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#and if it was only like that on social media I would care less but people literally act like this irl everyday

isoobie · 3 days

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LOVE ME BACK › lee heeseung social media au

010 go shoot ur shot

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ written part ━━ 🗯️ 1.1k

ring! the bell for the third period rang and you were off. making it straight to locker, getting the jersey and straight to the basketball courts. you shouted a quick ‘bye’ to your friends before rushing again.

it was when you arrived that you realised how full all the seats were. at the bottom, near the players, you heard screeches of excited girls cheering on for their favourite players while the top was full with intrigued students who just wanted to escape a mundane lunch break.

you squeezed your way through, finally make it to the entrance of the guys changing room while you felt your heart beat louder every second and just as you were about to knock the door, heeseung opens it to come in eye contact with you.

his hair, fluffy and messy with sweat dripping on the side of his face while his shirt was tightly clinging onto his muscles which you could clearly see through the white fabric— he had probably just finished practice, you thought. flushed, you avoid eye contact and look away only for him to say,

“you’re here? sorry, i didn’t know yet, wait a minute and i’ll show you the way to the seat i saved for you.” the smile on his face never left when he talked to you, which made you smile too.

you responded to him with a small nod and lifted your face up when you noticed he had gone back to the changing room. hand to your face, you felt them heat up from the smallest interaction with him— was this meant to be normal?

however, to distract your mind, you checked the time to realise that the match started in less than five minutes. ‘heeseung is probably taking a while’ you think to yourself before you start heading towards the main courts.

"yn, come i'll lead the way." he spoke from behind you, making you startled.

his tall physique stood next to you as you both walked together, side by side, one more inch closer and both of your hands would have been touching. you stopped yourself from thinking any further after you heard the loud cheers for heeseung's team.

the sight was intimidating for you— you remembered the fact that probably everyone in this hall knew that the two of you were 'dating' and expected something from the both of you. however, before you could tell heeseung about it you felt one of his arms wrap around your torso and lead you to your seat.

it was one of the front row seats were you saw yunjin waiting for you but before heeseung let you sit down, he bent down towards your ear and whispered, "i have a surprise too, if i win this match let's both give our surprises to one and other."

your face turned red at his comment, embarrassed but even more when he winked in you before leaving you with girls screaming at the interaction.

"even they know how cute you guys are, this is a sign yn."

"sign? he only did it to engage the crowd." you denied her words because you didn't want to admit the impact they had on you but before you could talk any further you realised the match had already begun.

the match was intense— it was a tie with only three minutes remaining in the game, heeseung’s team only had to score another hoop and they would've win. everyone anxiously waited for the ball to go into the last hoop before it was game over.

in the background you heard endless screams and chants, while others nervously wondered if their school would win it for them or not but you sat there, arms linked with yunjin, beaming with confidence.

ever since you had started liking heeseung, you dragged your friends to all his basketball matches, whether or not it was a rehearsal or not. you could say that was the start of your infatuation because going to those matches was habitual— you didn't remember the last time you didn't go.

although your friends couldn't care less about how well heeseung played, you had already memorised his each and every step he took and analysed his whole technique before sitting in the seat you were in. the way he dribbled, the way he passed the ball to his teammates, the way he shouted their names all the way down to the way his face would light up every time his team scored a point showcasing his small dimple on his left cheek.

and before you knew it, you heard the loudest cheers and claps from the hall as heeseung's team celebrated while the opposing school had their faces painted with defeat.

"yes!" you quietly screamed to yourself, glad you trusted your gut instincts.

however, lost in a trance, you didn't seem to register the fact that heeseung stood right in front of you, with his jersey in his hand. the girls who were supporting him, squealed louder and the crowd was wilder than ever. embarrassed, you took it from his hand while you shoved the one you got for him to his chest.

"you got me one too?" his doe eyes glistened with curiosity.

"funny enough, that was your surprise." you both erupted into a fit of giggles just when you heard comments about the two of you from behind.

'kiss, kiss, kiss!'

'wear them, please!'

'my favourite couple!'

'twin jerseys oh my god!'

the two of you wore them just how the crowd asked you too but then the words, 'kiss each other' seemingly got louder and louder with every one waiting for your response. heeseung looked into your eyes seemingly waiting for your answer.

deep down, you had made a promise, you knew no kissing was allowed in this fake relationship and you still wanted it, when were you ever going to get a chance like this again? but breaking an oath? you were better than that, so instead of fuelling into your obsessions you were ready to turn them down.

"we can't kiss each other now sorr—"

it was like every thing happened in a flash. you swore one second ago you promised yourself you weren't going to kiss heeseung but his lips moulded against yours and you couldn't help but kiss him back harder.

his hand wrapped around your waist, as he pulled you deeper into his mouth. you vividly remembered the scent of your jersey on him and the taste of energy drinks lingering on his tongue.

"there you go, we kissed, are you all happy now?"

'no i'm the happiest one now, hee' you wished you could tell him right then and there.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ PREVIOUS ・ MASTERLIST ・ NEXT

note ━ are you guys happy now? ><

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queenhunter102 · 1 day

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Meeting the guys for the first time.

Johnny ‘Soap’ McTavish.

Johnny would be nervous, like, REALLY nervous. This would be the first time you would be meeting his team, his brothers, and he would be fidgety and bouncy, like this man could not sit still.

Like he had soft launched your guy's relationship, letting you appear little by little, in video calls when he was away, talk about you in social spaces, like he posted your hands on his socials when he eventually got a few questions, all of which he artfully dodged (I.E. running away)

So when he brought you into the room, he tensed a little, watching as his team turned their full attention to him and you. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder. Their eyes locked and narrowed onto you; he tensed further when John stood up, walked over, and held his hand out to you.

“So, You’re the one who has been hogging our boy?” John said, smiling.

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley.

Now, Simon is a little less nervous. He literally NEVER TOLD ANYONE that you and he were together. Still, he was worried about how his found family would react to you. These were his brothers, and he trusted these men with his life, so he shouldn't worry about bringing you into the bar.

He quietly walks you into the bar, sliding you into what would be his seat. He removes his coat and puts it over the back of the chair, resting his forearms on it and leaning over you.

He watched each member to you, each expression going from a playful look to a surprise. He was surprised to find Simon in the seat but found you instead, like these men, who were shocked, to say the least.

Johnny would be the one to shake out of his stupor first and give you a smile. “Ahh, you’re the one he sneaks off to visit,” he said, nodding.

Alejandro Vargas.

Alejandro…is…… unique in the sense that he hardly hides you from the team. To him, things are often better when left to the imagination. He rarely shows pictures of you; if he does, it is a side profile or the back of you, all very obscure and very…magnetic. Still, he often talks with you on speakerphone in front of the team.

He would often send pictures of the boys to you, making it seem like each of them knew you before ever actually meeting you, so it wasn't much of a shock when Alejandro showed up with you on his arm, wearing one of his jackets.

Alejandro would press his lips to your ear, whispering who is who. While each of the boys eyed you, no one made a move. Still, when Simon gives you a nod, the rest of the team converges as if that is their signal, and suddenly, you are getting handshakes, waves, and hugs left, right, and centre.

“Ahh, yes, the invisible team member,” Gaz said, sipping his vodka.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick

Gaz? I don’t think he would care. It's not like he isn’t keeping your super top secret. He’s careful to hide you on social media, considering his job. But still, he takes all the cute photos with you instead of holding ice cream, holding hands, and taking pictures of your OOTD.

And he certainly didn’t keep you a secret on base, like this man would show you off when he could. This man has his memory filled to the MAX of your face, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he brought you into the bar like he had been doing it for months, considering he didn't stop talking about you.

So when you smiled and introduced yourself, they gave you polite smiles and nods, as if you had been a part of their team or their lives for a while despite only being with Kyle for a few months.

Simon would be the first out of the lot to speak. “At least we can cut the light, fluffy shit and go straight to the trauma”, he said dryly, causing Kyle to pout and glare at him.

Captain John Price.

Finally, Price, our group's dad, has never talked about you on base. And we think Simon is bad? This man has no pictures anywhere, not in his office or on social media, like NOWHERE, so the boys were floored when he rocked up to the bar with your hand in hand.

Like it would be funny, he would smile and pull up a chair for you, casually leaning his arm over your chair. He would laugh at the boys' reaction and watch as their eyes flicked from John to you and back. He would smile and press sweet kisses to your cheeks, whispering sweet nothings.

As he sipped his whiskey before sliding you over the glass and letting you have a sip, each of the boys would just stare and blink before, one by one, they each shakily offered you their hand, giving you a chance to shake it, cause to these boys if their captain can keep you hidden from them? And not utter a singular word?

“Well, If this isn’t awkward, I don’t know what is”, Alejandro said, chugging some of his beer.

Taglist: @cringeycookies (If you wanna be in my Taglist: Here) Remember: leaving a like, re-blogging, and commenting helps in this world and encourages more. See you around, my little loves. Kissess.

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foreos · 3 days

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the bad kids rated by how much they would like sonic the hedgehog

a sequel to my hatchetfield version

- riz gukgak: 1/10 i don’t think riz even touches video games. i can’t imagine riz having any strong media interests because his life is so busy all the time so i doubt he would think about sonic the hedgehog at all. if he ever played a sonic game though i think he’d be like unnaturally good at it because he’s got great reaction times and it’s not hard for him to intuit what the best routes are. he’d probably only play in like a social situation though.

- kristen applebees: 10/10 kristen grew up playing sonic games with her brothers and she likes them. sonic is very very good for adhd brains and i think she likes running around really really fast. fucking AWFUL at the games though she has a dexterity score of four. she has never passed a quicktime prompt in her life but that does not stop her from booting up the games and playing the first three or so levels. doesn’t really engage with the media past the games but that’s just because if she had a comic book she’d lose it and while she watched some of the cartoons as a kid, it’s been a long time. probably hasn’t played in years.

- adaine abernant: 10/10 she did not know what sonic was until freshman year and at first she did not see the appeal. she’s never been allowed plain and stupid fun in her entire life and when confronted with it she’s just like…why? but i think as time passes i could actually see adaine really fucking enjoying it if she decided to suspend her disbelief and embrace it. i think in another timeline adaine is much geekier but much like the other bad kids she currently does not have time for that. there’s an alternate universe where adaine is a comic book nerd with sonic opinions but i don’t think any of us are ready for that. there’s probably other franchises she would possibly like better but i think she could get really into it.

- gorgug thistlespring: 0/10 video games frustrate him. his fingers are too big for the buttons and sonic moves way too fast. like kristen he cannot get past the first few levels and so he and sonic don’t really see eye to eye. he wouldn’t say he hates the guy or has anything against the franchise but he would probably rather do, like, anything else.

- fig faeth: 10000/10 i think fig would like it. while it does not match her aesthetic i think she definitely grew up with sonic games as a kid and is pretty good at them. definitely had to beat video game levels for gilear growing up. as i said earlier with kristen, sonic is very good for adhd brain and i think she likes to build as much speed as she can, plus sonic music is fucking dope and i think fig is a fan of stupid fun. sometimes fig finds herself wishing that he would go even faster, though.

- fabian seacaster: -100000/10 he’s scared of rodents and obsessed with being cool fabian does not like sonic. yes, i know sonic is not a rodent but like. fabian does not care that is a walking talking blue rat with one weird eyeball that has two pupils and he is wearing NO clothes. plus, sonic is considered deeply lame by the general public, especially high schoolers, so fabian would not be caught dead in even the same room where sonic-related activities are occurring. fabian goes out of his way to avoid any and all sonic media, which is a shame because when fabian was a kid bill seacaster impulsively bought Every Video Game so there’s probably a completed sonic collection somewhere in fabian’s house. like i think fabian owns sonic chronicles and tails’s sky patrol and sonic labyrinth and he has no idea. in another life fabian is a shadow fan.

BONUS:

- ragh barkrock: 1/10, like gorgug and riz he’s just not really a video game guy.

- ayda aguefort: 1000000000/10 she would fucking love it. she would love it so so so much. much like adaine i think ayda would be extremely geeky in another, less stressful life and i think if fig introduced her to it she would be all fucking in. comics tv shows video games, all of it. i think ayda would eat that shit up.

- cassandra: 10/10 blaze reminds her of kalina and she thinks it’s fun and i am desperate for cassandra to have fun.

- aelwyn: 0/10 absolutely not. she agrees with fabian that sonic is creepy and should wear clothes. she tries not to think about it, ever.

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #dropout #riz gukgak #gorgug thistlespring #kristen applebees #adaine abernant #fig faeth #fabian seacaster

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coconutredbulllover · 3 days

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little rant type shit about azzi and paiges current and kinda future media presences

i think azzis reposts are like her way of letting people know shes gonan be okay without having to be actually present and ibteractive on socials. she was literallt just comibg back from her drought/break/pause (wtvr u wanna call it) and likely wont post for a while because dawg camp and the draft content was like the most we’ve had from azzi in so long. i think shes probably doing alright considering the amount of support shes surrounded by and honestly she didnt really seem like in any hurry to suddenly become active like an instant unpause after not beibg active for so long, like i dont rlly think her being “on a break” was all that deep she was probably convinced to post but didnt really seriously care to upkeep not postibg in the first place so itd be practically no change in her lifestyle to go back to not posting i dont think she was like resisting the urge to post or anything. specifically now post-situation it might not be “i dont psot often but i sometines do wheneveb i feel like it” instead she might purposely stay away and actually jsut take time away from media focus for a little and we’ll get like a crumb once and a while.

and i think paige being active rn is a mix of moving on from the incident and also the fact that the season is over and shes back on media and does like beibg on it like for example on lives and stuff. i feel like shes trying to show that shes moving past it as well as not letting it effect or stop doing what she enjoys. i also think that if paige had gone media silent after what happened it mightve brought even more attention to it with people speculating the effects it had or twitter running wild as it always does. i think her vague-ish thanking for support tweet near when it happened was good because it further fueled people who had been covering the timeline and helped speed up efforts to get tweets taken down but didnt actively add crap tons of spotlight on it. plus her normally posting and tweeting helps spread around what people are focusing on when she appears or if shes mentioned and it js moves the crowd on. we also know shes been described as/has said about herself that shes the type to put on a strong front in stressing times so even if shes beibg active on media and seemingly doing alright she could be doing it for all the reasons i just mentioned about moving the public on (like damage control/reputation padding) and still be literallt depressed behind the scenes and js doing it bc she feels she has to. either way we have no way of knowing whats actually happening and we will probably never know, i can only guess abd assume just as much as everyone else, i could be insanely far off or completely spot on, even if it doesnt match how any of us assume or imagine her acting just remember that we literally do not know any of these people!

i hope things settle and we can see them together again i dont think the situation would have effected their relationship with eachother theyre like ride or die and its not like its their fault it happened. obviously no one wouldvt wanted it to happen but i like to think that behibd the scenes theyre supporting eachother or they could be givibg eachother space but all n all i dont see this being the reason they suddenly drop eachother and i have ful lconfidence theyll come out the other end still side by side.

if anyone has any thoughts or responses feel free to add on or share or if i left smth out or got smth wrong feel free to correct me bc its literallt 6:30 am rn and im suppsoed to be awake in less than 2 hours 🤣🥲

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #pazzi #rant #my eyes burn #im tired and not at the same time

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andthespidersfrommars · 6 months

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I truly can’t believe I have to say this but I am so so sick of some people my age (namely those who are tiktok users, and therefore are deeply influenced by “woke” stereotypes about queer people and queer identities that are often perpetrated on that site) telling me that it’s weird to talk about growing up as a female or about experiencing sexism because I’m not a girl? and that it either “makes it seem like I’m not really nonbinary” when I talk about my connection to girlhood or that these things “shouldn’t concern me.” because they very much do and that’s such an ridiculous and inconsiderate thing to say.

