couple full houses, actually, since their neighbours are also involved. It’s a lot of people in one place.

As is protocol in crowded places, Keith is essentially glued to Lance’s side. Lance is quite happy with this arrangement, because he gets to show his boyfriend off like the hot piece of ass he is, especially to his rude ass great aunties and uncles who always had something to say about Lance and his single-ness when he was still rocking braces. So.

One thing about Keith, though, is that everyone who meets him is doomed to fall in love with him forever and ever, or so Lance has noticed. His niece and nephew are no exception, and immediately upon catching sight of their uncle — Keith, that is, Lance may as well be dead meat when Tio Keith is available, which, rude — they descend upon him not unlike a vulture may descend upon a recently deceased armadillo. Or whatever. Lance didn’t grow up in the desert, he doesn’t know what happens there.

Occupied as he is, one child hanging off each arm, Keith cannot keep his vice grip on Lance’s hand. Occupied as he is, two children talking at him in a mix of Spanish and English so rapid that Lance himself cannot keep up, which is saying something because his nickname for many years was and aptly so Motormouth, Keith cannot have his full attention on Lance. In fact, even, his back is delightfully turned.

Lance doesn’t hesitate. He flicks open the ring box and snaps a picture. His grin is nothing short of gleeful and he is entirely unapologetic.

When he turns back around, ring box stuffed back into his pocket, he realizes Nadia is staring at him with wide eyes.

“You, shush,” Lance says, and then switches to Spanish so Keith, who is still learning, will miss it, “or I’ll choose a random child to be my flower girl. I swear.”

She glares at him. “This is why Tio Keith is my favourite,” she mutters, because she is a snot who acts as if Lance does not and has not for her whole life taken her on all sorts of cool awesome amazing trips and bought her cool awesome amazing presents. Who was it who bought them recorders when they were seven to terrorize Luis with? Lance. Who was it to take them to a live rocket taking off the summer they turned nine? Lance.

“You’re a brat,” he informs her.

She sticks her tongue out at him, snickering. “Side genes.”

Lance unfortunately has nothing to say to that and also refuses to be roasted by an eleven year old, so he yanks Keith away as penance and takes him to a corner somewhere to make out. He feels very smug about it.

———

The fifth time doesn’t happen.

The fifth time is a clusterfuck.

The fifth time, it’s night again, and Lance honestly doesn’t even plan on taking another picture. He’s just next to the vent, lying on his belly, legs kicking in the air as he inspects the ring for the billionth time. He’s so excited. He can’t wait to wear this on his finger. He can’t wait for Keith to put it there. He’s can’t wait to be Keith’s husband, is the crux of it all. It’s like groundhog day except with literal euphoria. Lance is the luckiest man literally alive, and Keith hasn’t even hinted towards a plan to pop the question yet.

“You are the nosiest motherfucker in the planet, you shithead.”

Lance yelps, startling so bad he almost brains himself on the floor and nearly drops the ring. He manages to catch himself with the grace of God and also probably luck, or neither of those things, but either way Lance heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

“You scared me, you butthead!”

Keith chuckles. His voice is low and raspy from sleep, vowels still rounded from the accent that only comes out when he’s mad or drunk or tired. Lance’s belly swoops. Keith grabs Lance’s ankle and tugs, dragging him over to him, pulling him upright when he’s close enough. Lance goes into him fully, curling up into him, head tucked under his chin. Keith’s hands come to rest on top of his, sliding the ring box from him.

“How long have you known, you snoop?”

“Six months,” Lance answers. “In my defense, you were acting suspicious as all hell.”

Keith kisses his head. “Fair.”

“I need to know everything about everything or I’ll die. You know this.”

Keith snorts. He takes Lance’s left hand and smooths it flat, spreading out his fingers. “Yeah. Ruined my plans, though.”

“Oh, please. You and I both know there were no plans involved. You walked by a shop advertising ring retouching and walked in before you even thought about it.”

Keith says nothing. Lance grins and presses on.

“I bet you cried the whole time, too.”

“Shut up. I’m gonna keep the ring.”

Lance kisses him on the chest, the closest place he can reach, through his sleep shirt. “No, you’re not.”

