You Were Too Sweet To Greg And Rodrick Hated It.

Pondering the idea of Single Dad Clark Kent (Either divorced or widowed.) (Massive age gap, but legal.) (Marry Christmas to those who celebrate!)

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who focused all of his energy into raising his kids to avoid thinking about his lack of a love life and was quite good at it until they all went away to college leaving him to think a lot about how lonely he is.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who is elated when his kids come home from college for breaks— even the short ones for Thanksgiving— and adores having them home for Christmas.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who was happy to host you for the holidays, who he'd heard quite a bit about over the past few months during phone calls to his kids because you were his adopted daughter Osul's roommate, but was shocked to see you were nothing like the person she'd described.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't help but let his gaze linger a bit on you, more so than he'd like, and pays extra close attention when you speak, chalking it up to being polite to make a good impression for his kids, especially Osul.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who finds you sitting in the kitchen sometimes, and talks with you, the conversation being easier with you than with half the dates his kids forced him to go on recently.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who listens intently when you explain why you don't want to go home for the holidays and feels sympathetic towards you for having to deal with your parents fighting.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who reminds himself every single day for two weeks straight that you're his daughter's age, not even old enough to drink, while he'd already had multiple kids, not to mention got married before you were even born.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't bring himself to stop imagining how soft your lips are every time he sees you sipping on a cup of Cocoa or biting into a gingerbread cookie.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who actually feels interested in someone for the first time in years, but won't allow himself to act on it because he's sure you'd think he's horrible for pursuing someone your age.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who convinces himself it's his imagination, even when you're blatantly flirting with him, even calling him handsome on more than one occasion with varrying degrees of humor in your tone.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who can't restrain himself anymore when the whole house is asleep and you're sitting on the kitchen counter, sipping on some hot chocolate.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who wipes the whipped cream off your nose, causing you to blush in a way that makes his heart leap and gets very quiet when you stare at him without speaking.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who leans in, waiting for you to stop him, giving you every opportunity for you to push him away, only for you to stay completely still until he finally kisses you.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who tastes the chocolate on your tongue and is immediately done for, already addicted to your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck while he stands in between your legs.

Single Dad Clark Kent: Who has no idea how he'll look his daughter in the eyes tomorrow, but tells himself he'll worry about it in the morning because for now, he's putting himself first and finally indulging himself the way he'd wanted to do simce he first saw you.

Not A Verstappen: A New World {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Two more races closer to the end of the season and all that means is the competition is fiercer than ever and every point is a battle to win. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, assault, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine || Ten

Round Sixteen - Singapore GP

Charles was worried about you. You had barely said a word since the race ended, only congratulating your boyfriends on their great results. You were disappointed in yourself for finishing last place. Technically it was 15th place but everyone behind you had DNF’d so you were the last one to cross the finish line.

The bath did little to ease the tension embroiled in your body and you sank down beneath the surface. A wavering image of Charles filled your vision as he took a seat at the edge of the bathtub and trickled his fingers through the water. Only when your lungs began to burn did you resurface with a deep gasp for fresh air.

“You’re going to catch a cold, ma chérie,” Charles said softly as he wiped away the rivulets of water. It was almost like he knew they were mixed with your tears. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you whispered. “I think I am just going to stay in tonight, I don’t want to hold you back from celebrating. You guys did great today.”

“You are being too hard on yourself. It sucks, Lando and I know that first hand,” he chuckled, referring back to the first half of the season. “But you’ll come back stronger, I know you. You’ll be back in the points next week.”

You smiled weakly at his confidence and accepted his hand that helped pull you from the bath. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

“D'accord,” he nodded, wrapping you tightly in a towel before kissing your forehead. “I have faith in you, mon amour.”

“That makes one of us,” you joked, feeling a little better now that you were wrapped in his arms. “You should get ready to go, Lando is going to need you to carry him home tonight.”

“Mon Dieu, him and Carlos drinking together,” Charles groaned as if just realising what he was in for. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

You nodded and stepped out of the bathroom to grab your phone. “I think there is another Verstappen somewhere around here feeling sorry for himself too, and misery loves company.”

Max arrived before Lando had finished styling his hair and he came bearing gifts, a bag of mouthwatering food packed full of local dishes in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. 

“Now it’s a pity party,” you laughed as he made himself comfortable in the living room. He didn’t even bother with plates, just eating straight out of the containers while he changed the channel off MTV. “Are you planning on sharing or do I need to order my own?”

“Depends if you care what Kristian thinks,” he shrugged, pushing a container aside. He grinned knowing you couldn’t turn down the grilled kebabs slathered in a sauce that would give your PT a heart attack. “Live dangerously, zusje.”

You snorted and dropped into the seat beside him, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and the dish from the coffee table. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, heard that before,” he teased as continued to flick through the channels until he hit the movies. “Fast X?”

“No,” Lando answered for you as he finally appeared from the bathroom with his hair perfectly styled and his shirt half unbuttoned. He explained that it was to combat the humidity in the country but you and Charles knew it was because he loved to flash his tanned and toned chest, almost as much as you liked to see it. “She’ll get pissed off that it is too unrealistic.”

“It is unrealistic,” you pointed out.

Max laughed, “It’s a movie.” But he still changed the channel. “Maverick? The original.”

“Sure,” Charles said with a grin as he pulled his shoes on, “if you want to comfort her when Goose dies.”

“You are impossible.” Max shook his head and tossed the remote on your lap. “You choose something.”

Ready to leave, Charles looked like he was going to ask you if you had changed your mind before thinking better of it. Instead he kissed you as innocently as he could manage with your brother sitting beside you. “Je t’aime.”

“Love you too, have fun.” You held your hand out to Lando and pulled him down to your height for a kiss too. “Not too much fun. I don’t want to wake up to any new CarLando rumours.”

He knew you were joking and he nipped your bottom lip for it before pulling away and holding his necklace up. “Holy trinity, baby: you, Charles and me.”

“That’s why you are missing your top three buttons,” Charles teased as he slung his arm over Lando’s shoulder. “All for the necklace and definitely not vanity.”

“Me? Vain? Never,” Lando scoffed. “I am humble, thank you very much.”

“Mhmm, so humble, mon cher,” Charles agreed sarcastically as he led them to the door before blowing you one final kiss. “Bonne nuit.”

Round Seventeen - Japan GP

Lawrence wanted to speak to you after the race finished and you hoped it was because he had some answers as to why the car was struggling. The upgrades seemed to make it worse and it was a hell of a push just to get back in the points, but you had made it like Charles assured you would.

