These Tags Are So Funnyyyy

It’s Your Birthday. Of Course, I’m Here. (LN4)

Summary: It’s Lando’s birthday and Y/n can’t make it. Or so he thinks.

Warnings: language, Lando missing her gravely

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY HUSBAND? I’m so in love with this man this is a national holiday.

“Are you boarding the plane?” Oscar asked Y/n from his side of the phone, his body turned away in the corner of hospitality.

Y/n, the girl murmuring a thank you to the flight attendant scanning her ticket, nodded with a smile, “Yes, I am. How is he? Does he know I’m coming?”

Oscar giggled, “Oh, no way. He’s been moping around all week because he thinks you won’t be here for his birthday. He doesn’t even want to go out on the night of his birthday! We’re in Vegas!”

Y/n laughed along with him, her heart slightly breaking for her boyfriend and his pity party, “Oh, no! Poor Lando. Well, hopefully, he’ll want to go out when he sees me.”

A mechanic tapping Oscar’s shoulder caused him to retreat from the conversation, “Yeah, exactly. Listen, I have to go, but text me when you land.”

Noises of agreement sounded from her as she said goodbye and hung up the phone. Oscar, standing awkwardly in front of his coworker, tried to seem nonchalant.

Jake smiled at him, “They need you in the garage.”

When he was about to walk past him, Jake grabbed Oscar’s arm, “Were you just talking to Y/n?”

Oscar’s heart dropped, plummeting to his feet when the surprise they had been planning for weeks was jeopardized. He shook his head immediately, “No. Not at all.”

Jake nodded slowly, “So, she’s not coming down here to surprise Lando for his birthday after telling him she couldn’t make it to that or the Vegas Grand Prix?”

Oscar sent him a confused look, “No.”

Yes.

—

Stepping off the plane, Y/n felt her palms become slick with the sweat of her nerves. This part of the plan was the hardest, getting to where Lando was without being recognized. With her hood pulled up, sunglasses on, and a mask resting tightly over the bottom half of her face, she weaved her way through crowds of people. Some were wearing Formula 1 merchandise, a few papaya fans sticking out, which brought a small smile to her face in memory of the man she was on her way to see.

Flashes of his sad smile plagued her brain from when she had told him she wouldn’t be able to tag along with him to the Vegas GP like she usually did, missing his birthday in the midst. He had assured her it was okay after she explained that she had an important test for university she couldn’t miss, however Y/n could see it in the way his eyes glazed over that he was trying to hold back begging her to skip it. He was trying to be a good boyfriend, that much she could tell and that much she was grateful for, but after seeing how disappointed he became, his laugh not holding its usual luster, she went to the professor to beg herself. She had explained to him the situation, even “jokingly” offering him free F1 paddock tickets in exchange for letting her take the test at a later date. By some miracle, or more genuinely by her professor’s kindheartedness, he told her that, because her grade was so strong, he would allow her to take it the week after she came back from her weekend in Nevada. He had laughed, praised her devotion toward her boyfriend, and told her that he was a fan of Lando himself, rooting for his coming win every race. The man had been so accommodating, Y/n had almost cried in front of him in his office, but she settled for crying in the privacy of the bathroom down the hall.

After that, she called Oscar, the boy letting out a sigh of relief that he wouldn’t have to handle Lando without his girlfriend and agreeing to help her surprise him.

Then, like a sequence of events, things fell into place. The McLaren marketing team caught wind of their plan and forced them to allow them to videotape the entire event, mentioning how fans would obsess over new Y/n and Lando content.

So, she found herself sliding into the backseat of a private driver for McLaren workings, with their camera man, John, sitting beside her.

She had met him before, multiple times considering how much time he spent with Lando, so the atmosphere was already comfortable.

John turned on the camera, the red light flickering as he asked, “So, how are you feeling?”

She smiled, “Good, excited to see him.”

John chuckled, “And who is ‘him’? Explain to the fans what we are doing.”

