SERIES

Linz’s Favorite Fics

Let me start off by saying! Hi! I'm fairly new to Tumblr. So I don't truly know what I'm doing as far as format yet. So bare with me! Below I am sharing MY PERSONAL FAVORITE Bucky Barnes Fan-fictions for your reading pleasure. I read exclusively on A03, so if you know these authors are on tumblr, please tag them for me! I want them to get ALL the love. Some of them will be completed works, others will be in progress. MOST (if not all) will include some form of *SPICE* and you should ALWAYS read the tags the authors include for before reading.

~Lindz

Vacant Mirrors by pilotisms- A03 (Complete) @whirlybirbs here on tumblr.

Dr. Hart shares an office with Dr. Raynor. You share a waiting room with Bucky Barnes.

THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC OF ALL TIME. 50k words of absolute brilliance. It’s so beautifully written, Birbs is a poet truly. Set POST ENDGAME but before TFATWS. Character driven. Seeing this look into a post Endgame Bucky is JUST what the doctor ordered. Rabbit (you) is super fun, quirky and the perfect "sidekick" for Buck. READ IT READ IT READ IT!

The Wyvern by emmagnetised - Ao3. (Completed)

Slow Burn, Bucky/Stark Sister OFC. Mostly Canon Compliant. TW: Body horror, Child Experimentation, Violence, FEELS.

I seriously SOBBED uncontrollably at the end of this one. My husband was very concerned. You've been warned.

P.s. this writer also has a GREAT Steve/ofc fic called The Siren. Highly recommend that one as well.

Songbirds and Bombshells by bouncingkappa- cross posted on Ao3 and Fanfiction.net (complete)

1940’s Bucky Barnes/OFC. Warnings for typical violence associated with marvel and WWII.

Ya’ll this fic is a MASTERPIECE. The story and world are built out larger than life. We get so much historical context, Howlies banter, MULTIPLE POV’s and an INCREDIBLE OFC Sadie Ried. I tell you what, the romance that is crafted through this story is so incredible, and it is a SLOWWWWW BURNN. I cried, I laughed, I had a mental breakdown when it ended. Just the research ALONE this author put in to make this 1940’s fic feel true to history but also the MCU was so impressive and unique. Highly recommend.

Epiphany by gingerthestormwitch -Ao3 (Completed) <Sequel in progress>

Slow Burn, Bucky X Reader. Setting: After CA:TWS until/during/after CA:CW. I know how people feel about Y/N fiction, BUT TRUST ME THIS IS WORTH IT. A+++ SMUT (But also incredibly well written characters and storyline that branches off from Canon in a VERY good way.)

Blindsided by ww713- Ao3 (In progress)

In which Tony forgives Steve shortly after Civil War and brings Bucky to the compound. Not compliant post Civil War. Bucky/Stark Sister OFC (HEAVY ANGST)

Penny is probably one of my favorite OFC's. She's beautifully flawed, and her relationship with Bucky is FAR from perfect. You will feel many things.

Come Wind, Come Weather by X23Maximoff- Ao3 (In progress)

But Hydra took away everything except for the bond between them. Peace follows war, just as Summer follows Winter.

LOTS OF 1940's BUCKY IN THIS FIC!! This fic beautifully juxtaposes two timelines. Bucky had a girl during the War; and she ends up being captured and turned into the Summer Soldier and is the Winter Soldier's Partner. The chapters during the War are some of my favorite, I'm obsessed with the interactions between the Howlies. It's a love story at it's core, but it is also SO SO SO much more.

The Supernova Series by Madscientist1313- Ao3 (Multipart Series- In Progress)

Relationships can be tough, especially when one person is a recovering-from-being-brainwashed-and-tortured former assassin and the other is an overworked mutant scientist.

You are in it for the LONG HAUL with this one kids. Fasten your seatbelts. The OFC Dr. Tessa Sullivan is a mutant - with the power to control and manipulate energy - who was raised in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. This series is near and dear to me. It's an amazing fic that goes a bit off cannon but ADDS so much to the story while sticking to the basics. PLUS it adds the X-Men into the MCU world. And it's basically perfect. Trust me. MUCH ANGST. MUCH FLUFF. Be prepared to have your heart ripped out once you get to the events of Endgame. Cause yeah.

These Ties That Bind by SweetAsCanBe- Ao3 (Ongoing)

This is a Soul Mate AU. Y/N Fic.

This is the Author's first fic, And I AM VERY IMPRESSED. I literally read what they have published in one sitting today (april 19th 2021) and cannot wait for the conclusion. ANGST IS WHAT I LIVE FOR.

Not That Lucky by TheSarcasticKnight- Ao3 (Complete)

Bucky/OFC, Steve/OFC- AJ Bradley

Ya’ll A.J.the ofc of this story is amazing. I love her. She's so badass. The writing style is so fun, super sarcastic and witty all good things. Admittedly this one is very different from my usual since there isn’t a lot of “Romance” per se. The story is more character driven and hints at the possibility of A.J. Ending up in a triangle with Stucky. Which. Hello. Yes please. The sequel is ongoing and I’m reading that currently!

Delicate Stages by WhereAnaWrites- Ao3 (Complete)

James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes agrees to Deprogramming Sessions. What he gets is not anything like he expected.