Walking into Lance’s side of the garage, you assumed his father would be nearby. What you didn’t account for was Lance storming through the engineers after his DNF. It was a moment of wrong place at the wrong time that put you into his path and you felt the need to at least say something to him.

“Sorry, man, that was a rough one.” Hindsight was a real charmer as his green eyes narrowed with rage and you were shoved to the floor. Your ass met the hard concrete and the garage fell silent as they witnessed the attack.

Your shoulders ached where he had pushed you, but your butt would surely have bruises come morning. Calmly, you swallowed down the pain as the cameras waited for your reaction and you rose to your feet. You wiped the dust from your backside and looked at Lance. “At least I know how you injured your wrists, you’re a real fucking wanker.”

Word spread like wildfire as the footage was shared around the paddock and the world and your call to the Stewards came before Lando finished his podium celebration, the first you hadn’t been there to witness. It only added to your sour mood as you stepped into the meeting room and found an empty chair opposite Lawrence and Lance. You were by no means alone but everyone who had been asked to come as witness were all on Lawrences bank roll so you might as well have been.

The tedious hearing details were read by the Stewards, along with footage that showed the push that put you on your ass. They turned to Lance first, asking for his take on the event and whispered with his father before sitting back.

“It was an accident, I didn’t see her there.”

You scoffed under your breath but caught the look Lawrence sent you as the Steward asked you the same question. It was a look that everyone had warned you about. It was the look that drew the line in the sand of who had his support, and why wouldn’t he take his son’s side - he was a father first and a principal second. It was a look that said you would be finding another team next year if you weren’t careful.

Looking down at your hands the words tasted like ash. “Like Lance said, it was an accident.”

The steward nodded and typed some notes on his laptop. “Then the matter is settled, you will be fined €20,000.00 for unsportsmanlike behaviour.”

You lunged out of your seat and slammed your hands on the table at the ruling. “For what!”

“You saw the same evidence as I did,” he said, ignoring your outburst. “You clearly called Mr Stroll, Lance, a ‘fucking wanker’ on live tv. If that is all, we have another review about to begin.”

You left the room to see Bottas and Sargeant waiting with their team representatives and kept your head low as you passed by, feeling their curious eyes following. Lawrence kept pace with you as you left the building, Lance lagging somewhere behind, and you debated breaking into a sprint to see if the old man could keep up.

“Thank you,” Lawrence said, nearly making you trip over in surprise.

“Thank you?” you growled as you turned on him. “I saved your toddler’s career, you can do better than a fucking ‘thank you’.”

“Lance is struggling and it’s affecting him badly, but that’s no excuse for how he treated you.” Lawrence placed a hand on your shoulder but you shrugged it off as you remembered the look in the meeting room. You may both be wearing the same colours but you were not on the same team.

“You can still be a good father and not protect him from everything. In fact, it might just do him a lot of good in getting his head out of his ass. Now, I am going to go and take an ice bath and you are going to pay my fine. If there’s a bonus in my bank account when I get back to the hotel, we’ll call it even.”

You left without giving him the time to respond and jogged back to hospitality, an unfortunately long distance from the FIA building. Some of the teams were already starting to pack their motorhomes down but Aston Martin was still lively, even more so when you stepped inside and saw Charles, Lando and Max looking tense amongst a group of Lance’s friends that travelled with him .

“Woah, stand down, killers,” you teased with a flippant attitude you didn’t feel. “Shouldn’t you take it out to the parking lot?”

“Too many witnesses,” Max muttered.

“I was joking, we can all relax. You three, my room. Now.” You pointed your finger to the stairs and waited for them to start walking before you followed, glaring at the rest of them. “Don’t you have more important things to do, like I don’t know, check Lance has warm milk in his sippy cup?”

“Little bitch.”

“Fils de pute, va te faire enculer!”

You blocked the stairs but Max had already grabbed Charles and held him back. “That’s an insult to his mother,” you said as the door opened and Lance arrived. “It’s not her fault her son is a sycophant, and here’s his sugar daddy now. Tighten the leash on your little friends, Lance. It’s the least you can do since you owe me.”

His lips twisted into a grimace at the reminder but he jutted his head to the other end of the motorhome and his friends followed him, their disappointment palpable. You could only imagine what he had been telling them in private to create that sort of reaction and realised why the driver had gone through so many teammates on the grid. He was insufferable.

You gently pushed on Charles’ arm when he didn’t move, he was intently watching the group leave and the staff return back to their jobs as if nothing happened. “Come on, babe, let’s just get my stuff and go home.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Max asked as he led the way with Lando and left you to hook your arm with Charles and follow.

“Maybe I’m finally maturing.” you said with a grin that finally had the tension lifting as they all started to laugh. “Rude.”

Click here for the next part.

the lion and the golden retriever

a/n: same AU as this snippet

lance stroll x driver!reader

Lance stroll x driver!reader

—---------------------------------------------------

Wild child of the paddock

If you had a dollar for every time an article mentioned you as that, you wouldn’t need to race in F1 anymore. It really didn’t bother you, though; you knew that being a woman in F1 alone would bring tons of scrutiny, so you might as well have fun with it. 

Skimpy outfits out, excessive partying, attitude in interviews, you name it. You were young and you were enjoying life. It’s not like it affected your racing, either. You were halfway into your first season for RB and fifth in the WDC standings. Essentially, you were the female version of Lando Norris, who had quickly became your closest friend on the grid. Plenty of people online thought you were dating, and he certainly wished you would give him a chance, but you didn’t see him that way. You didn’t want to date someone just like you. 

“If I let you have a turn will you go out with me?” Lando yelled at you over the sound of the club. You were both in the DJ booth, his arm slung around you as he manned the table. 

“I’m out with you right now,” you yelled back, grinning as he rolled his eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled. You threw your head back, moving to the beat of the music, letting the number of drinks you had control your body. “We do need to leave soon, padel, tomorrow morning, remember?”

You pouted, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, “do we really have to go?” 

“We promised Lance and Max remember,” he reminded you and you nodded carelessly, looking around. 

“You mean Lance, who is right there?” You asked, pointing to your fellow driver talking to Esteban at the bar. Lando grabbed your hand and dragged you along to reach them. 

“What’s up?” Lando asked, slapping his hand against the two guys. You pulled Esteban into a tight hug and did the same for Lance, who stiffened. If you thought about it, he was kind of your complete opposite, which meant that the two of you really hadn’t interacted much. You eyed him up and down once you pulled back, and it was like you were seeing him for the first time. 