“Mhm.” Keith plucks the ring out of the box with one hand, setting it on the ground beside them and grabbing Lance’s hand with his other. “You’re right. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move for a while, except to stroke his thumb over the palm of Lance’s hand, over and over again. Lance likes the feeling. He’s always likes the feeling of Keith’s hands in him.

“I know this isn’t a fancy dinner or sunset on the beach or with your whole family present,” he murmurs. “But I’m tired of waiting, if you don’t mind me jumping the gun.”

Lance smiles widely. A tear leaks out of his eye, dripping down his face and onto Keith’s hand.

“I don’t.”

“Good.” Keith holds the ring just above Lance’s finger, poised, ready to slide it on but waiting for permission. “Lance Sanchez, will you marry me?”

“Keith Gyeong, I would want nothing more.”

Unhesitant at last, Keith slides his father’s ring onto Lance’s finger, centring it so the diamond shines brightly in the middle. It fits perfectly.

The tears stream down Lance’s face, and he can’t for the life of him pretend that they’re not, not that he’d bother. He buries his face in his fiancé’s neck and feels Keith’s own tears soaking his hair.

“I took a bunch of sneaky pictures of me holding the ring in front of you,” Lance admits.

Keith laughs. “Of course you did.”

“I carried the ring around for months.”

“Checks out.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Lance.”

“I can’t wait to marry you.”

Keith hums, tilting his head up and kissing him properly, entwining their hands so they can both feel the ring press against skin. “No more waiting for you, sweetheart.”

———

based on this post

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russellsppttemplates · 8 months

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I'm in this if you are (Lance Stroll)

Lance wants to show you how wonderful love can be

Note: english is not my first language. this is a long piece that I hope will keep the interactions back up (I love getting your requests and overall having you interact with the posts and having some random thoughts shared too!), so I hope you enjoy this piece as this is my first Lance request * nervous giggles *

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

Tw: mentions (bad) past relationships, curse words

my masterlist

"Is it okay if we meet up at the park instead?", you suggested to Lance over the phone, "it's only a five minute walk from work for me", earning an affirmative answer on the other side of the line as well as a farewell.

Packing your backpack with your laptop and a book you had to bring home for the weekend, switching everything off and ringing your card so you could get yourself out, heading for the park Lance was meeting you at.

It was something new, so you were being cautious. After all, you had fallen for people before who weren't good for you in the end, so you had learnt to keep your distance. But did you hope that maybe this time it would be different. The Canadian young man and you have been spending some time together after meeting through a mutual friend, and today was no different since he had texted you earlier if you would be up for a stroll in the park after you were done from work, having you accept it and even letting yourself feel giddy about it.

Following the directions he gave you, you saw him sitting in the bench like he had told you, getting up once he saw you and coming closer to you, "Hi, how are you?", he said, giving you a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, "Hi, I've been good, very happy that it's Friday so I get the to be home for the weekend. And you, busy day?", you greeted him back and continuing to walk alongside him, "yeah, the meeting was about the last few things we need to sort out before the race next weekend, so it got a bit longer than I expected but it was all good, means I didn't have to wait too long for you, but I did get you these", he said, showing you a small white paper bag, leaving you to open it.

The small sticker that closed the bag was enough to get you to gasp, recognising your favourite bakery chain's logo, "you say they always run out in the shop they have near your office, so I dropped by the one close to the factory to see if they had some and they did", Lance smiled, seeing you smile back at him, "thank you! Do you want to go and enjoy these by the lake?", you suggested, seeing that it wasn't too busy around there.

Sitting down on the dry grass, you and Lance sat in front of eachother, talking about your day and laughing at funny moments from eachother's day while sharing the croissants he had gotten, "thank you, again, you didn't have to", you pointed to the empty bag, whisking any crumbs away from your lips and clothes, "it was only fair that I got to try "the best croissants ever" according to you, and since I had some time to kill before I met you here, and it is always a pleasure to see your eyes sparkle like that", he said softly, noticing the blush on your cheeks and your shyness coming through, taking the hint to keep talking, "and a croissant like this after a long meeting and at a park like this with this company, there's not much more than I want".

