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scuderiahoney · 5 months

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Sweet Like Grenadine

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You love weddings. However, you don’t love being stuck by yourself at a wedding, a plus one to a boyfriend who’s too busy for you. Enter Daniel Ricciardo, your knight in shining armor.

Word Count: 5.6k

a/n: thought of this concept and couldn’t get Danny out of my head. He’s soooo guy you flirt with at a wedding and will probably never see again coded

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild sexual content (heavy makeout? idrk how to tag this stuff), one (1) shitty boyfriend

The table in front of you is draped with a heavy white tablecloth. At the center is a large bouquet of flowers, the number 19 stuck haphazardly in the middle of it. Not last, but certainly low on the list. You can’t blame them- you barely know the bride and groom.

You’re only here because your boyfriend is a groomsman. A plus one. You love weddings, so of course you’d agreed, but you hadn’t really considered how lonely an event like this could be. The only person you really know has been busy all day. You can’t complain, won’t complain, you know that’s why he’s here, but…

You’re sitting at a table full of strangers. It’s not exactly fun. There’s still hours left of this. Dinner hasn’t even been served, there’s still speeches and cake and dancing and honestly, you’re already exhausted. You need a drink, but the bar isn’t open yet. You need to take off your heels, but you’re pretty sure that would be frowned upon. You need to talk to your boyfriend.

He’s busy, though. He told you as much when you found him between the ceremony and the reception. There’s a pang in your chest still at the way he brushed you off, the way he told you he didn’t have time to chat. You get it, you really do. You’re not going to get upset about it.

The seat to your left has been empty since you sat down, but someone collapses into it, letting out a heavy sigh. You turn to look, hoping for some sort of familiar face or at least a friendly one, and you’re met with-

“Hi. ‘M Daniel,” he says, sticking his hand out to shake yours.

The thing is, Daniel is a familiar face, but not for any of the reasons you’d hoped for. You know Daniel because your boyfriend is obsessed with Formula 1. You try to keep up so you can take part in his conversations, but it’s never really been your thing. But you know enough to know Daniel Ricciardo.

“Yeah, I… I know,” you say, before you slap your hand over your mouth. “Shit! I’m sorry. That’s weird. S’just- my boyfriend’s a huge fan-“

You swear his face drops slightly, but he plasters that grin right back on before he says, “and you’re not a fan?”

“I’m not not a fan,” you say. “He’s just the bigger fan. Of the two of us.”

Daniel nods. You finally shake his hand. He never stops looking at you, never stops smiling. You tell him your name, and he repeats it back to you, his accented version making you smile.

“Well, is he here? I’d love to meet the bigger of the two fans,” he says. “We talking, like, box fan, industrial blower, air boat fan? How big?”

You laugh, his hand squeezing yours as you lean over the table. He’s laughing, too, then, before he lets go of your hand. You want to crawl out of your skin, want to run and hide in the bathroom, because you’re definitely making a fool of yourself, but-

“Oh, he’s busy,” you say, waving your hand in the air dismissively. “He’s one of the groomsmen, got a lot on his plate. I don’t wanna bug him. He’s the one with the sunglasses on,” you say, pointing at him at the head table.

Daniel looks where you point and quirks his brow. “Guy like that has a girl like you and you’re the one worried about bugging him?”

You stare at him with wide eyes. He collapses into a fit of laughter again, and you follow suit. You don’t know what else to do. Then he nudges your knee with his, under the table, and juts his chin towards the bar.

“D’you want a drink?” He asks.

“The bar isn’t open yet,” you say.

“So?”

“So, how are you going to get a drink?”

He shakes his head and purses his lips. “Oh, sweetheart, you just watch and learn. What’re you having?”

You shrug. “A soda, I guess. I’m the designated driver for at least three of the groomsmen.”

Daniel sighs heavily. “You poor thing. You keep making me feel worse and worse for you. Alright, I’ll get you something.”

He strides his way up to the bar, which has a very obvious “Closed” sign on the countertop. There’s a single bartender behind it, and he’s cleaning glasses. You watch with entertainment as Daniel leans on the counter, exuding confidence and charm. The bartender shakes his head. Daniel counters. The man behind the bar shrugs and nods. Then he steps through a door for just a moment. When he returns, he has two drinks in his hands- one that’s obviously a beer, and one that’s bright pink. Daniel smiles, thanks the man, and walks the cups back to you.

He sets it down in front of you with a flourish before he takes a seat.

“I told you, I’m DD,” you remind him.

He nods, taking a sip of his beer before he says, “Shirley Temple.”

“Oh my god,” you say, a grin washing over your face. You pick up the cup and take a sip, sighing at the sweet taste of ginger ale and grenadine. “How did you know?”

“Everyone loves a good Shirley,” he says, elbowing you lightly. “And you can’t drink just plain soda at a wedding.”

They announce dinner shortly after that, and the waiters start bringing plates out. You’re starving, having been up early to help with last minute wedding things at your boyfriend’s request. You hadn’t had time to eat lunch. You chat with Daniel through the meal. The two of you talk about the food, about the wedding, about the decor. There are other people at the table, but they’re all incredibly boring in comparison. Daniel, on the other hand, could hold your attention forever, probably.

You sneak glances at your boyfriend, surrounded by his friends at the head table. He’d promised to sneak away as soon as he got a chance. He hasn’t even looked your way. You're trying to ignore the hurt deep in your chest. Daniel is sneaking glances at you sneaking glances at the bridal party. You’re trying to ignore that, too.

“How long have you two been dating?” Daniel asks.

“About 6 months,” you say with a smile.

It feels forced. Frankly, the last thing you want to talk about right now is your boyfriend. They’re clearing the last plates. He’s at his table, three beers in by your count, not a care in the world. He promised. Daniel opens his mouth, likely to ask another question about your boyfriend, but you speak first.

“So wait, are you here for the bride or the groom?” You ask.

“The bride,” Daniel says , a soft smile on his face. “An old family friend. I’m representing the Ricciardos.”

You smile. “That’s sweet.”

Before he can say anything in response, someone is tapping on a microphone. It’s time for the speeches. You know your boyfriend isn’t making one, which is good. He’s not exactly the best public speaker, especially when he’s been drinking. You and Daniel settle in to listen.

He sneaks away between the maid of honor and the best man, patting the back of your hand and whispering about being right back. He returns a few moments later, another beer and a Shirley Temple in his hands. You smile gratefully at him, and he waves you off. Then the next speech is starting, and you’re rolling your eyes at the way the best man talks about marriage like it’s some awful idea.

“He knows this is a wedding, yeah?” Daniel asks out of the side of his mouth, leaning towards you.

You shrug. “That one started drinking at 9am. I’m not sure he even knows what year it is right now.”

Daniel starts laughing, then. Luckily, the rest of the crowd does too- apparently, the best man has just made an extremely funny joke. Daniel is only looking at you, though, and you can’t help but laugh just because of the look on his face.

When the first dances are over and the music starts, you sink low into your seat. Your boyfriend has still not made an appearance. He definitely knows where you’re sitting, he had told you so earlier. You’re sure he’s busy, but you’d looked away for too long, talking to Daniel, and now he’s disappeared from the head table. You scan the crowd, hoping to see his face. All the while, you can feel Daniel watching you.

“We could go dance,” he suggests.

You sink lower in your seat. “I don’t really like dancing.”

That’s a lie. You love dancing, especially at weddings. You love the cheesy songs they always play, you love the atmosphere, you love watching the bride and groom have fun and getting to be a part of it. But you know how it would look if you went out on the dance floor with Daniel, and your boyfriend definitely won’t be joining you. As frustrated as you may be with your him, you don’t want to cause drama at someone else’s best day of their lives.

“I think I might try and find him,” you say, picking up your drink.

Daniel nods. “Want me to come with you?”

You look around at the rest of the table and find it empty. You shake your head and lean towards him, close enough that you almost knock your foreheads. Nobody’s watching the two of you or trying to listen anyways, but it’s more fun this way.

“He promised he’d find me before dinner,” you whisper conspiratorially. “That obviously didn’t happen. So I’m not bringing you to him as a reward for bad behavior.”

Daniel sits back in his chair and smiles at you, one brow raised. “Atta girl!”

You stand up from your chair and hope he can’t tell that your face has grown hot from that comment alone.

Even if you can’t find your boyfriend, it’s probably best that you get some space from Daniel. Through the last hour or so of your conversation, you’ve been catching yourself leaning towards him and then reminding yourself that you have a boyfriend. It’s just that he’s being so nice, and that you’re feeling so down about the whole thing. He’s comforting, which is fine. But it can’t be more than that.

You find your boyfriend at one of the bars, leaning on the counter and talking loudly with one of the other groomsmen. He’s drunk already- he should really slow down if he wants to last the night. You walk over to him, forcing a soft smile onto your face. You can’t confront him now, not in front of his friend and all the people waiting for drinks.

“Hey, babe,” you say, tapping his shoulder lightly as you walk up.

He turns. You wait for him to smile at you, but it never comes. Your stomach sinks.

“Hey,” he says, nonchalantly. “D’you need something?”

Your palms feel clammy. “Oh, no, I’m good! Just… wanted to say hi. S’been a bit.”

He nods. “Yeah. I told you I’d be busy tonight.”

His friend just stands there and listens. Your skin feels hot, and your eyes begin to sting.

“I know,” you say. “I’m not trying to bug you, I just- I was just walking by. Just. Yeah. That’s all. I’ll leave you to it.”

“I’ll come find you in a bit, baby,” he promises.

You don’t bother believing him this time.

Daniel doesn’t comment on your red eyes or the tear tracks on your cheeks when you return to the table. He just squeezes your arm and disappears for a moment, then comes back with yet another Shirley Temple. You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry, so you just take a sip of the drink instead.

“You don’t have to sit here with me,” you say to Daniel. “I’m definitely pulling down the mood.”

“Are you joking?” He says. “You’re the best thing at this party.”

You laugh, then, because the statement is so ridiculous that you can’t help it. He sounds so serious, and when you turn to look at him there’s no hint of teasing on his face. He just elbows your arm lightly again.

“Come on, we don’t have to dance but we’re not sitting here all night,” he says. “Let’s go wander.”

He stands from the table and tugs at your chair. You give in and stand up too, taking your drink from the table. You follow him as he weaves through the throngs of people. You like wandering. Wandering is a perfectly sensible thing to do with the guy you just met. At the wedding your boyfriend is a groomsman at. What else are you supposed to do, anyways?

He leads you past the dance floor, which you try not to look at forlornly. There are large glass doors at the back of the hall. He swings one open, holding it for you, waving you through with a flourish of his hand. Outside, it’s lit up with string lights. There’s a wide rolling lawn of grass, with fire pits and chairs spread out everywhere. There are lawn games, too- beanbags and horseshoes and a giant version of Jenga.

You can burn a lot of time out here. You barely even notice when Daniel slips his hand around your wrist to gently pull you with him. You should feel guilty about it. Your boyfriend is somewhere inside. But that same boyfriend has also been ignoring you all night. Daniel is just being friendly. You follow him to one of the fire pits with a smile on your face.

You and Daniel are nearly two hours into wandering when someone calls your name. You look up from where you’ve been staring at the beanbag board, trying to line up your throw just right. You’d been on the verge of winning for the first time. For an Australian, Daniel is surprisingly good at American lawn games. Frustratingly good, even.