“Since when were you hot?” Your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up and Esteban laughed loudly while Lance's cheeks flushed deep red, and he cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at you. "Um, thanks, I guess."

"Jesus, Y/N," Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe time to cut you off."

"I'm perfectly fine," you insisted, still eyeing Lance with newfound interest. The usually reserved Canadian was wearing a fitted black button-down that accentuated his shoulders in a way his racing suit never did. "Seriously, have you been hiding under those Aston Martin caps this whole time?"

Esteban was practically doubled over with laughter now. "This is gold," he wheezed. "Lance, man, say something."

Lance finally met your gaze, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. "You're not so bad yourself," he offered, voice barely audible over the pounding music. You grinned widely. 

You leaned in closer, the alcohol making you bold. "Are you any good at padel, Stroll?"

"I'm decent," he replied, shrugging his shoulders casually.

“Okay then you’re on my team,” you declared and he let out a chuckle. 

Lando pouted, pulling you into his body, “You promised we’d be on the same team.”

“You’ll survive babe,” you told him. “Plus we are both going to be so hungover in the morning it will even out the teams.” 

You were correct in predicting what the following day would be like: you and Lando were miserable. A big pair of sunglasses covered your eyes, but you still managed to look hot in a short black tennis dress. Lando had thrown up outside of the courts which did not go unnoticed by Max, who had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Are you guys serious?” He asked sternly. Lance said nothing, looking over at the two of you, his eyes mainly lingering on you. 

“We’re fine Maxey,” you chirped, causing both you and Lando to wince. “Ready as ever.” 

"You two look like death," Max scoffed, tossing Lance a padel racket. "I'm with Lando. Lance, you can babysit the disaster over there."

Lance caught the racket with ease, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced your way. "Fine by me."

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically over your heart. "I'll have you know I'm an excellent padel player, even hungover."

"We'll see about that," Lance murmured, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that made your stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with last night's tequila. You followed him to your side of the court, admiring the way his athletic shorts hugged his thighs. How had you never noticed Lance before? 

The four of you made your way onto the court, the morning sun beating down mercilessly. As your head pounded rhythmically, you adjusted your sunglasses, grateful for the protection.

"First to seven?" Max suggested, already bouncing a ball up and down in front of him. 

“Fine by me,” Lance called out and you got into a stance that made Lance snort. 

To no one’s surprise, it turned into a match between Lance and Max; you and Lando were useless. Halfway through, Lando wandered off to the side to sit down and you followed, laying down with your head into his lap. The other two kept playing, honestly glad that you guys gave up. 

“Lance is kind of hot, right?” You asked Lando and he smirked down at you, his hands still massaging your head. 

“Why? Going to corrupt him?” He teased and you gave him the finger. 

“There’s just something so hot about him to me,” you admitted. “I need him.” 

“You’re insane,” Lando said. 

“You love me,” you said back and he smiled. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Half an hour later they finished up and trotted over to where you had drifted off. 

“We’re done and going to lunch, which you two are paying for,” Max said, pulling you up.

“Unfair Maxey,” you muttered, and he shot you a look that shut you up. 

“There’s a good place a couple of blocks away,” Lance offered and you pouted towards him. 

“I don’t want to walk, I’m tired,” you complained. 

“Not that far,” he said amused. 

“Fine, you can carry me then,” you suggested and he chuckled looking away. He didn’t see you mauever behind him and startled when he felt your hands on the back of his shoulders. He started to stay something but you were off the ground, jumping on this back and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Instead of pushing you off, his hands found the bottom of your thighs and your skin tingled. 

"Onward!" you commanded, resting your chin on Lance's shoulder. He shook his head but adjusted his grip on your thighs, securing you against his back.

"You're something else," he murmured, but there was a smile in his voice as he started walking.

Max rolled his eyes dramatically. "You're enabling her, Stroll."

"I'm just being a gentleman," Lance replied, and you could feel the rumble of his voice against your chest. You tightened your arms around his shoulders, breathing in the clean scent of his cologne mixed with fresh sweat from the game.

Lando jogged to catch up, giving you a knowing look. "Comfortable up there?"

"Very," you purred, making Lance's ears turn pink. You leaned closer, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Your shoulders are even more impressive up close."

“Thanks. I’ve been training a lot,” he replied, and you giggled at his obliviousness to your flirting. You slid off his back once you guys reached the cafe, already sad at the lack of contact. 

Per usual, you carried most of the conversation, with Max and Lando. Lance shifted back into his reserved versions of himself, watching quietly and occasionally chiming in. 

"Earth to Lance," you said, waving a hand in front of his face. He blinked, realizing he'd been staring at you while you told a story about your last race.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking a sip of his water.

"You're so quiet," you observed, leaning forward on your elbows. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Lance shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "Just thinking."

"About?" you pressed, ignoring Lando's knowing smirk beside you.

"Nothing important," Lance replied, but his eyes lingered on you a beat too long.

Max cleared his throat. "So, Lance, how's the car feeling after the upgrades?"

You pouted as the conversation shifted to technical talk. Boring. Lando shot you a smirk and you kicked him under the table, causing him to yell out. 

On your first day in Zandvoort, you made an unusual move to your routine. You stopped by the Aston Martin garage on the way to your own. Lance and Fernando were deep in conversation when you approached, both looking at you in confusion as you got closer. 

“There’s my favorite mistress,” you greeted, smiling at Lance. Both men furrowed their eyebrows, which was adorable, and Fernando cleared his throat. 

“Lance?” He asked, motioning to his teammate. 

“Yes, Nando, haven’t you heard? I’m cheating on Lando with Lance,” you told him, and he smirked.

“Ah yes, I saw the pictures,” Fernando said while Lance still looked confused. 

“What pictures?” He asked. You pulled out your phone to show him. Someone had seen you on Lance’s back after the tortuous padel session, and it definitely looked romantic. You were looking at each other, smiling, his grip on your legs very visible. 

“Hmm,” Lance said. “You aren’t really dating Lando right?” 

Fernando barked out a laugh and your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, “Kind of assumed.” 

“Oh my god, no,” you rushed out, flustered. “We’re just friends.”  

"Oh," Lance said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I guess that makes sense."

Fernando glanced between the two of you with amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I need to check something with the engineers," he said, backing away with a knowing smile.