I Want To Hold Your Hand by ThisMustBeFakeMe on Ao3. (In progress)

Ana and Bucky are I believe my OG first fanfic of the quarantine deep dive. Love how their relationship developers and I love Ana's powers! Great read, and this particular characterization of Bucky and the parts from his point of view are TO DIE FOR.

SHAMELESS SELF PROMO:

I Want To Hold Your Hand by ThisMustBeFakeMe on Ao3. (In progress)

Bucky/Reader, set after TFATWS. Basically a bunch a drabbles with some over-arching plot kinda sorta whatever.

What Lindsey is writing Bucky Barnes Fanfiction? Yes yes she is. She not super sure it’s any good at all, and she’d love some constructive feedback or even requests for drabbles!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has been leaving signs for you all along—hidden flowers, colors, and initials

warnings | fluff, romance, intimate moments, emotional intensity, subtle symbolism

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You don’t know exactly when it started.

Maybe it was after that race in Monaco, when you stayed late in the paddock helping him organize a few things and ended up talking for hours. Or maybe it was before, when you lent him your jacket under the rain in Spa, and he returned it with a smile that lingered with you longer than you were willing to admit.

The truth is, one day, without warning, you started noticing the little things.

The flower came first.

It was tiny. Just a brushstroke along the bottom edge of Max’s helmet, almost imperceptible. A lavender. No one else would’ve noticed it—except you. Because no one else in that paddock knew that was your favorite flower. Because you were the only one who wore lavender perfume. The only one who left dried sprigs on your desk, like a charm.

You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him from the edge of the garage, pretending to study the tires or check data that wasn’t even your responsibility. It was easier to act like you didn’t know. Like your heart hadn’t started racing over a single gesture.

Because… how do you explain it?

How do you explain that a flower on a Formula 1 driver’s helmet can make you feel so much? How do you justify that, in the middle of roaring engines and the chaos of the paddock, something so small could cut so deep?

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence. Max had thousands of fans, and his helmet design changed from race to race. You couldn’t jump to conclusions over a tiny flower.

But then came the blue.

Not just any blue. Yours. That shade somewhere between sky and mist you wore on your nails, your favorite sweater, in the notes you left Max when he forgot things. A blue that began to show up in the details of his gloves, in a stripe on his suit collar, in the curve of a signature. Subtle. Intimate.

And that’s when you started to suspect.

Then you saw the initials.

Three letters painted inside the helmet, right beside the protective foam. Where no one would see them. Where only he could look before stepping into the car.

They were yours. Your initials.

Small, precise, etched with care and intent.

And that’s when you knew. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You knew he was speaking to you in another language—one without words, one of symbols and details the world ignored but you understood.

And something in you melted.

You spent weeks saying nothing.

You didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you found out they carry your essence beneath a layer of carbon fiber? How do you face a silent, hidden confession with trembling hands of "me too"?

Because you knew. You’d known for a while. That Max looked at you differently. That his tone changed when he talked to you. That his smile was softer around you. That when your eyes met amid the press chaos, there was something between you that couldn’t be explained or denied.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until now.

That morning, you woke up with your heart racing. There was no race, just testing and simulations, but you knew Max would be there. Like always. Like you.

You grabbed your backpack, got ready with more care than usual, and left before you could talk yourself out of it. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t see what he put on his helmets. You couldn’t keep acting like you didn’t feel what you felt every time you saw him laugh, or quiet, or just being so genuinely him.

You had to face it.

And not just for him. For you.

The paddock was nearly empty when you arrived. The mechanics were focused, the air smelled of hot tires and coffee. You walked quickly, ignoring curious glances, until you reached the Red Bull box.

And there he was.

Sitting on a stool, helmet on his lap, cleaning it with those calm movements he used when he was nervous. His fingers ran a microfiber cloth over the design again and again, like he was trying to polish more than just paint.

“Max,” you called his name, firm but soft.

He looked up.

And for a second, everything stopped.

His expression shifted. From surprise to recognition, from recognition to nervousness, and from nervousness to something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Hey,” he said, lowering the helmet slowly. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed, walking toward him. “But I needed to talk to you.”

He nodded, swallowed hard. Waited.

You stopped in front of him and looked at the helmet. A new flower decorated the edge. A gentian. Your second favorite after lavender. The one you mentioned once, in Austria, while walking through the Alps.

It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

“How many more are there?” you asked, gently touching the edge.

Max fell silent. Then he sighed.

“All of them,” he replied. “Since that time in Silverstone. When you stayed with me after the crash. Since then I started to… I don’t know. Keep you there. Carry you with me.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

Max looked up. His eyes were intense, but there was a tenderness that broke you inside.

“Because you make me feel stronger.

Because when I drive, when I’m going 300 kilometers an hour, you’re the only thing that calms me. And… because I want you close. Even if it’s like this. Even if you don’t notice.”

“I noticed, Max.”

He went still.

“For weeks now,” you added, with a trembling smile. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you I feel the same.”

And that’s when his eyes widened.

Like you’d activated something in him.

Like finally, the truth could come out without fear.

“Really?”

You nodded. Stepped closer. Took the helmet from his hands and set it aside. Then cupped his face with your palms, soft and slow, afraid of breaking something sacred.

“Really.”

And you kissed him.

It was slow. It was warm. It was everything he’d been waiting for, everything you’d secretly wanted for months. His hands found your waist like they’d been searching for it all along. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

No cheers. No flashes. No ovations.

Just two people, and a tiny universe of silent love.

When you pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against yours, wearing a goofy smile you’d never seen on him before.