It’s your boyfriend, calling you from the doorway of the reception hall. You sigh and drop the beanbag onto the ground near your feet. Two of the other groomsmen are hanging off of him, looking worse for the wear. One of them has something down the front of his shirt- you pray it’s not vomit.

“I think that’s my cue,” you say, nodding towards the building.

“You could always put them in a cab and hope they figure it out on their own.” Daniel says. You give him a skeptical look. “Kidding, kidding.”

“It’s tempting,” you admit.

Daniel bends over and picks up your heels from where they lay in the grass. You’d kicked them off as soon as you stepped into the soft grass outside. You slip the shoes back on and wince. Then you stick your hand out to him, palm open.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you,” you say, as he shakes your hand once more. “Thanks for not leaving me all alone.”

Daniel laughs. “I will be your ‘I-know-nobody-at-this-event-‘ partner anytime you want, sweetheart. Just give me a call. I’ll be there.”

You know what he’s trying to do. The opportunity is right there in front of you. He’s telling you to give him a call- this is where you ask for his number. But you have a boyfriend. You can justify hanging out with him, especially considering you had nothing else to do, but asking for his number feels a step too far.

You smile softly and drop his hand. “Goodnight, Daniel.”

You turn and make your way towards your boyfriend. He’s already complaining before you’re even within ten feet of him, about how he’s tired and he looked everywhere for you and how could you disappear like that? You apologize, just to quiet him down. You usher the three men inside before you turn to look at Daniel one more time.

He’s standing there, watching you, a sad smile on his face.

“Who was that guy?” Your boyfriend asks later, from the passenger seat of the car.

You look at him, at his eyes. The light is gone- he’s blacked out, there’s no way he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Daniel Ricciardo,” you say.

It’s a testament to how drunk he is that he doesn’t even react.

You get all three guys into bed, including your boyfriend. You lay down next to him, as much as you don’t want to. There’s not really anywhere else to sleep in the little hotel room, and you’re not sleeping on the floor. When you close your eyes, you can’t fall asleep, plagued by thoughts of if you’d made the right choice, unable to erase Daniel’s sad smile from your memory.

…..

You love weddings. You remind yourself of that over and over again as you pin a dress in place for the hundredth time that day. Your best friend Natalie is a bridesmaid, it’s her sister who’s getting married, and you’re here to help in any way you can. So far, that’s included safety pinning, making a run for alcohol, checking on the floral delivery, checking to make sure the groomsmen are where they’re supposed to be, and comforting a bridesmaid who was crying in the bathroom. Her boyfriend had broken up with her the night before.

“Men are shit,” you’d told her in commiseration.

By the time the ceremony rolls around, you’re relieved to have a chance to sit down. You check on the bridesmaids one last time and head into the church. The pews are packed with people, so you find a spot near the back and sit down. You sigh in relief.

The music starts playing, and you finally take a chance to look around. The pews are decorated with flowers, there’s bright light streaming through the large windows. The groom waits up front, eyes already watering. You love weddings. You say it like a mantra in your head.

As the procession starts, you scan the crowd. You know more people at this wedding, having been friends with the family for a while. You’ll at least have some company at your table. You spot a couple friends from high school, a cousin you’ve met a few times, some mutual friends who you’ll definitely have to catch up with later. And then, in the third row on the groom’s side, you see dark curly hair that looks terrifyingly familiar.

It can’t be him. That would be absolutely insane. There’s absolutely no way Daniel Ricciardo is attending a second wedding in the US, for a couple who are no more famous than the previous wedding you’d seen him at. It would make absolutely no sense. And yet, you can’t stop staring at the back of this man’s head, the slope of his shoulders beneath his dark suit. You remember that wedding, months ago, resting your hand on his shoulder for balance as you took off your heels. He’d joked about having to cut you off, holding your Shirley Temple in his hand.

When the bridal procession begins playing, everyone stands. You keep your eyes on him. He turns, and your heart skips a beat in your chest. It’s Daniel. It’s impossible, it’s irrational, but it is him. You’d recognize him anywhere.

You force yourself to look away, to turn towards the bride. She looks beautiful, perfect, the picture of elegance. The flowers in her hands, the ones you’d checked on that morning, are perfect too. You breathe a sigh of relief. She really should’ve hired a wedding coordinator. Maybe you should be a wedding coordinator.

When you go to sit back down, you sneak a glance at Daniel. He’s looking over his shoulder at you, eyes wide. You meet his gaze and your cheeks feel hot. That wide, bright grin breaks out across his face. You grin right back.

When the ceremony is over, and they’re officially Mr and Mrs, the whole wedding disperses out onto the lawn of the church. There are shuttles to take you to the reception, but everyone seems content to mingle outside in the fresh air. You’re one of the first ones out, but you’re quickly swept up in the crowd. You search for Daniel in every face that passes. You find Natalie first, though.

“Nat,” you say frantically. “Does your sister know Daniel Ricciardo?”

Her brow furrowed for a second. “What?”

“Danny Ricciardo,” you repeat, keeping your voice low. “The F1 driver. He’s here.”

“Oh,” Natalie says, brows raising. “Yeah, he’s like, friends with her fiancé- oh, her husband! Shit, I forgot that you watch that stuff- or, you… did? I can probably try and introduce you-“

“No, we- we’ve met.” You admit. She’s the first person you’re telling about this. “At that wedding like 6 months ago.”

She tilts her head at you. Her eyes go wide. She says your name in a bewildered tone.

“Are you telling me that the mystery wedding man, who you definitely should’ve dumped your boyfriend for, was fucking Danny Ricciardo?”

“Keep it down!” You shush her.

“Oh my god,” she says, a conspiratorial smirk crossing over her face. “And he’s here.”

Someone calls your name. You know that voice- it’s haunted you since you left that wedding. You turn over your shoulder as Natalie grabs your wrist and lets out a squeak.

“Danny,” you breathe, like a sigh of relief. “Hi.”

He strides up to you, handsome as ever, grinning so widely it looks like it hurts. “This is fucking insane.”

An elderly aunt glares at him. He makes an apologetic face before turning back to you and shrugging. He steps into your space, so close you can smell his cologne. He’s staring down at you through his lashes. The look in his eyes is so soft and warm that you think you’re melting.

“The bride is my best friend’s sister,” you explain, gesturing at Natalie. “This is Natalie.”

“I’m friends with the groom,” he says, reaches his hand out and shakes Natalie’s hand. “I’m Danny, nice to meet you.”

She nods, and suddenly you’re very afraid. Natalie doesn’t have much of a filter, especially in high pressure situations. Especially when she’s been forced to be prim and proper all morning.

“You must really like American weddings,” she says, and you wince. “I hear this is your second one in 6 months.”

Daniel smirks, raises his eyebrows at you. “Huh. Wonder what else you’ve heard about me.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but you shove her shoulder. “Nat, aren’t you supposed to be taking family pictures?”

She’s so busy staring at Daniel she almost doesn’t hear you. Then her eyes go wide. She swears loudly, earning a glare from the same aunt. Then she drops your wrist and takes off through the crowd.

You turn towards Daniel. “Sorry about her.”

He shakes his head. “No need. She seems sweet.”

You smile. “She is.”

“Makes sense, since she’s friends with you,” he says. “The sweetest of them all.”

You laugh, shove at his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Behind him, people are starting to get on the shuttles. He’s leaning towards you, eyes still lit up.

“I honestly can’t believe this,” he says.

“Neither can I,” you admit. “It’s.. it’s really good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you,” he echoes. “Feels like a sign, doesn’t it?”

You open your mouth to agree, to tell him what you’ve been thinking the past 6 months, but Natalie is calling your name. You and Daniel both turn to look at her, and the look on her face tells you she’s so sorry. You sigh and shrug.

“I have to go,” you tell him. “That bridal party is a mess.”

“Worse than the last one?” He asks.

“No,” you say. “And I don’t have to drive any of them home, so that’s a bonus. But I think I’ll be billing them for wedding coordinator expenses after this. Or at the very least, drinking enough at the open bar to make up for it.”

Daniel laughs. “Atta girl. Should I save you a seat on the shuttle?”

You let out a puff of air. “I’m riding over with the bridal party.”

His face falls in disappointment. “Okay. Find me when you get there, yeah? I’ll have a Shirley Temple waiting for you.”

You nod. “Make it a Dirty Shirley, would you?”

He nods eagerly and squeezes your arm.

You don’t actually make it into the reception until nearly an hour later. There’s an emergency with a groomsman’s tux, and the girl who was broken up with the night before is crying again. Nothing that can’t be fixed with safety pins and tequila, but it still takes time. You check your name on the seating chart, sigh at the sight of the name next to yours, the seat that will stay empty. You find Daniel’s seat, too, a few tables over from yours. You head there first.

Daniel is sitting, a beer in hand and a very watery Shirley Temple on the table in front of him. He’s chatting with the man sitting next to him, who looks a bit starstruck. He perks up when he sees you, reaching for your drink. You take it happily and have a sip, tasting ginger ale, grenadine, and vodka, too.

“The ice is a bit melted,” he says with a sigh. “But good news! Ian here has offered to switch seats with you.”

Ian is looking between you and Daniel, eyes wide. You’re sure he did offer, likely after Daniel had told him the whole crazy story, or at least enough to convince him. You watched him charm bartenders at the last wedding- he has a way with words. Ian starts to stand up.

“That’s really not necessary.” You say, and Daniel’s face falls. “There’s an empty seat at my table.”

He lifts his brows, grinning again. His brown eyes stare deep into your own. He stands up without waiting another moment, handing you your drink and holding his own.

“Ian, nice meeting you,” he says. “I’ll still get you those paddock passes,” he promises, and you bite back a laugh. “See ya ‘round, mate.”

He follows you to your table. There’s a setting with your name on a little card, and the empty setting next to it with another name on it. You grab that card and crumple it in your hand, shoving it into your purse. He quirks a brow but sits down anyways as you greet the others at your table- cousins of the bride and friends who you’ve met a few times.

“So. How’ve things been?” You ask, and he launches into a story that has you listening with every bone in your body.

Somehow, the two of you make it all the way through dinner and speeches and the first dance before the subject of your boyfriend even comes up. You wonder if he’s been waiting to broach it. You’ve been waiting for the right moment.

He nods towards the dance floor. “You have to promise me you’ll dance to at least one song tonight.”

You blink and shrug. “Easy. I love dancing.”

He stares at you. There’s the beginnings of another wide grin on his face.

“That is not what you said last time.”

“I lied,” you admit. “Because my boyfriend hated dancing.”

Daniel nods. “Hated. Past tense?”

“He’s not dead,” you deadpan, making him laugh. “But he’s also not my boyfriend anymore.”

Daniel’s foot nudges against yours under the table. “No?”

“No,” you say with a shrug.

Daniel nods. “Pretty girl like you, you must’ve moved on pretty quick,” he says.

His tone is light, teasing. He’s testing the waters. You shake your head and pretend you don’t see the way his shoulders sag in relief.

“I’ve sworn off dating,” you tell him. Your tone is teasing, too. “After he left me on my own at a wedding, I decided men are shit.”

You’re taunting him now. The conversation has gone from feeling each other out, from digging for information, to circling each other like sharks in the water. Your heart is beating steady in your chest. His eyes are locked on yours.

“You poor thing,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Let me prove you wrong?”

The tension crackles in the air. His knee nudges against yours and you swear you’re going to combust. You down the rest of your drink in one gulp, set the glass down, and reach for his suit jacket. You run your finger down the lapel, then back up, adjusting his collar.