Once Fernando was gone, you leaned against the Aston Martin garage wall, studying Lance more carefully. "So... you really thought Lando and I were a thing this whole time?"

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you were beginning to find endearing. "You're always together. He's always got his arm around you. I just assumed."

"He's like my brother," you clarified, watching Lance's reaction closely. "An annoying, clingy brother who happens to be my best friend."

“Hmm,” he said awkwardly. “Well I have to get ready so…see you later I guess.”

He left you in silence as you were trying to process what had just happened. Was he really playing hard to get? That’s fine! You were good at that game. 

The next two days you showed up at the Aston Martin area multiple times. One time claiming they just had better coffee, another time insisting that you left your hat there, even before qualifying, mentioning that you wanted to ask Fernando something about the track. 

As you headed back to your garage, Lance watched you with his face scrunched up, thinking. 

“She’s been coming here a lot this week,” he commented to Fernando who snorted. 

“Yeah, no shit,” the older man replied. 

“It’s weird,” Lance said and Fernando looked at him with shock on his face. 

“You’re kidding me right?” He asked and Lance looked at him in confusion. “She’s into you mate.” 

Lance scoffed, “No she’s not.” 

Fernando rolled his eyes dramatically. "For someone so good at racing, you're terrible at reading signals."

"What signals?" Lance asked, genuinely confused.

"The girl comes to our garage five times in two days, stares at you like you're the last bottle of water in the desert, and is always gravitating so that she is as close to you as possible," Fernando counted off on his fingers. "She's interested, my friend."

Lance's face flushed. "She's like that with everyone. You've seen her with Lando, with Max..."

"Not the same," Fernando said firmly. "Trust me, I've been around long enough to know when someone is interested."

Lance leaned against the workbench, processing this information. "Even if that were true—which I'm not saying it is—she's not really my type."

"Your type?" Fernando laughed. "And what exactly is your type? Quiet and shy? So then you can go on dates that are full of silence. Someone like her might be good for you.” 

Lance didn’t say anything further, just pondered what his teammate had said. Honestly, he had never really thought about you that way, partially because he was so sure you didn’t look at him like that. But it made a little sense; you did seem to chill out a little bit when he was around and he found himself talking more around you. Maybe it could be a good thing. 

You and Lance started to see more of each other. Never alone, he wasn’t going to make a move until he was sure about it and you were being a pussy. 

“I wish he’d just ask me out,” you muttered, irritated as you pulled your clothes out of your suitcase. Lando lounged on your hotel bed, scrolling through his phone while he listened to you complain. 

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” He asked and you scoffed. 

“He’s the guy!” You exclaimed. 

“Okay, Ms. 1950s,” he teased and you threw a sock at him. “How much longer do you have? Don’t you have a stewards meeting?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethed at him and he just smirked. You had gotten into a minor altercation during qualifying today with George that unfortunately, featured a lot of expletives. George being the suck-up that he was, complained about it to the FIA so now you had to meet with the stewards to discuss a potential punishment. 

Why were you so sure a punishment was coming? Well, you didn’t really hold back from the press afterward. 

“What happened between you and George after that last lap?”

"What happened is that George Russell needs to learn how to use his fucking mirrors before cutting across the racing line," you'd snapped, not caring about the cameras. "If he wants to act like he owns the track, maybe he should try qualifying higher than P7."

Now you were definitely going to pay for that comment. You grabbed your team jacket and phone, checking the time.

"I gotta go face the music," you sighed. "Wish me luck."

"Don't call anyone else a dickhead this time," Lando called as you left the room.

The stewards' meeting was exactly as tedious as you expected. After thirty minutes of stern faces and thinly veiled disappointment, you were slapped with a five-place grid penalty for the race tomorrow.

Austin was one of your home races, so starting P15 was not ideal, and things just never seemed to get better. You were frustrated being stuck in the middle of the pack and not being able to easily overtake because of the traffic, and you ended up in a mere P11, which was not good enough for you. 

You were dejected to say the least and your team had never really seen you like this before. The usual spark you had in interviews wasn’t there, the media taking notice along with some of your fellow drivers. 

“Come out with us tonight, it’ll make you feel better,” Lando pleaded as you walked towards the car he had driven to the track. 

“I don’t think so Lan,” you sighed. “I just want to be alone.” 

Lando’s eyebrows furrowed; he had never seen you this sad and he didn’t know what to do. Oh, what would he do even to have you make fun of him, the silence was killer.  

"Fine, I'll leave you alone," Lando conceded, looking genuinely concerned. "But text me if you change your mind."

You nodded absently, pulling out your phone to scroll through social media—a mistake. The comments were brutal. Wild child finally getting put in her place. Maybe she should focus on racing instead of partying. Too busy flirting to drive properly.

Lando went his separate way when you made it back to the hotel and you took a long hot shower before ordering something off of Doordash. Dressed down in baggy sweats and a tank top, you headed down to the lobby to pick up your food. The delivery guy was already there holding two bags; someone else clearly had the same idea as you. 

"Thanks," Lance said, taking one of the bags from the delivery person just as you approached.

Your eyes met, and for once, you didn't have a witty or flirty remark ready. You simply nodded at him and reached for your own order.

"Bad day, huh?" Lance said softly, lingering even after collecting his food.

"The worst," you admitted, surprising yourself with your honesty.

Lance shifted from one foot to the other. "Do you... want some company?"

You blinked, caught off guard by his offer. The usual you would have made some flirtatious comment, but tonight you just felt raw. "I'm not exactly great company right now."

"That's okay," he shrugged. "Sometimes it's nice not to be alone."

You studied him for a moment, noting the genuine concern in his eyes. "Fine. But I'm not changing the channel of the movie I’m watching.” 

“That makes me a little scared,” he chuckled, following you into the elevators. 

“You should be,” you teased lightly, already starting to feel a little better. “What’d you get?” 

“Just a salad from some place down the block,” he said and you tsked. 

“So lame,” you said. “I got Taco Bell.”

“That’s going to kill you one day,” he chastised and you laughed. 

“I think the cars we drive will first,” you joked and the smile he gave you had your insides turning to jelly. A comfortable silence took over and you were aware of how quickly he had managed to turn your mood around. 

Once you were back in your room you picked up the thrown pillows so that Lance could lean against some on the bed. You both settled in with your food while you turned the movie back on. 

After five minutes, Lance’s face was scrunched up. “What on earth is this?”

“It’s called My Fault London,” you informed him. “Absolute cinema.”