“I knew you’d see it one day,” he whispered.

“I didn’t just see it,” you said softly. “I felt it. In every race. In every hidden message. In every detail.”

He laughed, quietly.

“I guess now I’ll have to redesign the helmet. Add something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Max raised an eyebrow, that mischievous little-boy look on his face.

“I always wanted you to find out like this. Not in a press conference. Not with some big announcement. Just you and me. Here.”

“And a helmet full of secrets,” you joked gently.

He smiled, laughter shaky.

“You know me too well.”

“I watch you with my heart. What did you expect?”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to the pit wall.

Be there next time I go out.

I want to race knowing you’re watching. That you know.”

You held his hand tightly.

“I always knew, Max. I just needed the courage to come say it.”

In all my relationships with other people I tend to be the emotional one tbh. I’m just easily controlled by emotions as I take everything to heart. It became a hassle for me because people just gets mad that I’m such a cry baby. So I always have this method right now where I try to calm myself down and just breathe. If it doesn’t work I talk with someone who really understands my emotions and they’re the ones who calm me down. 

𝙈𝘼𝙓 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙋𝙋𝙀𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙎.

— hello everyone !! welcome to the last part of the poll series, lmk if you guys want another one, seeing as my f1 fic recs were so popular !! thank you all again for so much good comments and positivity, it makes me so happy that people enjoy my silly little fic comps ;D. enjoy !!

my poll fic recs !!

— oscar piastri fic recs — lando norris fic recs

[or check out my f1 drivers fic recs]

• my most favorite reads = 🩷

— blurbs and short writings

• tacky tree by @landososcar 🩷

• all i want by @verstappen-cult

• too many kisses by @verstappenverse

• circles back 2 you by @giuseppe-yuki

— oneshots/imagines

• serve by @theonottsbxtch

• my birthday, my love by ↑

• my peace by ↑

• don't wanna be saved by ↑ 🩷

• forever and always by ↑

• mi novio, max verstappen by ↑ 🩷

• teen idle by ↑ 🩷

ann's (@theonottsbxtch) writing is some of the best things that has grazed the earth's surface, which is why i added her BEAUTIFULLY written max fics for everyone to enjoy, you're welcome. ALSO i love love love her f1 driver eye descriptions i read them and i just stared at a wall for like 5 minutes js thinking about them 😭😭 please read them they're so good: here

• she's always a woman by @starkwlkr

• birthday celebration? by @giuseppe-yuki

• secret admirer by ↑

• green light, red flag by @landoughnut

• made with love by ↑ 🩷

— series

• snap out of it by @diqldrunks

➜ part two

— smau

• girl, so confusing by @astonmartinii

• put it all on red (bull) by ↑ 🩷

• rb admin by @leclercwriting

• blowing smoke by @afterglowsainz

• friends by ↑

• positions by ↑

• crying in the club by @pomegranatesarchive

• enemies or lovers by ↑ 🩷

• please date my sister in law by ↑

• miami baby by @norrisainz33

final "chunk" of the poll fic rec series, tell me your feedback i really want to improve my quality of work 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️as always, thank you all SO MUCH !! as always, have an amazing day/night 🌞🧡

mclaren masterlist!

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oscar piastri

false starts and unthinkable mistakes Oscar comes to you at the end of a bad race

debuts and podiums how oscar celebrates after your first race, and first win.

mishaps online oscar accidentally posts a nude online the night before your big concert and launch. oops.

red flag you get in an accident on track

the disgraced pop princess oscar is your salvation after things so horribly wrong

-> his disgraced pop princess oscar is there for you through your first real GP weekend and everything else, of course

my girl fans made a youtube compilation of oscar and you being in love since your prema days.

slip-up oscar slips up about your wedding

pointe shoes and racecars you and oscar had grown up together, and grown apart. now you're teaching him ballet for a mclaren video. will you two reconnect?

family fights you and oscar were never meant to be together, lando made that clear. one night changes everything, then another changes it again.

accident prone oscar comes home one night hurt, how do you deal with it?

bad day you had an awful day, but at least you're coming home to him.

Stoic much? oscar might be too good at the whole 'keeping a secret' thing. like, really good.

wallflowers like flowers too you never thought you'd find love, especially not with your best friend at his sister's wedding.

chancer Can he figure out who you are at the masquerade ball before you leave forever?

mark my words mark (webber) 'slips up' about your marriage.

nothing bad! the sprint pisses you off, ted's notebook catches you at a bad time, you say some things, oscar posts some things, and it ends up being one of the most popular ad campaigns in history. oops.

quick tweet, big problem you and oscar are together, but the world doesn't need to know you're engaged. lando decides they do.

knowing me, knowing you you're a broadway star, and oscar has to know everything about a topic for the 'anything but F1' segment. win-win when his girlfriend is in the public eye.

gymming oscar doesn't want you going to the gym

then we can breaking up sucks.

first kisses being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig, especially when your old friend is an f1 driver and is interested in you...