I was afab and whether I wanted it or not I was treated like a girl and experienced childhood as a girl. I am not out to many people in my life and in their eyes I am a girl.

as a nonbinary person I still experience and feel very connected to my girlhood and the solidarity that I have among girls and women because of shared experiences despite not often identifying as girl myself. this is because of many factors including socialization, oppression and personal identity. truly can’t believe most people I know (and quite a lot of people online as well) still don’t understand that the oppression I have experienced as a queer person who was afab and the oppression I have experienced being seen as a girl are interconnected and that we have to address multiple layers of discrimination simultaneously if we want anything to change. this is. not new information. I can’t believe people don’t get this.

#like there’s a very obvious regression to backwards gender roles on tiktok atm #and this affects people who don’t identify as female or male as well because if you have your girl boss girl dinner bimbo queens #and your borderline abusive masculine energy manly men #then nonbinary people are put into this third easy to understand category of #uwu they/them no gender goblincore inhuman elf cuties #and obviously this is as harmful like the other two because it generalises and stereotypes real people into toxic trendy groups #but it’s also harmful because people will think that if you are one of these then you can’t be another #cis gay men get a pass on tiktok and are allowed to be slay queens as well #but if someone is trans than they have to act very stereotypical of their gender or they’re questioned #I have seen this far too much in tiktoks to pass it off as a few harmful users and not the marjority #bc it really is the majority #and if it was only like that on social media I would care less but people literally act like this irl everyday #my aerial class in particular is really bad for some reason #every signal teenage girl there acts like this and says really harmful stuff and I’m just like #do you hear what is coming out of your mouth ???#and they have pronoun badges even tho they’re apparently cis and dyed hair and the like #which I think makes them think they look like woke gen x girlies #but doesn’t help them with actually being normal and respectful to other human beings #from the groups they apparently support #shit I really ranted here but I’m so fed up #sexism #misogyny #girlhood #nonbinary #anti tiktok #tiktok critical #gen z

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tj-crochets · 2 years

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have you made a t shirt quilt!!! if yes can you share pictures, theyre so fun!! im going to attempt my first one this summer :)

Hi! I have not made a t shirt quilt, because up until recently I really hated ironing and it's my understanding that you have to use fusible interfacing* to stop the t shirts from stretching**, but it is on my list to make! Unfortunately, when I do make a t shirt quilt, I probably won't share any pictures here. The shirts I want to make into a quilt for my mom are old theater shirts/sports team shirts/volunteer shirts from myself and my siblings, and that's too much identifying info for me to want to post on tumblr *or stabilizer? not sure if it's different **I'm not sure if that's a "needs to be non-stretchy for structure reasons" or "needs to be non-stretchy because so many people HATE working with stretchy fabric", but if it's the second I'm just sewing them as they are

#ask away!#t shirt quilts are really cool! but also really specific #and I have only had positive experiences on tumblr thus far #but I still want to be careful. There are people from my past I don't want to find my social media #for various reasons! some more reasonable than others #I also really don't want to have to explain tumblr to my grandma #like. I don't THINK I've said anything that would cause a huge fight with her #but I also don't want her scrolling through my tumblr and calling me up to ask me about specific posts #after a few Significant Learning Opportunities involving explaining internet things to older relatives (and non internet things)#there are some subjects I just avoid with some parts of my family #my mom STILL gets the words 'furries' and 'plushies' confused and it's been years #and the less said about the explanation of the premise of a certain formerly-fanfic series with a color in the title the better #I know neither of those are really internet-specific but still lol

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ghostfacd · 5 months

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YES I KNOW THAT HE’S MY EX! | TOM BLYTH

pairing. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary. you knew tom was your ex, and that you should probably stay away, but that’s never stopped you before

part 1 | installment of this au (please read for more context!)

ynuser :)

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user1 im loving the aesthetic

user2 THE BIKINI TOP IS SO CUTE

user3 put them toes awayyyy

rachelzegler i pay attention to things that most people ignore (this isn’t your car.)

➥ user4 PLEASE?? not rachel using yn’s own lyrics on her

➥ user5 IS THIS TOM’S CAR??

user6 i may be delulu but those r tom blyth’s mfing hands.

user7 he has her hair tie on; i repeat, tom blyth literally has yn’s hair tie on

When Tom had messaged you saying he wanted to talk, no matter how much you knew it was a bad idea, you decided to agree to it anyway.

The breakup had ended pretty badly. Although it was an agreement between you and Tom, that didn’t mean that’s what the both of you truly wanted.

The reason the two of you broke up in the first place was that Tom was talking too much about your future, which wasn’t a bad thing — but it overwhelmed you. You weren’t ready to settle down, not yet, at least. You and Tom had only been dating for a few months, and although it was all sweet and loving, you knew that getting engaged this early was like asking for a disaster to strike.

He was upset. Clearly. He loved you, you loved him, so why was it such an inconvenience for you to agree to take the leap in your relationship? That caused a blown out argument between you two, and by the end of it, you had agreed breaking up was the right thing.

You had a acting and music career to focus on, and Tom had an acting career that was just at the beginning of its success. You felt that it wasn’t right to put a distraction into his life.

“Is this a bad idea?” You ask breathlessly as you pull away from the kiss. You can’t help but stare into Tom’s eyes, which held a language of their own.

“Maybe,” he says, wiping the corner of your mouth. “But who cares?”

Who cares. Right. Well surely, it was a bad idea to meet up with your ex, much less kiss him, and although alarms were baring in your head that you probably shouldn’t—you go in for a second kiss, this time, Tom doesn’t let you go, cradling you close to his body.

“I don’t care if you don’t want to take the next step in our relationship, I’m fine if you’re not ready yet. I just want you, okay?”

And how could any girl possibly reject Tom Blyth when he’s begging so prettily? Certainly not you.

tomblyth and ynuser both posted an instagram story !

ynsbiggestfan THE GIRLS AND I AFTER SEEING THE STORIES ON INSTA

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user8 IM ACTUALLY DYING BC NO WAY WAS THAT A COINCIDENCE

user9 they’re connected they cant be far away from each other

user10 she’s my Heather 💔💔

➥ user12 fr i wish tom was that inlove w me

user13 so this is why rachel said that wasn’t yn’s car

➥ user14 ITS ALL MAKING SENSE NOW

sean.kauf photo dumpy

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ynuser pic creds ?? 🤬

➥ sean.kauf 🤓🤓

user15 wait im confused, is she together with tom again or is she with sean..

user16 Ykw i cant even be mad, if i was as hot as yn, i’d have two bfs too!

➥ user17 REAL SHIIT

tomblyth fun fact: the 2nd pic is sean third wheeling after forcing me and yn to speak to each other

➥ user17 TOM CONFIRMED IT IM DEAD

user18 all the yn haters must feel stupid asf rn after accusing yn of being with sean

➥ user19 literally cause all 3 of them are literally close 😭😭 like why would sean date yn, he’s literally friends with tom

user20 if yn isn’t dating sean let me have him omg

ynuser yes i know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect !!!!!

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user21 this took the cake.

user22 time to cry again bc tom blyth is off the market

user23 she got him wrapped around her finger FR

user24 THE THIRD PIC OF THEM 🥹🥹

user25 THE CAPTION OUUU GIRLY IS BRAVE

tomblyth i only see you as a friend (the biggest lie i’ve ever said)

➥ user26 I CHOKED

➥ user27 THEIR SOCIAL MEDIA MANAGERS ARE CRYING RN

#coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x reader

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femininemenon · 1 year

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"i'm struggling to find gifs" "why can't i find gifs of this scene or this show" "why are less people taking requests"

you repost to twitter, to pinterest, to instagram, to tiktok and lord knows what else. on twitter, a single gif taken from a gifset that didn't even receive 1k notes (not 1k likes or even 1k rbs, if that even exists these days) can get 3m views and 30k+ likes. without credit, of course - if you're lucky, you get a mispelled: made by x on tumblr, no link of course.

hell, you repost on this very site and you refuse to listen. your set, stolen from someone else and mixed in with quotes, gets 1k notes meanwhile the original sits at less than 500. you do not credit the person who made it.

we ask you to reblog things instead of liking them and you go on rants about how it's unnecessary and how we should do it for fun. we explain a hundred times that tumblr doesn't work the way other social media platforms work, but you refuse. you wonder why there are less gifmakers.

gifs don't take 10 seconds like on ezgif or imgflip or whatever the hell you're using. it takes hours sometimes to even download footage, but you don't care. it's a moving image that we "stole" (?) from the original work but the labour? you don't care. depending on our process, it can take from half an hour (the downloading and the editing part) to hours upon hours. but who cares.

you credit text posts, fanvids, and you go after those who steal written work (as you should). we cannot even get other gifmakers to care when our stuff is stolen. staff took away our only tool to fight reposters on this site, and we never had any to fight reposting to other sites.

we know what the staff is aiming at with the changes they make and the changes they refuse to make - we explain that why disabling likes would help, they say they will not do it. they cannot slap an @ onto gifs when saved to prevent stealing but boy, look at the shiny new editor that adds an additional least 5 minutes to upload your gifs! again, intention is very clear.

we know you don't steal gifs under a certain quality and we know you ask us for requests for scenes/parallels that have been done because you do not like the quality of those. we see you stealing quality sets.

there is no point to this i just needed to vent. staff is disregarding the very foundation of this site, gifmakers are given less and less respect and you wonder why scenes aren't giffed.

i don't know. add your perspective if you want

#tuserbea #tuserrex #tuserabbie

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delulujuls · 3 months

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the prettiest boy in the paddock | op81

hi there, here comes the 1.3k of wholesome fluff with the pastry boi. its just-uh, i already know that i wanna write a part two for this so watch out!

summary: oscar is feeling a bit down but little does he know that for two people out there he is the prettiest boy in the paddock

warnings: none

pairing: fem!mclarendriver x oscar piastri (ft. lando)

Oscar never had an opinion about his appearance.

Whenever someone asked him if he considered himself as an attractive guy, he would just shrug. Passing by shop windows, mirrors, or surfaces reflecting his image, he never stopped to check if he looked good. The same applied to taking pictures of him. He never needed to have a say in them; he didn't feel the need to improve any shot, as he might not look favorable in it. If the photographer thought he looked great, who was he to judge?

This, of course, didn't mean that Oscar didn't take care of himself; quite the opposite. The Aussie was always neat, smelled good, and sometimes even used hair conditioner, lip balm or even a hand cream. Looking at him, you could notice a handsome, young man with a well-built, slim figure, a pleasant gaze, and an infectious smile.

The fact that Oscar was attractive was especially noticeable on social media. He was adored by fans. The papaya army loved the McLaren duo, and Oscar was no less popular with the ladies than Lando. If anything, sometimes it seemed like his name was shouted even louder.

His teammates also shared the same opinion. Oscar was a good-looking lad, so it wasn't surprising that during conferences, interviews or casual conversations Lando couldn't take his eyes off him and Y/N took every opportunity to throw compliments at him. However, these compliments were one hundred percent sincere and true and Oscar took them very personally, blushing like never before. These compliments were perceived as harmless, friendly jokes by the public, but both Y/N and Lando believed that their friend was the indeed the most beautiful.

However, this didn't change the fact that sometimes Oscar had a bad day. This was one of those days.

With the hood pulled low over his head, the person in the orange McLaren hoodie entered the dining room. Y/N was slowly having her breakfast, scrolling through social media. She usually went for meals early to avoid crowds and have some time to clear her head. Her surprise was evident when someone pulled a chair next to her and took a seat.

"Oscar?" the girl asked in surprise, barely able to see her friend's face under the hood. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He muttered under his breath and opened a small chocolate packet, pouring it over his pancakes.

Y/N blinked several times, holding her phone in her hand. Clearly, something was off.

"Is something wrong?"

Oscar shook his head and leaned his elbow on the table. He ate in a hunched position, with his back slouched. It looked like he was hiding from someone. Or hiding something.

"You haven't convinced me."

She replied, putting down her sandwich.

The Aussie ate in silence. Only his chin and chocolate-stained lips were visible under the hood. Y/N looked at him, waiting, but when she saw it was better to drop the subject, she returned to her breakfast and scrolling through Instagram.

When Y/N finished eating, she glanced at her friend one last time. He still sat with his head down, swiping his finger on his phone screen. She gathered her things, planning to leave the dining room, realizing there was no chance for a normal chat with Oscar.

"See you around, grumpy."

As she stood up, she heard a quiet question.

"Can you help me?"

Y/N paused and finished her coffee.

"Of course I'll help you, but first I need to know in what matter."

She replied without hesitation, looking down at him. He raised his head and for the first time that day, she had the chance to look at his face.

"Do you have a moment now?"

The girl checked her phone's clock and nodded.

"To my room, then."