“I swore off men,” you repeat, leaning forwards, keeping your voice low. “But this feels like a sign, doesn’t it? Like the universe sent me back to you.”

He nods. He reaches up, captures your wrist in his hand and holds it against his chest.

“So maybe you should go get me another drink,” you suggest. “And I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

You lean even closer, then, close enough to press your lips to his cheek. Then you stand up and walk away towards where people are beginning to gather, to where the music is loudest. You don’t turn back to see if he’s watching. You already know he is.

…..

You have a fleeting thought, later, that maybe you should’ve switched to a drink with less sugar in it at some point in the night. The grenadine feels like it’s stuck to your tongue. Danny doesn’t seem to mind the taste, though.

He’s got you up against the wall in a back hallway of the reception venue. You back is pressed to the cool surface, your arms around his neck, his hands on your hips. His lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you deeply, like he’ll never get enough. You’re feeling the same.

His knee slots between your legs, and you’re a goner. His hand slips from your hip and cups your ass, hauling you closer with ease, tilting your hips away from the wall and into his. You break away for air, gasping for it, and he moves his lips to your neck. It feels heavenly, trapped between him and the wall, his hands all over you, his lips trailing lower and lower. He reaches up and brushes the thin strap of your dress off one of your shoulders. You shove your hands under his suit jacket and press them against his toned abdomen through his shirt. He lets out a groan, the noise vibrating against your neck. You throw your head back and laugh between gasps.

You wonder if he’d have his way with you right there. You wonder if you’d let him.

There are footsteps, then, clicking their way down the hall. You scramble to push him away as someone rounds the corner, but you know it’s painfully obvious. You turn your head, already feeling mortified, and come face to face with Natalie.

“Oh, thank god,” both you and your best friend say at the same time.

Daniel pulls away and looks between the two of you. You can’t look at him for more than a few seconds. His lips are red and puffy, his eyes half lidded. You distantly wonder if there’s beard burn on your face, if your lips are just as red. Then you start to wonder how his scruff might feel on other parts of you.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” Natalie says, laughing. “I heard noises, I thought…”

“I’m fine,” you tell her, and she nods in agreement.

“I’ll say,” she teases.

“Nat!” You hiss.

“You’d better take good care of her, Ricciardo,” he says, and your face grows hot all over again. “I don’t care how famous you are, I’ll fuck you up anyways.”

“Nat!” You hiss again.

“I will,” Danny promises, squeezing your hip and nodding. “I’m on a mission. Trying to prove not all men are shit.”

“Good luck,” Natalie says drily. But when she walks away, she’s smiling.

He turns back to you, and this time he places both his hands on the wall on either side of your head. You look up at him, licking your lips. You still taste the Shirley Temple, and you can taste him, too, now. He groans softly and closes his eyes. It’s nice to know you’re having an effect on him, too, nice to know you’re not the only one feeling worked up. You reach up and tug on the lapels of his jacket. You brush your lips against his jaw.

“We should have one more drink,” you tell him, humming happily. “And then you should take me to your hotel.”

He swallows. You press a kiss to the center of his throat.

“I’ve never heard a better plan in my whole life.” He says.

…..

At every wedding you go to afterwards, you order the same drink. Well, really, Danny orders them for you. You’ve thought a couple times about asking for wine or seltzer or even beer. You think it might break his heart, though. It’s a tradition now, and the pink sugary concoction will always taste like that very first night. Like bare feet in the grass, the thud of beanbags against wooden boards. Like Daniel’s laugh in the middle of the best man’s speech. Like you, alone at a table, and Daniel collapsing into the seat next to you, his hand extended to shake yours.

The same hand that’s wrapped up with yours now, resting on his knee. You never want to let go. You’re pretty sure he’d be okay with that.

Taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams

#daniel riccardo x reader #Danny Ricciardo x reader #Daniel Ricciardo x you #Danny Ricciardo x you #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #honeywrites #formula 1 fanfic

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jamminvroomvroom · 6 months

Text

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

youruser just posted on instagram

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youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

youruser just posted on instagram

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youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y’all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

youruser just posted on instagram

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youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

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youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

and 588 other comments

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lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

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youruser: commotion for the dress?

yourfriendmia: *commotion*

user5: on my knees begging

user1: no lando like? divorce? 😟

mclaren: always good to see you! 🧡

yourfriendnancy: kicking my feet looking at this lord have mercy

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you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, francisca.gomez, lilymhe and 735,641 others

youruser: our secret moments

landonorris: “only bought this dress so you could take it off” 🕺🏻✨💘

youruser: @ landonorris omg shut up (omw over)

user1: FINALLY

user4: bisexual panic is a real thing.

otheruser: i used to pray for times like these

maxfewtrell: took you long enough.

yourfriendmia: mum n dad

user63: mclaren ships it and so do i

and 1,442 other comments

taglist

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maintenance: i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!

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azsazz · 18 days

Text

Glitz, Glam & Grand Prix

Formula One!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Set at the Las Vegas Grand Prix, you, as Ferrari's team Media Trainer, struggle with keeping both drivers in line.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,887

Notes: Back again with another F1 AU 💙 so obsessed with this trope tbh

Belongs to the Off Grid collection.

_________________________________________

“I am not wearing this,” Azriel says flatly, staring at the garment in his hand in horror. He’s holding the hanger hook between a pinched thumb and forefinger, like the newly designed sequined bomber jacket might jump off the holder and strangle him.

He might prefer that.

“Yes, you are,” you answer, distractedly. Your phone buzzes in your hand, another email coming through. Something about a calendar change with the scheduled interviews for the two drivers you’re in charge of for media training. “You’re going to put that jacket on, just like all of the other drivers are doing, and you’re going to march your ass over to the social media team and do what they ask without complaint.”

You cut your—secret—boyfriend a harsh look that matches your no-nonsense tone. He holds your look for all of four seconds before giving in, returning to his glower to the garment in his hand instead. It’s smart of him, choosing not to start with you while you’re in Media Training mode, not secret girlfriend mode where you shoot him teasing grins and cheeky glances behind everyone’s backs.

“Give it here, old man,” Dorian Havilliard says, swiping the coat from him. You cringe, offering Azriel an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace when his hazel gaze swings wildly to meet yours. As if you can do something about the driver tasing him. Azriel looks like he’s about two seconds from trying to lay Dorian—Ferrari’s newest recruit—out flat.

“I’m not even that old,” Azriel mutters, giving up before the arguing can even begin. The drivers haven’t started off on a good foot, Azriel upset about the realization that he’s getting older in this sport, and the looming fear that the rookie is going to replace him for his Driver 1 spot. For Dorian, he’s too naive yet to understand that he can learn a thing or two from the veteran driver. “Can I fake a stomach bug to get out of this one, ba—(Y/N)?” Azriel stutters, quickly catching his mistake.

Your eyes widen, but thankfully, Dorian doesn’t seem to notice, too enraptured with the design on the back of the bomber. Three dice line the back in white sequins, and instead of regular pips, the black of the dice spells out the acronym F1LVGP: Formula 1 Las Vegas Grand Prix.

It is pretty ugly, but you cannot wait to see your boyfriend in it.

Both drivers are set to shoot media in the very jackets that fans received with their purchase of tickets months ago. It’s going to be as gimmicky and cheesy as Azriel thinks it’s going to be, which is why you refrained from mentioning this specific part of the media tour to him this weekend.

“The fans are going to want to see you both in that jacket,” you explain, biting your lip at Dorian, who has zipped it up to his collarbones. It does look horrid, and there’s a part of you that wishes you could warn the social team about Azriel’s reluctant attitude. Hopefully, they don’t give him any props that might make him look even sillier. “It’s good for the team and the race. Plus, interaction gets us all paid, boys.”

Your phone pings with another important message, a call-in meeting with the Ferrari Public Relations team managers to develop key messages that align with the brand values, sponsor commitments, and team ethos.

With the two stubborn-minded drivers on your team, that part might prove to be difficult.

After that it’s crisis meetings with said drivers, training both Dorian and Azriel on how to efficiently deflect the potential damaging and sensitive questions about what happened in Brazil two weeks ago. Azriel is used to it, and as much as he hates the interview portion of his job, is trained well in answering these types of questions with tact and confidence.

Dorian, on the other hand, is still young and new to the team. The interviewers will no doubt single him out, sniffing out his fresh blood because he’s more likely to make a mistake. You already know that he’s a touch hot-headed when it comes to the obvious rift between the two Ferrari drivers, and if the interviewers pose a question that gives him room to get a word in about Azriel, you have no doubt that he’ll take it, even without realizing exactly how it could impact the team image.

You’re going to make sure that that doesn’t happen.

The rest of the weekend is planned out down to the minute. You’re not even sure you have a single free second to spend with Azriel.

Las Vegas is always exhausting.

“Hey, boss? When do we have some down time this weekend?” Dorian asks, as if he’s somehow reading your mind. You’re dreading this, having to tell a freshly turned twenty-one-year-old in Las Vegas for the first time that he’s not going to be able to go buck-wild. He’ll have to save that for a bye-week or a break. You’re here for business and racing this weekend, not strip-shows and high-hollers tables.

And while he may have an appearance at Omnia night club post-race on Sunday, you’ve tasked yourself with keeping an eye on the rookie, this weekend more so than during the rest of the races this season.

“Unlikely, Havilliard,” you answer, finally looking up from the calendar on your phone. He should really know by now how this all works—it’s race 22 for Mother’s sake—that everything is all work and no play until after the race, but as it’s Dorian’s first year in the big leagues, you have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

It’s been years since you worked with a rookie. You’ve been on Ferrari’s team for a while now, working with Azriel and veteran driver Rowan Whitethorn who accepted an offer from McLaren at the end of last season. It had been bliss, the both of them the most unproblematic drivers on the grid, letting their racing do the talking for them.

But it had been more difficult to get them to talk than you thought. The pair hadn’t been as personable to the world because of their stoic behavior, but when you were hired on, you whipped them into tip-top shape, both drivers the perfect media trained racers within all of Formula 1.

“We’re here for work. You’ll have some time after practice and the race, but Saturday night you’re not to be spotted in any clubs or casinos too late,” you explain, shoving your phone into your back pocket to give him your full attention when you say this. You watch your words settle within Dorian, his shoulders falling more and more as you continue. “You’re not to go overboard. That means no drinking, no gambling, no—”

“Fun?”

You sigh at his disheartened look. Maybe it would be alright if he spent some time with some of the veteran drivers, maneuvering Las Vegas along with them. He’ll find that he can still find fun in moderation. Too bad you know Azriel will cut that idea off at the neck.

“I know it sounds boring, Dorian,” you try easily, giving the young driver a sympathetic look. “It’s your first time in Las Vegas and that’s very exciting, but you really need to think hard about what you’re doing here because there are temptations, but there are so many cameras and eyes on you. If you can handle how things might be construed, you don’t have my blessing, but I can’t force you to sit in your hotel all weekend.”

Something sparks in those deep blue eyes at your hidden message. You’ve warned him and you’re not flat-out telling him that you’ll look the other way, that you’ll clean up a mess for him if he makes it, but he should get to live a little, at least.

You know that he’s unlikely to listen to you anyway, friends with a lot of the other young drivers who are just as excited to be in Las Vegas as Dorian is; Ruhn Danaan, Ithan Holstrom, and Tharion Ketos to name a few, with veteran driver Cassian Bailey taking them all under their wing.