-> first dinners being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig... only when your boss (/ father figure) isn't trying to interrogate your new boyfriend. (18+)

-> vampire oscar gets a new nickname...

guilt tripping oscar asks something of you that you know you can't do. you do it anyway and it ends in you two almost breaking up. almost.

farm girl what's a better way to a guys attention than shouting at him for being too slow?

sweating oscar has been acting strange

mixup oscar gets a bit jelly when you and franco get close

guilty oscar gets a bit worried about you when you start overworking yourself

lando norris

mistakes the aftermath of the Hungarian gp

family issues lando (and his mum) are there for you during a difficult time.

catch-up lando after monza

the break up of the century you and lando break up on horrible terms, could a new album and a special performance bring you tow back together?

making moves Lando and you don't exactly get along and now you're quitting, he'll surely take it well, right?

misguided mishaps One bed between you and your brother's best friend… what could go wrong? (18+)

was it casual? the seriousness of your relationship wasn't exactly clear... leading to unforseen circumstances... (18+)

3 minutes lando overshoots an overtake, and you go off the track. what then ensues is the most stressful and awful 3 hours of his life.

2 hands your stunt-driver pulled out the day before the shoot, good thing you're dating an f1 driver. (18+)

risotto brazil was shit

prince charming lando brings his niece to the ballet, who knew he'd find love?

holidate Y/n, who gets mocked for being single, finds the perfect solution when she meets Lando, an F1 driver. Now she has the perfect date for her holidays, but her heart starts yearning for something more.

"oh yeah?" you and lando go out to celebrate his win and the championship, but you run into someone...

prison, not a promise lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...

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series

our favourite presenter, y/n y/l/n! f1 grid x reader x oscar piastri

Presenting… y/n y/l/n Tweets about our favourite F1 commentator!

Judgy McJudgy Pants or Osc? You decide! you and oscar are getting closer, or are you?

dangerous media things go downhill fast as you fall, and he has to catch you. what makes it worse is what he says after…

lies and flights you two have a moment, the moment ends, and so does something else...

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playing favourites masterlist

your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

always you — mick schumacher

pairing. mick schumacher x verstappen!merc racing engineer!fem!reader

summary. mick had always been inexplicably tied to you, no matter what distance grew between you. even if it took over two decades for you to figure it out, it had always been mick. it would always be mick. 5.4k, 18+

playlist. "invisble string" by taylor swift, "the perfect pair" by beabadoobee, "moves" by suki waterhouse, "i wanna be yours" by arctic monkeys, "let the light in feat. father john misty" by lana del ray

warnings. pining, mick is kind of very much pitiful in this alright, smut, l-bombs, sort of sub!mick, google translated german, almost choking, oral (fem and male receiving), penetrative sex

. . .

"I'm telling you what the data says, and it says you're wrong, so follow the damn line, George."

Mick fought a smile as you told George off over the radio. Toto cast you a look that you didn't even seem to see, let alone acknowledge. The team principal didn't look all that surprised when you didn't take your eyes off the screens of data you were getting input from.

In the next lap, George's lap time dropped nearly four seconds thanks to your suggestion. George didn't offer an apology for doubting you and you didn't expect one; you only expected him to be consistent in how he attacked turns seven and eight, to continue following your instructions.

Mick had observed your and George's relationship over the last few seasons you had been working with him. As George's racing engineer, you had quite a close working relationship with the Brit.

Off track, you were good if unlikely friends. Where George was all pretense and propriety and politeness, you were nothing but brutally honest, succinct, and to the point. But you were close in age and often seen together chatting and laughing.

On track, you were pretty much the same, if not even more blunt, if that was possible. George fed off your no-nonsense attitude, communicating clearly and without any of the fluff normally gracing his conversational skills.

Mick admired how well you worked with George. He admired just about everything you did. You could sit there doing absolutely nothing and F1TV would catch Mick staring at you like a lovesick fool again.

He still doesn't know how he hadn't seen the cameraman filming him as he watched you from across the garage two weekends ago. People kept referring to him as "Heart Eyes" Schumacher and he really could not blame them after seeing the clip of himself watching you.

You hadn't said anything to him about it. In fact, you hadn't said anything to him all season. Or during pre-season. Or in the two years prior when he was driving for Haas. Or in the thirteen years it had been since your dads had their falling out.

Mick would have liked to talk to you. He would have liked to talk about nothing or everything like you used to. He would have listened to you ramble about statistics and analytics and anything you wanted, even if he didn't understand a word of it.

But you had looked at him maybe three times since he signed on as Mercedes reserve driver. You either didn't remember or—more likely, knowing your keen mind—you didn't care about your shared history.

Even if it was in your childhood and so much had changed since then, Mick still remembered. He remembered playdates and shared family vacations and spending every second together that you could before your dad dragged you away.

He remembered noticing how different your dad treated you than his dad treated him. He remembered sleeping over once and hearing your dad screaming at you until you ran to your bedroom in tears. He remembered telling his dad about it all.

He remembered how he was the one to ruin everything.

You didn't seem to remember any of it—or, at least, you never seemed to reminisce on it. Never got caught up staring at him wondering how things could have been different. Never got distracted by unexplainable yet unavoidable and likely unrequited feelings for someone that was once your friend over a decade ago.

When he was with Haas, your lack of interaction could be excused; you were on different teams. Since he had signed with Mercedes, it felt like you had purposefully been ignoring him for months.

He could approach you. He could simply walk up to you at any point when you weren't fully absorbed by readout screens and analytic diagnoses and strike up a conversation.

He didn't want to push his luck. He didn’t fully understand why you wouldn’t talk to him but he also didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

If being near you meant never truly being close to you again, Mick could live with that. Ultimately, you owed him nothing, so he could watch from afar and adore you silently. He could be content with that.

After all, it was his fault that everything fell apart in the first place.