Y/n nodded, picking at the fraying edges of Lando’s hoodie she was wearing, “I am surprising Lando for his birthday! I just got off the plane from Monaco, landed here in Las Vegas, and, now, we are on our way to drop my stuff off at the hotel and then get ready to go see him! Originally, I wasn’t supposed to come, obviously, because I had a test I needed to take for my class, but my teacher, being the sweetest person to grace this Earth, allowed me an extension.”

John hummed, “And how do you think he will react?”

She let her head fall back on the seat behind her, smiling to herself at her predictions, “I think he’ll probably freak out. He’s always one for drama, don’t think that will change this time around.”

The camera shook lightly with John’s laughter, the two giggling over the driver. They shook their heads and rambled on about past instances where he’d blown minor things out of proportion. Promptly, Y/n compared herself and the surprise in store as something minor, but John was quick to disagree.

“You are so far from minor to that boy.”

—

The Hiltons that McLaren always put their workers up at always amazed Y/n. Being a broke college student who had barely scraped enough money together to study abroad in Monaco, her jaw was always on the floor when she walked through the doors and was met with the crystal chandelier, the granite floors, and grand vases of beautiful, colorful tulips and roses. Nonetheless, she had gotten slightly used to it after being with Lando for two years. She would always remember the first time he brought her along to a race, her staying in his room with the gigantic balcony accompanied by a jacuzzi and pool. He had told her it wouldn’t be anything special, but was proved wrong when they were given keys to the penthouse. She had gawked and gasped, all things Lando laughed at, while wandering through the rooms.

That weekend was ingrained into her mind as the introduction to Lando’s world.

John, camera by his side, conversed with the concierge as he checked her into Lando’s room. They had to be incredibly sly. They knew once Y/n surprised him, Lando wouldn’t settle for anything but her sleeping in his room. So, they wanted to solve that problem earlier, having Y/n drop her bags off in his room before everything unraveled.

They just needed to make sure he wasn’t there.

They just needed to make sure they didn’t disturb anything in the room, hiding her bags in the closet and hoping for the best.

When the receptionist validated Y/n’s identity, she gave them a key to his room. It was silent in the elevator as they climbed the floors, only having it being cut when her phone buzzed.

She reached down and turned it over, seeing a text from Oscar.

Oscar

DONT COME UP YET! WE HAVENT LEFT HIS ROOM

“Shit!” She yelped, typing furiously over the keyboard in response.

John turned the camera on, not wanting a moment to go to waste, “What’s going on?”

She turned her head, looking at him in a panic, “They’re still in his room!”

Their faces dropped, hearts pounding, as the elevator doors dinged and began opening. Lando’s voice filtered through the doors, along with Oscar’s. The two men were bickering.

“Lando, you’re taking so fucking long! Move your ass!” Oscar said, annoyed and very clearly agitated.

Lando groaned, “I don’t want to go out! Leave me alone!”

John’s mouth was on the floor at the footage he was getting as Y/n and him slid into the penthouse, trying desperately to find a hiding place.

She picked up her suitcase, however heavy, and walked carefully down a separate hallway that seemed to lead to a closet.

The two were close to getting there, out of sight, when Lando’s footsteps sounded close to them, rapidly approaching their location.

“Did the elevator just open?! I heard it!”

Y/n held her breath as she and John ran like hell into the first room they could find, it being a guest bedroom. She locked the door, listening intently to whatever was unfolding on the other side.

Oscar seemed to be feet away from her, “No, mate, it fucking didn’t. Now, can we leave? We have your birthday dinner to go to!”

Lando scoffed, “Fine, but if there is an intruder in my room and they end up stealing all my stuff, you’re paying for it.”

Knowing it was Y/n and the cameraman, Oscar nodded along, “Sure, mate.”

The elevator dinged once more with the two of them ready for departure, Lando giving, “And, for the record, I don’t even know why we’re going to a dinner for my birthday. I told you my birthday won’t be the same without Y/n. I told you I didn’t want to celebrate it if she wasn’t here.”

Y/n could see Lando’s pouty demeanor in her head along with Oscar’s dismissive face as he retorted, “Uh huh.”