“But they just made out and they’re stepsiblings?” He questioned and you giggled. 

“Yeah.” 

He didn’t say anything for another minute until the scene of the main girl street racing in the parking garage came on. 

He snorted, “this is so unrealistic.” 

“Oh yeah?” You teased. “Don’t think you could beat me in a street race like that?” 

“Look how tight those pillars are, there is no way anyone could race in there,” he complained. “But if they could, I would beat you.”

“How many times have you beaten me this season again?” You asked, pretending to ponder. He rolled his eyes before taking a bite out of one of your burritos. 

“Your car is better,” he muttered and you laughed. 

"For now," you teased, nudging him with your foot. "Next year's a whole new game."

As the ridiculous movie continued, Lance smiled, settling more comfortably against the pillows. You found yourself watching him more than the screen, his jaw clenched when he tried not to laugh at the absurd racing scenes, how he unconsciously licked his lips after taking a bite of your food.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Am not," you lied, quickly looking back at the screen.

"You know," Lance started, setting his food aside, "Fernando thinks you've been flirting with me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "And what do you think?"

Lance finally turned to face you, his dark eyes studying yours. "I think Fernando's usually right about these things."

"Smart man," you murmured, flickering your eyes down to his lips. His eyes darkened and he leaned closer, reaching out his hand to cup your jaw, caressing his thumb against your cheek. 

“I like this side of you,” he said softly, and you tilted your head.

“Do you not like the other side, then? " you asked, suddenly insecure. You knew that you could be a lot, and for some reason, you so badly wanted him to be okay with that. 

He smiled, “I like all of you y/n; I’m just glad you let me see this.” 

Your heart melted and he finally brought his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, a stark contrast to the way your heart hammered against your ribs. You leaned into him, your hand finding his shoulder as the kiss deepened. When you finally pulled away, you were both slightly breathless.

The movie continued playing in the background, completely forgotten as you shifted closer to him. "So, does this mean you've been thinking about me too?"

Lance laughed softly. "Hard not to. You've been practically haunting the Aston Martin garage."

"I was being subtle!" you protested, making him laugh harder.

"About as subtle as Max's complaints on team radio," he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I get nervous before races,” you admitted. “I’m sure that would surprise a lot of people since I mask it with being overly energetic. But being around you that first day calmed me down, so I kept coming back.” 

“Hmm so you only came back because I’m a calming presence,” he prodded. 

You huffed, “And you’re nice to look at.” 

Lance laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I guess I can accept that."

You leaned your head against his shoulder, suddenly feeling lighter than you had all day. "So what now?"

"Now?" Lance shifted, wrapping an arm around you. "Now we finish this ridiculous movie, and maybe tomorrow I take you on a proper date."

"A proper date," you repeated, smiling against his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The next morning, you woke to the sound of your phone buzzing incessantly. Groaning, you reached for it, squinting at the screen. Fifteen texts from Lando, all variations of "ARE YOU OKAY?" and "CALL ME."

Beside you, Lance was still asleep, his face peaceful in the early morning light. You smiled to yourself before putting your phone down, snuggling back up to him, and drifting back to sleep. 

I wish i was that girl :'(

Not Over Yet

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

1.3k words / Masterlist

The deafening silence of the Monaco apartment was suffocating. The echoes of the fight still rang in the air long after the words had been spoken. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. You stood across the room arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold everything together.

“We’re over, Max.” The words hung heavy in the room, each one feeling like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He looked up, his blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You turned away from him, unable to face the hurt in his eyes. The hurt that mirrored your own. “I said, we’re done. I can’t—” You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The argument had started hours ago—something small, something insignificant that had spiralled out of control like it always did these days. The never-ending travel, the constant pressure. You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him, but lately, it felt like everything else in your life had taken a backseat. There were always missed dinners, cancelled plans, and nights where you felt like the third wheel to his love affair with the track.

Max’s eyes hardened for a moment, his pride kicking in as he stood up and paced the length of the living room. “You think I don’t give enough to this relationship?” He snapped, his voice rising. “I work my ass off every day, trying to make sure we have everything. I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m on the track. I—”

“It’s not about the money or the success, Max!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “It’s about us. About how I feel like I’m always second to everything else in your life. Like I’m not as important.”

Max stopped in his tracks, his back to you as he exhaled sharply. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his emotions. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. “What’s not fair is me feeling alone when you’re standing right next to me.”

He turned to face you, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer. But it was too late. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest, and you took a deep breath before you spoke again.

“We’re over,” you whispered. The finality in your voice made it feel real. “We have to be.”

Max’s face went pale. He took a step toward you, but stopped himself his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “You…you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You choked on the words as soon as they left your lips. You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you couldn’t keep living in the shadows, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest the fear of losing you clawing at his throat. He had faced impossible races, gut-wrenching crashes, the pressure of the world’s expectations—but nothing compared to the panic that gripped him now. The thought of losing you, of truly being without you, was something he couldn’t handle.

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept what you were saying. “No. No, we’re not over.”

You blinked back the tears, confused by the certainty in his voice. “Max, you can’t just—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm but low, almost pleading. “I know I’ve been…distracted. I know I haven’t been there the way I should. But you don’t get to decide we’re done. You can’t just give up on us. Not like this.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The apartment felt too small, too full of emotions that neither of you could control.

You felt your defences crumbling, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. But the hurt was still too raw. “It’s not that simple, Max.”

Max closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to gently cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm grounding you in a way only he could.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now, desperate. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I love you. You. You’re not second to anything. You never were. I’m an idiot for making you feel that way, but please…please don’t give up on us.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let the walls you had built around your heart crumble. But the fear was still there—the fear that things wouldn’t change, that this would be your life forever, always wondering if you were enough.

Max’s thumb gently brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. It was rare to see Max like this, so raw, so open.

You closed your eyes trying to steady your breathing, trying to find the words to say. “Max, I just… I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

He pulled you closer his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

His words were sincere, and you could feel the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t like Max to beg, to be so vulnerable, and it only made your resolve weaken further.

“I don’t want us to be over,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m always competing for your attention either.”

Max pulled back slightly, his hands still gently holding your face as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not competing. I love what I do, but I love you so much more. There’s no competition.”

It was the first time he had ever said it so clearly, so bluntly and it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I forgot about what really matters. You. Us. I swear to you, I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us.”

His sincerity was undeniable, and for the first time in a long time you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe you could find a way to make it work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you either Max.”