.

"Hey, heart eyes! Come here!"

Mick hesitated before making his way to where Lewis was in the VIP section of this Friday night's club of choice.

"Hi?"

"I can't help but notice that you're pathetically in love with your race engineer."

"She's George's engineer—"

"That’s beside the point. Anyway, I think your girl could use some saving."

"She's not my girl."

Lewis hadn't said your name. Mick didn't need him to.

Mick leaned on the balcony railing beside Lewis, looking down over the crowd on the main floor of the club. He found you embarrassingly fast. You were wearing a black shirt, pink shorts, and sandals.

He had seen you come in earlier with your brother and thought you were probably the prettiest girl there that night. If you were put in a room with the world's top models, Mick would still think the same.

On the floor below, your personal space was being invaded by a dark-haired man in glasses. You looked incredibly uncomfortable, glancing around for anyone you knew who you could latch onto and get away from the man who was talking at you incessantly.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision on Mick’s part. One second, he was watching you from the VIP balcony and the next, he was pushing his way through the dance floor to get to you.

The unnamed glasses man put a hand on your back, touching the sliver of exposed skin between your shirt and shorts. You visibly tensed up.

Before he could think better of it, Mick called your name and pretended to stumble into you and the man.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for you.” He played up being drunk as he stuck himself between you and Glasses. “Hey, mate, how’s it going? Who are you?”

“I’m Nolan. And we were having a conversation.”

Mick had to hand it to ‘Nolan,’ he was persistent. “My bad, I guess. Y/N, your brother’s looking for you. Come on.”

He walked off and you followed after him. He hadn’t really thought this far ahead. He hadn’t been thinking at all. He was running by the seat of his pants and hoping he didn’t end up making things worse.

Last time he had thought he was helping you, he didn't speak to you for thirteen years.

“My brother left an hour ago.”

“I know.”

Mick kept walking towards the stairs up to VIP.

You kept following.

Maybe this time, things would be different.

.

When Mick was 11, he mentioned to his mom that your dad yelled at you and made you cry. That same day, his dad sat him down and asked him to tell him everything he knew about how Jos Verstappen treated his children.

He had told him everything he knew because he didn’t know why he shouldn’t. If his dad wanted to know, it had to be important. Maybe he would be helping you by telling his dad.

A week later, Mick was playing with you in the backyard when your dad started yelling. Except that time, he wasn’t yelling at you or his most frequent target of your older brother Max, he was yelling at Mick’s dad.

That day had ended with your father dragging you away from Mick. Mick remembers thinking he had grabbed you so roughly; didn’t it hurt to be seized by your arm and jerked around like that?

Jos didn’t care. He just yelled at Mick’s dad to stay away if he had such an issue with how he raised his children. So, the Schumachers stayed away. The last memory Mick had of you was with tears streaming down your face, begging your dad not to make Mick leave.

A little less than ten years later, Mick was a Formula One reserve driver. That same year, you had graduated early from university and earned a spot as a Williams performance engineer. Then, you went to Mercedes in 2021 and took over as George’s racing engineer at only twenty two years of age while Mick was racing with Haas.

"I thought you hated me."

You looked up at him, mouth full. "What? Why would I hate you?"

"For telling my dad about everything. For tearing us apart."

You swallowed your mouthful of sandwich, sat across from him in Mercedes hospitality on your lunch break.

After that night in the club, you and Mick rekindled your old friendship. You looked at him, now. You smiled at him and talked to him and sought him out just to sit and talk during your break.

Getting a second chance to be your friend was more than Mick ever thought he would have.

"Mick, that wasn't your fault. My dad... it's complicated. But our dads' falling out wasn't your fault. I never blamed you for it. You know that, right?"

No, he had not known that. He had spent the last thirteen years blaming himself for losing you. He had assumed you would blame him, too, for ending your friendship because he had spent so long as a self proclaimed scapegoat.

"Mick."

"I know that now."

"Mick!"

"I— Okay, I know it's stupid but I have always blamed myself for the whole situation. Then, when we both were getting into F1, you never reached out."

"You never reached out, either!"

"I know that but I figured you wanted nothing to do with me, so I never tried to talk to you."

"You're so daft sometimes, Schumacher."

Mick took your empty insult without argument.

After spending every free second he had with you over the last several weeks, he realized how dumb he had been. He never thought of himself as the melodramatic type but he had really been going through it when he thought you were avoiding him.

"I've never been the smartest when it comes to you."

You just scoffed at him and ate more of your sandwich.

The next day, it was a double podium for Mercedes with Lewis in P2 and George in third. With your brother on the top step of the podium, you were elated, grin broad and voice loud over the radio as you congratulated George for a race well done.

Then, you looked around the garage. Mick didn't know why until your eyes found him along the back wall. You were looking for him. You smiled (at him) and he was smiling back before he even had to think about it.

Being with you had always been easy. As kids, you never argued. You shared toys and always managed to find some weird, convoluted way to mash what you both wanted to do together.

Now that you had gotten over whatever misunderstandings that kept you apart for the last few years, it was easy again. There was never anything you two couldn't talk about. There was never awkward silence. There was never any want to not be near each other.

Mick spent all night celebrating Mercedes' 2-3 finish with you. It was easy to spend hours by your side, to stand too close, to look at you for too long. Once he had a few drinks, it was all too easy to speak his mind around you, lips loose and heart full.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Micky."