—-

Thankfully, the rest of it all had gone smoothly. Dropping her things off after they left, getting ready, and getting to the restaurant all went according to plan.

In the last moments in the car before Lando was made aware of the things going on behind his back, John brought out the camera, “How you doing?”

Y/n nodded slowly, “Kind of nervous?” She giggled, shaking her head, “I don’t know. I just hope he didn’t catch on or anything.”

John blew a raspberry, “No way he did. I mean, that hotel thing was a super close call, but he didn’t know. I’m sure he doesn’t know.”

His words reassured her and, as they turned the corner with the destination seconds away, she said one last thing to the camera, “Lando, if you ever end up watching this, I don’t know if you watch these, I just want you to know I love you so much and I’m so proud of you and I hope you know I will stop at nothing to spend your birthday with you. You’re a fool for thinking I wouldn’t be here. I know I can say all of these things when I see you because I’m about to, but I think this just has a different impact. Plus it lets everybody know you’re mine. By the way, next time, take a shorter amount of time to get ready please. Jesus Christ, you gave me a heart attack earlier today when I had to run around your hotel room and find a hiding place because you wouldn’t leave.”

At that, the valet opened her door and she stepped out. John kept the footage going, knowing they would arrive at the grand finale any moment, and followed her into the establishment.

She walked up to the hostesses, the two women smiling back at her, “Hi, I’m here for the Norris reservation. I’m a bit late, I know, but I’m surprising the birthday boy.”

The workers’ faces lit up in realization, “Oh, you’re the girlfriend? His friend, the Australian, sorry I forgot his name, told us you would be coming. Right this way, miss.”

The brunette turned around and began walking toward the back, toward a private room. She made light conversation along the way, mentioning that Lando had spent the majority of their waiting for the table rambling about how much he wanted to call Y/n.

She was blushing by the time they stopped outside of the door that led to where the party was, thanking the woman for directing them and moving to face John.

“Ready?” She asked, looking at the camera to make sure that red light was blinking.

He nodded, “Always.”

She took a deep breath and opened the door lightly. Lando’s back was to her, Max, Oscar, and his parents facing her. She could tell they were trying to hold in their excitement as Lando retold a story about her and him getting ice cream one night at 3 AM. Their smiles were just barely being withheld from their faces as she waved to them softly and John stationed himself at an angle where the camera could see Lando’s reaction when he turned around.

He continued on, blissfully unaware of the girl behind him, “And then she said this really funny joke! Oh, crap, I can’t remember what it was. It was some cheesy dad joke about ice cream and I remember laughing so hard I almost peed my pants. Shit, what was it?”

A silence mulled over as he tried to remember, Y/n noticing her perfect cue, “I said, ‘why are popsicles so snobby?’ And you said you didn’t know, so I said, “they have a stick up their butt’. I’m pretty sure you did pee your pants laughing.”

She saw the way Lando’s hands tightened around the glass of water he was holding. He froze, “Am I going insane or is Y/n standing behind me?”

Cisca, the woman smiling from ear to ear, “She’s behind you, love.”

The glass came clattering down as he shot up from his chair and turned around wide-eyed.

“Y/N!” He screamed, running over to her and forcefully crashing into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

She laughed loudly as he kissed her neck aggressively, a thousand times over again. She let her arms intertwine around his neck and her hands tangle in his hair, whispering, “Happy birthday, baby. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I love you so much. You deserve all this and more.”

He pulled away, eyes glossy as he stared down at her and held her to him, “I missed you so much.”

She smiled back, “It’s only been a week, Lan.”

He scoffed, “Yeah, and that’s way too fucking long.”

She nodded as he leaned down and captured her lips with his, his friends whooping behind him teasingly.

He pecked her lips innocently, saving what he really wanted to do for the later part of the night, and led her to the table.

John and Y/n took their rightful seats, teeth on display at the success of their plan. John, being the perfect cameraman, continued to catch moments shared between the couple throughout the rest of the night. Lando’s hand interlocked with hers on the table, his kiss to her over the gift she got him, the way his hands securely held her hips on the side of the road while they waited for their car, the way he hugged her and whispered in her ear how happy he was to have her there with him, and everything in between.