Relief washed over his face and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

For a long moment you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms the weight of the fight slowly lifting as you both began to breathe a little easier. The future was still uncertain, and there would be more challenges ahead, but for now you were both willing to try.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the two of you were on the same team.

Max pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’re not over,” he said softly, as if he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’re not over.”

FWB!Soap x InloveFem!Reader.

+18 content warning

FWB!Soap who claims to not feel romantic feelings for you, saying that he sees you as a friend and values your friendship too much to try and have a serious relationship with you. It's meaningless sex at the end of the day (at least to him), just using each other to not spend the night alone.

FWB!Soap spends most of his paid leave in your bedroom, secluded from the friends he claims to have apart from you, fucking you in every position he can manhandle your body into, your legs over his shoulder, pulling you by your arms so you don’t fall in while he fucks you standing doggy.

FWB!Soap really likes to spend his free time with his cock buried in one of your three holes, making you sob from pleasure and pain while he gets off by the way tears run down your eyes, overstimulated and spent yet still letting him do whatever he wants with you, a true sweetheart you are.

FWB!Soap who would rather kill every man that tries to court you than find another person to fuck while not being in a serious relationship, he values you too much to let another man have you (but he doesn’t love you, right?) so it’s a back and forth between talking you into not going on dates, threatening guys who approach you when you are out with him and as a last resort, talking shit about you behind your back to them when you invite them to your shared apartment. warning them about how crazy you get when you enter a relationship (you are a fucking angel, soap knows that but he doesn’t want other guys to know)

FWB!Soap who thinks he is the only one allowed to fuck other people, going out to clubs and fucking girls in a dark alleyway, (he would never bring them to your apartment) the smells of a woman’s perfume lingering on his shirt and the hickeys on his neck a clear evidence that he went and fuck someone who isn’t you. it hurts when he does it, he knows how much it breaks your heart, he has listened to you sob at night more times than he can count every time he has returned with hickeys and lipstick stains.

FWB!Soap who after he hears you crying because of him tries to cheer you up, buying you gifts of your special interest or hobbies. inviting you to eat dinner at the fancy restaurant you don’t go to often because of the high prices. and he treats you wonderfully, princess treatment to its max extent, doing everything he can to soothe the ache in your heart from knowing he fucks other girls even though you’re not a couple.

FWB!Soap who is aware of the vicious cycle he trapped himself in, fucking you for days straight, going out and fucking another girl, listening to you cry when you see the hickeys, and doing everything he can to make you feel better, hating how much he hurts you without meaning to before repeating it all again.

FWB!Soap gets undeniably scared at times, fearing you will get tired of him and his actions. he knows what he is doing is wrong but is so fucking hard for him to be in a committed relationship being constantly deployed to different countries. he tried it once and it didn’t work out, so why try again? He has you after all, and being friends with benefits fills his basic needs for the most part.

FWB!Soap is so painfully oblivious to the signals he and you give. Of course, he holds your hand when you're out in public because you get lost easily, walks closer to the street because is safer for you, stands behind you so creeps don’t look at your ass, kisses your forehead every once in a while when he’s talking to someone so you know he isn’t ignoring you.

FWB!Soap does the absolute max to be a good “friend” to you and make you feel loved since being friends with benefits with him makes it impossible for you to get a boyfriend. he knows he’s compensating you for the pain he causes you, and trust him, he does love you but he doesn’t love you. (that’s what he tells himself)

FWB!Soap who after speaking to Ghost and feels nothing short of a piece of shit for the dynamic of your situationship. “you’re going to lose her, Johnny” Simon oh so generously said to him after hearing Soap rant for almost 20 minutes about how he had taken you out to eat because he felt guilty for making you cry once again. (he is a piece of shit to the core)

FWB!Soap comes home after being deployed for almost three weeks only to see a man in your apartment, sitting on the couch like he owns the place while you come out for the kitchen with a bowl full of popcorn, surprised to see Soap standing at the door, not expecting he would be back so soon but happy regardless of his arrival.

“Johnny!” you high pitch squeal fills his ears and he feels hot from anger and joy, he lets you jump on his arms, hugging him the best you can with the height difference, his gear still on, a gun tucked on his belt holster while he hugs you back, staring darkly at the guy on the couch he is already planning how to kill. “hi bonnie” he answers a few seconds later, pulling away from the hug, his hands on your hips so you can’t move away, claiming possession of you to the man sitting not even 10 feet away from him.

He knows he shouldn’t be selfish and let you move on from him, but he is a new man after speaking to Ghost. He swears by it. He knows he loves you, he knows he wants a future with you so why don’t you wait for him just a little bit longer, why jump at the first opportunity you had to find another man? He had never brought any woman home, so why did you bring someone? you’re not playing fair, at least not by the game he put you in forcefully.

And he feels murderous, truly psychotic but doesn’t act on it, no. He would never subject you to that side of him, instead he decided to play just as dirty as you had done. “Why don’t you tell me who's your friend, Bonnie, aye?” he asks, manhandling you softly so you turn around to face the man on the couch who is awfully quiet. Soap guides you, making you walk forward, his hands not leaving your hips.

“he’s Matt, he’s one of my brother's friends” Your sweet voice rings he’s ears and for a moment he thinks that maybe this isn’t a date then, that maybe your brother’s friend just decided to visit you but Soap isn’t that fucking dumb, not when it comes to see the intentions guys have with you. “Matt, this is Johnny my…friend” you add a few seconds later, hesitating on what to call Soap, because sure, you are friends, but you also fuck, cuddle and go out on dates that neither of you ever actually called dates but the implication is there, all that is lacking is the title soap refuses to give to everything he does with you and to you.

you rather not be here in this situation, knowing how soap can get when you meet up with friends he doesn’t know about, and he wasn't even meant to come home today, not even this week and you had questions as to why he had returned so early but it wasn’t the right moment to ask, not with how fucking serious soap sounded (he is never serious around you)

“figured that one out quickly, love” Matt responds, a chuckle leaving his lips even though to Soap nothing was fucking funny right now, quite the opposite but he decides to play along with the clear joke of a man you let into your home. he does want to ripe his throat off because he called you Love and he might as well just do it (when you aren’t present of course.)

Soap sets one of his hands on his gun, moving to stand beside you so the guy can see he’s armed and isn’t afraid to kill him, he had his hands stained with people’s blood, what’s another life to take, everything for you, anything for you. defending an ownership of you he didn’t have.