"I mean I really missed you. All the time. I would think about you sometimes and miss what we used to have."

Your eyes were soft and focused only on him. He was barely tipsy from the alcohol but he was definitely drunk on you.

"Then, we were both in F1. But it was the pandemic and I was still worried you didn't want to see me. Then, when I was with Haas, I was so scared to approach you."

"Did I do something to make you think I hated you?"

"No, I was just in my head. And those months preparing for the season with Mercedes were the worst. You were so close but I was still too scared to talk to you."

"I wanted to talk to you, too," you admitted. "I thought about doing it sometimes but... I don't know. We hadn't spoken in so long and I was always so busy. I guess I was scared, too."

"I wish we had spoken sooner. We could have had this so much sooner."

"Had what sooner?"

"I don't know." That was a lie. "This. Us."

In all honesty, Mick didn't know what you two were. To anyone who asked, he would say old friends. But you were much more than that.

When he was ten, Mick kissed you for the first time. He had been in love with you since before he even understood what it meant. There was more heartbreak in the severing of your friendship than your families knew, more than either of you had known at that point.

And now, you were together again. Friends again. Except, friends don't sit knee to knee for hours at a time, wholly absorbed in nothing but each other in a raucous club with post-race celebrations going on all around them.

Friends don't let friends ghost their fingertips over the exposed skin of their shoulders, rest their hands on each other's thighs, play with the ends of their hair or the hem of their clothes.

"I missed us." Mick wondered if you knew what he meant by that.

You smiled (at him, again). "Me, too."

You were so close to him. Any sort of respectable distance was out the window. Your thighs were pressed together. You were sat sideways, head resting in your hand as you leaned an arm on the back of the couch.

He could sit up a little straighter and that was all it would take to reach your lips. He was seriously debating doing it.

Then, your brother smacked the back of your head as he was walking past, said something to you in Dutch that had you cursing at him in the same language.

"Hey, Mick," Max tossed at him with an uncomfortably knowing grin.

"Hey, Max."

Suddenly faced with the older brother of the woman he was just been fantasizing about kissing in the middle of a public space, Mick felt his face grow hot. He couldn't quite make eye contact with the eldest Verstappen child.

"Go away, Max," you told your brother with a glare.

Kelly took pity on you, dragging her boyfriend away.

"What did he say?" Mick asked you.

"'Get a room.'"

Mick laughed nervously, shifted away from you slightly. "Sorry, I—"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Being with you had always been easy. It was maybe the easiest thing Mick had ever done to nod his head yes and let you drag him out of that club.

You sat too close in the cab ride back to the hotel. He stood too close in the elevator up to his hotel room. You held his arm as he fumbled with the keycard to get the door open.

You pushed at his chest to get him to sit on the edge of the bed. He went down willingly, kept his eyes on you the entire time. You stood between his legs, pushed his hair back, let him lean into your touch.

"Is this okay?" you asked.

Were you seriously asking that? He had turned into putty in your hands from just a few touches. You hadn't even kissed him yet.

"Mick," you insisted at his silence.

"Yes. It's okay. It is so okay. Don't stop. Please."

He couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed by just how easily you had reduced him to begging.

Above him, you smiled before leaning down to press your lips to his. His neck was craned back; you had a hand on the back of his head and one on his shoulder to keep him in place. He let you dictate the pace, let you kiss him however you wanted.

It was slow at first, just your lips on his. You set the tempo low, moved your mouth at a torturous pace. You sucked his bottom lips between both of yours. When your tongue finally poked out, he let his jaw slacken, let you lick into his mouth without a need to fight against it.

You slid your tongue against his. The exchange of saliva was erotic and messy and left Mick panting against you. He gripped the backs of your thighs, adjusted his hips, tangled his fingers in the hem of your dress.

Mick slipped into German as he got lost in want. "Liebe, bitte. Bitte, ich brauche dich." [Baby, please. Please, I need you.]

And you—brilliant, keen, genius you—knew what he was saying. When did you learn German? Did you remember enough of it from all the time you had spent with his family as a child? He had no clue.

"Sei geduldig. We will get there." [Be patient.]

"I have been patient for years. Please, Y/N."

You kissed him again to shut him up, faster, harder, sloppier this time. Your hand slid over the column of his throat, just resting there as nothing but a reminder. He keened into your mouth, the vibration getting caught by your hand.

"I love you," he gasped, out of breath.

You drew back.

Mick's heart stopped.

"You love me?"

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing against your hand. "Yes. I have since we were kids. I don't— I don't want this if this is all it will be. I want everything with you. I want you to love me, too."

Somehow, it was still easy for him to lay all his cards on the table, to let you see everything and wait for your verdict. He was terrified, yes, but he trusted you implicitly.

He loved you and only you—he had only ever loved you this desperately and wholly, thirteen years apart be damned.

"I'm in love with you," he said.

You seemed breathless and speechless all at once.

He knows he said too much. It was definitely overwhelming to have all of that said to you with no warning but once he started, he couldn't stop. He had kept it all to himself for so long, watching from afar, never able to get close to you.

Now, here you were. He only hoped he had not read into things that were not there. He looked up at you, ice blue eyes wide and hopeful, patiently awaiting your response.

"I love you, too," you said on an exhale. "I'm in love with you, too. I thought I was crazy for it but I think I've always loved you."