Sweet, gentle instances that showed everyone just how in love the two were. Lando’s soft eyes resting on hers when she came into view was something that every fan couldn’t let go of the week later when it was posted. Everyone fawned over the two like they were destined to be together, fated in the stars.

Because they were and they always would be.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Pairing: Modern!Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you find yourself with nowhere to live, your friend Alina offers you the perfect solution - her Uncle Aleksander’s empty townhouse. What you don’t know is that Aleksander’s security cameras watch your every move, and Aleksander himself is almost instantly captivated by you.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dom!Aleksander, reader is staying in Aleksander’s house (supposedly) without his knowledge, subtle mafia vibes, power play, voyeuristic vibes from Aleksander, unspecified age gap, reference to oral (fem receiving), slight cnc vibes (no verbal consent but a safeword is established), smidge of size kink, very subtle hints that Aleksander wants children, he’s quite intense but she’s into it.

A/N: happy christmas everyone!

My Masterlist

Aleksander receives an alert the moment his front door is opened. One glance at the screen of his phone reveals that Alina’s key card had deactivated the alarm system.

It isn’t unusual for her to invite herself into his townhouse in one of the affluent boroughs of the city. He rarely uses the space himself, preferring his smaller apartment in Central Os Alta due to the vicinity to his workplace. What is unusual, however, is that she has company today.

Aleksander has an extensive number of security cameras and microphones placed throughout his home. It helps to ease his paranoia and sate the need to control his surroundings. He doesn’t tend to check on Alina when she visits, leaving her to her own devices, but your presence has his interest piqued.

Alina doesn’t bother to take her shoes off, per usual. But you do. After dragging your feet over the doormat - twice, one foot after the other - you tug off your shoes, placing them neatly beside his shoe rack before hurrying to catch up to Alina as she heads towards the kitchen.

He’s proud of the townhouse, a space he had curated as a safe haven for himself and a currently non-existent significant other. Seeing you stare, lips parted as your eyes drink in the furniture and decor in what seems like awe, has a warmth gathering in his chest. He will admit, your admiration of his house is rather adorable.

Curious, he unmutes the sound on the security feed, just in time to hear your voice as you ask tentatively,

“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”

Alina opens up a cupboard, retrieving a bag of snacks which she examines with a small frown, before she rips the packaging open and begins to munch on the treats inside. She shrugs through a mouthful.

“He barely ever stays here.”

“But you did ask him… didn’t you?”

Aleksander vaguely remembers Alina mentioning a friend of hers that needed a place to stay. What he doesn’t remember is giving her permission to accommodate said friend in his house. But he watches Alina nod, scrunching up the bag as she finishes her snacks.

“He wants someone here to receive his parcels,” she says, tossing the crumpled wrapper towards the bin. She misses.

He doesn’t order anything to his house. All his parcels are delivered either to his work or his apartment. The townhouse is his hidden treasure, though strangely he doesn’t loathe the idea of letting you stay there. Perhaps he should place a few harmless orders, to aid Alina’s lie. Something inconspicuous, that you might enjoy, like a monthly flower subscription. He likes the thought of you assembling a cheerful bouquet in his living room.

“And you’re sure he doesn’t want any rent,” you say, picking up Alina’s rubbish and placing it in the bin. You’re already a perfect houseguest, though he hopes you might be able to feel comfortable enough to relax in his house.

Aleksander almost feels offended by your suggestion and is relieved when Alina shakes her head.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll tell him I’m the one staying here. Besides, you’re like my sister. What’s mine is yours.”

“Even your Uncle Sasha?” you ask with a shy smile and this tiny glimpse at your humour has Aleksander wanting to devour you.

Alina grins.

“Especially him.” She pushes away from where she’s been leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’ll give you the password to his grocery account. Order whatever you like.”

That nervous expression returns to your features.

“Are you sure?”

“He gives me an allowance that I never use. You can have it.” She opens one of the kitchen drawers, rummaging through the contents despite Aleksander’s meticulous organisation. It doesn’t take her long to find what she’s looking for. “Here’s a key card to disable the security alarms and the wifi password.”