You were dancing around in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil so you could put the pasta in, singing to the lyrics before you phone stopped the song and instead made the sound of an incoming FaceTime call, seeing Lance's contact on your screen. "Hi Lance!", you greeted, waving at the screen, "Hey, you, am I catching you at a bad time?", he asked, lighting what looked like a nightsand lamp, "Just making dinner. Is this a good time for you though? You look like you're going to sleep", you cringed, propping your phone since one of the glss containers you had on your counter top so you could put the pasta in and still she Lance while he saw you in shot too, "I wanted to talk to you", he mused, "I saw your text, but they needed me to fix something on the steering wheel and just to be sure I called now because I was afraid you'd be working still and I would interrupt it", he reasoned.

Hoping the LED light that illuminated your working area in the kitchen hid your blushing cheeks, you managed to reply, "I was just checking in with you, seeing how it went. Aren't you tired or in need of sleep? We can talk another day, it's fine", you admitted, even though deep down you were enjoying his (virtual) company, especially seeing him like this, tucked into bed in his pyjamas and looking so handsome and soft, "I'm okay, don't worry", he yawned, "so, what are you cooking?".

Conversation flowed while you cut the vegetables so you could cook them in the pan, sharing the recipe with Lance and coming closer to the phone whenever you were letting things cook on their own, supporting your face on the palms of your hands while your elbows rested on the counter top, doing one final move to plate your pasta, "uhh, that looks good!", Lance exclaimed, seeing you top the dish with some cheese, "it usually tastes good, yeah, and it's also very quick to make. I began just when we started this call and we've been here for- oh, we've been here for nearly an hour! Lance, you could've told me! You probably need to sleep, I'm sorry that I kept you here!", you apologised, guilt overcoming your whole body. You truly didn't think you had been on call with Lance for such a long time, it was truly flowing and, above anything, feeling comfortable.

"You don't have to apoligise, I stayed here because I wanted to be with you and spend time with you, unless you're apologising because I bothered you", he hinted, "No! No, not at all, I loved sort of having you here with me", you hurriedly clarified, "I just didn't want to bother you or your sleep routine, it's really late where you are", you shot him another apologetic look, "I said none of that, no apologising for this anymore. I enjoyed having you here with me too", he smiled softly, "but if I don't go to sleep soon, tomorrow is going to hurt", he reasoned.

Sitting by your table, you propped the phone again against your bottle of water, "sleep is very important, Lanc-", you were interrupted by him, "but I need to know if the pasta is delicious or not, it's only fair", he winked as you rolled your fork on the plate, grabbing bit of everything and trying it, "it's amazing, I can confirm", you said, "you look like a little chipmunk, and your dimple is showing too. Totally worth it staying up this late", he complimented, leaving you to bid him goodbye, "goodnight Lance, have a good sleep", you whispered, switching off the call when Lance gave you the same wishes, giddily smiling at your pasta at his attentiveness, allowing yourself to be swept off your feet.

"Was it as good as your pasta, though?", Lance asked you as you walked along the city streets after leaving the restaurant where you had dinner. The small and cosy local restaurant was perfect for another date with Lance, your hand latched in his since you left the restaurant after thanking the owner for a great evening, "I'm not a professional, so this one was better, but my own has potential too, you know?", you giggled, allowing yourself to lean a little bit on Lance, pulling your bodies closer to one another, making him also feel your own easiness around him, which he appreciated. From the moment he met you, he knew you wouldn't be swept off your feet with elaborate dinner dates and fancy invitations to lavish places. Above anything, he noticed you were cautious, not that he thought that you were expecting him to do you any physical harm, but because maybe you had been emotionally hurt before. Because of that, Lance made it his mission to show you what love could be like, how beautiful and how simple two people who care about eachother could develop into something more.

Seeing a flower peeking out of a house fence, Lance couldn't contain himself and he plucked it, making you stop, "Here, look at me, please", he mumbled, tucking the flower behind your ear carefully, his eyes boring into yours, "I really like you, Y/N", he confessed, "and I won't pressure you into anything, I can wait. Damn, I'll wait forever for you if I have to. But I don't want you to go on without knowing this", he smiled hopefully, not knowing your reaction as he hadn't planned to do it like this.

Cupping his cheek, your thumb ran over his cheek, softly touching the corner of his lips in a silent question to know if he too wanted it before you leaned up to kiss him, pressing your lips in his for a tender kiss, pulling back to see eachother's reaction, only to crash his lips against yours passionately.