That tiny detail means that you’re going to have your work cut out for you this season.

“You got it, boss,” Dorian salutes, shooting you the most innocent look he can muster.

Behind him, Azriel rolls his eyes, and you’re pretty sure you hear him mutter, “Kiss ass,” under his breath, which both you and Dorian effectively ignore.

You’re proud, he’s already learning.

“Alright, Dorian. You’re up first for bomber jacket media, I have something to talk about with Azriel, but we’ll be down soon. You know where you’re going?” You ask, even though his security detail is awaiting him in the hall outside of the suite.

“Of course,” Dorian nods, passing you with his phone already out in his hand. You give him all of three seconds before he begins posting Instagram stories about the hotel. “Thank you for everything, (Y/N).”

“My pleasure,” you answer, waiting until the door shuts behind him before spinning towards your boyfriend and pinning him with a stern look. “You need to stop being so negative, Az. Dorian is on your team and he’s here to stay, at least for the next two seasons until your contract ends. If you want Ferrari to keep you, the both of you will have to start getting along sooner rather than later, and Dorian is a sweetheart.”

“Not you too,” Azriel groans. “Come on, babe, no one can be that charming.”

You hum, stepping into your boyfriend’s warm body. If this is all the time you’re allowed this weekend, you’re going to take advantage of it. Azriel’s hands find your hips easily, a firm, comforting weight against your skin. “I seem to remember someone else that was quite charming when we met,” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss that makes your heart race faster than the speed of his car.

“I was pretty charming, wasn’t I?” Azriel grins, waggling his eyebrows, and you love looking at him like this, happy, when his eyes crinkle in the corners with his smile, the slight dimple in his cheek deepening. He’s so handsome. “Want to go down to the Little White Chapel later and make this official?” Azriel teases and your heart fucking soars, even if he is only poking fun.

Someday the man in your arms won’t be a secret anymore. You’ll be able to flaunt him all over the world, build a life with him, love him not just in the shadows.

“Without a ring?” You joke right back, pinching his side. “I don’t think so, Az.”

“Baby, I’ll get you the biggest ring I can find,” Azriel’s words are husky, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as he dips his chin. “I’ll give you the whole damn world, (Y/N). I love you.”

“I love you too,” you respond breathlessly, and begin rethinking your refusal to marry him on the strip in Las Vegas without a ring. You’ll take him now, hell, you’ll even marry him in the sequined bomber jacket, you don’t care.

You just want to be his, not in secret anymore.

_________________________________________

Tagging people from the last F1 fic. If you don't want to be tagged just lmk 🥰

@iambored24601 @secretlyhers @kylaisra @daily-dose-of-sass @moosemahboi @devilsfoodcake22 @blackthorngirl @brieflyclassymortal @starsdoulikedem @cami26cami @justasillylittlegoofyguy @milswrites @navyblue-eternity @kennedy-brooke @mimsie95 @shadowsingersmate24 @piceous21 @skyjasper @soulessjourney @despoinasstuff @weasleyreidstyles @marrass @favfantasyreads @fairywriter-oracle @georgiastars13 @blueblondi @namelesssav @tothestarsandwhateverend @brekkershadowsinger

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #acowar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #formulaone!azriel

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xxblairexxss · 11 months

Text

Everything shower

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x socialmediainfluencer!reader

Theme : Fluff

This was so full of fluff makes me want to write a heartbreaking angst for my next one. 😭

You started off your Youtube and Tiktok accounts way before you met Charles. That alone was enough to prove that you had always loved taking pictures or videos of yourself whenever you got a chance, not because you craved for the attention but there was nothing wrong with being obsessed with yourself.

Your subscribers and followers thought your videos and contents would start to switch once you started dating the Formula 1 driver but they were completely wrong because you owned the spotlight before him and you were gonna keep on owning the spotlight even with him in the frame. Whenever you talked about Charles, it would be just something subtle and you never addressed him by his name. You would always call him “my boyfriend”. Something like “Oh, my boyfriend hated this and I was offended because it was so good!” and those who were new to your accounts would be clueless with the whole thing.

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, pierregasly and 387,665 others

ynusename can i hold your hand?

charles_leclerc your hand fits perfectly in mine so yes

username loool can someone tells charles she’s talking to us not him

username okay loverboy be grateful we agreed to share our girl with you

username YOU ARE THE PRETTIEST

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez and 282,934 others

ynusername i love the sea 🤍

charles_leclerc i love you mon ange 🧸❤️

ynusername i miss youuu lovee see youu

username challenge : leave a comment before charles does. status : failed

username is she coming to silverstone this week anyone know??

username idk i saw a fanpage saying she’s on her way there

And it was no surprise to everyone because you were indeed coming to see him this week. You had to miss his podium last week because of your schedule so you came to Silverstone a few days earlier to spend some time with him before the start of the busy weekend.

ynusername has added to their story

charles_leclerc has added to their story

And Charles was clingy. He always had been whenever he was with you in private but never in the public. It became to the point that he was known as ‘not a fan of PDA in public’ amongst the fans but he was clingy clingy this time. He always held your hands whenever you went out of the hotel to take a stroll around the area, always had his head on your lap whenever you laid down on the bed and would asked you to scratch on his hair until he fell asleep. You didn’t mind, of course and you didn’t point it out because he was so adorable.

But it became a problem because today is Thursday and it was your everything shower day. It was when you spent hours in the steamy shower where you would exfoliate, moisturise, shave, everything you could think of from head to toe.

You tried to get off the bed and your boyfriend by trying to make it as silent as you can but Charles were woken up and instantly tighten his arms around you. He had his whole body in between your legs, head turned sideways on your stomach and arms locked around your waist. He had found himself in the position while your legs stretched out as you started reading your book. You had your hand automatically started scratching and massaging his scalp as he laid down, which made him fallen asleep almost instantly but it was already 6PM and you needed to take your everything shower now or by the time you delayed it even more, you might finished it by midnight.

“No…where are you going..” Charles groaned and mumbled as he felt you moving.

“Baby, I need to take my shower.”

“Your shower can wait.”

“No, sweetheart. We went out the whole day today and I need to wash my hair. It won’t be that long, I promise.”

After a few a attempts trying to convince your boyfriend, you finally made it to the bathroom and started getting everything done. You weren’t keeping track, no one was keeping track of time during everything shower. By the time you were done, it was almost 9PM. You were in the hotel bathrobe and had you hair in a hair wrap. Your face was moist after you washed it so you thought it was a great idea to record yourself putting on your night skincare routine.

“I’m putting on this serum from Drunk Elephant. It was life changing I remember when—

Charles walked into the bathroom right at the moment like it was the most normal thing to do which startled you off for a second. You thought he was asleep.

“Charles!”

“You promised it wasn’t gonna take long, amour…You left me alone for 3 hours and I missed you.” You didn’t moved from your spot but Charles engulfed your figure from the back and hid his face in your neck, his last few words become a mumble.

“I just need to put on my skincare, okay? My face is still moist so I need to get it done fast.”

“Can I get a kiss?” He lifted his head to peck on your cheek to which you moved you face the next second.

“No, I just put on my serum. Wait until I put on my moisturiser.”

He frowned and hummed in response before dipping his face back in your neck as you continued your skincare. It was kinda hard to move when he kept his arms wrapped tightly around your waist but you were already on the last stage of the routine so you didn’t really mind.

“And last, a moisturiser. The one I’m using is from Beauty of Joseon, it really makes my skin feels really soft to touch the next day.”

“Really? I’ll give it a test.” Charles went from frowning to smirking in triumph as he moved one hand to tilt your head to the side and left a smooch on your check, up to your nose then to your lips.

“Charles! The moisturizer has’t even soaked into my skin!”

#f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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redsaurrce · 1 year

Text

LOVE SHOT - TEASER

synopsis 💉 Where jk becomes the part of an experiment where he wasn't supposed to take the love shot but ends up taking it in high dose and gets obsessed with yn by mistake

pairing 💉 YANDERE Scientist!jeon jungkook x Scientist!fem reader

genre 💉 scientist!au , main fic contains HEAVY smut (minors DNI)

teaser word count 💉 1,580

warnings 💉 -- of the main fic-- kissing, profanity, jungkook is horny AF, cumming, overstimulation, fingering, cock warming, bathroom sex, BDSM, unhealthy obsession, hella possesive, jungkook whines like a fucking loser, he's in need of too much touch, boobplay, nippleplay, neck biting, manipulative man in da household y'all- like is it his fault?? huh??

💞Doses to be prescribed everyday

Dose 1 💉

Dose 2 💉

Dose 3 💉

Dose 4 💉

Dose 5

taglist 💉 @aajjks @effielumiere @dearsullix @canarystwin @yourslut16 @imwithurmother @perfectlyfangirling @pnibts @bloodline1632 @hopeonysus @roundedreluv12 @jub-jub @maqsxi @kooscameras @jungkooksleftbigtoe13 @thatblena @yawnyanii @viridiphile @milkxgukk @outro-kook @puppiliciouslove @mata0-0mata @pk-jimin @jungchanie @ziraspells @twisted-loved @lunaofsun @inlovewithallmusic @sassyfoxunknown @teugiie @hsaranghoe @jjhmk @mryuyux @xxoverthinkerxx @fandems @hollyverday @ohmygodddsblog @fly-on-the-wall @lookformyvoice @slutforwwh @shakashakaa @meikoo @emochicksasukeee @dearly-somber

@mymomsaid-no @madnesstaking0ver @miyoung23 @outofst1le @jiminstreble @kanvis @k3lynn @imagine-this-motherfucker @dontcallmeelle @jkbabiey @1-in-abillion @bangmechanpls @uarmyhore @devils-blackrose @hrndez2008 @azur3s @erennjim @cherryunie @vynmin @fragmentof-indifference (dm/ comment/ send an ask to be tagged)

"Divorce cases are increasing at an alarming rate among Koreans, young adults are facing heartbreak more than often. Love is no more in the air, it's the gloomy winds that are gushing past us." You stopped reading the newspaper and sighed, "See? Even my woman is feeling wary about our relationship." The man sitting on the couch in front of you commented.

"Chief, I told you that we are almost done with the formula, we are in the testing mode now." You said while folding the newspaper and keeping it aside.

"Yeah of course, you have been saying that since a month now." Your chief said with dissatisfaction. You pursed your lips, "Please don't worry, we know the project is getting delayed but chief, you know better than us how important testing before marketing is. As soon as we are ready to launch the product, you and your wife will be the very first couple to receive our sample." You said and stood up to leave after bowing. "Yeah whatever, but be quick." He waved his hand as he dismissed you from his office.

As soon as you got out from the office, you received a notification from Instagram. Ye Jun, your high school classmate had posted a pic.

When you opened it, it was a class reunion photo with your ex and his current girlfriend in the frame, you hurriedly liked it and shut close your phone. The breakup with your ex was bitter and you spent days pondering over why he would breakup with you. "It was awful dating you. Why don't you date your career instead?" Were his words.

All the times when he was busy preparing for his Civil service examinations, you stayed by his side even though he couldn't afford to give you much time, it was understandable. But when it came to your career building, why did he become a jerk then?

Even thinking about him makes your blood boil, what is the use of making artificial love doses if one's heart wants something else? You leaned against the wall, your breakup wasn't based on fading hormones due to the increase of pollution of all sorts. Then those like you, would they be able to keep their love intact with the love shots?

Maybe not. But those who are desperate to stay in love, maybe for them the love shot can grant them their wishes. You smiled slightly at the thought.