Once they were in her room, she sat on the bed and Oscar, after closing the door behind him, walked slowly into the room.

"I'm all ears."

He took his hands out of his pockets and sat next to his friend. He sighed and took off the hood, turning his face toward Y/N in silence. She looked at him surprised, studying him.

"What? You don't have the answer written on your face."

"I do," he replied tartly "You don't see gow terrible i look?"

Y/N furrowed her brows. She had no idea what he was talking about. He looked exactly the same as always.

"You look cute, just like every day."

She said playfully, smiling, but he wasn't in the mood for jokes. He lowered his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

"Acne," he said, resigned, lowering his hands to his knees. "It's worse than ever."

She gently touched his chin and turned his face towards her. Oscar avoided eye contact. He felt embarrassed, unsure whether he was more ashamed of coming to her with such a thing or of his appearance.

"If you want me to help, first, don't touch your face like you did a moment ago."

The girl smiled and brushed the hair from his forehead with her hand.

The Aussie looked into her eyes and, seeing her smile, he felt a little more confident.

"Can you help me with this? I have no idea what to do."

"You're lucky you're friends with someone who has half a Walmart in their makeup bag."

Y/N smiled and stood up, going to the bathroom. After a moment, she returned with a pink headband, which she placed on Oscar's head to keep his hair away from his face.

"Have you washed your face today?"

Oscar nodded.

"What do you use for face wash? Tell me about your skincare routine."

To be honest, there was nothing much to talk about.

"Uh, I wash my face with water, morning and night, when I take a shower."

Y/N blinked several times and looked at him in shock.

"And that's it?"

He just nodded. To his surprise, his friend smiled and clapped her hands.

"Great, I can teach you everything."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Oscar replied uncertainly, but he obediently stood up and followed the girl to the bathroom.

"Don't worry; it won't be anything crazy" Y/N said and took her face wash gel in her hand "It's gonna be Piastri's friendly skincare."

He listened to her even more carefully than when he analyzed the race result with the strategists. He asked when he had doubts, trying to remember every word she said. When he finished washing his face, she applied a gentle scrub and face mask after. After that, it was the time fot rest of the skincare routine. Y/N took a bit of cream on her fingers, which finished off all the major skincare. She crouched down in front of him and smiled, applying the cream to his face.

"Smile, Osc. You are beautiful."

Piastri involuntarily smiled at her compliment.

"Immediately better."

She added, massaging the remaining cream into her hands. For some imperfections, she applied a clear, specialized ointment and removed the headband from his head. She stood up, taking a brush and combing his hair.

"Thank you, Y/N."

Oscar replied, looking at her from below. His brown eyes sparkled as he raised his head to look at his friend.

"You are welcome, pretty boy."

She replied. She wanted to kiss his cheeks but refrained, partly because of the multi-step skincare routine on his face, and partly because Oscar was her friend. But mostly, it was about skincare.

"And you're beautiful, don't forget that."

"Of course, I am" a loud interjection from Lando was heard as he entered the room, making himself comfortable in it, quickly appearing in the bathroom "What's going on here and why without me?"

"You miss everything because you're the last one to get up"

Y/N replied, putting her things back into her cosmetic bag.

"Not true, don't be mean."

Lando retorted, but quickly his gaze turned towards Oscar and the Brit smiled at the sight of him "Wow, Osc, what a glow, mate!"

"Y/N did her hundred-step skincare on me."

"Really? Why are you torturing our friend?" Norris asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to the Aussie.

"I asked her myself," the younger boy replied before the girl spoke up, ready to throw some sort of retort at her friend, "I wasn't feeling very confident this morning, my acne was killing me a bit and it's gotten worse lately."

Oscar admitted, still a little embarrassed by his problem.

"Aw, Oscar," Lando wrapped his arm around him and kissed him on the cheek. "You'd win the competition for the prettiest boy in the paddock."

Piastri blushed and lowered his gaze. A slight smile appeared on his rosy lips.

"Oh yes, you would definitely win."

Y/N replied and put her makeup bag aside, also sitting next to Piastri and kissing his other cheek, feeling a bit more confident after Lando did the exact same thing. Oscar blushed even more and raised his hands to hide his face, but lowered them halfway.

"I can't touch my face, damn it!"

#f1 imagines #f1 oneshot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lando norris #ln4 #op81 #op81 x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you

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rosepascal · 6 months

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reunion || wed!Joel Miller x reader smut

summary: Going to your 10 year high school reunion was a mistake when you're forced to see your worst enemy after all these years. After a shitty reunion you decide to ease your tension at the bar where you meet a very handsome stranger. What's wrong with indulging in a little fun? (worst enemies dad!Joel)

warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+ ONLY, rough sex, Joel is in his 50's and the reader is almost 30, pussy eating, blow job, big dick joel miller, drinking, swearing, doggy style, joel pushes your face into the pillow, cowgirl, he fucks up into you. This is pure fucking filth lmao.

part 2

a/n: sooooo uh i this happened. I hope you enjoy this fic and it lives up to all ur smutty expectations <3 Also i couldnt come up with a good acronym for this so ur getting a shitty one.

You really thought that all the high school bullshit was over. I mean you graduated 10 years ago, you’re almost 30 for fucks sake. Yet when you walked into the old school gym for your high school reunion it felt like you were transported back to some of the worst years of your life.

You should never have agreed to go.

You don’t care about what everyone is up to, you see that on instagram already. Though despite their “perfect” lives on social media, you doubt that any of it is entirely true.

“Hi! Welcome!” You’re taken back by the incredibly cheery voice greeting you as you walk in the door.

After slapping on a name tag sticker you take in the gym. You spot a few people you remember and a few people who you used to talk to. After high school you lost touch with most of the people there sadly but they wave you over and you join them to save yourself from standing alone. Catching up is nice as you sip your punch that you wish had been spiked because the night was about to become incredibly unbearable.

“Welcome class of 2013!” A shrill voice nearly peaks the mic and it makes your blood run cold.

Of course class President Courtney Miller would be here.

Ever since you were kids Courtney Miller hated your guts. She tripped you on the playground, lied to the teacher, and told you that you couldn’t play on the playground at the same time as her and her friends. As you got older it only became worse. She’d spread lies about you and make nasty comments in the hallway.

Anything you found happiness in she tried to destroy. You thought once you left school you’d never have to deal with her again. Yet she managed to appear on your social media with her perfect husband and perfect life. Seeing her again made you want to turn and run but you stand your ground.

Her fake over the top smile makes you want to gag as she goes on her speech about how happy she is to see everyone again to relive the glory days of high school. When her speech is over she gets off stage to greet her old popular friends who never grew out of high school.

In fact someone tried to fit into their old letterman jacket. Her eyes meet yours and she smirks. She saunters her way over to you and you flash her the fakest smile you can manage.

“It’s so good to see you again!” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm as the people around you turn their heads.

“The last time I remember seeing you is prom, remember? Your date stood you up and went with me instead.” She cackles like a witch as you feel anger begin to boil.

“Really? I thought the last time we saw each other was graduation, when you stuttered through your whole speech in front of everyone.” You shoot back with a smile. Her smile never falters but her eyes shoot daggers at you.

“Great catching up.” She sneers at you, walking away and bumping you in the shoulder as she does.

The reunion is uneventful for most of the night. A few whispers here and there about you and Courtney but you couldn’t care less. It was getting boring truthfully. As you walk to the snack table you feel someone bump into you, followed by the feeling of punch being thrown on your back.

“Oh sorry, didn’t see you there.” You hear laughter as you tense up from the cold drink.

Everyone is laughing and you see Courtney standing by a guy with an empty punch cup. Her eyes light up with a smug look. Of course this was her doing. Anger and embarrassment swirls in your head as you throw your cup down and storm out of the room. Cursing yourself for even going to this stupid thing. Getting in your car you throw on the jacket you brought and drive straight to the bar.

You need a drink or two and you need it now. The bar is mildly busy but not busy enough for it to be obnoxious. After taking a shot of vodka, you sip on a drink and sulk in at the bar. You never should have gone to that reunion. There was nothing for you there, just memories of 4 years of bullshit.

“Pardon me but is this seat taken?” You look up to see a man standing by you.

He’s hot. Really hot. Definitely older than you based on the salt and pepper hair. Not to mention the tight gray shirt and jeans that really make his ass look great.

“Go for it.” He sits down and orders a beer. You can feel him staring at you, not in a creepy way but more of a concerned way.

“Are you alright?” He asks as the bartender passes him his beer.

“Fine, just a shit night.”

“Tell me about it.” He raises his beer to you and you clink your glass.

What’s the harm in talking flirting with an attractive man who’s taking an interest in you. Absolutely nothing you think as you scoot your stool closer to him.

As the night goes on you get closer and closer to the man who you learned was named Joel. Joel was somehow single and had lived here since he was a kid. He owns a contracting business with his brother and he’s got a daughter but no wife. He’s touchy too. With your permission of course.

Asking you in that sweet and sexy voice if he can pull you closer. Soon the stools were ditched for a booth in the corner of the room. His hands that were once kept at his side were resting on your thigh.

You aren’t drunk, despite feeling woozy every time Joel looked you in the eyes. His beer is long gone and its clear both of you are interested in moving the night along.

“Did you drive here?” He asks as he hands the bartender his card to pay for your drinks.

“Yeah, but I’ve sobered up.” He frowns and shakes his head.

“I don’t feel right letting you drive after drinking. Tell you what,” He leans in close to your ear, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

“How about I take you back to my house, can’t let a pretty thing like you take an uber home now can I?” You bite your lip as his hands travel lower down your back.

“Sounds like a plan.” You push lightly on his chest to guide him to the door.

The drive is a blur as you sit in the passenger seat of his car. You’re both antsy as you shift in the seat. His hands clench the steering wheel making his veins pop.

All you can think about is what those hands will do to you in about 5 minutes. He pulls into his driveway and he doesn’t even turn off the car before you’re out and at his door.

“So eager.” Joel smirks as he opens his door.

The door shuts and Joel has you pressed against the floor. His lips are on yours as he roughly moves his hands to touch everywhere he can. You let out a small moan as he squeezes your ass. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

Reveling in how fast he’s able to reduce you into a mess. Clothes are thrown on the floor without a care in the world as Joel leads you to his bedroom.

“On the bed baby, all fours.” He slaps your ass as you turn around making you jump.

As if he couldn’t get more sexy. You prop yourself on his bed, shaking your ass as you look behind you. Joel stares hungrily at your ass as he strokes his cock. Getting down on his knees he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you back. Teasing your pussy with his tongue.

“Fuck!” You gasp at the unexpected feeling. He locks you in place as his teasing turns into full on carnage. He’s not letting you breathe as he devours your cunt like a meal. His hands running up and down your ass, kneading it and slapping it as he pleases.

“Oh Joel!” Your head falls as pleasure courses through your body.

“Quit moving.” He scolds as he pulls you against his face. You’re practically grinding on it as he eats you out with utter precision. How this man is still single you’ll never know.

“Please please, wanna make you feel good Joel.” You whine as he pulls away from you. He wipes his face with two fingers and sticks them in his mouth as he stands.

“Fuckin’ delicous.” You nearly fold at the sight of it. Turning around you crawl towards him. His dick is big, bigger than you’ve ever had before but fuck you want it in every hole of your body. He tilts your chin up to look him in the eyes as he guides one of your hands to it.

“Don’t be nervous baby, you can take it.” Fuck yeah you can take it. His eyes close as you lick from the base to the tip. Pumping it with hard and firm strokes. Flashing him an innocent look you take as much of him as you can in your mouth.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy next time.” He groans as his hand comes to rest on the back of your head.

Pushing you as far as you can go on his cock. Strings of mumbled praises fall from his lips as you suck him off. Drool drips down your chin as you choke on his dick.

“Feels so good, so warm. Doin’ such a good job.” He pushes on your head and you make a noise as you gag slightly.

He looks down, worried he’s gone too far but there’s nothing but lust in your eyes. It takes all his willpower to pull out of your perfect mouth.

“Don’t wanna finish just yet.” He says, noticing the disappointed look on your face.

He manhandles your body back to all fours. He rips a condom from his wallet and puts it on with ease. Lot’s of practice you guess. He gets on the bed, admiring the view as he spits on his hand.

He strokes his cock for a few moments before sliding it in. He goes torturously slow but you’re thankful as it feels overwhelming. He’s so big and feels so fucking amazing.

“Oh god Joel,” You claw at the sheets as your lower half sinks down. Leaving you in a perfect arch. He grabs your hips and slides out, groaning at the sight of your cunt gripping him. Begging him not to leave.

“Fuck!” You cry as he slams his hips back in. His pace getting quicker the more noises you make. It’s egging him on, encouraging him to fuck you till you cry.

“So pretty.” Joel says smugly as he pounds into you.

He’s punching the breath out of you, filling you up with his cock. He grunts as he leans over you, one hand pushing your head into the pillows as he gets into a new position, one that makes his cock sink even deeper into you.

Your cries and moans are muffled by the pillow but it doesn’t matter. The feeling of being pinned down makes you want more. Not to mention the sinful sounds coming from Joel. He lets go of your head and you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Need-fuck.” You reach back to grab his hand. He grunts in response as he refuses to let up his pace.

“Wanna ride you. J-Joel please!” you moan desperately.

While Joel is enjoying reducing you to a puddle, he can’t say no to that. You whine as he pulls out, already missing the feeling of his cock. He gently moves you to the side so he can lay down and helps you straddle him. Your legs feel shaky as you rest your hands on his chest.

“This view is even better than before.” He grins as he reaches up to squeeze your boobs.

“Can’t wait to watch these bounce.” He mumbles to himself. You slowly slide down on him.

His breath catches in his throat as you squeeze his cock. Using his chest as leverage you start to move up and down until you’ve found a good pace. Joel is mesmerized by everything.

The way his cock disappears as you slide down, the way your lips part with every gasp, the way your tits bounce. He wants this moment tattooed in his brain forever. He reaches up to play with your nipples as you continue to bounce on him. He notices a slight falter in your hips.

“Gettin’ tired?” He asks as he grabs your hips to stop you.

“Little bit,” You admit. Joel smirks as a wicked idea pops into his head.

“Let me take care of you alright?” You nod happily and Joel plants his feet on the bed. You thought he’d flip the two of you but he doesn’t. With all his force he thrusts up into you. Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull as he hits the perfect fucking spot.