"I really like you too", you whispered, afraid to disturb the moment between you, earning a chuckle from Lance, "I should hope so, imagine if you were to tell me now that you despised me after that kiss, I don't think I could handle it", he placed his hand on top of his heart, earning him a small slap on his chest, "I'm trying to be serious with you", you whined, "So am I, Y/N, completely serious. I'm in this if you are", he said as he hugged your, kissing your forehead before kissing your lips again, "I think I found a new favourite thing to do".

"So you don't want to go?", Lance questioned, "it's not that I don't want to go and see you do what you love, it's the whole thing, Lance", you murmured, "I'd have to fly out on a different day, I'd have to sleep somewhere, and that whole thing needs to be accounted for, I need to sit down and look properly at all of it", you almost hissed at him, not enjoying the tone it came out of your mouth but going with it nonetheless.

"But I can pay for all of that. I am, in fact, paying for all of that, that's why I'm offering you to come to a race weekend", Lance admitted, frustrated that something so simple for him was causing a fight between you, "and that is one of my problems! I don't want you to have to take care of me like that, I can take of myself, I'm not dependent on anyone and I can do things on my own!", you admitted, voice shaky while you looked at him, "I need a minute, please", you said as you felt your eyes grow wetter, excusing yourself to go to your balcony.

You knew Lance had money, a whole lot of it, so much so that, realistically, you coming along with him to the race would go probably unnoticed in his bank balance, but that didn't mean you were totally comfortable with him paying for everything. You could take care of yourself, now you knew that, despite of years of previous boyfriends telling you it would be hard for you to make it on your own and by your own merit. And you were scared, because was this the way this was going to end? Had you been, yet again, blinded by a guy who wanted you to be what he liked, who wanted to build you to the image he wanted and needed you to depict?

Inside, Lance noticed the cold air coming from the small gap of the door to the balcony that you had left open, imagining how much colder it would be for you, standing outside, looking around in hopes to find what he was looking for.

You heard the door squeak as it opened, thinking to yourself it was just the breeze when you heard footsteps, thinking for a second someone had broken into your house uninvited, "I'd prefer if you didn't have a cold", Lance said softly as he draped a blanket over your shoulders carefully, not missing your stunned expression, "you're still here?", you managed to let out, "I, I thought you were going to leave, I didn't think you'd stay", you stuttered, "Why would I leave?", Lance asked and almost immediately he answered his own question: because that's all you've ever known. When things got complicated, they would leave you. So you naturally thought he would do the same.

"Y/N, I'm not going to leave you when we fight", Lance said, keeping himself close to you, holding himself against the railing, "that is a promise I intend on keeping to you, and I'm going to do my absolute best to make sure that I won't break it", he declared, "Can we talk about it though?".

Holding his hand in yours, you nudged him to sit in one of the chairs you had in your balcony, sitting in front of him so you could express what was on your mind, "this is a bad story from past experiences, so if you still want to make that exit, I promise I'll manage and forget what you just side", you suggested playfully, feeling him squeeze you hand tighter in his own, "I've been in bad relationships before, it probably does not come to a surprise to you, but some things still haunt me years after. I used to have a boyfriend that would get me presents, or he would pay for things, and for a bit a just took it down as he was being nice, but he slowly started offering things in exchange of something, like me changing what I wore because I would wear something he got me instead, or change what I ate, who I spent time with, ans slowly everything he somehow offered turned out to be because he thought I couldn't do it on my own, that I wouldn't ever be able to sustain myself independently, so he thought he might as well "help me" and change who I was in the process", you gulped, "and I only realised it later, when his supposed affection for me was only there when I complied with what he asked of me, and the moment I realised was a constant fight, day in day out, where he left and then he would come back and belittle so much into thinking that it was my fault he would leave and we wouldn't solve anything we were fighting about", you confessed, "breaking up wasn't even the hardest part, but the scars that it left me with are still here, that's why I thought you would leave, because you wouldn't want to hear my side and-, fuck", you wiped a tear that insisted on falling, going back to play with Lance's fingers after, "I love you so much, I care about you so much, and you make me feel things I've never felt before without any conditions", you looked up at him, seeing an expression that was a mixture of sadness, anger and maybe some revolt too.