“don’t mean to kick ya out mate but I rather you go, need to talk to my girl, aye?” Soap says, trying to be polite but he doesn’t give a shit if it comes out as him kicking Matt out, he is kicking him out after all, just with much kinder words for your well-being, not because he respects or wants to be him to the piece of shit on your couch.

And you caught onto Soap truly meant quickly, but it’s all overpowered by the fact he called you his girl, his fucking girl. and you know that with him you shouldn’t get your hopes high no matter how much he sweet talks you and calls you his, he’s done it before and not held up to the name he gave you.

FWB!Soap is a complicated mess when it comes to feelings and showing you how much he loves you because he truly doesn’t do well in relationships and doesn't want to break your heart. God knows how much he hates to see you hurting because of him. But maybe tonight he can’t stop caring for a few hours, just enough time to get rid of that stupid friend of yours and make sure he doesn’t ever appear in your life again, you don’t want a guy like him around, one who doesn’t respect Soap as your lover even though he isn’t.

FWB!Soap really hates breaking your heart, but he acts upon what’s best for you and your tears are a price worth paying so you can live your best life. The death of Matt shouldn’t come as a shock to you, but it does. Because although you know what Soap is capable of, you don’t expect him to just kill someone because they were interested in you and didn't shy away from trying and taking you away from him.

FWB!Soap who realizes that it’s time to make you his, because even though he doesn’t mind killing people to make you his, still is a fucking difficult job to find ways to dispose of the bodies without leaving evidence of his doing.

Boyfriend!Soap who ends up killing a few more people once he already made you his girlfriend but gladly does so when men come too close to you and are too bold and actually threaten your relationship with Soap. Maybe he should move you to a small city in Scotland, marry you, and give you a kid so you’re too busy being devoted to your family to ever notice how there are better men than Soap interested in you.

NORTHANGER ABBEY- fernando alonso + sharing clothes ?? thanks in advance !! love your writing so much !!

got a little smutty below the cut whoops

fernando is obsessed with seeing you in his clothes. the first time it happened was one night you were sleeping over, and after your shower in the morning you absentmindedly grabbed one of his shirts that was laying around. he had stared at you while you made some coffee, not believing what he was seeing.

“oh, shit. sorry, i should have asked.”

“mi amor…” he had sighed dreamily, hands reaching for the soft fabric that hung on your figure. “please don’t apologise. and, please, never wear anything other than this.”

from then on, you borrowed one of his shirts every time you came to his place. his favourite sight was seeing you potter around the apartment, making dinner or tidying up, wearing nothing but his shirt and some underwear.

over time, fernando got sneaky. he loved seeing you in his clothes so much that he’d let you keep a shirt or two, claiming that “it looks better on you, anyway.” when he had to go away for a race, he ‘accidentally’ left a shirt for you to keep. when you were the one leaving him, after visiting him on a race weekend, he slipped one of his tops into your bag, right at the bottom so you don’t notice until you get home.

when fernando comes home to you laid in bed, bare legs and lacy panties peeking out from under his old renault shirt, his mind goes fuzzy. he’s on you in a second, hands palming under your his shirt, grasping at the soft skin that hides below it.

“keep it on,” he commands when your fingers creep to pull the shirt off. the heat that rises in his stomach is agonising when he thinks of fucking you in his clothes, so much so that he almost cried with relief when you free his straining cock from tight trousers.

with his face buried between your thighs, he grasps tightly at the fabric bunched around your waist. his tongue works delicately at your soaked lips, sucking whenever he comes back to that swollen bud that makes you cry out his name. when your back arches in pleasure, it pulls his shirt so tightly around your chest that he can see every curve from your stomach to your breasts.

“mine, all mine,” fernando mutters over and over, kissing your shaking thighs and bruised neck, easing you through orgasm after orgasm.

you use that shirt more smartly from then on, knowing how easily it can get you what you want.

okay but imagine this . . .

you get hired to babysit manny for the night—just manny, susan assures you—but as soon as you walk through the door, it’s clear you’ve inherited all three heffley boys.

greg follows you like around like a puppy. he talks nonstop about how middle school is full of “juvenile morons” and how people say he’s “wise beyond his years” (no one has ever said that). he keeps trying to bring up high school drama he barely understands.

rodrick clearly didn’t know you were coming, because when he sees you, he immediately vanishes upstairs. a few minutes later, he reappears—wearing heavy eyeliner and smelling like half a can of axe. (“oh, didn’t know you were here tonight,”) he orders pizza, leans over the back of the couch and tries to impress you by talking about his band.

manny is barely a factor. (greg handed over a sleeve of cookies and let him play with his gameboy in exchange)

when susan and frank finally get home, the house is unusually quiet and suspiciously tidy. manny’s already in bed, and greg is wiping down the counter. rodrick, of all things, is vacuuming the living room. frank stands in the doorway, eyeing his sons like he’s trying to figure out if they’ve been replaced by aliens.

susan thanks you with a smile, handing you your payment, and the boys? they’re already plotting to make sure you come back next week.

I’m cracking up at the thought of Oscar accidentally seeing a nude of his sister in Carlos’s phone

HELP I HAD TO ELABORATE ON THIS

read little bitch here

Hotel rooms are boring. There's nothing else to do other than lay in bed and shower.

You regret telling Carlos — because now he's your boyfriend, and you share hotel rooms with him, how wild — that you wanted to stay in bed all morning and not join him for practice sessions because now is nearly midday and he's not back yet. And you're bored.

Not finding anything else to do, you open your suitcase to put together your outfit for Quali tomorrow, you laugh when the first thing you see is a McLaren cap and a Ferrari one packed together. And to think that next year you'll be adding a Williams one to your suitcase for race weekends.

As you move a pair of jeans, you come into view with something you didn't even remember you packed — a red lacy set of lingerie.

You decide to put it on, after all, you don't have anything better to do.

Meanwhile at the Zandvoort Circuit, Oscar, Carlos, Lando and Max are lounging at a hospitality area. The sessions and meetings for the day were over, so they were just waiting for the call to head out.

"Lando, can I borrow your phone? Mine is dead and I want to check Lily's flight, it's supposed to land soon," Oscar says from his place on the couch.

"I can't mate, I'm sexting right now," Lando replies, making the group laugh and Oscar roll his eyes.

"Take mine, it's in the table," Carlos says, fixing himself a cup of coffee from the small station in the room.

"Thanks," Oscar grabs the device, failing when he tries to unlock it, "What's your pass code?"

"Your sister's birthday," Carlos says casually, stirring his coffee.