Ah! You almost forgot to check the testing that was going on in the lab so you thought of going back to the headquarters.

Meanwhile in the lab, scientist Jeon Jungkook and his assistant, Gi Shin-won were running the test.

The test include providing the subject a dose of love shot and made them look at the opposite gender or same if necessary. The shot only works under two conditions,

The first person they look at after taking the love shot will be the one they'll feel the feelings of love unravel.

Normally works better if they have feelings of infatuation or affection even in the slightest towards the person they're looking at.

for the shot to stay affective, they need to take it every fourteen days and once the relationship has been mended, they can stop taking it and their relationship will continue on the virtue of their true feelings.

As Jungkook and his assistant noted the observation, one of the female subjects raised her hand. "Yes how may I help you?" Jungkook asked.

"Uhm.. as you can see that we've already signed the contract where it says that the experiment we are taking part in, is entirely under our willingness and if anything goes wrong then you guys won't be held responsible. I know I shouldn't question this as I willfully signed the consent papers but .. still I'm kind of worried, you see?"

He nodded, "I completely understand your concern mam, the thing is the moment we are done taking the observations, we're also providing everyone with antidotes of this shot, so if you're worried about falling in love with a stranger, it will only last a few hours and then the symptoms will wear off with our antidote." He reassured.

"Uh.. I know that. Well, yesterday one of my friends took it and said that she felt hot and all, I'm actually worried because I have a child to take care of so..." She trailed off in doubt.

"Ah? So that is what was concerning you? You thought this might be fatal?" He asked with curiosity. "No no no.. I mean.." "it's okay, I get it. Wait let me then try it on, when we said that we have put our blood, sweat and tears in it, we weren't kidding." He chuckled as he sat down on the chair where the subjects for experiment were supposed to sit on.

He opened his lab coat and folded up the sleeves of his shirt exposing his forearm to take the injection, "Shin-won please inject the shot." He requested.

His assistant gulped, "But you were supposed to observe?"

"It's alright, I can just take the antidote and Y/N will be here soon so she will continue the observation along with you." He said with a confident smile as he closed his eyes.

Shin-won slowly nodded as he thought of giving in to his pleas, he connected the wires to Jungkook's scalp and then picked up a syringe and injected 5ml of the love shot in his arm. Then an attractive lady walked in front of him and Shin-won told him to open his eyes, when Jungkook looked at the said lady, he felt nothing, the brain waves also saw no change as Shin-won looked at the monitor.

Which was normal, usually when the subject shows no change in his hormones, another person is shown to them. If no real life person catches their attention then they are shown the photos of celebrities.

Because who doesnt have celebrity crushes?

So another lady appeared in front of him, still no change. This kept going until the sixth person he saw. Shin-won sighed, "Do you by-chance have any celebrity crushes or someone you have as a girlfriend slash boyfriend slash crush?" He asked.

"I don't." He gulped as he lied, he had his biggest and fattest crush on you.

But how could he take your name as his crush and practically reveal it to everyone thus blowing his chance off even before he could do anything? Shin-won was a loud mouth afterall.

He continued, "How about you increase the dose by 5 ml? It worked at 10ml in case of subject 067 right?" He asked. Shin-won raised his eyebrows, "nice memory huh? Wait then let me inject another 5ml. Close your eyes." And Jungkook closed his eyes as his assistant prepared a fresh syringe.

"There! Now open your eyes." He instructed.

In much disappointment, he still showed no hormonal changes, Shin-won clicked his tongue in frustration, "Are scientists supposed to be extra immune or what?" He gritted his teeth but just then he got an idea.

He unlocked his phone and searched for racy pics of Hollywood celebrities, "What about this?" Shin-won suddenly flashed the pic in front of Jungkook and Jungkook immediately gasped while closing his eyes in reflex, "remove that from my face you brat!"

Shin-won removed his phone with a defeated face, "at least this should have worked for you."

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked at him in disbelief, "Do you take me for a horny teenager or something? Nudes of white women? Seriously?" He raised his eyebrows, only if the wires weren't still connected he would've smacked his assistant.

Jungkook bit his lower lip, "Give me another 5ml." He commanded.

Shin-won's eyes became wide, "What? No way! No subject has ever taken this dose above 10 ml!" Jungkook shook his head, "Then let me be that subject alright? Hurry up now." He said as he shifted in his seat comfortably and closed his eyes.

"I'll be getting killed tonight by Y/N." He said while arranging a new syringe. "I'm sure she'll understand me, afterall we need to distribute to all sorts of people, who knows how much is a lot? Maybe through me, you all will find out?" He said with his eyes still closed.

"We are already 3 times above the safe limit, are you sure?" He asked Jungkook for the last time while pointing the injection towards his arm.

"Yes ofcourse, we need to also know how much antidote should be taken to counteract the effects of such a large portion of this dose." He answered.

"Fine." His assistant said and finally injected the shot.

Just then you entered the lab and got surprised as you saw Jungkook on the subject's seat, "What the hell?" You looked at them in shock. Jungkook involuntarily opened his eyes to look at you and Shin-won looked at you as well. But just when he was about to explain to you, a beep sound shifted all three of yours attention towards the screen.

The hormonal change graph was steepingly rising and Shin-won started to panic and started searching for the antidote while Jungkook started feeling hotter with each passing second. You quickly ran over towards him and disconnected all the wires. Just as you went near the monitor, you heard a large thud from behind.

Your eyes went wide as you saw Jungkook's collapsed body on the ground.

The last words he heard before going blank were his name being called repeatedly in your muffled voice slowly fading out.

--x

To be continued...

DOSE 1

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lecsainz · 8 months

Text

FOOTBALL GAME

parings: daniel ricciardo x kelce!reader

author note: it's official, I'm entering my NFL era... taylor swift, what have you done?!?! 😭

summary: the one where you're the younger sister of the kelces and you go to a travis game and end up meeting daniel ricciardo.

✩. . . masterlist !

Y/N is the Kelce siblings' little sister, the protected one, adored by her entire family. Her three older brothers loved to tease her whenever they could. Nonetheless, Y/N loved being the youngest, except for the overly protective nature of her brothers. Shawn, Jason, and Travis delighted in intimidating any guy who came near their sister, and this had been the story of her life. The fact that Jason and Travis were professional football players didn't help either. Despite it all, she knew her brothers just wanted her to stay safe and find the right person. And that happened in the most unlikely way.

Y/N was at the Chiefs game, just like any other game, or so she thought. She had chosen to stay in the stands; Y/N wasn't in the mood to be in the player's family area today, especially after the appearances of her supposed new sister-in-law, Taylor. The fans had become obsessed with recording and looking for the singer-songwriter there. Today, Y/N wanted a peaceful afternoon. She had never been fond of being in the spotlight and was grateful that her brothers were the stars, not her.

As Y/N settled into her seat, she couldn't help but relish the anonymity she usually enjoyed in the stands. She liked to be just another face in the crowd, free from the constant attention that came with being a Kelce. But little did she know that this particular game was about to take an unexpected turn.

The energy in the stadium was electrifying, and as the game progressed, Y/N found herself getting more and more engrossed in the action. The Chiefs were playing exceptionally well, and the crowd's excitement was contagious. Amidst the cheers and chants, she almost forgot about her desire for a quiet day.

That's when it happened. Y/N was caught up in the moment, jumping to her feet as the Chiefs scored a touchdown. As she celebrated, an unfortunate collision occurred. Out of nowhere, a cup of beer was knocked from someone's hand, drenching her from head to toe. She gasped in surprise and shock, realizing her white Chiefs jersey was now soaked.

Furious and stunned, she turned to see who was responsible for this mess, and her eyes met a face she couldn't believe – it was none other than the famous Formula 1 driver Daniel Ricciardo, who was attending the game because of his Formula 1 race in Texas.

Y/N's frustration boiled over, and she shouted, "Are you kidding me? You just ruined my jersey!" Her irritation was palpable, and the entire section fell silent as all eyes turned to her and the unsuspecting Daniel Ricciardo.

As crowd silence hung in the air, Y/N could feel her face heating up with embarrassment and anger. She had no idea who this man was, only that he was the one who had turned her game day experience into a mess. But what she didn't know was that Daniel Ricciardo was not only a Formula 1 superstar but also known for his charm and charisma.

Daniel, caught off guard by her fiery reaction, was momentarily stunned. He glanced at the drenched jersey and then back at Y/N, a sheepish grin forming on his face. "Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I was just so caught up in the game, and I... I didn't mean to do that."

Y/N couldn't help but notice that, despite the situation, Daniel had an irresistible smile. It was clear that he was genuinely apologetic, and she couldn't stay mad at him for long. Still, she didn't know who he was, and her irritation was evident in her response. "Well, an apology won't dry my jersey, will it?"

At that moment, Max Verstappen, who was seated next to Daniel, couldn't contain his laughter any longer. He burst into fits of giggles, watching the entire interaction. "Mate, you've really done it this time!" Max said between laughs.

Y/N, despite herself, found Max's laughter contagious and couldn't help but chuckle along. "I can't believe you've got your friend here laughing at your blunder," she teased Daniel, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Daniel, red-faced and still grinning, extended his hand toward her. "I'm Daniel, by the way, and I promise I'll make it up to you somehow."

Y/N accepted the hand with a half-smile. "Y/N, nice to meet you. Just don't spill anything else on me."

Max chimed in, still amused. "Well, I think you've made quite the impression, Daniel.”

Max's playful comment only added to the amusement of the moment. As Y/N and Daniel continued to converse, they discovered an unexpected chemistry between them. His initial mistake had broken the ice, and they found themselves discussing everything from their favorite sports to their shared love for adventure.

As the game progressed, Y/N's initial irritation had turned into a delightful afternoon spent in the company of a charming stranger. She had completely forgotten about her drenched jersey and the chaotic start to their interaction.

As the final whistle blew, the Chiefs emerged victorious, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Daniel leaned closer to Y/N, and with a grin, he said, "You know, I've had an eventful day, and it's all thanks to you. Can I get your number? Maybe I can make it up to you with dinner or something?"

Y/N was taken aback for a moment, not expecting such a bold move. But his sincerity and the connection they had formed throughout the game were hard to ignore. She couldn't help but smile and replied, "Sure, why not? I think I'd like to see what other trouble you can get me into."

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moviecritc · 1 month

Note

Hi! Could you do a driver!reader who is dating Max and is in ferrari and the whole Carlos thing is happening to her so in Australia she ignores team orders and goes to win the race. Charles is mad at her and in the post race interview when asked about it she is just like "Happy multi 21 day everyone" and like Max is so fucking proud his gf is in her reputation era 💅💅💅

on the edge ⋆ max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

word count: 1.7K

warnings: charles leclerc being himself (a bitch)

a/n: this is my first request it makes me very very happy!! thanks anon for your request, i hope you like this. i love max with all my heart and i love writing about him aswell.

just wanted to tell you guys that for the requests you can ask for reader and oc, even though when it's not a request it'll probably be an oc bc i love to give names to my characters <3

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

Y/N didn't have a seat for the upcoming Formula 1 season, and that stressed her out quite a bit. She and Charles had been teammates for three years, and she really thought Ferrari would keep her on the team, but upon learning that Lewis Hamilton was leaving Mercedes, they were the first to snatch him up and turn their backs on her.

Now she had two options: give up, pray to sign with Williams or Haas, or outperform herself this season and force her way into one of the top five teams. And for now, she had chosen the second option. P3 in the first race and in the top five in the second. She was extremely motivated for Australia.