Lance brought your hands together and kissed them, "thank you for sharing that with me, I appreciate it", he began, "and I'm so sorry that some bastard thought it was okay to treat you like that, because it is not", he squeezed your hands, rubbing his thumb on them, "you deserve to feel all the love in the world without anything in it other that love itself. I get to be loved by you and that is one of my biggest blessings, and I'll be damned if I ever make you feel less loved or less appreciated than you deserve. But that promise I made is true, I want us to always talk about something that we don't see eye to eye on, so we can understand the other's perspective, I don't want to run away from anything", he nodded for you to continue, signalling he was done.

"I'm not from the same social or professional sphere that you are, and that makes me wonder about this whole situation, like there isn't a way that I can keep up with all of that travel on my own", you admitted honestly, "and I don't know how I feel about you covering those costs, like, of course I want to go see you do your thing at the track, and be there to support you, to congratulate you when you win and to hold you when things don't go as well, even if it's not all the time, but all of that seems a lot", you explained the situation to the best of your ability.

"Can I go now?", Lance wondered, his hands still holding yours, "I don't want to sound like a prick, or like I'm flashing everyone of how much I have, but it is also true that I don't mind paying for those things. Truly. And I don't do it because I want some change from you in return. I do it because I am fortunately able to and because I want the people I love with me as much as they're able to", he said, moving his hand to caress your cheek, "I never want you to think for a second that anything that I offer, present you with or pay for is a way of manipulating you", he assured, looking for your own reassurance in your eyes.

You shuffled around in your seat, looking into those beautiful brown eyes you loved so much, "thank you", you smiled through your tears, "you don't have to thank me for loving you, I should be the one thanking you for trusting me and for letting me love you".

#lance stroll imagine #lance stroll × reader #lance stroll fic #lance stroll fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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alocon · 2 months

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Forever Irresistible [5/5] - Lando Norris

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

written by alocon

Summary: Despite all hope, Lando never lost his feelings for his best friend's twin sister. However, he still hadn't acted on it. Well, that was until the party, which led you two into a long-term secret relationship

Warnings and Tropes: Fluff, implied smut (no actual smut though), final part

[Part One Here] [Part Two Here] [Part Three Here] [Part 4 Here] [Masterlist]

Irresistible - LN4 x Fem!Reader

“Can we get lunch together tomorrow to talk? Just me and you?”, the 12 words which had been absolutely overwhelming you for the past hour. Rather than give you an idea about what your brother wanted to talk about, Max had instead left you with an ominous “could go either way” message.

You see, it seemed like he was coming around after that family dinner, when he asked you to message him, but no. He instead expressed that he would not be talking to you for a while to work out how he felt about it. It's fine, you thought, a while may only be a couple of weeks. However, he instead decided that “a while” would be at least 8 months. That being said, it was now the day before you and Lando would fly out to Austin for the COTA grand prix. You would be meeting up with Max for breakfast instead of lunch and then would go straight to the airport to what might possibly be one of your favourite tracks. The atmosphere was great, the racing was fun, and there was only a tiny chance that you would manage to walk around the paddock without Daniel or Logan putting a cowboy hat on your head.

A lot had happened after the 2024 season. Lewis had, of course, gone to Ferrari. Nico Hulkenberg had left Haas, leaving an empty space that Checo filled in. And he had done surprisingly well, scoring Haas’ first ever win. By the power of magic? Who knows but that man had become a hell of a good driver to be able to do that. To bring a tractor to 1st takes some skill, especially with 2 Red bulls, 1 Mercedes and 1 Ferrari still in the race.

Daniel had taken the Red Bull seat, of course, and Yuki was next in line for it. Liam had taken his place in AlphaTauri. Mercedes had seen a new addition to Formula One, with Frederik Vesti taking the Mercedes seat. It was meant to be Mick but after his Le Mans win, he realised that maybe he preferred world endurance a little more. Carlos had obviously left Ferrari with the addition of Lewis. However, instead of joining another team, he left F1 for a season to rally with his dad and would be driving again in 2026 when Valtteri was planning to do a Kimi and go do another type of racing for a couple of years. Other than that, the grid had remained the same. Max in Red Bull, George in Mercedes, Charles in Ferrari, Lando and Oscar in McLaren (Lando had signed a contract until 2027), Fernando and Lance were still in Aston Martin and were rocking it, Lance having got his first win and Fernando his first in like 10 years in 2024, along with 2 more for his collection. Pierre and Esteban still drive for Alpine, Nico for Haas, Zhou for Sauber, and Alex and Logan for Williams. Logan had done really well, too. He got a couple of podiums the previous season.