Aleksander watches you take the objects slowly, holding them in the palm of your hand before closing your fist around them protectively. Alina gestures upwards towards the rest of the house.

“Pick whatever bedroom you like best.”

Unknown by you, the moment you choose Aleksander’s bed to sleep in you become his.

»»---------------------►

As the owner of the internet router at his house, Aleksander can see what sites you visit while using his internet - a power that he abuses fully. He enjoys the insight into your thoughts and interests. The questions you have about the world and the things that make you happy.

During his lunch one day, Aleksander is scrolling through your recent search history when he spots something interesting. His name. Initially just a google search. Then you had examined his Instagram and Facebook, before moving onto his company website.

He’s tempted to pull up the security feed and rewind it back to the moment you had first typed his name, just to see your reaction to what you’re seeing. Especially when he sees how long you had spent reading the tabloids and swiping through images of him. It seems he has captured your attention.

»»---------------------►

It takes a small nudge from Aleksander for you to stop buying only the necessities during your grocery order. Just a few small taps of his thumbs and he adds enough random baking supplies for you to perceive it as an accident when it arrives.

One day, Alina visits him at work, a small box of cupcakes tucked under her arm. Instantly, he recognises them as one of your creations. He had watched you bake them yesterday head bobbing to your music as you had decorated them with an adorable frown of concentration and a smudge of buttercream on your face.

He waits until she leaves before cracking open the box, allowing the sweet sugary scent to invade his senses. The moan that escapes him during his first bite is obscene. He wonders whether your cheeks would flush with heat at the sound. His mind wanders, thinking of kissing the cream off your cheeks.

Aleksander finds himself imagining what it would be like to come home to you, the house warm and inviting as you await his arrival with a sweet treat and an eager smile. He would sink to his knees on the kitchen tiles, slide your skirt and apron up to your waist so that he can kiss your pretty cunt until his name is the only word you can manage.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander hates seeing you cry. But that job of yours was doing you no good. Waking up early to catch the bus and arriving home so tired that you don’t have enough energy to cook yourself a hot meal. Now, after Aleksander has pulled a few strings, you can sleep for as long as you like and spend time creating food that brings you joy.

He has already logged onto his grocery account and amended your weekly order to include a few recipes you wanted to try and some additional treats in an attempt at lifting your spirits. All he wants is for you to be happy.

He’s sorely tempted to go to you now. To wrap his arms around you, hold you against his chest and kiss the crown of your head while murmuring reassurances that this was for the best. He doesn’t like seeing you so despondent. He wants his happy girl back, who tends to the flowers and reads curled up in his armchair beside the fire.

He could just go to you. It’s his house you’re staying in after all. But he doesn’t want to rob you of your safe place. If he turned up now, he knows you would feel pressured to leave, even when you have nowhere else to go. His sweet girl, so terrified of taking up too much space. One day, very soon, he will be able to appreciate you how he longs to.

»»---------------------►

He thinks you might be trying to kill him.

Aleksander’s home gym is a room occupied by a treadmill and a few stray pieces of equipment that he hardly ever uses, there to fill the space he hopes will one day be converted into a nursery.

Currently, you’re stretching yourself out over a yoga mat he didn’t even know he owned, twisting your body into a rather enticing position. His mouth goes dry at the sight of you, shifting in his seat to alleviate some of the ache in his throbbing cock.

Whilst he’s glad you’ve found another hobby to fill your time - and the thought of your improved flexibility pleases him - he almost wishes he hadn’t checked in on you. Now, he is going to have to sit through a meeting and resist the urge to continue watching you.

»»---------------------►

Once a week, Alina stays over with you, spending the evening catching up and talking about all manner of things together. Aleksander likes to listen in while he’s working, imagining that he’s actually in the office across the hall from the living room.

Alina’s suggestion of a blind date for you makes him stiffen, lifting his eyes away from his papers and onto the screen. He’s somewhat glad that you seem apprehensive.