Y/N loved the view of the fireworks from the podium, the champagne, and, above all, celebrating with Max Verstappen. Because let's not lie, it was obvious that Max would be on most of the podiums.

They kept their relationship out of the media. Being coworkers, neither of them wanted their relationship to hinder their success in Formula 1, but that didn't mean they didn't support each other every time the other achieved something.

Max had been with her throughout her Formula 1 career. They were the same age, but when Max debuted in the competition, she was still in Formula 2, battling against Albon and Russell for the title. A year before his debut, Y/N got a spot at Alpha Tauri as a reserve driver. It was in that year that Max and she started a relationship, at first quite casual and sporadic until they realized they were too obsessed with each other not to formalize it. And four years later, they were still together, sharing an attic in Monaco and competing together for the championship.

"It's going to be great for both of us, I'm sure," Y/N nodded. Before each race, they had a kind of ritual where they wished each other good luck, hugged, and kissed.

"I see a Y/Nstappen 1-2," Max assured before giving her a long kiss, resting his arms on his girlfriend's waist.

"I hope so,"

"Oh, come on. You're starting fourth, it'll be bad if you don't get on the podium," Max said. He knew her situation in Formula 1 was tense and did everything he could to make her feel good and positive. Max loved racing with her, and if she ended up off the grid next season, he would probably suffer from seasonal depression.

They kissed once more and were about to hug when someone knocked on Max's door to get them to the drivers' parade. They couldn't complete their little ritual, but neither of them gave it too much importance.

They went out to the parade where she was asked about her future in Formula 1, as they had been doing since the season started. That also annoyed her, would it always be like this from now on? Would everything be oriented towards whether she was unemployed or not? She answered with the best smile she could and ended the interview as quickly as possible.

She returned to Max, who was leaning on the fence of the truck they were being taken in for the parade. She leaned on the railing, holding it with her hands. Then Max discreetly placed his hand on hers, making her smile at the contact. Max wasn't very fond of physical contact, but if he could manage to brush against her shoulder, he would, maintaining professionalism wasn't as easy as it seemed.

"How's it going, mates?" Surprisingly, Leclerc approached them to start a conversation, first fist bumping with Max and then with Y/N, pressing his lips a little.

Their relationship as teammates was quite complicated at the moment. She was killing it in the few races that had passed, while Charles was just doing okay. Plus, although when Y/N joined the team, Charles and she had gotten along very well, that year they had been growing apart for obvious reasons.

They talked for a while about the race and expectations, especially Max and Charles, while Y/N disconnected from the situation a bit. Sometimes she was surprised that Charles and Max got along so well.

"Good luck today, Y/N," Charles said before leaving with Gasly.

Y/N blinked and looked at Max, puzzled. "What did he mean by that?"

"What do you mean?" Max frowned a little.

"He wished me luck, as if he thought I needed it," she insisted, biting her cheek.

"Everyone needs some luck, Y/N," Max said, knowing how nervous she could get when something didn't fit in her head.

"He didn't say anything to you," Y/N argued, crossing her arms.

"I mean…" Max tilted his head a little, eliciting a little smile from Y/N. "Don't dwell on it too much, you'll do great."

She loved that, how Max was able to lift her spirits in any situation, getting a little smile out of her. She loved him for that.

The parade ended, and they each went to their garage, fist bumping as a farewell because anything else would cause a stir in the media. In the Ferrari garage, her engineer commented on the strategies that focused on supporting and defending Charles even if he started two positions below her.

She gave Charles a short glance before going to the cars and taking their respective positions. It’s light and away we go. Y/N was so focused on passing Lando Norris that she didn't realize her boyfriend was no longer in first place, actually, he wasn't there anymore. She asked the engineers what had happened; Max had had some problems with the brakes and had retired from the race. "Don't fuck with me," she said, not fully believing it. "Is Max okay?"

"We don't know, focus on the race," her engineer emphasized.

"When you know, tell me, please," Y/N added, without receiving a response. There had been no accident, no red flag, so he was probably fine. But if there was smoke and sparks, there was always a chance that something had happened to him in the pits.

Y/N took a couple of breaths and refocused on the race. She looked on the bright side; she was third and had a chance to win. A few laps later, she managed to overtake Lando Norris. She pitted, and in the last third of the race, she was in first place. Behind her was Charles, so she thought they would change the strategy, and he would be the one defending the position.

"Y/N, let Charles pass," her engineer said, taking her by surprise.

"What?" Y/N practically shouted. "But I'm in first,"

"They're team orders, let him pass,"

"He's slow! He's over half a second behind me, letting him pass will make me slow down!" She couldn't believe this was happening.

"Y/N."

"If he can overtake me, let him, but I'm not letting him pass. I'm winning this fucking race."

And so it was. Y/N crossed the finish line first, and when she got out of the car, Max was there to greet her with a hug. He tried to make her not notice that there were hardly any people from her team there, but Y/N realized it, and her gaze darkened a little. Still, Charles came second, and when he parked his car, several Ferrari mechanics went to congratulate him.

Max watched Y/N, worried that she would take it badly. But then he saw her exchange a triumphant

look with Charles, who, upon seeing her, turned serious. And if that wasn't enough, she blew a kiss to Charles and then went with Max, who put an arm around her shoulders.

"That was incredible," Max said.

"The race or Charles's face?" she questioned, with an ironic smile.

"Both. I thought you'd be sad because there was no one to greet you,"

"You were there,"

"From your team, I mean," Max explained.

"You and I are a team, Maxie. Have you never thought about that?" She looked at him with a smile. "You're right, we are,"

"Are you okay?" Y/N asked. "I got quite worried when you DNF’d."

"I'm okay, no serious damage,"

"And emotionally?"

"I'm fine. Proud of you, above all," Max nodded. "Now go celebrate your podium, I'll be watching you from below,"

They gave each other a brief kiss on the cheek, not caring too much about the cameras; she had just won the race, she deserved at least a kiss from her boyfriend. She received her prize with a smile and celebrated the podium with Charles and Lando, more with Lando than with Charles. The McLaren driver had congratulated her countless times that day, but Charles barely spoke to her.

"Are you okay, mate?" Y/N asked, knowing what was coming.

"You didn't follow team orders," Charles said directly.

"Oh, right. That," she shrugged, raising her eyebrows. "You came second, Charles. It's not that bad,"

"Damn, but if they tell you to let me pass, you let me pass. What does it matter to you?" he raised his voice a little.

"What does it matter to you? You have your golden seat at Ferrari. Some of us have to work really hard to have a seat, crazy, right?" Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile and turned around, leaving Charles with a word on his lips.

Y/N reached the interview area, where Lando and Oscar were doing their respective interviews.

"Y/N! You won the race by disobeying team orders, does it feel the same as winning a race fair and square?" a man asked.

"Fair and square? I was fast enough to cross the line first, the rest weren't. I think that's how a race is supposed to be won," she argued. She smiled widely; she saw Max was also around, waiting for his turn for interviews.

"Don't you have any remorse?" he questioned.

"Not one,"

She ended the interview after that; she didn't feel like explaining. As she turned around, she found Max with an almost mischievous smile. They fist bumped, and he went to do the interview. "Max, can we ask you about the win of your girlfriend?"

"About Y/N,"

"Yes, about Y/N," he nodded.

"I'm extremely proud of her, it's her second victory, and even though I had to retire, I'm glad she won this race,"

"Even given the circumstances of the victory?" the reporter questioned.

"With the circumstances of the victory," Max assured with a broad smile.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen imagine #australian gp 2024 #charles leclerc #mv1 #mv1 x reader #mv1 fic #mv1 x you #mv33 #mv33 x reader #mv33 imagine #mv33 fic #mv33 x you #max verstappen one shot #noraverse 🫧

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ham1lton · 14 days

Note

50 + jenson button where he goes to readers childhopd room and sees loads of photos of old f1 stars (and him)👀

050. a childhood home or bedroom w/ JB22.

— part of a series of drabbles! <3

you had been seeing jenson for a little while. he was seemingly perfect. you both got along incredibly well, he was funny and obviously very attractive so when your family asked if he could come along for your biweekly sunday dinner, you obviously said yes. if you’d known what was going to happen, you would have said no.

“is that me?” jenson laughed as he walked into your bedroom. you hadn’t been home in a while, so you had completely forgotten about your decor which comprised of young jenson, young lewis, young nico and young sebastian plastered all over your walls.

“i was young!” you attempted to defend yourself, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. why hadn’t your mother taken these down? but at least, you know that your parents were so out of touch with celebrity culture that they never would have thought that the jenson in the poster was the same one lounging on your hello kitty themed bed.

jenson grinned as he stepped closer to inspect the posters. "wow, i never knew i had such a dedicated fan," he teased, tracing a finger over his younger self's face.

you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "i was a teenager! we all have our embarrassing phases."

he laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made your heart flutter. "it's kind of adorable, actually. but now i feel like i have a lot to live up to. do i still meet your expectations?"

you peeked through your fingers, meeting his playful gaze. "you've exceeded them, honestly."

just then, your mother called from downstairs. "dinner's ready! jenson, we're excited to get to know you!"

you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the evening ahead. "ready to face the family?"

jenson reached out, taking your hand in his. "as long as you're with me, i think i can handle anything."

as you both headed downstairs, you tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. dinner started off well enough; your family was sweet and welcoming, and jenson's natural charisma shone through, easing your nerves.

but then, just as you were beginning to relax, your younger brother piped up. "you know, you look a lot like that racer dude on the posters in my sister's room."

your father's eyebrows shot up. "racer?"

before you could intervene, jenson chuckled and said, "it's true. i used to be a formula 1 driver."

there was a moment of stunned silence. your mother blinked in surprise, and your father's face split into a wide grin. "no kidding! my daughter has had those posters up since she was a kid. she was obsessed with racing!"

you cringed, wishing the ground would swallow you up. but jenson squeezed your hand reassuringly. "well, i guess you could say she has good taste."

your family laughed, and to your relief, the conversation shifted back to more mundane topics. as the evening wore on, you found yourself relaxing again, especially as jenson handled your family's questions and quirks with ease.

later, as you walked him to his car, jenson turned to you with a smile. "your family is great. and the posters... well, they make me feel like i've been a part of your life for longer than i knew."

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "honestly? i'm just glad you didn't run for the hills.”

he hummed and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "not a chance. besides, who wouldn't want to date their biggest fan?"

#ham1lton’s drabbles 🝮#formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #jenson button x reader #jenson button x you #jb22 x reader

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vettelsvee · 1 month

Text

MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT REPUTATION'S VERSION

a formula 1 short stories compilation about my favourite drivers based on each taylor swift song from reputation

taglist: [@celemilii @theseerbetweenus @anniee-mr @stelena-klayley @lozzamez3 @0710khj @afterg1ows @vincentvanshoe @coco-loco-nut @minkyungseokie @lemon-lav @stinkyjax @seokjinkismet @c-losur3 @annewithaneofthegreengable @khaylin27] thanks to all of you who wanted to be tagged! don't forget you can join my taglist by commenting or telling me through dm <3

are you ready for it?

TACK 1 ...READY FOR IT | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smau Y/N finally decides she's ready to start a relationship with Charles even people just hate her so much for her past dating other F1 drivers.

TRACK 2 END GAME | george russell x reader Y/N, after dating too many guys for fun, is finally ready to settle down her mind by starting dating George, her brother’s best friend.