Lando still hadn't got his first win. Lots of podiums, but no wins. However, that was hardly his fault. The Red Bull, as per, absolutely ripped.

Walking into the café, you were nervous. You had no reason to be, realistically speaking. Lan had proven to you that he had absolutely no intention of leaving you because of Max, as he had proven over the past 2 years and a few months. You saw Max already there when you arrived so you took a seat at the table with him. It was mostly quiet until you both had ordered your breakfast and drinks, after which you finally spoke up. “Why have you called me here, Max? After not speaking to me for like 8 or 9 months.”

“I miss you. I miss being your twin, having you to look up to and doing dumb stuff together. I miss being the iconic non-driver grid duo. I-”

You cut him off. “Max if you're going to tell me that and then say something about me breaking up with Lando, I will leave. I will walk out of the door right now.”

“You don't need to do that. I just miss you. If you and Lando being together makes you happy, which it clearly does, then maybe I was overreacting.”

“Maybe? Max, you told him he had to choose between me and you,” you said as you took a bite of your food. “You shouted at me for being with him. Made comments about how it wouldn't last because he doesn't love people. But he loves me. He has for years. And I love him. And I just want that to be okay for someone.”

Max nodded, understanding completely why you were upset with him. He looked at you, waiting a few moments before speaking. “I accept the relationship, just so you know. I think… I have for a while, it just upset me a lot that you didn't think that you could tell me for over a year so I freaked out.”

“I think freak out is an understatement, there. Now if that's all, I have a plane to catch.”

“Wait,” he said, placing his hand on your arm to stop you leaving straight away. “It sounds silly but there is a type of counselling/therapy for family members who want to repair their bonds. I've been going to individual therapy for a year, maybe we could give at least one session of the family therapy a go, see if it helps?”

You sighed, mentally weighing the pros and cons. “Okay. One session and we will see where that takes us. I seriously have to go though, Lando is here to get me.”

You stood up, quickly paying for both of your meals despite your brother's objection. You gave him a hug before you left. COTA here we come, you thought.

The journey to America was on a private jet with some of the other drivers. Lewis had, ever so sweetly, invited you and Lando on his jet along with him (obviously), Charles, Arthur (who was racing this weekend as Charles had badly sprained his wrist the previous day but still wanted to watch his brother drive), and George. The plane ride was great, as always, you all talked and played games, you humbled your boyfriend in many games of Uno and Mario kart, you and Lewis caught up, you and Arthur gossiped, overall, it was a great plane ride.

“And Lando Norris wins the United States Grand Prix!”

You don't think you'd ever cried as much in your life as you had watching your boyfriend cross the finish line. He had tried every single race and finally, for the first time, he had come first after so much bad luck.

As the checkered flag waved and the roar of the crowd filled the air, Lando stormed across the finish line, the first-time winner of a Formula One Grand Prix. He could hear cheers through the radio from his pit crew, him equally excitedly screaming back. The euphoria of the moment engulfed him, but as he slowed his car to a stop in the pit lane, his mind was consumed by one thought: he had to find you.

In the midst of the chaos and celebration, Lando’s heart raced with anticipation as he tore off his helmet and looked towards the crowd of people waiting for him. He spotted you in the crowd quite quickly, your eyes filled with tears of joy and excitement. He didn’t hesitate to make his way to you, embracing you and lifting you off of your feet and over the barrier that separated you.

"I did it! I finally fucking did it!" Lando whispered, his voice trembling with exhilaration as he buried his head into your shoulder.

Your smile was bigger than he thought he had ever seen before as one of your hands gently played with the curls in his hair. “I knew you could do it, Lan. I’m so so proud of you,” you whispered back, your words filled with unbridled happiness as you gently rocked you both back and forth on the spot. You placed a kiss to the side of his head as you felt his tears soak through your shirt. You didn’t care, though.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of victory, the blaring of the engines, and the cheers of the crowd, you and Lando found solace in each other's arms. Your love had weathered the turbulent journey of a competitive racing world, and now, in the exhilarating embrace of a triumphant win, you both knew (or more proved to those around you) that you were destined to conquer any challenge together.