“I thought you didn’t like Mal?” you ask Alina, fidgeting with the edge of the velvet cushion in your lap.

She shrugs.

“Just because he wasn’t right for me doesn’t mean he won’t be right for you.”

Aleksander can say with absolute certainty that Mal is nowhere near the right man for you. He can remember when Alina was infatuated with the boy. If he strings you along like he did with Alina, Aleksander won’t be able to stop himself from interfering.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t be mad, but I might have already made a reservation for you.”

“Lina!”

You swat her with your cushion - almost playfully - but Aleksander can see your anxiety in the set of your shoulders. To hell with not interfering. He mutes the sound on the screen, picking up his phone and dialling a familiar number.

“Zoya, I need a favour.”

»»---------------------►

He needs to play this carefully. With Zoya’s intervention at the bar where Mal was meeting his friends for a drink beforehand, he will never make it to your date. Aleksander needs to leave you waiting long enough to be relieved by his arrival, but not so long that the rejection damages your self esteem. From a corner of the restaurant, he watches your face carefully.

Each time a waiter appears, he sees you grow a little more agitated, fidgeting with your fingers as you insist that your date will arrive soon. It’s only once he sees you inhale shakily that he decides to pick up his coat and stroll over to your table.

“Is this seat taken?”

Embarrassment touches at your features as you glance up at him, then the tables surrounding you as you seem to assume he’s asking to take the chair to his own table. He watches your lips press together before you shake your head and gesture defeatedly at the chair.

“It’s all yours.”

He smiles widely, draping his coat over the back of the chair before he sits down.

“Thank you, milaya.”

The look of surprise on your face is delightful, even more so when recognition sparkles in your eyes.

“Mr Morozova.”

He’s exceptionally proud of the feigned confusion he spreads over his features.

“Do we know each other?”

“You’re Alina’s uncle.”

“Yes,” he says, the hint of a question at the edge of his tone. Ducking your head bashfully, you tell him your name.

He repeats your name slowly, as if it is the first time he’s ever spoken it, trying to ignore how wide your eyes are at the sound of your name on his lips.

“Alina mentioned you were looking for a place to stay in the city. Did you manage to find somewhere?”

You seem startled at the thought of him remembering you.

“Oh, yes. I did, thank you.”

He smiles. Alina had lied to him, telling him that she was the one staying at his house. Whilst he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, the urge to make you squirm a little pokes at him.

“Do you like where you’re living now?”

He watches you shift nervously in your seat, but your response is earnest.

“Yes, I do,” you admit quietly. “It’s lovely.” He hums indulgently, hoping you might continue speaking, and you nod. “One of the nicest places I’ve ever lived.”

He wants to keep you forever.

Instead, he offers to buy you dinner, which you agree to after a little convincing from Aleksander. He asks for your order, calling the waiter over to place it for you both.

Now that you’re front of him, after watching you through a screen for so long, Aleksander can’t look away from you. In such proximity, he can observe every minute detail. The way you fidget with the charms on your bracelet. The way you attempt to be subtle when you glance at him, only to find his eyes already on you.

He drinks in the sight of you, warmth in his chest as you tuck into your meal. He will admit, he pays little attention to his own plate, choosing to watch as you eat eagerly with soft sounds of pleasure in response to the taste. All the while, he coaxes you into conversation and by the time you’ve finished you seem much more relaxed in his presence.

Aleksander leans back in his chair, swirling the wine around in his glass with nimble fingers. With a polite gesture to the waiter, he orders another bottle of wine. When the waiter mentions dessert, Aleksander raises a questioning brow at you. He can see the nervousness creep into your eyes at the thought of asking for more.

After you refuse his offer, he orders a plateful of dessert that he intends on sharing with you. When it arrives, he takes a few mouthfuls for himself before he offers a spoonful to you.

“Come on, milaya. I bought it for us to share.”

When you relent, leaning forwards to take the spoon from him, he retracts his head, pulling it out of your reach.

“Ah, ah. No hands. Let me.”

After ducking your head bashfully, you look down to avoid his gaze and Aleksander can see how flustered his words have made you. Still, you nod obediently. He moves the spoon back towards you, feeding you the dessert when you open your mouth for him.