Mick was not entirely convinced that this all wasn't some sick wet dream he would wake up from in the morning. He didn't care. He couldn't care, not when you slid your hand up to his jaw, held his face so gently, looked at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"It's always been you, Mick."

He couldn't stop himself anymore. He pulled you close, guided your legs to either side of his hips, held your head and kissed you.

Dominance was shared this time as you kissed each other. You sighed into his mouth, a contented and wanting sound. You rested your arms on his shoulders as your tongues danced. His hands pushed up higher under the skirt of your dress, squeezing the soft skin of your upper thighs.

"Okay?" was the simple question he asked before taking things any further.

"Please."

Supporting your weight, Mick lifted you out of his lap and laid you out on your back. Hovering over you, he slid a hand up your dress to your hip. He caught the waistband of your underwear, glanced up at you to make sure.

You nodded.

He got both hands under your dress to pull your underwear off. He pushed your legs apart and you let them fall open, exposing yourself to him and he nearly moaned at the sight alone.

You were laid open and not quite bare with your dress still on but your pretty pink folds were in clear view. He had never expected to have you in any way, let alone spread open and ready to be ravished, but to say he hadn't imagine it two hundred times over would be a lie.

He moved down your body to kiss your left thigh, first closer to your knee then moving up so the soft, supple skin of your inner thigh. He let his breath fan over your pussy, felt the way you twitched at the sensation. Then, he kissed back down your right leg, trailing kisses down to your knee.

"Mick," you urged.

He bit back the repetition of your words about patience from earlier, instead deciding to be nice and lift your knees up over his shoulders, slide his arms under your legs to warp around and hold them in place, then settle in between your thighs like he had nowhere to be for quite some time.

Your folds were glistening in anticipation by the time his lips met them. He kissed over your aching core one, two, three painfully slow times before finally letting his tongue slot against your clit. His lips moved in tandem with his tongue, sucking and licking at the little bundle of nerves until you threw your head back and choked out a throaty moan.

"Mick—please."

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Mick dropped his head to slide his tongue down between your folds, to press at your entrance over and over, lapping at your pussy in a way that could not care about saliva and slick dripping off his chin.

His nose nudged at your clit. Every breath in was nothing but the scent of you ingraining itself in his brain in a way he will never forget. He would never want to forget a single thing about you in that moment.

Not your scent or the taste of your cunt on his tongue. Not the feeling of your fingers tangling in his hair, not pushing or guiding just holding onto him like you just wanted to have your hands on him in any way you could. Not the way you breathed his name halfway between a moan and a cry, or how you arched your back as you were overwhelmed with bliss.

You were coming apart on his tongue and lips and nothing else. If he could save the taste of you and get high on it every night he would. If he could bottle the feeling of you trying not to squirm under the pleasure that he was bringing you, he would drink himself dumb a thousand times over.

"Mick—!"

He hummed in perfect contentment as you cried his name in warning. Your muscles tensed, legs tried to close around his head as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. He just dug in more, ate you out more fervently, slipped his tongue inside of you until you were gasping from the feeling of it.

When he made you come the first time, it was with a cry of his name and panting moans as you bucked your hips up against his face. He worked you through it, kissing and licking at your clit until you were pushing at his head to pull him off.

When he lifted his face from between your thighs, his face was wet, covered in you and he loved it. You laughed breathlessly as you saw him, still shaking slightly from your orgasm.

"Jeez, Mick. When did you learn to go down on a girl like that?"

He was a little lightheaded and a lot pussy drunk, but he still knew better than to mention any girl he'd been with before. "I want you to be the only girl I ever go down on again."

"Good answer," you said, and pulled him up to kiss you as a reward.

You could probably taste yourself on his lips but didn't seem to care as you kissed him hungrily. You tugged at his shirt, so he pulled it over his head. You ran your hands over his torso unabashedly, feeling his stomach and shoulders, bringing goosebumps to his skin as you ran your fingernails down his chest.

Despite having you crumbling apart under his mouth not three minutes ago, when you climbed into his lap and started kissing his neck, Mick felt like he was short circuiting.

Your dress had fallen back over your hips to hide it but he knew you were uncovered underneath the silky fabric. If his pants were off, he could be inside of you right now.

He slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders as you gripped his jaw and tilted his head to the side to kiss at his neck some more. He went pliantly, moaned softly at the feel of your teeth tugging at the sensitive skin where his neck met his clavicle.

He reached around to your back to unzip your dress. When you slid your arms out of the straps and he pulled the top of the dress down, he was finally able to get his hands on your boobs, taking big handfuls of each.

You were still kissing and licking his neck, teasing your teeth against his skin every so often. When he ran his thumbs over your nipples until they were hard under his fingers, your breaths grew shaky. He carefully let his nails drag over the firm peaks, pinched them between his thumbs and forefingers and tugged until you were arching into him.

"So handsy," you commented breathlessly.

"I want to touch every inch of you until you can recognize me by feel alone."

Mick dropped his head between your breasts, kissed the skin there and the side of your boob before you pushed him back. He whined as you deprived him of becoming acquainted with another part of yourself he already knew he would never get enough of.

Then, you stood and stepped out of your dress to leave yourself bare. He couldn't find a reason to complain.

He was prepared to slide to the floor at your feet. Then, you beckoned him toward you.

You had him sit at the edge of the bed again. You dropped to your knees. You popped the button of his pants. You pulled his boxers down just enough, and then his cock was stood at full attention just in front of your face.