“Joel!” You wail as he forces your hips to stay still. He fucks up into you relentlessly. Hitting a spot that makes your legs shake. Loud cries and moans are pulled from your lips as he thrusts up without a break. He want’s you to fucking break apparently.

“Gonna come?” Joel taunts. His fingers are digging into your hips as he nears his end.

“It’s okay baby, go ahead. I got you.” You can’t take it anymore as you fall into his chest. Wailing from pleasure as you come hard around him. Your cunt squeezes him tight.

Not letting him move as he comes from the sensation. For a moment the two of you lay there in silence. Out of breath and completely spent. With all the energy you can muster you prop yourself back up. You smile as you feel his cock pulsing inside of you.

“Need you to get off baby,” Joel mutters.

“Don’t wanna.” He huffs and groans as you sit back on him.

“Too sensitive.” With reluctance you climb off him and collapse on the bed. He rolls over and gently kisses the side of your head.

“Need anything?” He asks as he rubs your back.

You reply in gibberish and Joel laughs. It’s been a while since he’s fucked someone silly. You barely notice he’s left until he comes back with a towel and water. Gently cleaning you up and putting you under the covers. Helping you sip on the water until he’s satisfied.

“Good night baby.” He wraps his arm around your waist as you both drift off to sleep.

If you hadn’t woken up with a dull ache between your legs you would’ve sworn last night was a dream. But it’s all real when you wake up next to Joel. He’s so handsome when he sleeps. You could watch him for hours.

“Mornin’” He opens his eyes and smiles sleepily. His morning voice is to fucking die for.

“Hi,” You stretch your arms and climb out of bed. You stumble for a second and Joel chuckles.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Think that's my fault.” You roll your eyes head out of the room in search of your clothes. Joel watches you walk away with a smirk. As you pick up your clothes you frown at the punch stain.

“What happened?” You turn around to see Joel walk out in sweatpants, putting on a shirt as he walks over to you.

“It’s stupid, I had my 10 year reunion and some asshole threw punch on me.” Joel shakes his head as he grabs his keys.

“Funny, my daughter had her reunion yesterday too. Maybe y’all knew each other.” He says nonchalantly. You laugh

“Maybe.” “Hold on, let me get a jacket before we leave.” Joel disappears back into his bedroom.

You look around his house, at the pictures on the walls and the decorations. You see a photo of a young girl with a graduation gown on and a diploma above the picture. Must be his daughter.

As you get closer you start to recognize the girl. The cap and gown was the same color as yours was when you graduated. Same school. Same year too. Your heart drops as the realization sets in. You know that girl because it’s fucking Courtney. There’s no mistaking that.

You glance up at the diploma and her name is printed in big letters. Fuck fuck fuck.

There’s no way the guy you go home with ends up being her dad. You’d never seen her parents before so it’s not like you would have known. Joel didn’t tell you his last name either but even if he did Miller is an incredibly common name.

“Sorry for takin’ so long, ready?” Joel asks. You turn around and try to shake the shock from your face.

“Yeah,” Your brain runs a mile a minute as Joel helps you into his car.

It’s not like you’ve really done anything wrong. He’s an adult, you’re an adult. Everything was fully consensual and as much as you hate to admit it Joel was the best guy you’ve been with in a while.

And as sick as it sounds, you can’t help but feel a little smug. Even if Courtney never found out, you knew that you fucked her dad. Joel pulls up next to your car and you thank him for the night.

“I know this ain’t exactly typical, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go to dinner sometime. I had a real nice time with you.”

You think for a moment. Would it be right to go out with Joel knowing who he is? Would he get mad if he found out you did know his daughter? He makes you happy. He’s hot and a gentleman. Could you deny yourself the chance over a girl who hated your guts?

“You know Joel, I’d love to go to dinner.” He smiles as he hands you his phone to put in your number.

He bids you goodbye and waits for you to get in your car before driving off. Not even a few moments later you get a text from him.

Friday at 7? I know this great Italian place.

Sounds perfect. See you then :)

;)

This might become the messiest thing in your life, but for Joel you know it’s going to be worth it.

—-

part 2

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #wed!joel

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forteafy · 9 months

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A House, A Home | CL16 & CS55

Summary: A loveless marriage usually comes after years, not before. You've always loved him, his best friend has always loved you.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: Hard Angst, Cheating, Mentions of Sex, Death.

Note: This piece has two heavy inspirations. The first is @lxclerc's amazing pieces 'Moth to a Flame' and 'Call out my Name.' They are both incredible pieces and I highly suggest you give them a read. The second is from a TikTok Account called 'ForPercival,' they are currently doing a social media AU which I cannot recommend enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: 'You Think, You Know'

Charles Leclerc is a husband.

At least, he was your husband on paper. One year ago, a hidden agreement had been put in place between Scuderia Ferrari and the Leclerc Household; their son, the ‘Il Predestinato,’ of the team, (albeit one whom had had the most terrible season,) could continue to drive for the team, so long as he married the daughter of one of their longest-running investors.

That so happened to be you.

You had been against the entire idea since the first day. After being introduced to Ferrari’s driver, you had instantly felt the divide between the two of you. You’d reluctantly shaken his hand and since then, had been thrown through a mixture of fake dates, a fake engagement and the fakest wedding that could possibly be imagined. The ceremony hadn’t even ended with a kiss, per tradition.

It didn’t take long for your walls to crack; living with Charles, seeing him at his highest and lowest points, his most vulnerable behind the four walls of your home had caused your heart to soften. Forget being forced into this marriage, you’d grown to care, to adore the man who’d once burdened you with his presence. You dreamed of the day he would return your affection; how long would it take for you to realise you lived in denial? In your late-night fantasies, lying alone in one of the guest rooms you’d sought refuge in on moving into this house, you’d dreamt of lying in his arms, lazy morning breakfast, slow kisses when he would come back to you. To your home.

A home, however, is where you feel safe, warm, protected. You lived in a house with Charles. The man who would barely glance your way and after three months of your marriage, started coming home, smelling of rich perfume and lipstick marks littering his jawline.

The first anniversary of your marriage should have been special, even if he despised you in every known form to man. You’d woken up in your room, slipped on the silk robe which had been lying on the empty bedside and slipped out of the bedroom. In your heart of hearts, you knew there would be no significance of today; no flowers, no card, not even a simple text from your husband to signify the date in question. The only text you had received that morning, was a stern reminder from your father, that you were due to attend the Monza Grand Prix in less than one week.

A soft sigh emitted itself from your lips; it was a routine you knew all too well. Every few races, the more significant ones; Monaco, Silverstone, Spa-Francorchamps, Monza, you’d play the doting wife; cheering for your husband whilst dressed in soft summer dresses, a forged grin if he managed to battle his way into the points. On those rare days when he would obtain a podium position, he’d greet you on the barriers with a soft kiss. It was all fake; a routine which had been performed so many times. Yet, each time his lips met yours, you could dream he meant something behind the affection.

The train of thought had played through your mind for so long that you were unaware of the tears pooling on your lower lash line. So, what if Charles wasn’t at home for your anniversary? It was your thought for feeling any kind of emotion towards him in the first place. It was a business deal, after all. Did your husband enjoytreating you like this? His disappearance on that morning was a cold reminder that he felt nothing towards you. No sentiment, no adoration.

Despite the tears which had bade your eyes that morning, until the mid-afternoon, you had a productive day. Of course, leaving the house was out of the question; what would the media say if devoted wife of Ferrari’s driver was seen without him, on their wedding anniversary of all days?

Instead, you’d played soft music whilst re-organising your wardrobe, something you’d put off for a while now. Cooking a meal whilst lazily treading around the kitchen, experimenting with the spices that Yuki had gifted to you on your previous visit to a Grand Prix. The meal itself was too big to eat alone. Instead, you boxed up the remainders of what was left in the tray, carefully placing it in the fridge, knowing Charles wouldn’t actually eat it.

Your evening had been…less productive. You’d found solace in a glass of red wine, lounging on the sofa of the main living area; usually, you kept as far away from that zone as possible. Charles would spend his evenings in the couch, eyes flickering between the television and his phone, no doubt sending longing messages to his mistress whilst his wife was in the home.

The third glass had just about been drained. You were adamant upon gaining a fourth, no longer caring of any commitments you had the next day. Instead, you sat up abruptly from the sofa, hearing the gentle click from the front door.

He had come back to the house.

His green eyes barely took a second to meet yours, slipping off his shoes and placing them into the rack situated by the front door. A rustle of his jacket signified his option to stay. You saw him carry the garment over his arm as he trudged into the living area, set to lie in front of the television for some personal relaxation.

With his entry to the room, you suddenly remembered your position. You’d hastily stood up from the couch, collecting the half-finished bottle from the low table, holding the glass to your chest to draw the attention away from your beverage.

Charles said nothing; he’d unlatched the top two buttons from his dress shirt; faint purple marks nestled on the lower joint of his neck; a clear mark that his mistress had previously made, a sinful reminder of his adultery.

“I left you some dinner in the fridge.” You mumbled, voice barely picking up over the sound of the television. “There’s some clean loungewear on the end of your bed, too.” You finish your sentence. Your husband doesn’t even attempt to tell you he’s acknowledged your words, eyes transfixed on whatever news was currently playing on the television.

“Happy Anniversary.” You mumble, feet leading you back to the kitchen, the bottle of wine against your chest now seemingly the only attention you’d ever get.

Charles Leclerc is an actor.

The entire drive to the track had been bade in complete silence; not even the radio had been switched on to drown out the undeniable tension in the car. You had originally tried to make light conversation with the man; he couldn’t even be bothered to make a sound in response to any of your questions.

You couldn’t handle the harsh tone he had snapped at you with the previous time you had been in the car; instead, you watched the rolling hills and glistening sun of Monza. It was always one of the highlights of the year. If not for the racing, you would have come here in your own time, to bask in the sun and to enjoy the secluded section of Italy as an individual.

The incredible views soon began to fade out, instead replaced by expensive cars and adoring fans, leaning over the barriers in an attempt to see their favourite drivers; there was an uproar as your husband drove past the crowds; he was clearly the home favourite, as any member of the Ferrari crew would be in this location. Silently, you slipped on the sunglasses which had been resting in the pouch of your bag, knowing the paparazzi would be blistering your eyesight sooner rather than later.

Charles effortlessly parked his car in the allocated spot. Silently, he switches off the engine, removing the keys and shoving them into his jean pocket. The man doesn’t so much as register your presence as he opens his door, leaving you to venture out of the car yourself. You’d carefully adjusted the flowing fabric of your dress; the patterned fabric flowing gently around your calves.

You looked beautiful. You just wished your husband would care enough to tell you.

Instead, his priority is the cameras leaning over the barriers. He doesn’t even look in your direction, instead firmly grasping your hand in his own; an act the two of you had performed for the crowd oh-so-many times. He waves towards the crowds; neither of you miss the adoring sounds, the coos for many of the fan’s favourite ‘couple.’ To so many, his affection seemed to clear to you, and yours did to him.

Charles didn’t hold your hand with any adoration. His grasp was harsh, palms roughly mashed together, no intent to keep your grip safe against his own. You were certain that if you were to let go, he wouldn’t think to remedy the situation. Your theory is proven when you gently let go, instead keeping in step, just behind his figure; Charles’ hand seems as if it’s gone into idle mode. His eyes, however, stayed alert, vigilant. Silently, the two of you pass through the paddock security, pausing every few moments for Charles to sign a cap, take a photograph with a fan.

It isn’t until you reach the outskirts of the Ferrari Building that you see her. Soft hair around her shoulders, clothing exquisite, her eyes flickering to your husband, offering him a sympathising smile.

He may have been a devoted husband towards the press, to Ferrari, even to the majority of his team. However, the moment that the cameras were turned off, microphones pushed away, he was sneaking to his mistress, one he had shamelessly invited to so many Grand Prix’s over the past nine months. She was what he wanted; a fun and fancy-free lady, rather than the wife whom stood by his side. There’s a glance between the two of them, as if a whole conversation is had in that moment.

You stay silent as you follow Charles into the Ferrari Building. Instantly, you’re overwhelmed by the welcomes that your husband obtains; so many of them pass onto you. Upon the questions of how married life is treating him, he smiles, fakes a laugh as he pulls you into his side, one hand firmly resting upon your waist.

“Married life is perfect.” He insists, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, one which you falsely giggle about, ignoring the butterflies which were nestling in the pit of your stomach. “It’s even better when she’s standing right here, beside me.”

The entirety of the room buys the staged scene, all except for two people. The first, obviously, is your father. He’s always there, watching that the driver is performing well. He knows of his affair, but in his mind, as long as the affair is kept out of the light, and his marriage was still official, their deal continued. Besides, he would speak to you both sooner rather than later upon extending the family; that would seal both of your fates towards one another. Nobody liked a husband whom left a wife and child.

The second was Carlos Sainz; the second driver for Scuderia Ferrari.

The Spaniard was all too aware of the affair between Charles and his mistress; after qualifying from Baku, Carlos had found his teammate behind the garage, his hands with a firm grip on her waist, their kisses entirely formed of tounge and teeth. The man had furiously ripped Charles from the woman, bellowing in his face about the wife he had, whilst this woman warmed his bed. A deep blush had formed over both of their cheeks, Charles explaining that you were aware of his actions.

Carlos didn’t want to believe it; he’d frantically messaged you that evening, to which you had answered his question, confirming you knew of the affair. That evening, you had revealed everything to him, watching his eyes get glossier as the cruel details were flickered in front of his eyes. It pained him; he’d cared for you since the moment you’d first stepped foot into the paddock alongside your father. His heart shattered upon finding out that you had been betroved to Charles, that he had missed his chance, all that time ago.

He waits; waits until later in the day to approach you. By this point, you had made yourself comfortable in Charles’ driver room. Of course, your husband isn’t actually there. After a brief encounter with most of the members on his team, he’d excused himself. Carlos knew that he had snuck away from the crowds adorned in red to see his mistress, likely stealing kisses and rough fumbles between one another. Whilst that was happening, you, were sat in his drivers’ room, skirts spread across the soft lounger, eyes engrossed in a book which had been enclosed in your bag alongside your sunglasses.