TRACK 3 I DID SOMETHING BAD | fernando alonso x reader ⋆ smut Fernando has a night one stand with Y/N De la Rosa, his friend Pedro’s daughter. He knows that’s bad, but why the forbidden feels so good?

TRACK 4 DON'T BLAME ME | oscar piastri x reader Y/N is scared to start a relationship with Oscar not only because she’s broken more hearts than she can remember, but also because everyone told her she’s not good enough for the McLaren driver.

TRACK 5 DELICATE | max verstappen x reader Y/N started dating Max and, since the first minute, their relationship has been public. She’s so in love, she’s so happy to be with someone as nice as Verstappen, but she’s also so insecure and vulnerable about what others think about them.

TRACK 6 LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO | lando norris x actress!reader ⋆ smau After breaking up with his boyfriend of three years, Y/N decides to move forward and show people that she wasn’t the villain of her and Lando’s story.

TRACK 7 SO IT GOES... | charles leclerc x reader ⋆ smut After having one of the worst fights of their relationship due to some photos that were leaked and the thoughts of the media and fans of Y/N cheating on Charles, the couple decides to solve problems in a not so talkative way.

TRACK 8 GORGEOUS | sebastian vettel x musician fem oc Sebastian decides to spend a weekend by himself next to Alessia Cavalli, the girl he might be falling in love with after his wife, Hanna, cheated on him. Sebastian is captivated by Alessia, but he can’t just express his feelings: not only the media will become obsessed with them, but also Hanna and the rest of Seb’s family. So, for now, not only Vettel, but also Cavalli, will have to be friends even tough they think about each other they’re gorgeous.

TRACK 9 GETAWAY CAR | george russell x reader After having a relationship with his teammate, Lewis Hamilton, and having broken up with him after many years dating, Y/N just need George as a getaway car.

TRACK 10 KING OF MY HEART | lewis hamilton x reader ⋆ smau Y/N was happy to be single until she met Lewis in one of the Louis Vuitton events.

TRACK 11 DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED | oscar piastri x reader Oscar really wanted to spend the rest of his life with his best friend. Y/N wanted to be honest with Oscar and tell him she was truly, madly, deeply, in love with him. However, things turn out to be different and they decide to hide their feelings because they know things will get worse if they're honest to each other.

TRACK 12 DRESS | sebastian vettel x singer fem!oc ⋆ smut Sebastian asks Diana, the girl who used to be her best friend and girlfriend, to go with him to FIA Prize Giving 2018. Diana, who’s a famous singer, decides to wear a dress only for Seb, the guy she still has feelings for and also the father of her daughter, to take it off. Will Seb still have the same feelings for Diana?

TRACK 13 THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS | mick schumacher x reader After a meal with Mick's family and friends, Y/N finds out that the toxicity she was dealing with in her relationship with Schumacher wasn't just a thought she had but a reality she was living.

TRACK 14 CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT | sebastian vettel x reader After the loss of her mother due to Alzheimer, Y/N meets Sebastian in a therapy group, who seems to be his savior when her life was falling down to pieces.

TRACK 15 NEW YEAR'S DAY | carlos sainz x reader A proposal on New Year's Day is what Carlos' girlfriend wouldn't have expected after dating for almost nine years with the Spanish guy

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delulujuls · 2 months

Text

brazilian air | as12

hi, i am in my classic f1 era rn and i am currently obsessed with mr Senna god he was so fine and since it's his bday today i thought that im gonna upload this one bc why not

also im like 100% sure that this one will flop but i wanted to upload this anyway, so if you'll find it worth a shot, enjoy then!

happy bday king, 64 today but 34 forever, you'll always be missed

summary: during a month break from racing, ayrton thought that inviting y/n into his family sides will get them along even more. to the surprise to both of them, they got along even better than expected

warnings: sexual content, fingering, female orgasm

pairing: fem!mclarendriver x ayrton senna

After the Sao Paulo Grand Prix, there came a monthly break, even though it was only the second race of the season.

The end of march was very warm, but the weather in Brazil had its own rules. Just as in London there was probably a downpour and the temperature barely above ten degrees, the other side of the globe had almost holiday-like weather.

The 1990 season was the second year when Y/N took Alain Prost's seat at McLaren, thus becoming Ayrton Senna's teammate. While many did not look favorably upon Ron Dennis's decision for various reasons—because Y/N was the first woman in history to have the opportunity to race at the top level of motorsport, her debut in Formula 1, her young age, and the fact of what kind of past Senna had with his previous teammates—with each passing month the doubts started to going away.

The girl handled herself on the track incredibly well, and since McLaren did not disappoint with their cars, she practically returned from every race with points, effectively shutting the mouths of all those who spoke unfavorably about her.

Even Ayrton himself, who was initially the most unconvinced about the boss's decision, also didn't need much to change his mind about her. At first, he approached her with distance, fearing that her joining the team might cause even more damage than when they had Prost in reserve. As it turned out, the girl was not his enemy; often, he himself silenced all those who attacked her and questioned her abilities.

Senna saw that she looked up at him as her authority. She never explicitly told him, but it was evident how she listened carefully to his advice, asked when she had doubts, and consulted almost everything only with him, although she had a whole crowd of people around her.

Ron breathed a sigh of relief seeing that they tolerated each other and there were no forecasts for them to repeat the Senna-Prost scenario. However, tolerating each other was an understatement, because Ayrton would never invite someone to his family's sides whom he merely tolerated. The Brazilian didn't admit it out loud, but he liked the girl. Sometimes he even caught himself thinking about her when she wasn't around, and when she was, he smiled a lot more in her company, whereas McLaren's garage used to be a place of nerves and tense atmosphere for him.

Yes, if someone asked him about Y/N, Ayrton would say she was his friend. Someone he never had after leaving Brazil.

"How do I say in Portugese that I can't eat anymore?"

The girl asked, lying on her towel stretched out on the hull of the motorboat belonging to the Senna family.

Y/N shielded the sun with her hand and glanced at Ayrton, who laughed at her question, sitting next to her and smoking a cigarette.

"It's not funny, your mom wants to fatten me up so that I'm heavier and slower than you on the track."

"Não aguento mais, tô chei", but even if you say it in Portugese, my mom won't listen to you anyway."

"I've never eaten such delicious food, but when we get back, I probably won't fit into my clothes anymore."

He released smoke from his lungs and involuntarily glanced at her when she turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes. Her hair, still wet from bathing in the lake, stuck to her shoulders, and her skin, once pale, slowly began to take on a blush from the sun.

"You look good, so don't worry."

"I didn't say I would look bad, just that I won't fit into my pants anymore."

"As long as you can fit into the car, you'll be fine."

The girl snorted, "Well, in that case, I have quite a reserve."

Y/N gathered her hair behind her shoulder and settled more comfortably, exposing herself to the pleasantly warming rays of the sun. Ayrton glanced down her body and only when the heat from his cigarette burned his fingers a little, he snap out of it. Did he really like the girl, or was it just that he spent so much time with her that he got used to her? He didn't know the answer to that question, but he knew that sometimes he found himself staring at her for a bit too long. Despite being a few years younger than him, she had feminine charms. He also objectively thought that the girl was attractive.

She didn't have much of a different opinion about him either because in her eyes, Ayrton was indeed a handsome man. He was tall, athletic, had beautiful brown eyes and hair of the same color, which often fell in curls onto his forehead. She liked his smile and the way he wrinkled his nose, which, like most of his body, was covered in freckles. But Ayrton appealed to her only as an older teammate, someone who was completely out of her reach, and for whom she was probably just an insignificant kid. At least that's what she thought.

They spent time at the lake until late afternoon, as for dinner, besides Ayrton's parents, his sister with Bruno, his nephew, was also supposed to appear. Upon returning to the Senna family's home, the girl took only a quick shower and threw on a thin, white dress because even though the day was slowly coming to an end, the temperature was still high. They spent the evening on the terrace, and time passed in a very pleasant atmosphere. Mrs. Senna made sure that only delicious dishes appeared on the table, while Mr. da Silva entertained the company with stories and jokes. Although Y/N didn't speak anything in Portugese except for the short phrases Ayrton had taught her, there were no communication problems for a moment. At one point, little Bruno grabbed the radio and turned up the volume, pulling the girl by the hand and inviting her to dance. The girl, already somewhat tipsy from wine, agreed without hesitation and followed the six-year-old, dancing with him barefoot on the still warm concrete. Ayrton's mother and sister sang along with the song, his father clapped his hands, and Ayrton himself looked at the scene with tenderness, laughing and sipping his beer. She took the boy in her arms and spun with him, dancing, to which Bruno laughed out loud. Although Ayrton's family had only met Y/N a few days ago, he was convinced, seeing with his own eyes, how much they liked her. It meant a lot to him.

"Tio, agora tio Ayrton!"

Bruno shouted and pointed at the man when a new song started playing. Ayrton laughed and shook his head, to which his sister started pulling his arm and, to the sounds of approval from the family, he stood up and approached the girl, who put the boy down on the ground.

"Querida senhora," he extended his hand towards her, slightly bowing, "may I?"

Y/N chuckled and nodded, extending her hand, which was met with numerous shouts and whistles.

"I can't dance, I can't dance at all."

She said through laughter when he pulled her closer and placed his hand on her waist.

"Everyone can dance to Brazilian rhythms, trust me."

Ayrton replied with an assuring smile and spinned her around, catching her again after a moment. They danced, understanding each other without words, laughing only when one of them accidentally bumped into someone or stepped on someone's foot.

The girl didn't know if her cheeks were burning from the sun, the alcohol, or the fact that she felt embarrassed by being so close to him. But she felt light and happy enough not to dwell on it. She wanted this evening to last as long as possible.

However, at some point, Bruno fell asleep on the chair, and Viviane took him in her arms, announcing that she would put him to bed and she will also take a rest, wishing everyone a good night. Ayrton's mother, seeing that his dad had had enough beer, took him by the arm and, amid numerous protests, escorted him inside. The girl helped carry the dishes to the kitchen, and when she brought in the last batch of plates, Ayrton's mother hugged her tightly.

Y/N returned her embrace with a smile, wishing her a good night before returning to the terrace.

Seeing the expression on her face, Ayrton smiled too.

"They liked you, but I'm sure you noticed that yourself."

"They are very kind," the girl replied, closing the terrace doors, "you have a truly wonderful family."

Y/N approached the table and took a chair to sit on it, but Ayrton straightened up and patted his knees, indicating that she should sit on them. The girl accepted the invitation without protest and sat on them sideways, embracing him around the neck.

"I'm glad you agreed to come here with me," he said, looking into her eyes, to which she smiled.

"I'm glad you invited me."

For a moment, they looked at each other in silence, she on his lap, with her hand on his bare shoulders, he with one hand on her waist and the other caressing her exposed thigh. He raised his hand and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, touching her flushed cheek. The girl smiled at his gesture and closed her eyes.

"You're important to me, you know?"

"I am?"

She asked, looking at him again.

Ayrton nodded, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Y/N threaded her fingers into the hair resting at the base of his neck, stroking it lightly. At one point, without thinking or saying a word, he leaned towards her and kissed her. She kissed him back, touching his cheek with her other hand. Ayrton didn't break the kiss, he just hugged her tighter, pressing their bodies together. Y/N was returning each of his kisses and after a while their tongues started their love dance, rubbing against each other. Even though they were both a bit drunk, Ayrton wasn't sure how much he could afford. However, when she slightly opened her legs, giving him a silent invitation, he squeezed her thigh to which she sighed. He smiled against her lips, continuing to kiss her. He stroked her leg, moving higher and higher with each movement. When he felt the fabric of her underwear with his fingertips, he pulled away slightly, wanting to look at her face and see her reaction, but she pulled him closer again, connecting their lips in a kiss.