He cursed under his breath. You heard it and smirked before licking up the underside of his cock. You wrapped a warm hand around him, stroked him a few times while kitten licking at his tip.

"Y/N. Liebe, please. Y/N, please."

You were not as easily convinced to dive in and give Mick what he wanted as he was with you. You didn't change what you were doing, just continued to let the tip of your tongue dance along the top of his cock while your hand moved on him slowly.

You finally closed your lips over the head of his dick and Mick could have come from that and nothing more. You popped him out of your mouth with an audible noise. Mick groaned; you would be the death of him and he wouldn't even fight against it.

You shot him a Cheshire grin. The sight was lewd and unbelievably hot: you, with a hand around his cock and a big smile on your face like you enjoyed nothing more than sucking him off. Mick was going to combust if he wasn't inside of you in the next two minutes.

"Y/N—"

He tried to tell you as much but your mouth was on him again and he couldn't get the words out. You swirled your tongue around his head, then your jaw opened and and you took as much of him in your mouth as you could. It was warm and wet.

Your tongue flexed against the underside of his dick when it hit the back of your throat. He could feel himself press into your soft pallet until you had to come up for air with a slight gag.

He couldn't bring himself to make you stop when you went back in for more. His breaths were short and labored, legs tense under your free hand as he mentally and physically had to hold himself back from coming down your throat.

He could imagine how you would gag around him when he did, pulling up to take his load just behind your lips instead. You might open your mouth after he had finished, show him your handiwork as it was pooled on your tongue before swallowing it all.

"Y/N, you have to stop. I'm going to come."

You took him out of your mouth to press a sloppy kiss to his cock. You pouted up at him as you let his length rest against your face. He could feel your eyelashes against it when you blinked.

"You don't want me to make you come?"

"I don't want to be spent yet. Come lay down for me?"

You let him pull you off the floor, kissed him as you crawled up the bed and laid yourself out on your back. He managed to kick his pants and boxers off while searching his suitcase for a condom then get back over to you without tripping over his own feet.

You giggled at his eagerness. Your hands ran over his chest as he ripped the packet open and slid the condom on. Your legs were already parted for him as he positioned himself.

He glanced up at you, not nervous but checking in. Your gaze was set on where your two bodies were about to fit together, hungry and expectant. Who was Mick to deprive you of what you wanted?

Entering you was as easy as anything with you was. You were still soaked from Mick's saliva and your own fluids. Your mouth fell open and your walls fluttered around him. A moan croaked past your lips as you gripped his arms.

"Holy shit, Mick."

He had to be sure, so he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm in fucking ecstasy. Oh my god, baby."

Mick started moving his hips, long, slow strokes in and out as you keened beneath him, panting from almost nothing at all. He could live off the noises you made for him. He snapped his hips against yours, was rewarded with a gasp and startled little mewl and your fingernails digging into his biceps.

"Mick, please."

He continued the same slow pace. In and out, almost languid, near torture but so worth the desperate way you pulled at his shoulders and hips, physically trying to get him to speed up, to give you more.

"Mick. Go faster."

"I love you." Anything for you.

He made a smooth transition from rolling his hips against yours to making them a piston, pace and weight faster and harder. He bore down on you heavier. You cried out, dragging your nails down his back to only spur him on.

He sat back, pressed down on you with his hands on the backs of your knees to fold you in half. You couldn't easily get away from him when he had you pinned down like this, thighs spread wide and pussy bared to be split open on his cock. You tipped your head back and moaned loudly.

"You've got to try and be quiet, baby," he told you; you were still in a hotel.

"You're making it really difficult."

Mick grinned but eased off just a bit. "Sorry—"

"Don't you fucking dare. Fuck me, Schumacher. Fuck me hard."

So, he did.

.

You were sticky, shaking, and more than satisfied when Mick was through with you. Three more orgasms, four different positions, and five I love you's later, you had passed out against Mick's chest after he had carefully wiped you clean.

The next morning, you and Mick came down for breakfast together. Max was already there; you usually ate breakfast with your brother if you were staying in the same hotel because there wasn't much time to see him elsewhere on race weekends.

When he clocked the way you and Mick were so casually close together, the little looks you kept sneaking, he smacked a hand on the table and pointed an accusatory finger in your face.

"I knew it!"

Mick went red.

You just rolled your eyes. "Shut up, Max."

. . .

a/n. this was partially inspired by this one max fic i read a while ago that i couldn't find again. it's schumacher!reader x max and reader is the one to tell michael about how jos treats max then reader and max reconnect years later. i think it was inspired by "seven" by taylor swift.

if anyone can find it/the author lmk and i'll give credit! hope you enjoyed <3

edit: credit is due to @mastermind123 (who i cannot tag for some reason) and their story, seven. go read it; it’s so cute!!

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Lando Norris x fem!reader

THE SEASONS

2019 season Norris and Button meet on their first year at Formula 1 and soon enough they're both attached to the hip.

2020 season Nothing much has changed between the pair, expect they now wear masks everywhere they go.

2021 season Norris and Button are two big idiots traveling the world together.

2022 season COMING SOON After the fiasco of the end of the 2021 season everyone expects them to be together by now.

2023 season COMING SOON It's happening, it's finally happening! Or... is it not?

2024 season COMING SOON Where's the trophy? He just comes running over to her.

BABY BUTTON

Baby Button paddock debut COMING SOON

Ice Man melted COMING SOON

Baby Button first crush COMING SOON