You were the epitome of beauty in Carlos’ eyes. He could have stood at the ajar door to the room, watching you as you engrossed yourself in the story. Instead, he offers a light cough, drawing your attention from the book in your lap. He’s engrossed by your eyes, how the light reflected off them, the glow they offered. Your smile, how you presented your real smile to him so naturally, not the one you forged next to your husband on every single encounter.

“Good morning, Carlos!” You greet him with a bright tone, standing up from your position on the couch. You offer him a hug, feeling his warm arms wrap around your waist, his breath against your face when he kisses your cheek gently. ‘In another life,’ you always tell yourself. One where you were happy, free to marry a man who would return your affection.

“Good morning, Mariposa.” The nickname rolls of his tongue; one he had presented ever since you had once showed up in the paddock, the most beautiful butterfly-imprinted dress flowing in the soft breeze of that Monaco weekend. “You’re hiding out in here today, yes?” He teases. You offer him a small shrug, eyes not able to meet those sweet brown ones of the man stood in front of you.

“Charles is…busy.” You finish the sentence abruptly. Carlos knows not to question further; the two of you have a mutual understanding as to where he would be at this point during the day; wrapped up in the arms of another woman. “He’s probably on his track walk…maybe. I’m just…keeping occupied.” You motion towards the window, looking onto the first straight of the track. “Plus…it looks windy out there.”

“Well…” Carlos invites himself into the room now, looking down at your attire, seeing that your feet were enclosed with the brilliant white trainers you’d left home in that morning. The man shrugs off his own windbreaker, holding it in his arm. “If I give you my jacket, would you like to come on my track walk?” He offers, holding out the garment to you.

You knew you would probably live to regret that moment. However, if you stayed resting in Charles’ driver room much longer, reading the same line of your book whilst your thoughts trailed away to how he would be with his mistress, you would go crazy.

“I’d love to.” You finally respond, slipping your arms through the large sleeves of Carlos’ jacket. Offering you a pat on the shoulder, he motions towards the exit of the driver’s room, determined to keep you on his side whilst walking across the track loved by fans far and wide. He hopes that everybody misses the longing gazes and soft smile on his face every time you make a comment, or your hands brush a little too closely.

Charles Leclerc is a neck kisser.

It’s not as if you would know this. The only kisses you ever had were those for show. Cold, meaningless interactions between somebody who attempted to show unconditional love and one who could dream of being anywhere else in that moment.

You’d carefully unlatched the front door of the house, your wireless earbuds resting comfortably in your ears, unable to hear any other sound apart from the music playing. Slipping off your shoes, hanging up your jacket; your only intention for the afternoon was to go through some of the notes you had made regarding education courses in the area; sitting at home day after day was truly aggravating. You couldn’t pick up yet another hobby. Maybe some form of learning would interest you.

But first, you needed a drink to cool yourself off from the sun. You’d remembered the smoothie packs you made earlier in the week; one of those and going through your notes seemed a perfect plan for the current moment.

The second you rounded the corner into the open-plan kitchen, you wished that you could have taken the scenic route home.

His mistress was sat up on the kitchen island, back straight, legs wrapped around the waist of your husband, her hands grasping at the soft curls atop of his head. Charles’ hands slid across her back, soft grunts coming from his lips, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses along her slender neck. She was loving it, at least, that’s what you could judge from the noises leaving her mouth.

Before either of them could clock your arrival, both too wrapped-up in their embrace, you’d stepped out of the kitchen, hand over your mouth to silence the sobs which were threatening to escape. In a moment, you’re out of the hallway, letting your feet carry you up the carpeted stairs.

The only intention now embedded in your mind was to drink so much you would forget the scene unfolding in front of your eyes.

Charles Leclerc is a slow replier.

The smell of tequila and sweat is strong in the cramped hallway of the club. It was insane to believe that less than three hours ago, you had been cocooned in your king-size duvet, lips slightly parted as you strung a meaningless thread of text messages to one another; you didn’t truly care how one of your friends felt in that moment, the heartbreak shattering in your chest was stronger than any other emotion you could begin to comprehend.

No, your sole reason for texting was to leave this god-forsaken house. You kept telling yourself not to care. Charles’ eyes were all you could think about as you picked out your shortest, slinkiest dress; one which enhanced every curve and dip in the most elegant way. Charles’ dimples were all you could think about when your attention was drawn to outlining your lips with a deep red gloss. Charles’ lips were all you could think about, your foot sliding into the black heeled shoe, your feet finding no solace in being propped up within six inches of their life.

Your friend had messaged you the location of the designated club. How anybody could enjoy one of those places sober was beyond your comprehension. Instead, you had taken the route of every other supposed being in that club; one shot of a suspicious-looking liquid had turned into sixteen – his number, you couldn’t help remembering. That was the reason you had found yourself stood motionlessly in the hallway, trying to navigate yourself back to the bar. At least seventeen wouldn’t have been tied to any other emotion.

The plan, however, was short-lived when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Turning too quickly in your ridiculous heels, you’re met with the figures of Kelly Piquet and Max Verstappen, hands linked together, clearly nowhere near as intoxicated as you were in that moment.

Kelly moves first; you had always enjoyed her presence, spending time with her around the Paddock when you were bade to attend. Penelope was one of the sweetest three-year-olds you had ever come across, always greeting you with a toothy grin and a story of her and ‘Maxie’s’ escapades. When her mother encloses you in a hug, you can feel the tears fall, your drunken façade falling immediately. The woman simply cups your hand in her face, delicately wiping the tears from your lash line, making sure to remove any heavy clumps of mascara. She asks you where Charles is, where your husband is. You can’t make any sound which you believe is cohesive, something about him being back at the house.

Max by now, has his own arm resting around your shoulder. You were Charles’ wife, after all. He knew Charles would do the same for Kelly if she was ever to be found in this state. Something strange stabs at his chest; maybe he was too protective, but he would have never of let Kelly get into this state, at least, not on her own. The driver carefully fumbles in his back pocket, unlocking his own device and filing through his contacts to phone Charles.

The phone goes straight to voicemail, not even a dialling tone. Max tries a second time, a third time. Instead, he leaves messages. How on gods earth did Charles feel relaxed, knowing his wife would be out, probably on some form of alcohol, and not think to check that she would be safe returning home? If only he knew.

The duo moves to a second plan. You needed some fresh air before they could attempt to get you into a car and take you home; standing in the corridor of a nightclub was not an ideal situation, instead moving you to the exit. Your eyes widen, looking up to Max and Kelly as if you had shrunk right down to Penelope’s age, as if they would be the saviours to get you home. By the way Max was holding you by his side and Kelly stroking your hair behind your ears, you may as well been their daughter.

Conversations are had; neither of them is sober enough to drive you home, nor do they think it’s wise to try and sneak you into their hotel room when they had already issues when checking in a little too late. Their prayers are answered when a group of men wander past, one of them stopping to smack Max, his fellow driver on the back. His dark eyes, ones you know so well, widen when he sees your figure, looking so fragile in the light of the early hours in the city.

“Mariposa.” He murmurs, running a hand across your cheek, wanting nothing more than to hold your frame against his chest. Your soft eyes meet his own dark ones, glossed in concern for how on earth you could do this to yourself. The man murmurs something to Max and Kelly, ensuring them that he’d been the sober friend out of his group; promising he would get you home himself. The duo has no reason to not trust him, both of them leaving a gentle kiss on your cheek before retiring to their own hotel.

As the couple walk away from the club, you can only feel the warmth of Carlos’ hand, still resting on your face. When he at last turns his attention back to you, he simply wraps a strong arm around your waist, supporting you to stand in those awful, heeled shoes. At the pace you’re walking back towards his car, you would get there just after the sunrise. Instead, he scroops you into his grasp.

The affection, the physical contact is all too much for you. It had been so, so long since anybody had held you, cared for you like this. Your clouded mind, now overwhelmed by warmth and alcohol allowed you to lean your head into Carlos’ sturdy chest. If you were sober, you’d be able to feel the way his heart raced when feeling you rest against him.

“Why do you do this to yourself, Mariposa?” He murmurs, settling you into the passenger seat of his car. He can’t help but remove his own jacket, wrapping the soft fabric around your arms, letting you nuzzle into the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Once settling himself into the driving seat, he begins the route back to the house, one hand gently resting atop of your leg, some form of comfort for the world in your mind which seemed to be caving in.

“I’d never do this to you.” He whispers, turning into the driveway that he had become accustomed to since the marriage.

Across the city, Max Verstappen is sound asleep. His phone, plugged in on the dressing table across the room buzzes once, notifying a text from his racing rival.

03:21: Charles Leclerc

Hey, sorry, was busy with something. Is everything good?

Charles Leclerc is a traveller.

You hadn’t expected anything to awaken you after the way your body had reacted to the previous night. A natural awakening, however, would have been a lot nicer than hearing the clicking sound of wheels against flooring. Whatever, whoever was outside of your room most certainly had a death wish to awaken you that morning.

It felt as if pins had been pressed into every square inch of your head, the task of even sitting up and forcing yourself towards the door of your bedroom, still dressed in your slinky garment and…somebody’s jacket? The night for you had truly ended as soon as you had that ninth shot of tequila; you thought you could remember Max and Kelly in the same location at some point, maybe that was your mind playing tricks on you, longing for people who enjoyed your company.

You were pulled back to the present when the figure of your husband appears at your doorway. He’s dressed already; loose hoodie and tracksuit bottoms cover his frame; his hand is clasping tightly onto a suitcase. There wasn’t a Grand Prix this weekend, you were certain. He would have left days ago for that. There was-

“I’m going to stay with…” He pauses, clearly trying to think of the correct way to word the fact he would be staying with his Mistress until further notice. Even in your state, you understand, simply raising your hand to stop him from speaking. You didn’t want to hear her name, you didn’t want to know that he would be spending the next nights wrapped in her arms, because for once…you didn’t care.

They say alcohol causes dangerous mistakes, but in this moment, your hangover seemed to be your best friend. Every single time, you would think later, Charles would come back from seeing her, would leave to spend an evening by her side or sneak away during your paddock appearances…and you would be focused, your sole attention being on when he would return. Now? Your sole focus was on throwing up the remains of alcohol in your stomach, placing on a facemask and ordering some kind of comfort food to your home.

You didn’t care about him, not right now. Your actions relay this, simply offering him a nod before speaking, your voice surprisingly clear for how much your throat was weeping for a drink.

“Okay.” You pause. There’s nothing left to say after that. What does he want you to do? Wish him a happy time? Charles looks equally taken aback, usually expecting some kind of warm drabble on how he needed to stay safe. In that moment, he can’t help but…want it.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday to pack for Singapore.” He pauses this time, taking in your appearance, your face so…gentle, soothing. “You’re coming, yes?” He remembers a conversation had many a time; his wife should be there to support him as much as possible, even if he wasn’t a fan of the sly ways he would have to leave her in front of his team members.

He isn’t expecting a shrug of the shoulders, bringing a hand up to rest on the door, clearly ready to close it at any given moment.

“I’m not sure.” You offer him, sighing as you begin to close the door yourself. “My father said that race isn’t a priority.” That was the last sentence you offered him before closing the door. You obviously do not see it, but on the other side of the wall, Charles stands in confusion for a full twenty seconds before snapping back to his reality, his clutch on the suitcase a little tighter as he begins his decent down the stairs, wondering where on earth he had seen that jacket you were wearing before?

Your own priorities that morning was in full swing; you had placed your phone on charge, messages beginning to thread through as you stepped into the shower, the cool water savouring your skin. A fluffy robe is tied around your waist, brushing your hair around your back whilst your attention focused on rehydrating your skin, brushing your teeth and cleaning the dirt from underneath your eyes.

The silence is strong when you walk back into your bedroom. In that moment, you opt for some music whilst changing into some comfortable loungewear, easy to roam around the house in and let your hair dry naturally. Sitting at the end of the bed, you’re able to check notifications, seeing Kelly had sent you a photo of Penelope that morning, smiling for her favourite aunt. You see your most recent text had come through from none other than Charles’ teammate, following one which had been sent early that morning.

03:45: Carlos Sainz

Sweet dreams, Mariposa. Let me know if you need anything please.

11:51: Carlos Sainz

Just seen on Twitter Charles is at the airport, he’s not off to see her, is he?

His message brings so many emotions to you, and also answers the question of who’s jacket you had been wearing that morning. Your heart can’t help but soften, knowing already that Charles is on his way to see...her. You think back to your mindset from earlier, how it was the last thing you wanted to care about. Why on earth would you care about them, when you could be focusing on ordering your favourite food and calling your nail technician to come to the house? That would make you feel better, better than he ever had.

You first drop a message to Carlos in response, wanting to let him know you had woken up from potential alcohol poisoning.

12:25: You

Yeah, he is. Didn’t seem so happy that I couldn’t care less. Thank you for the jacket last night, I hope you had a good evening.

12:28: Carlos Sainz

All the better for seeing you. Hoping the hangover isn’t too bad today.

The messages spring backwards and forwards between the two of you for the afternoon; you’re smiling whilst you go through your favourite meal, the taste of it filling your mouth in the best way possible. There’s still a smile on your face when your nail technician arrives, painting some delicate designs into your fingers and toes, subtly asking who on earth has you smiling that much.

It isn’t until that evening; you’re sat in front of the television, a series you had watched one-too many times playing, your eyes glued to the storyline as if it would change again. The notification on your phone instantly drew your attention away from the screen, looking down to see a text on your screen.

21:03: Carlos Sainz

Why don’t you come and stay in Madrid for a few days? I’m sure we could both do with the company.

Charles Leclerc is a stalker.

Well, maybe stalker was too strong of a word. However, his intentions were identical, having watched your latest Instagram story three- no, four times. Since leaving the home several days earlier, his mind could not stop thinking about the fact you truly could not care less about where he was going. This wasn’t you, was it?��

He’d arrived at her house, being temporarily distracted by luring himself into her bedroom, an afternoon of escapades and touches until she had rolled onto her side, telling him she was going to shower, and he would be more than welcome to join her. Instead, he pulled out his phone, seeing if you had done your usual; texting him to check that he had arrived safely, asking when he could be coming back to the house.