"Do not stop"

Ayrton smiled against her lips and deepened the kiss in response. He ran his fingers over her pussy and she purred softly. He began to slowly massage her through the fabric of her panties, but when they began to get in the way after some time, he pulled them off her with a quick movement.

His lips soon moved to her neck, marking it with kisses. She tilted her head, giving him better access to her. Ayrton accidentally slipped the strap of her dress, but neither of them cared. The girl noticed it only when he sucked on her nipple, which made her moan involuntarily.

"You have to be quiet, can you do that?"

He asked quietly, glancing at her ecstatic face. She just licked her lips and quickly nodded. He ran his tongue over her nipple again, his hand still massaging her pussy. When he felt how wet she was, he slowly inserted his finger into her, but carefully watched her face, continuing to caress her breasts with his mouth. He looked at her, wanting to make sure they were both on the same page. However, his actions were perceived with enthusiasm, as the girl tilted her head back, letting out a muffled moans from her pursed lips. Ayrton smiled to himself, still peppering her breasts with kisses. He inserted his finger all the way and started moving it, expertly nudging her inner, sensitive spot. Y/N had a hard time staying quiet, especially when he added a second finger and his movements inside her started getting more precise and decisive. The girl covered her mouth with one hand and grabbed his wrist with the other and pushed him harder into herself, feeling that she was only seconds away from orgasm.

"Ayrton, I- oh my god…"

Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck again and dug her nails into his bare shoulder.

"Kiss me, quick"

He said quietly, his breathing also quickening. She complied with his command and kissed him, making him muffle her moans with his mouth. Y/N came on his hand soon after, squeezing her eyes shut and tilting her head back. After a few moments, the girl sat up straight again, trying to calm her breathing. As she slowly began to realize what had actually happened, the blush on her cheeks intensified even more. She looked at him uncertainly, he laughed seeing her reaction and kissed her on the cheek.

"Don't look so innocent, you're quite a good one."

The girl felt ashamed and closed her eyes, cuddling into him, and he hugged her tightly.

"Promise me that no one in your family will sit in this chair for breakfast."

Ayrton chuckled and rubbed his hand on her back.

"I promise, don't worry about it," he rested his cheek on her head, "We can go somewhere else if you want."

The girl raised her head and looked at him.

"I won't be able to keep quiet, Ayrton. Your parents-" "Don't worry," he interrupted her, taking her panties thrown on the chair next to them and handing them to her hand, "I'll make sure you keep your mouth busy."

#f1 imagines #f1 #f1 one shot #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #as12 #ayrton senna #ayrton senna x reader #classic f1

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mrswolffs-blog · 9 months

Text

AUDACITY: Toto Wolff x Wife!Black!Reader

TW: CURSING, YELLING

The hectic race here in Monza had finally come to an end and it is now time for the post-race interviews. One by one, the drivers were asked questions about what happened during their drive and what they think could've been done differently; however, a specific question a young driver had pissed off the wife the Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 Team, Y/n Wolff as she march her way in front of the man, blocking the journalist's sight of him.

"Could you please repeat that question you asked?" Y/n asked to make sure she heard the man right. "I asked if he felt that since he hadn't been winning any races for Christian, if he thought that maybe his time here in Formula 1 is running out?" the man asked once again, this time with a bit of fear for what the shorter yet feisty woman had to say. "So, I wasn't hallucinating, I heard you correctly! Now let me educate you on something here since you seem to lack the knowledge! A driver's career doesn't just end because they've been constantly not making it to the podium, sure he hasn't been winning yet he did a damn good job at keeping himself in the top six and THAT should be praised considering the state of favouritism going on in his team. Next is to address the fact that yes, we all know that Christian Horner is an impatient man when it comes to certain things, however he would never be that foolish to let Sergio go and if he was, he would pay for it dearly at my hands as I would personally burn his headquarters and garages to ashes, not leaving a pinch of paper for him to start over from. Mark my words, as whatever it is that you call yourself, the post-race interviews are for questions about the race and shouldn't go to the extent of you putting doubts into any driver's mind. BE WARNED THAT THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND LAST WARNING AS YOU ARE WALKING ON THIN ICE SEEMING THAT I COULD'VE HAD YOUR CAREER ENDED ON THE SPOT. Now apologize!" She shouted in anger that someone who should've been able to be trusted to ask sensible questions was actually a complete idiot out for nothing but starting chaos.

"I'm very sorry Sergio, I didn't think my words would have been taken that seriously" said the man as he was on the verge of tears, out of fear that he almost lost his job due to a foolish question. "It's ok, no hard feelings. Just try not to make this mistake again or best believe she'll be back for you" Sergio said as he went over to hug the man, being in shock himself.

Toto had been doing an interview with his drivers, when George noticed what was about to happen and tapped Lewis on the shoulder. They both called for Toto's attention, where the trio along with their journalist, watched on as Y/n gave the visibly shaking man a piece of her mind. After that was done, the lady interviewing them decided to ask "So Toto, you've obviously seen what your wife had just done. What would your reaction be to her for this?" the journalist smiled as she awaited an answer from Toto who as himself looks genuinely scared. "My question is What the fuck do you all want me to do?! I'm not getting involve in that! The last time you all had me interfere, I was unable to sleep on my pillows for a month!" He replied in a panicked tone as Lewis and George were the only two who knew what his "pillows" meant. "Dude, you've got to be kidding me. You still call her breasts pillows? How comfortable could they be?" George asked in amusement that his boss was still obsessed with his wife's boobs. "Trust me Russ, they are very comfy, I've also added and new pair. The ass" Toto said making everyone, including the journalist laugh. "Alright, so I see you're unable to help the guy out, that's all the questions I have for you three. Have a nice rest of your day" the woman said as they replied, "Same to you."

Unbeknownst to them the cameras had still been filming LIVE and they manged to capture the response which sent the world into a spiral at the fact that such a giant of man's weakness was being able to sleep on his wife as it now became the biggest thing to tease him of whenever he did something he wasn't supposed to.

#toto wolff x oc #toto wolff imagine #toto wolff #toto wolff angst #toto wolff fluff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff fanfic

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cutielando · 6 months

Text

not fair ~ oscar piastri

Summary: Upon joining Formula 1 this year, there has been a lot of scrutiny regarding Oscar and if he was really up for the challenge. More confident than ever in his abilities with you by his side, he is ready to prove everyone wrong.

Words: 1.1k+

Other works: my masterlist

♡♡♡♡♡

Formula 1 was no joke.

The amount of stress the drivers were being subjected to was sometimes almost ridiculous. Add that to also being a fresh rookie in the business and you're done for.

That's exactly how Oscar felt ever since joining McLaren for this year's season.

Getting the opportunity was everything he had been working towards ever since he was a little boy just starting up in karting. It was his dream to race in the big leagues, and now it was finally happening.

However, the first half of the season hadn't been going that well for your boyfriend.

He had been having a hard time getting a grip on the car, on the new tracks he hadn't driven before. F1 was much more demanding than F2 and it was taking a while for Oscar to get used to it.

You were there for him every single step of the way, cheering him on and supporting him fully. However, there was just so much you could do.

The thoughts in his head couldn't be controlled and oftentimes he wouldn't let you in because he would think it was something he had to deal with on his own. No matter how many times you asked, he just wouldn't budge.

The summer break had been the one thing both of you had been looking forward to. You had been planning a trip back to Australia so Oscar could visit his parents and you were hoping some time away from the chaos of it all would be good for his mental health.

But of course, Oscar being Oscar, the first thing he did after arriving at his home in Australia was jump in the simulator he had set up at home, practicing different tracks for hours on end.

You would just about convince him to take breaks to eat and use the bathroom.

After 3 days of constantly sitting in the sim chair, you had decided that enough was enough.

It needs to stop.

♡♡♡♡♡

"Baby?" you called out, entering his game room where he had been in ever since he woke up several hours ago.

"Hm?" he barely acknowledged that someone else was in the room with him, his eyes trained on the track he was practicing.

"Can we talk for a minute, please?" you stopped behind his chair and put your hands on his shoulders, trying to get him to come back to Earth.

"In a moment, darling. Just let me finish this race and we'll talk, okay?" he quickly looked up and offered you a smile before his attention was back to the screen.

You sighed but mumbled an okay, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on the top of his head.

Having some time on your hand, you just decided to sit down on the small couch in the corner of the room, scrolling through your phone while waiting.

After a couple of minutes, you heard the simulator turning off and Oscar joining you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pecking your temple.

"What did you want to talk about?"

You sighed before twisting around to face him.

"You know I love you, right?" the words made Oscar's stomach turn.

Nothing good ever comes out after those words. Still, he decided to remain calm.

"I do. I love you too"

You nodded, twisting your lips while deep in thought, trying to come up with a nice way to say what you wanted to say.

"I know how hard it's been for you this past few months, signing with McLaren and getting used to the stress and chaos that's F1. And I'm unbelievably proud of you baby, but what you're doing isn't healthy. You're a rookie, baby, you're learning the ropes and nobody expects you to get everything right on your first try. Everyone makes mistakes and the point is to learn from them. I know you've had a rough first half of the season, but it's not over yet. You need to take care of yourself and not let yourself lose sight of the big goal, baby. Obsessing over things and spending every waking moment in that sim while neglecting your health and training isn't helping anyone, my love" you took his face in your hands, cradling it.

He looked at you deeply, knowing that you were right.

He nodded, looking down at your lap so you wouldn't be able to see his lip quivering.

"I just wanted to prove to everyone that I deserve the seat and I deserve to be here" his voice was small, almost like a little child's.

Your heart broke at that.

Seeing your boyfriend fight so hard just so he could prove to his fans that he deserved to be a McLaren driver, putting that huge pressure on his health to prove himself made tears well up in the corner of your eyes.

"Baby, you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You are here for a reason and that is the fact that you are so immensely talented, my love. You've worked your ass off ever since you were a little boy and McLaren saw that, which is exactly why they fought so hard to sign you. You need to give yourself some credit and be proud of where you are, Os" you were caressing his cheek with your thumb, slowly gathering the tears that had started flowing down his cheeks.

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry" he buried his face in your neck, sobs wrecking his body.

You kissed the side of his head as you held him tightly, grateful that he could finally let out everything he had been pushing down for months.

And you were right there for him.

♡♡♡♡♡

Oscar hated being told "I told you so", but he was grateful you got to say that to him in that moment.

Upon returning from the summer break, both McLaren drivers seemingly did a 180 and started absolutely dominating the grid every single race and every single sprint race.

You genuinely thought things couldn't get any better, but then Qatar rolled around.

And Oscar won his first ever Sprint in Formula 1.

To say that you were proud beyond words wouldn't do justice to what you were feeling.

Seeing him holding the P1 trophy made your heart swell and your stomach fill with butterflies like they did when you were just a young teenager falling for Oscar for the first time. Upon seeing him holding that trophy, you found yourself falling in love over and over again.

When the hype after the race finally calmed down and Oscar was finally able to return to his driver room where you had been waiting, there were only 4 words that needed to be said.

"I told you so"

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