The room erupts in a chorus of groans and laughter.

"Oh my god, Carlos," Lando exclaims, barely containing his giggles. "That's so cheesy!"

"Seriously, mate?" Max joins in, "What are you, a teenager with his first crush?"

Oscar looks at Carlos with mock disgust on his face. "My sister's birthday? Really? I don't know whether to be touched or grossed out."

Carlos shrugs, a slight blush creeping up his neck. "What? It's easy to remember."

"Yeah, sure," Lando snorts. "I bet your wallpaper is a picture of you two as well."

Carlos doesn't respond, suddenly very interested in his coffee.

"Oh my god, it is!" Max howls with laughter. "You're such a sap, Sainz!"

Oscar shakes his head, chuckling. "I can't believe this. My sister's turned you into a lovesick puppy."

Just as Oscar is about to search for his girlfriend's flight information, a text notification pops up. Out of habit and muscle memory, he ends up tapping on it, opening the message.

Oscar's eyes widen, and he lets out a yelp, nearly dropping the phone. "Oh god, my eyes!" he exclaims, tossing the phone back to Carlos as if it were on fire.

The others look at him, confused and amused.

"What happened?" Lando asks, trying to peer at Carlos' phone.

Oscar covers his face with his hands, groaning. "I just saw something I really, really didn't need to see. Carlos, mate, you need to put a lock on those messages from my sister."

With a frown, Carlos opens his messages, tapping on your contact and finding what made Oscar scream in disgust.

A picture of you wearing the lacy red set, with the caption "we need to put these to good use before we throw all the ferrari red away"

Carlos glances at his phone, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly locks the screen. He clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. "Ah, I see. Sorry about that, Oscar."

Oscar is still covering his eyes dramatically. "I'm going to need therapy after this. Seriously, Carlos, password protect those messages or something!"

"Come on, what was it?" Lando tries to sneak a peek at Carlos' phone. "It can't be that bad!"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," Oscar groans. "There are some things a brother should never see."

"Look on the bright side, at least you know your sister is happy?" Max pats Oscar on the back.

"Not helping, Verstappen!" Oscar throws a nearby cushion at Max, which only makes everyone laugh harder.

"Sorry, hermano. I'll be more careful next time," Carlos says, putting on an awkward smile.

"There better not be a next time," Oscar mumbles, still looking traumatized. "I'm going to need therapy after this."

Oscar makes a mental note to never, ever touch Carlos' phone again, and Carlos makes a mental note to lock his girlfriend's messages. And put those lacy red sets to good use later, too.

on your marks - get set - go. enzo vogrincic x fem!reader

fem!reader, enzo vogrincic x reader, fluff.

cw: quase-atropelamento. mas fica tudo bem!

sinopse: é seu primeiro dia em montevideo e tudo estaria bem se não tivessem tentado te atropelar com uma bicicleta.

wn: pra anon que me pediu uma fic do enzo atropelando a reader (kkkk) e pra @parisandi que me pediu um imagine com a reader brasileira <3 uma besteirinha boba e fofinha. gosto desse enzo assim mais maluquete.

você só teve tempo de gritar, em alto e bom português, um para desesperado seguido por um olha por onde anda bem mal educado. sinceramente, não havia jeito melhor de começar seu primeiro dia vivendo em montevideo. e olha que você nem estava no lugar errado - seu corpo e pés bem direitinhos na faixa de pedestres, longe da ciclo-faixa.

o motivo do seu quase-semi-atropelamento deu o freio na bicicleta e começou a voltar de ré até o lugar da quase-semi-colisão. esperava que o babaca estivesse vindo te pedir desculpas, porque, se ele viesse querendo brigar, ia escutar umas poucas e boas. e no seu portunhol quebrado, o que tinha certeza que ia ser ainda pior para ele.

quando o rapaz ergueu a cabeça, finalmente virando o corpo para trás para te encarar, seu coração errou uma batida. era sinceramente um dos homens mais lindos que já tinha visto na vida.

ele desceu da bike, virando o corpo totalmente para você e sem qualquer noção de espaço pessoal, segurou suas bochechas com as mãos, como se te examinasse. virou seu rosto para o lado, para o outro, levantou e abaixou seu queixo.

quando se deu por satisfeito, te deu um selinho breve nos lábios. você só conseguiu encará-lo de volta. "bom, pelo que eu pude verificar, não tem nada quebrado. mais cuidado na próxima vez, eh, nena?"

você balançou a cabeça, agora com seu próprio corpo e sem ajuda daquela mão gigantesca, bufando o peito. "primeiro que nena é sua avó..."

foi interrompida por uma risada cheia, sincera. queria fazer cosquinhas no homem até ele soltar mais e mais daquelas risadas. mas tinha que focar. agora não era momento de desejá-lo. era momento de brigar com ele.

"é nona, no caso, se fosse italiana. não é o caso. é uruguaia por um lado."

ignorou completamente o comentário fofo. permaneceu firme.

"como eu dizia, nena é a puta que te pariu." aguardou um retorno espertinho, mas dessa vez, ele permaneceu calado com aquele sorriso encantador nos lábios. ridículo. "e segundo, você tem que tomar cuidado. quase me atropelou!" apontou enfaticamente para seu próprio corpo e para a bicicleta dele.

"disse certo, quase. e eu já te perdoei por isso. vamos, nena, você toma um café comigo e esquecemos disso." e deu de ombros, te puxando pela mão com a direita e usando a esquerda para guiar a bicicleta até o bicicletário de uma cafeteria que estava a menos de alguns metros de vocês.

você seguia incrédula, sendo arrastada sem colocar um trabalho ou um boneco se quer.

"é sério isso? você vai me pagar um café depois de quase ter me atropelado? me deu um beijo e nem sabe meu nome!" o rapaz soltou suas mãos, tirando quase que um suspiro triste de você, para prender a bicicleta com cuidado.

"seu nome eu não sei, mas o meu é enzo." enzo. parecia doce na sua boca. você comentou o seu em voz baixa e ele repetiu algumas vezes antes de levantar o corpo, depois de ter prendido o veículo, ajeitando os cabelos. "não disse nada sobre pagar o seu café. mas se a gente namorar, eu penso."

"já está me pedindo em namoro?"

"ficou parecendo outra coisa?"

você riu junto com enzo, absolutamente incrédula. bom, parecia que seu primeiro dia em montevideo já tinha sido bom o suficiente pra te dar um namorado.