There’s no messages, no notifications. Huffing to himself, Charles instead pulls up your Instagram, seeing that you had posted a new story that evening, a suitcase in hand, an emoji of an aircraft and a Spanish flag. You were off somewhere, and hadn’t told him? No, no. You always told him where you were going, you always-

“Are you not joining me, then?” Charles’ mistress’ voice suddenly draws him out of his trance, a towel wrapped around her body, hair around her shoulders. It was nowhere near as soft and as gentle as yours was, he realised in that moment. He eventually nods, pulling himself from his phone and following her into the en-suite.

He’s so…distant for the remainder of his visit. When the two of them go to a secluded spot for lunch, when they go for a drive in a car they had hired for the afternoon. When she’s lazily pressing kisses along his neck, trying to grind into his crotch, desperate for his attention. When she finally falls asleep, Charles pulls out his phone, looking through any of the photos you had posted from that day. The soft sands of the beach, a hugestrawberry ice-cream cone, a mirrored selfie of yourself in the most beautiful sundress, hair curled and clearly ready for an evening in the Spanish sun.

The routine continues, he sees your adventures, day after day. You’re touring small markets, trying local delicacies. One day, you’re simply lounging by a pool for the afternoon, a fat paperback resting on your stomach, clearly engrossed by the story which was resting on your stomach. Each time he sees a post, he can’t help but be drawn to how he wants to know how you’re doing. Maybe that’s why he drops you a text message, trying to gain some sort of traction from how you were doing.

23:54: Charles Leclerc

Are you home? I’ve got a flight tomorrow afternoon.

You don’t respond; now, your phone is at the bottom of your bag, resting on the inside cabin of Carlos’ boat. For your final day in Madrid, he had insisted on taking you for a boat ride. You’d shyly mentioned earlier in that week that Charles had never taken you on his own boat, despite the fact that you were indeed married.

The sun began to set over the rolling waves of the ocean; the boat is gently rocking, the sounds of water lapping over one another was music to your ears. You were sat at the edge of the now stilled boat, contemplating dipping your toes into the water. Your attention is so drawn to the scenery that you don’t hear him step away from the wheel, crouching next to you.

“You could just go in.” He teases, “rather than staring at the water. You know how to swim.” The taunt causes you to roll your eyes, simply looking to the Spaniard on your right-hand side.

“What? And have you speed off without me?” You retaliate, using your shoulder to nudge his body. Carlos clicks his lips together, mumbling something incoherent, before he’s suddenly scooped you up into your arms; despite your sounds of protests, he simply holds you against his chest tighter. His dark eyes flicker between yours and the ocean water below the two of you. Before you can say anything, his feet have made their own choice, jumping off the edge of the boat, both of you tumbling into the sea. Your briefly submerged entirely, before your head pops out of the waves, blindly reaching around until two strong arms encircle your waist.

Both you and Carlos laugh for a moment, in pure awe that you just did that. He moves first, one of his hands releasing from your waist, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear. There’s a silence between the two of you, where the only sound emitting from your surroundings is the gentle waves of the sea. In that moment, Carlos Sainz wants nothing more than to lean forward, pressing his lips to your own. They look so…soft. He craves to give them the attention they had been longing for so long. But…you’re married. And even if your marriage is loveless, to a point where your husband is openly in an affair, he would never do that to you. Instead, he settles for resting one hand on your cheek, gently kissing the top of your forehead, murmuring some Spanish wording you would never remember.

If you did understand it, however, you would have known that he said there and then that he would always be devoted to you.

Charles Leclerc is a loud shouter.

His voice seemed to travel for miles, you were almost certain the entirety of the secluded neighbourhood could hear him at this current moment. The man had returned home from his secluded stay with his mistress to an empty house; at that point, you were still in the depths of Madrid, packing up your own suitcase, wishing Carlos luck on the Singapore Grand Prix. You had intended to return to the house after Charles had left himself; the heartbreak of seeing him littered in love-bites, his eyes transfixed to his phone from her messages was too much for you.

However, if you had been at the house when he had arrived home, you would have seen his neck clear, phone shoved into his back pocket as he called out your name, wondering if you had returned home yourself. Charles notices your trainers haven’t been left on the shoe rack; there’s no music to signify your afternoon relaxation. A light knock to the door of your room signifies there’s nobody home. The house feels empty.

Maybe, Charles Leclerc was beginning to understand how you felt.

His first instinct is to message you. Surely, you would have seen his text from his previous message by now; what would it hurt to check in once more. The man feels against his rough jean pocket for the device, swiping away from the multiple notifications from his mistress, instead scrolling to your contact’s name, seeing you hadn’t been active in almost twelve hours. You hadn’t even opened his message.

His thumb hovers above the keyboard, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Instead, he opts to call your number instead; you had always picked up to him; whenever he needed you to stay away from the house, or to remind you to be ready to leave at a certain time. The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, your voicemail comes through the speaker, signifying him that you were too busy to pick up the telephone.

Charles didn’t grow concerned during the evening; he grew angry. You were his wife. You were supposed to be at the house to greet him, to welcome him with open arms, ask about his day. Even if…even if he had chosen to ignore your welcoming’s and kind heart for over a year. The man found a distraction in going through the information that Scuderia Ferrari had sent him for his journey tomorrow, making sure his passport was in the correct place. He hadn’t needed to pack; you had made sure to do that for him before your own departure, making sure his comfortable clothes were packed and sunglasses safely secured in the pouches of the case.

It was late, late for you when the door finally opened, signalling the arrival of a second being. Charles immediately sits up from his slouched position on the couch, stepping up from the sofa, almost ready to give you a piece of his mind. Upon reaching the hallway, he sees you, slipping off your trainers, leaving the suitcase next to the front door. Even underneath your jumper, he can see your skin is glowing from the Mediterranean sun, yet your eyes are watering, tears leaking from your lower lash line.

“Where on earth have you been?” He snaps, not actually wanting to hear an answer. You open your mouth to respond, but the man cuts you off before you can speak. “I am your husband. You’re supposed to wait for me!” His temper is getting the better of him, green eyes flickering with anger.

At this point, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed from the news you had received on your drive home, and for this man to question your loyalties to your marriage? You can’t help the scoff which falls from your lips, the emotions building a little too much.

“You’re my husband?” You mock in confusion. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise my husband was around at long last, not wrapped in the arms of another woman!” Your temper flares, pushing your hair behind your shoulders, grasping the suitcase to take upstairs and repack.

“You didn’t pick up your phone once.” Charles retaliates. Oh, the cheek of-

“Like when you pick up your phone when I call?” The tears are beginning to flow freely now, wanting nothing more than to get upstairs and completely ignore what has been happening. “You don’t Charles. You’ve done nothing to show that you’re my husband in the past twelve months!” You can’t help yourself now. Instead of seeking the new suitcase, you simply turn around on the step of the front door, slipping your trainers back onto your feet.

“Where are you going?” His voice is now laced in concern; you couldn’t leave yet, surely? You’d only just returned; you wouldn’t be safe to drive in this condition. Why on earth did he care now? His question is answered, but not in the way he desired.

“Like you would care.” It’s the last thing you say before the door to the house is slammed shut.

Charles Leclerc is an investigator.

When arriving in the Ferrari Garage of Singapore, there’s already an eerie feeling through the air; there are no smiles, sympathising looks thrown towards the back end of the garage. The driver isn’t stupid, he knows something must be wrong. He’s unsure of who to ask; who would know what is going on?

His original plan was to ask Xavi, maybe during their morning briefing, until he is told that his flight has been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the late afternoon. Eventually, he spots his racing partner, nestled in the corner of the garage, his eyes flickering across his own phone screen, rapidly typing a message to somebody he would rather not admit to.

“Hey.” He speaks softly, not wanting to startle the man. Silently, Carlos looks up from his device, offering his teammate a small nod, not wanting to prolapse the eye contact for too long. Charles can sense he knows what has happened, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Why is everybody so…quiet?”

The look on Carlos’ face signifies he’s said something wrong. His eyes darken, shaking his head in disappointment rather than fury. It correlates to the kind of look his father would give him during a long talk, when he had broken something and not admitted to it. The Spaniard isn’t sure he should even tell his teammate what had happened. Instead, he changes his phone application to the Emails App, handing the device over to Charles. His eyes flicker across the screen, taking in the information.

Ferrari’s biggest benefactor, your father, would not be attending the race weekend after the untimely death of his wife. Your mother. It suddenly correlates; how the night before, you had seemed inconsolable, despite the fact you had obviously had an incredible vacation. You’d tried to simply walk away, to let yourself grieve without bothering him. Instead, you had found comfort in Carlos as he had driven you to the airport, whispering sweet words of comfort, promising that everything was going to be okay.

Charles feels his blood run cold, he feels sick. The look on the man stood in front of him tells him enough; he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Murmuring an excuse, he leaves the garage, stepping to the secluded back area, the realisation that he is everything his mother never wanted him to be, hitting hard. He still had the ability to run to her, to ask for her advice. You didn’t have that anymore. You didn’t have anybody, least of all your husband.

The first thing he does in that moment, is pull out his phone, scrolling to the contact of his mistress.

10:09: Charles Leclerc

We need to talk.

Charles Leclerc is a phone call away.

The past day had been filled of tears, clinging to your father, to your younger siblings, to your elder cousins. How on earth your mother had left this world early was beyond you. It wasn’t fair. Nothing was fair. Your mother was the one whom had been your rock for the past miserable year of your marriage. If not for her, you were almost certain that you would have thrown your silvery key to the house down a drain so long ago.

Without her guidance, without her tutoring, you felt like bird trying to fly individually for the first time; surrounded by fears and almost certain you’d fall into compromising position.

You hadn’t rested. Not since you had arrived at the bleak family home. As customed, every curtain was drawn close, doors to each room sealed, no natural light emitting to the large house, making every shadow and crook of the building seem more terrifying. Eventually, your father had retired to his own bedroom, your younger siblings tucked into their beds, butterfly kisses pressed against their foreheads, a silent promise you were only down the hall if they so desired you.

The bedroom you had grown up in remained almost identical to the one you had painted in your mind; pale pink wallpaper, a luxury bed lined with a rosebud-patterned quilt set. The vanity you had last used to get ready on your wedding day remained pristine, the perfumes and scents which had been your favourite still sitting atop of your shelf. And the photographs. A polaroid of your two closest friends from your childhood; one of your sisters on her christening day, the entire family dressed so elegantly; Charles is in that photograph, off to the side alongside his brothers; you had no idea there and then that boy with the ocean eyes would become your estranged husband.

You could have continued going down memory lane, if not from the buzzing which was coming from your bed. The phone you had carelessly thrown atop of the blankets when first entering the room had finally got some service, a thread of text messages and missed phone calls beginning to filter through. Silently, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, eyes flickering across each message. Some are from members of the Ferrari team, others from family members you hadn’t heard from in what felt like centuries.

There’s one. One from the man whom you had spent the previous week with. The one who had consoled you whilst travelling to the family home. Your husband’s teammate.

23:05: Carlos Sainz

Mariposa, please let me know how you are doing. I’m so worried about you. Let me know if you need anything at all.

23:31: You

Thank you, C. I should be heading home tomorrow, with a bit of luck I’ll be able to swing by and say hello.

You hadn’t expected anything else that evening. You were settled, ready to focus on yourself for the remainder of the evening; in your eyes, there was a high likelihood that your siblings would be burrowing into your blankets later. Once dressed in nightwear, the makeup that had stained your cheeks removed, you noticed the soft glow of your phone screen. Another message had just been received, and in your wildest dreams, you could not have imagined whom it was from.

00:24: Charles Leclerc

I heard about your mother this afternoon; I am truly so, so sorry for your loss. Please let me know if there is anything I can do. I mean it.

Your eyes had barely had time to view the message which had just been received, before your phone screen changes, taking the message away from your sight. The message thread is replaced by a photograph of your husband, his name lighting up on you phone screen. You don’t even think; instead, your thumb swipes across the screen, pressing the green button and holding the device to your ear.

“Charles.” You speak one word, hearing your husband visibly relax on the other end of the line. You realise it’s the first time you’ve said anything coherent in hours; the tone of your voices echoes around the room. Did you always sound that sad when you spoke to him?

“Hey.” He isn’t too sure what he wants to say; the lack of conversation between the two of you means he isn’t aware if there are any boundaries, anything you wouldn’t discuss with him. No, he just wanted to speak to you, to check in. In reality, he had realised how lonely the house was as an individual. His mistress was gone from his contacts, not inviting her around to fill the void had made him realise how you had felt for oh-so-long.

“How…” He pauses, not sure on how to finish his question. He doesn’t need to, because despite the lack of understanding of one another, you know he’s trying, trying to make you feel better.

“I’m…yeah.” You can’t find the correct words to say; ‘sad’ is an understatement, ‘fine’ is a rude response. Neither of you can find the words, but in that moment, you crave somebody who isn’t mourning the loss of your mother as heavily as you are.

“We have some new neighbours.” He’s trying to find anything to create some conversation. It’s almost as if he knows the quiet of the room is making you feel uncomfortable. “They left us an invitation to join them for a tennis session- not that I’m any good.” He laughs to himself, remembering the previous time he’d attended a tennis game alongside his fellow drivers; he’d had to step out after a few minutes, completely terrified he would end up breaking his hand.

He doesn’t hear anything from the other side of the line but continues to talk. “Are you…” He catches himself for a moment. “Are you coming back soon?” His voice turns into barely a whisper, as if saying the wrong thing will cause you to hang up immediately. He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, taking a gentle sigh and awaiting your response.

“Yeah.” You pause. Are you doing this? Are you having a conversation with your husband? “I’m going to fly home tomorrow afternoon. I think my father wants space.” Your sentence closes, looking around your room. The silence is deathly; in that moment, you don’t care about everything that’s happened. All you want is for somebody to hold you in their arms and tell you it would be okay.

“I’ll come and get you.” Charles has spoken before his mouth has had time to catch his brain. Your eyebrows quirk in confusion. The only time your estranged husband ever drove you himself was on your endless journeys to races; you would sit silently, curled away from his figure, eyes transfixed as the world passed by around you. The man not only offering but wanting to pick you up from the airport was a new-found curiosity.

“It’s okay.” You don’t let him continue. If previous standings have taught you anything, it’s that behind those mesmerising eyes cannot be trusted. You knew the secrets that lied beyond the ocean settled in his eye. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you.” Part of your heart is craving to bring up his mistress; how she would probably be warming his bed in the current moment, walking around the house which you ached to find comfort in.