As you stood together, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of victory and the warmth of love, Lando realised that this moment was not just about his first win; it was about sharing it with the person who had been his unwavering support for years, his pillar of strength, and (by far) his biggest fan.

“Am I even allowed to be over the barrier?” You inquired quietly as Lando stayed attached to you.

“I don’t know… or care.”

“Well, put me back over, you have to hug the rest of your team and go do your interviews.”

He groaned. Very dramatically. “I don’t want to, I want to stay with you.”

“I’ll be here when you get back, darling.” You looked at him as he sighed before lifting you back over, placing a long kiss to your lips and celebrating with his team before doing his interview. The second he was done with all the podium and media obligations, though, he was dragging you back to the hotel, wanting to cuddle before you all went out to party in the evening.

Once inside the hotel room, you kissed him. His arms travelled swiftly back to your waist, guiding you backwards as he kissed back, you soon feeling your back touch the door as he crowded you against it. You deepened the kiss, hearing him groan softly as he pressed his body closer to you. His hands started to snake under your McLaren polo that you had “borrowed” from him the day previous, placing themselves on your bare waist. Your hands were in his hair, gently tugging at the curls every so often, making him let out quiet but obscene noises as you kissed. He then started moving you again, this time towards the bed.

“Are you going to sit there and continue to eye fuck me, Lando?” You asked as you adjusted the bottom of the dress that you had just changed into for the party.

He leant his head back on the wall behind the bed. “I can't help it. You look amazing.”

You chuckled, walking over to him and placing a kiss on his forehead. He responded by pulling you onto his lap. You looked at him, seeing the familiar look in his eyes. “Don't start this again, Lan.”

“Why?”

“We have a party to go to. Wait until later.”

He sighed, pulling you closer into a hug. “You're the most beautiful person in the world, you know?”

The party went as normal. You and Lando both didn't drink much but everyone else did. As usual, there was a lot of chaos caused - mostly by Max, Checo and Daniel, you were convinced that Charles would end up with alcohol poisoning with the amount that he and Lewis drank together, and Logan, Oscar and Fred almost burnt the place down.

Everything seemed (almost) perfect as you laid in bed, in your boyfriend's arms, having just celebrated his first win. Neither of you were asleep yet. Lando could tell because your breathing pattern was different when you slept. Whilst running his hand through your hair, he took in the atmosphere. The way that you softened into his embrace, the little snores you did when you slept, every little thing you did reminded him of how much he loved you.

“Marry me.”

“What?” You said, head instantly snapping up towards your boyfriend.

He was already looking at you. “Marry me.”

You sat up, him leaning over to switch the bedside lamp on. He returned to look at you, holding a ring in his hand. You were dumbfounded. “Lan.”

He looked into your eyes, placing his forehead against yours before beginning to speak, softly. “I don't want you to think this was the spur of the moment. This sounds silly but I've had this ring for like a year and a half. I've just been waiting for the right moment. And this feels like the right moment. If you don't want to, or feel it's too soon, I completely get it. But if you do, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He smiled, genuinely, watching as a tear fell down your face. “Please don't cry, it's okay.”

“Yes.”

“Yes as in yes you'll Marry me or you think it's too soon?” He asked, voice soft as he felt a glimmer of hope in his chest

“Yes, as in yes, I will marry you, Lando.”

Now everything was perfect.

instagram

youruser

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and others

youruser: My boy won his first race finally!! So so proud of him, so here's a Lando appreciation post ❤❤

tagged: landonorris

-comments limited-

landonorris: I love you xx

youruser: I love you too xx

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landonorris

liked by youruser, mclaren and others

landonorris: Soulmate appreciation post because she's not the only one allowed to be sappy on the main. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with this beautiful woman ❤❤

tagged: youruser

-view all comments-

youruser: You're stuck with me now x

landonorris: Wouldn't have it any other way x

mclaren: Congratulations!! Welcome to the McLaren family officially (although you were already in it to us), future Mrs. Norris

youruser: My favourite sm admin, thank you x

-The End-

-Word Count: 2,230 (ish)-

Hi, Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this mini series x If anyone has any requests for one-shots, possible series, etc about drivers, please feel free to request. You can do so by clicking on my profile and there should be a requests/questions box. Have a good day x Alocon

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