“You wouldn’t.” Charles is quick to respond; in his heart of heart, he knows getting you to trust him again would be a monumental task. He’d do anything to prove he would be the husband who would look after you. Who would love you unconditionally; the husband you deserved.

“I’ll let you know when I’ve landed, okay?” It’s your final compromise. The woman whom you had been twelve months ago would love nothing more than to run into Charles’ arms; whether he cared for you the way you did; you would always desire his attention and affection. You’d had to learn through the months that some of life’s biggest temptations had to remain untouched.

Charles Leclerc is your husband.

Landing back in the country was almost eerie; despite being away for only a miniscule amount of time, you felt changed; changed by the loss of your closest companion, changed by the fact your husband had been the one to call you, and not to throw some crazy request down the telephone line.

Arrivals, as always, were completely smothered; couples reuniting, children screaming at the sudden change of scenery. After obtaining your own bag, your eyes flicker through the never-ending crowds, desperate to find some recognition.

Standing apart from the crowd, looking effortlessly rugged in his athletic shorts and hoodie, hair pushed underneath a snapback. His eyes are trained on you, as if he had sensed your presence into the room in less than a moment. The breath catches in the back of your dried throat, a pair of eyes that you trusted undoubtedly. Stumbling, your feet carry you over to the arms of your favourite Spaniard, your head instantly finding solace in the joint between his shoulder and neck, the cologne you were used to from his attendances around the paddock creating a cloud of comfort.

Carlos’ hands effortlessly lock around your torso, pulling you tighter into his chest, one palm rubbing up and down your back. It was the first time, the first time in a long time that anybody had offered you this sort of affection. Mindlessly, the soft tears begin to pool at the bottom of your lash line. Soft snuffles emitting from your lips cause the man to hush you gently, pulling your face away from his body, cradling your head between his larger hands.

He mumbles something quietly, something about taking you back to the house. If it was him, the man would bundle you into his car and drive to his own home. He’d nestle you under his bedroom blankets, dress you in one of his hoodies. Instead, his rough palm finds your soft fingers, intertwining your hands together. Carlos takes your suitcase in his free hand, guiding you to his car parked outside of the airport.

Not much is said during the shortening journey back to the house; the tears glossing your eyes reflect the streetlights, transfixed on the roads which you had left for a few short days. The tears will continue to fall; her loss had taken a part of you that you would you never thought would return. The man to your right, eyes focused on the road can sense your heartbreak. He doesn’t wait to push you; he had spoken to you shortly after the news had originally broken, in that conversation, you had barely been able to say ten words before your voice cracked. Instead, Carlos rests a warm hand on your leg, a silent promise that he will be there no matter what.

The journey feels too short; eventually the driveway to the house rolls into sight, Carlos slowing down the car. When it comes to a halt, he steps out immediately, obtaining your suitcase from the rear of the car, placing it down on the wheels. By this point, you’d wiggled from the seat, ready to wheel your case into the house. However, before you can move, his arms engulf you once more, clinging so tightly, your feet began to lift from the floor. You had clung back just as tight, pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek; a silent ‘Thank you,’ for everything.

The embrace ended, Carlos awaiting until the door had unlocked, nodding when he saw you safely enter the house. The building is practically silent; no television sounds, no gentle music, not even the whirr of Charles’ simulator in his downstairs office. Ears pricked, you could hear the jets of a shower from upstairs, the assumption that he must have been in the shower. Paranoia threads your mind, she wouldn’t be showering alongside, would she?

You don’t let your mind wander; instead, you focus on lugging the suitcase along the staircase, silently glad you had gotten further with it since your trip to Madrid. Beelining towards your room, the suitcase rolls behind you, resting it in the corner of the room, a silent promise you’d wash everything tomorrow. However, a delicate bouquet of soft, pink and fresh flowers decorated the vanity of the room; you knew you hadn’t bought flowers since Madrid, and these…They looked as if they’d been placed mere minutes ago.

Overthinking had always been dangerous; instead, you keep yourself busy, wiggling your skincare bag from the suitcase, padding into your bathroom with that and a fresh set of long pyjamas; the late-night breeze had begun to tickle your skin since removing yourself from Carlos’ warm arms. The relish indulges your body, shampoo trickling through your hair, body wash bubbles tickling your body. You’d stepped out a few moments later, changing into the soft clothing, sitting in front of the mirror, brushing your hair out as carefully as you could have.

Silently, your feet carry you from the en-suite towards the main bedroom. Standing at the head of the doorway, is none other than your husband, hair own hair damp from his shower, dressed in soft tracksuit bottoms and a tight tee-shirt. He’d seen your suitcase nestling in the corner of your bedroom, your phone had rumpled the blankets of your bed. Charles had been the one to hear the shower this time, deciding to wait, just to see your soft eyes.

They’re bloodshot; you look so…frail. The years of heartbreak littered across your face. Charles’ heart practically breaks; before you can say a word, he’s across the room, arms pulling around your torso, pulling your head under his chest. Your instinct tells you to fight it, why on earth would you accept some form of affection from a husband who had openly destined you for so long?

And yet, you subcome to his affection, hesitantly holding your own arms to his chest. His scent, his warmth.You felt as if you were dreaming, eyes wet from the overwhelming care, feeling gentle kisses press to the top of your head.

You don’t remember when Charles scooped you to his chest, tucking you into your fresh blankets before nestling in behind you himself. You remind yourself; this is a one-off. You’re almost certain that by tomorrow, he’ll be back in the arms of his mistress, your moment tonight will be an absent moment to your husband. You’ll take it; if it’s one night in his arms, feeling his breath against the back of your neck, tip of his nose pressing into your back, one hand pressed against your stomach in comfort, you’ll take it.

Some point during the night, your phone buzzes, the sound barely audible on the blankets of your bed. You groan slightly, the bubble of yourself and Charles giving you a true form of sanctuary, a true form of home. Curiosity in the night takes the better of you, lifting the dying device to your eyes, slightly blinded by the glow of the screen.

Despite being wrapped in the arms of your husband; you can feel your blood turn cold when you read the one sentence which had been left for you to find.

01:46: Carlos Sainz

I’m in love with you.

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venusacrossthestars · 27 days

Text

sharp or dull

pairing- Lando Norris x fem!reader

summary- Lando has begged you to stream with him, you will on one condition- it has to be an ASMR stream

wc- 1.7k

a/n: I wrote this in one sitting bc I cooked this up as a nighttime scenario, because I am an ASMR hoe, hope you enjoy! I also tried something a little new, I added the 'chat' section of the stream, you'll see what I mean. idk if I'm a fan of it or not.

f1 masterlist

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, or better yet known as ASMR, had taken TikTok, YouTube, and nearly every other social media platform by storm. To you, ASMR was a calming and relaxing way to unwind after a long day. And as an ASMR-artist you were constantly trying to find new ways to bring that experience to your viewers

Lando, however, could never understand the appeal of ASMR. He didn’t find it relaxing, calming, or anything of the sorts. He much preferred to fall asleep in pure silence, maybe the sound of a fan once in a while. While he didn’t understand it that didn’t mean he didn’t support you and your ‘art’.

“Babeeee,” Lando whined.

“What?”

“Stream with me, pleaseeeee.”

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time. Lando had been begging you for days to with him. Why? Well, when you asked him his exact words were, “Because I get lonely.” And while you loved Lando, sitting there while he played whatever random game he could find just to keep him company, did not sound appealing.

“Landoooo,” you draw out in response to his whining.

“Baby please,” he begs again, “I’ll even let you choose what we do, I swear.”

A lightbulb goes off in your head. “Anything?”

“Yes?” He replies, curious to your response.

Your face breaks out into a grin, “And you promise you’ll do it.”

Lando takes a big gulp, “What are you planning woman?”

“Promise?” You hold out your pinky and shake it at him, awaiting his answer.

He takes your pinky in his, “Promise.”

Its a week later when Lando is finally able to stream and you couldn’t be more excited. You still haven’t told your boyfriend of your plans.

“Babe, what are we doing? I need to know so I can set up.”

“Don’t worry about setting any of your games up. We are going to be doing something else,” You tell him.

Lando shoots you a confused look, “Care to let me in that pretty head of yours.”

You giggle, “Well since you said we can do anything of my choosing we will being doing an ASMR stream!” You throw out your hands excitedly.

Lando looks less than thrilled, “No.” He says flatly. “I meant like you could pick out the game or a challenge. I am not doing ASMR.”

“You should’ve specified the terms then Norris. And if I am remembering correctly you pinky promised on ‘anything’, can’t go back on that.”

“Babe I'm not doing ASMR.”

“Fine then you can stream by yourself.” You cross your arms across your chest and give Lando a pointed look, you were not backing down.

“No.”

“You wouldn’t even have to do anything! I would be doing all of it!”

“No.”

“Not even a head massage?”

“No.”

“Not even sharp or dull?”

This is when you know you have him hooked. Lando can tell everyone that he doesn’t care for ASMR, that he doesn’t find it relaxing, all that jazz. But you know something they don’t. You know that this man is a sucker for the ‘sharp or dull’ genre of ASMR, and since Lando has sworn you to secrecy you were unable to share this juicy piece of information with the world.

“... fine, I am only doing this because I love you.”

As Lando was setting up the stream you were busy gathering your supplies that were spewed about Lando’s streaming room, which at times doubled as your recording studio when you filmed for your YouTube channel.

Lando went live, muting his mic while being black-screened. You could see the comments flooding the chat:

landonorizzzzzzz- LANDO STREAMMMMMMM pizzaparty124003- about time!! we were in a drought! carlando4lifeeee- HE”S BACK FROM WARRRRR justaninchident- WE CAN”T SEE YOU papayaboyzzz- LANDOOOOOOOOO

Lando unmutes his mic, “I know you can’t see me chat.”

You whack his arm, “Lando, be nice.”

carlando4lifeeee- IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS???? landoandy/naremyparents- MOTHER IS HERE justaninchident- DEFEND ME MOTHER PLEASEEEEE sofishdicatedaf- OMG WE ARE GETTING A Y/N AND LANDO STREAM??

Lando finally turns on the camera and chat continues to lose their mind, “Yes chat, Y/N is here.”

You wave at the camera, “Hiiiiiii!”

“Do you want to tell them what we are doing today or do want me?”

“I can tell them. Chat, today we are doing something I am a literal professional at.” Lando rolls his eyes, “Don’t roll your eyes at me mister, you begged me for a literal week to stream with you.”

landoandy/naremyparents- HE BEGGED HER TO STREAM WITH HIM?!?!! y/nismymotherfrfr- RELATIONSHIP GOALS papayaboyzzz- lol simppppppp

You glance at chat, laughing at their reaction, “Yes, he’s been begging for me to do this for a long time! I only agreed once he pinky promised that we could do whatever I want. And I chose,” you pause in suspense, “to do ASMR on my lovely boyfriend.”

“Yay,” Lando says enthusiastically.

“Stop. You are going to love it.”

“If you insist.”

You launch into explanation, “So as some of you know I run an ASMR account on YouTube and TikTok and today I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ on Lando.”

“A couple? I only agreed to one,” he interrupts you. You shoot Lando a pleading look and it takes only a few seconds before he is admitting defeat. “Fine, only a couple though.” He glances at the screen where the chat is displayed, “Call me a simp all you want, at least I have a girlfriend to simp over.”

“Chat, don’t mind him, he only found out what I wanted to do like 20 minutes ago. But as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted is that I’ll be doing a couple different ‘triggers’ that are pretty popular amongst my audience such as- sharp or dull, head massage, hair brushing.”

After your explanation you get up from your seat and gather your supplies as Lando messes with the camera and mic.

“Lan, can you scooch back just a tad?”

“Hmm? Oh, of course baby.”

“Thank you,” you give him a small kiss on the crown of his head.

“So I am going to start of with the head massage and hair brushing first,” you explain to chat, moving to speak in your softer, slower tone that you use while filming, “Then for the grand finale I’ll do the sharp or dull.”

Lando always turned to putty when you played with his hair, you weren’t expecting this to be any different, well minus the fact that a bunch of fans were watching. At first you weren’t sure if the mic was even picking up on any of noise but one quick glance at chat seemed that they were all enjoying it. For multiple reasons, you were sure of it.

After five-or-so minutes of head scratching you decide to check in on your completely silent boyfriend. “Still doing okay baby?” You ask, voice nearly a whisper.

“Yeah, I’m doing great,” Lando response at full Lando volume.

papayaboyzzz- MY EARSSSSSS sofishdicatedaf- tell me why I had my volume all the way up and this man decided to talk FULL VOLUME WHAT THE HELL LANDO ass-mr- this man has no idea how to asmr asmrismycrack- no bc why? his gf is literally an asmr PRO

You chuckle at the comments, “Baby you have to be quiet.”

“What? Why?” He turns around, looking at you confused.

“Because having people talk loudly, or practically screaming in your case, isn’t really relaxing to listen to.”

“Oh, sorry,” Lando drops his voice to a much quieter tone, giving you a sheepish smile.

“That’s okay baby.”

You go move through a couple other triggers, and around the 20-minute mark you decided to wrap things up, “Ok, since I don’t want to bore all of you we are going to move onto the sharp or dull. Then, I don’t know, maybe a Q and A or something.”

Once again you explain the sharp or dull concept to Lando and the chat, “By the way chat this is Lando’s favorite genre.”

“Lies, I don’t watch ASMR.”

“You’re the only one telling lies. You love sharp or dull ASMR, it’s the only one you watch.”

“Babeeee,” Lando whines, “You were sworn to secrecy.”

You shrug your shoulders, “Whoops.”

“Now no one will think I’m cool.”

“I don’t think you needed any help with that.” Lando looks at you offend that you would say such a thing, you grab his head and turn his face back to the camera. “Okay close your eyes and tell me if this is sharp or dull,”

You alternate between poking Lando's face with the Q-tip or the toothpick that you have in your hand. Lando gets every guess correct but as you go on you can tell by how his voice gets quieter that he is getting more and more tired. Maybe doing this stream late at night wasn't the best idea.

“Ok, I think that’s enough.”

Lando groans at his cut off, “Chat I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

You giggle at his sleepiness, “Next time we can do something you want, but for now I think it’s time for bed.”

Lando hums in agreement, “Goodnight everyone! Thanks for tunning in!”

You wave at the camera, “Goodnight!!”

Lando shuts down the stream along with his PC and slumps in his chair, “What did you do to me. I’m ready to pass out.”

“It’s the magic of ASMR.”

“Fine, I guess it was the magic of ASMR,” Lando sighs out.

“Does that mean you like it now?” You ask, pulling him out of his chair.

Lando collapses against you, his arms wrap around you as the two of you waddle towards the bathroom. “I only like it when you do it. That’s it.”

“I’ll take it.”

The two of you brush your teeth in silence, you watch as Lando can barely keep his eyes open. His sleepiness at your ASMR was a compliment in the highest regards. Lando reattaches himself to your back as you make your way into your shared bedroom.

As you climb under the covers and reposition yourself in Lando’s arms you can feel his breathing steady out.

“Babe?” He whispers.

“Lan?”

“You meant what you said?”

“Meant what?”

“That we could do whatever I want next time you come and stream with me?”

“Well, anything within reason.”

“Promise,” Lando wiggles his pinky.

“Promise,” you whisper back, interlocking his pinky with yours.

taglist- (crosses out names mean I couldn't tag you)

@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @xfuckoffx @motkanykodas @emi0358 @ab-127 @alrightysyaphrodite @sya-skies @liacoresstuff @leathersuitrry @travelingece1995 @kageyamas-milk @ugfuchvvvz @jupooo @alex0808 @caleysblog @jess-wither @cassymendezz164445 @rattiefattie69 @sadisticfries @lou-larcher5 @harrietstylinson7 @inlovewithdeadboys @rickyrivera11 @cleverpeachheropersona @loveyatopluto @elysyannemimi @arayofsunshineme @lilyevanswhore @slaygirlbossworld @jupooo @heyheyheyggg @eringaitskill

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fluff #lando norris #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 fic #ln4 #mclaren

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xqueen-of-disasterx · 30 days

Note

Maybe one with bunny!hyrbid!reader and Natasha “adopts” her and just fucks the shit out of her with her strap (or her real cock if you prefer to write that)

Run Rabbit Run

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: fem!bunny!hybrid!reader x owner!Nat

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha can’t help but grant her bunny all her little wishes

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, dom!Nat, sub!reader, age gap (legal), ownership, size kink, strap on, artificial cum, slight breeding kink, pillow humping, slight somno, masturbation, crying during it,

!Disclaimer English is not my first language so please excuse any grammar or spelling errors. This story is completely fictional. I do not own these characters!

𝐌.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

What to do with all the money you make as an Avenger? That was a question Natasha had ask herself more times than she could count. Sure currently was her monthly pay check and all the money she made from interviews and social media was rotting away in her bank account, because she was never a fan of making herself gifts nor did she have time for it. But now with Easter just around the corner the Russian decided to not only do something against her overload on money but also against her loneliness.

She wanted a hybrid, not just some brainless pet but something that could actually understand her. The concept of owing a hybrid wasn't new of course it had been around for years, back in the days they actually hunted them from nature but nowadays there was no need after they got a hang of how to domesticate such a creature.

Natasha stepped foot in one of the only places in the whole of New York who sold these rare creatures- Tony had recommended it to her after once more bragging about his large collection. The over friendly employee showed her the different enclosures all while the employee tried to keep it together- after all you didn't see an Avenger daily not even when working for a prestigious company like she did.

Natasha first visited the cat hybrids, cute but too stubborn, then the dogs, too dependent, foxes were too clever for her taste though especially the polar foxes caught her eyes. Bears and any other large animals would be too much work and needed too much space. The right pick was right on her nose she wanted to get herself a bunny.

Standing in front of the enclosure which held you and a few of your companions Natasha and the employee stood, her gaze never leaving your body. You didn't alter much from a normal human, except for the fluffy bunny ears, little tail and over all smaller build you looked like any other girl. You were going to cost her a hefty amount of hard earned money but for your rare breed, Natasha couldn't care less about that in the moment. The way you stat there so carelessly reading some book which laid in her lap, made you different in her eyes more intelligent maybe? She wanted connection and not some braindead doll after all.

"The one in the pink collar… is she still to have?" Natasha asked the employee you gave her a quick nod. "Yes, she hasn't been here for long though the ones like her normally get adopted quite quickly." Nat only hummed in approval she couldn't wait to have you in her home. "I'll have her in a private kennel"

Meeting a potential owner made you nervous of course you had been trained to and prepared on how to act in such a situation, how to appeal to any potential owner - though you secretly hoped for a female buyer. You tried your best to hide your shy nature from the older woman who awaited you but Natasha found it charming how your, compared to your body, large floppy bunny ears hang low but twitched up when she spoke to you in a gentle manner.

Natasha approached the situation with a calm demeanour- she knew about the shy nature of a bunny like you. As soon as you were comfortable enough to approach her she started to pet over your smaller head with careful hands- and you loved it. By the end of your get to know each other you sat on the redhead's lap clinging on to her. But you weren't parted for long Natasha signed all the paperwork the same day and at the start of the next week you were able to move in with her.

She had given you a nice room, with many books, TV and games to entrain yourself with while she would be working. You came with the clothes from the centre, a basic white bluse, white skirt everything in white , like any other hybrid except for your coloured coded collar which adored your neck so the employees had an easier time keeping hybrids a part. Natasha started to take great joy in precisely choosing each outfit for you. Price didn't matter to Natasha, if she found something to be cute she bought it for you and Nat was known for expensive taste. Sooner or later your closet was fuller than hers, filled to the brim with shorts, blouses, floral summer dresses anything which had a playful feel to it.

Natasha was a busy woman though, often being away for days at a time, she normally made up with expensive gifts and extensive cuddling for her little bunny girl. But that hardly was enough to satisfy your need to be close to the older woman, not to mention that you were worried sick about your owner once you had found out that she wasn't a simple business woman but an avenger.

Natasha came home at around 3 AM after a long mission in Europe the jet lag and sleep deprive was killing her, and since she thought you'd already be asleep at such a late hour- and way past your agreed on bed time, she'd just go to sleep already. As soon as she had stripped to her underwear and her face had it the pillows she was dead asleep, little did she know that you weren't.

Next door you were awake, not only that but you were desperate. This had never happened before yet you immediately knew what it was. You had your first heat, and nothing helped, no toy's from the centre, no playing with yourself, no nothing. You had a pillow under your hips probed up at the seams you humped the pillow like your life depended on it.

You mewled as your already sensitive cunt graced over the edge of the pillow. You were close to cuming but you couldn't bring yourself over the edge. That's when you heard Natasha rummaging through the house you're floppy bunny ears twitching up to detect the source of the noise. You waited patiently in your room trying to find some sleep, maybe Natasha could help you out in the morning. But you could feels your juices sticking to the inside of your thighs.

With small steps you made it into Natasha's bed room tears of frustration already building in your eyes threatening to spill over your blushing cheeks. Carefully you climbed into her bed to find her in a deep slumber laying on her back. You sat down on her on her thigh your pussy making contact with her soft skin.

Slowly you started to rhythmically move it against the limp muscles of her thigh small whimpers falling from your throat in between the sobs of frustration paired with the cries of her name and the tears rolling down your cheek it made a whole picture.

Natasha peaceful face scrunched up in confusion of the sensation when she slowly woke from her slumber she was utterly distraught. Her sweet little bunny humping her thigh like a bitch in heat. With careful hands she stopped your hips and you immediately broke out into a new round of sobs and cries.

"Sheesh" she hushed you petting over over your low hanging ears "You're just in heat bunny, it'll be over soon" She assured you when you pressed your face into her neck. "I want it over now!" You cried out "what about the advice the centre gave you?" She tried but feeling you so desperate and need had an affect on her too.

"Doesn't work" You huffed out "I want you to play with me" Nat was startled by the request, was it morally right for her to sleep with you? It was the main point of criticism surrounding owing a hybrid, but what if not the owner but the hybrid wanted it. "Please" you whined and the assassin's strong will broke right there. "Wait here bunny I'll go get something" You nodded and released Natasha from your grace watching her go.

She came back with a noticeable bulge in her sleep shorts, which upon seeing made your thighs clench together. "It's not going to hurt bunny" She assured and got behind you pulling her shorts down to reveal her, to your body size massive, strap on. She pressed the fat tip against your entrance and your hooded eyes flew open in surprise at the shear size of the toy.

"Natty, it's to big" You mewled out your cotton tail twitching "It's not gonna fit" Natasha scoffed shaking her head as if you had just made an outrageous statement. "I'm gonna make it fit bunny" She pushed forward and your bunny hears flew up in surprise of the stretch. You hands dug into the soft pillow underneath your head as you whimpered in a mic of pain and pleasure.

"Natasha!" You cried as she bottomed you out the stretch being much greater than you could've accomplished with your little fingers. "I'm gonna move now bunny" You nodded and felt her starting with a comfortable rhythm which made the pain turn into pleasure.

By your sweet moans she could tell how much you liked it and fastened her pace to finally give you what you wanted. With deep thrusts she stroked your G spot making you see stars as she too enjoyed the feeling of the strap running against her clit. You mewled out some words she couldn’t make out but took at as a sign of approval for her to keep going.

With both of her hands on your hips she forcefully slammed into your tight heat making sure to not actually hurt you. You arched your back one hand sneaking to your neglected bundle of nerves rubbing it in tight circles. “Fuck are you close?” Natasha asked there was a certain tiredness in her voice still. She clenched down harder on the silicone and mewled out “Yes, please”

“Fuck cum with me” with a few more fast thrusts you came first you’re juicing coating the lower stomach of the black widow. She had a surprise for you when you noticed a thick liquid gushing from the strap into your womb as she came. After having cum herself she pulled out to watch in an awe how the white cum was dripping from your stretched out hole.

After having cleaned you up Natasha could finally rest but not without you resigning on her chest of course. Call it what you wanted for Natasha those feelings of affection were real and of no ill intent she just did whatever you wanted to ensure happiness. With that thought and still cum dripping from your hole both you and Natasha fell asleep.

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jello-chennie · 8 months

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relationship hcs!

✧ pairing izuku, katsuki, eijirou, shouto w/ fem!reader

✧ genre/tw fluff ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

✧ a/n check out my masterlist!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ izuku ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

isn't at all sure about how he pulled you

but he did and he isnt complaining

would absolutely love a kind soul in his partner

he swoons anytime you do little things to take care of him like if you know he has a pretty busy day, even if you're busy too, you go out of your way to make him a cup of coffee or tea and you always seem to get it just right

or whenever he's super focused on something the past few days and starts getting a little scatter brained, he'll forget to eat

if you're in ua, you'll share your lunch with him (which he will deny at first, but when you start pouting at him, he cant say no)

if he's a pro-hero and working, you take him out to lunch on his break

doesn't matter how far into your relationship you two are, he's always getting flustered by you

despite that, he's always trying to make you laugh (even if it means dying inside from embarrassment)

izuku cannot formally confirm or deny whether or not he may or may not be intentionally getting a few extra bumps and scrapes just so you can take the time to gently and lovingly bandage his wounds

loves it when you cut his hair for him!

even when you mess up (his chest will hurt a little with embarrassment whenever he's out in public, but only a little bc you did something for him, and he loves that more than anything else)

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ katsuki ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

totally would end up in a relationship in which you are his polar opposite

everyone is confused

but it totally works!

you're super shy and sweet, and hes audacious and a little abrasive

he pulls you out of your shell and makes you become less of a doormat, you reign him in a bit and round out his sharper edges

when he takes you to meet his parents, it doesn't fly past him that the two of you have a dynamic that reminds him of his parents

which pisses him off to no end bc that means he truly is his mother's son

he's become his mother

bakugou doesn't form close relationships easily, and is definitely an all or nothing kind of guy

once you're in, you're locked in

it doesn't take him very long to start fantasizing about marriage and kids once you officially become a couple

he is you're personal chef

and once you both enter the workforce, he takes extreme pride in making your lunch for you

can and will enter a silent competition with the significant other's of your coworkers for who can make the best bento

probably makes a social media page dedicated to making cooking videos in which he posts aesthetic af videos of him making meals for you

"pro-hero dynamite is famous on the internet for also being a gourmet chef!"

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ eijirou ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

kirishima would definitely fall for someone super fem presenting

he works out all the time and has all these muscles solely for the purpose of carrying things for you

and carrying you

afterall, that's what a real man does

will stop and buy all the pretty things he sees in store that remind him of you

likes it when you stick some of your cute stickers you make him take you to the mall to go buy onto his gear

is tickled pink by headlines that show up the next day like "red riot big sanrio fan?"

has matching sanrio keychains on his phone case with you

loves to sit and watch you do your makeup

will sit next to you and ask you to explain it to him

kiri will never say no when you ask to put it on him

after all, what kind of man would have his masculinity threatened by a little makeup?

besides, it's not like he can say no when you look up at him with those big, pretty eyes, and the cute, hopeful, little grin on your face

that would be just wrong

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ shouto ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

one of the types of people i see shouto falling for is someone who is a bit of a spitfire

someone who is caring, compassionate, and understanding

someone with endless amounts of kindness in their heart, and a little wise, but relentlessly brazen

he both loves and admires them, and falls for their personality

i see shouto taking little bits and pieces of his partner's personality, and they are ultimately responsible for shouto becoming a little more outspoken

shouto is someone who would become a teeny bit obsessed with his partner

you officially have a shadow once you get together bc he will have no problem following you everywhere, and wanting to hangout with you all the time

isn't at all nervous about having you meet his dad, bc shouto knows that if endeavor starts pissing you off, you'll find a way to respectfully tell him to fuck off without missing a beat

you're also super smart and emotionally intelligent, so when his family life starts to become particularly messy at the moment, you're right by his side helping him navigate

shouto loves you for being his lover and his confidant, constantly there for him with open arms and advice that's strangely wiser beyond your years

once shouto's dad stops being crummy, endeavor actually comes to respect you

shouto's mom and sister love you, and the three of you gossip like school girls

which makes shouto a little jealous when he feels left out

shouto's the kind of bf to get jealous of the cat that he wanted but ended up liking you more

won't say anything, and will spend all day pouting in a corner some where

you have to give him ton of affection to make it up to him