He stares as your eyes flutter closed and you hum in delight at the rich taste with a pretty smile on your face.

Saints, you’re so perfect.

Aleksander pays the bill. He keeps his hand on your lower back as you walk to the entrance of the restaurant. He frowns at the sight of goosebumps prickling over your skin.

“Where’s your coat, milaya?”

“Alina gave me a lift here and I left it in her car.”

He tuts quietly in disapproval.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” Aleksander places his coat over your shoulders, thick wool draped over your frame to shield you from the cold. He smiles at the sight of you, helping you tuck each of your arms into the sleeves. “There we go.”

You give him a bright smile and begin to play shyly with the buttons at the front of his coat.

“Thank you.”

“Let me give you a lift home.”

Immediately your smile falters and you refuse his offer.

“Oh no, I’m fine walking, thank you.”

“You’re walking?” The moment you nod he begins to shake his head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m not living in the city centre. It’ll be too out of your way.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mr Morozova-”

“Call me Aleksander, please.”

“Aleksander,” you state slowly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m not going back to my apartment tonight.”

There’s a waver in your voice as you say,

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head.

“I have a house not far from here.”

He watches the internal struggle play over your face. Realisation. Anxiety. Words scrambling from your mind to your tongue as you attempt to create a confession. Sweet girl. Always so honest.

“Aleksander, I…” He watches you wring your hands, the sleeves of his coat covering all but your fingertips. “Alina’s been letting me stay at your townhouse. I’m so sorry for not telling you.”

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, he smiles at the valet, standing behind you as he waits for the man to retrieve his car keys. Leaning down, he presses a pacifying kiss to your temple, smoothing his hands over each of your shoulders, stroking your biceps. He can see the confusion in your eyes at his reaction.

“We’ll discuss this at home, darling.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, though he doubts you would ever openly disagree with him. He feels you shiver at the command in his voice and a thrill runs through him at the thought of you enjoying the role he has picked out for you.

The short walk to the car is silent, a few stray snowflakes beginning to fall. Aleksander keeps his arm around you, ensuring you don’t slip on any ice. He holds the passenger door open for you and keeps his hand on your thigh for the entire journey, ignoring your squirming.

“Aleksander,” you whisper. “I really am sorry.”

“Not now, milaya. Let me concentrate on the roads.”

He feels your skin flush with embarrassment at his condescending tone. The snow has quickly covered the world in white, thick flurries falling faster with every passing moment.

When you finally return home, he slips his coat from your shoulders, hanging it up in the hallway as he nods at your shoes, a silent order for you to remove them. With the height of your heels gone, you seem so much smaller than him as he looks down at you.

“I do not tolerate lying, milaya.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr Morozova. I can move my things out now-”

He presses his thumb against your mouth, index finger curling under your chin.

“I do not want to hear another word from those pretty lips of yours. Safeword is shadow. Understood?”

Excitement sparks in your eyes as you realise what is happening, and when you nod obediently Aleksander feels his cock throb. He knows you will enjoy this. He knows your preferences - what you search for when you’re eager to get yourself off.

“Good girl. Now go pour me a drink.”

Aleksander settles down on his favourite armchair in the living room, watching as you unlock the alcohol cabinet and pour him a small sample of whiskey, the liquid falling smoothly into the crystal glass. He stretches his legs out; his knees always ache during the cold weather. Soaking in a hot bath with you is certainly an enticing thought - perhaps for tomorrow evening.

There’s a slight tremble to your fingers as you hand him the glass.

“Thank you, milaya. Be a dear and take my shoes off - I can’t reach them too comfortably at my age.”

With fumbling fingers, you manage to untie his laces and loosen the shoes away from his feet, slipping them off easily enough. The sight of you between his thighs, kneeling on the ground is utter perfection. He smiles down at you, stroking his knuckles over your cheek.

“There’s a good girl. Place them in the hallway for me?”

In the time it takes you to move into the hallway and place the shoes down on the rack beside his front door, Aleksander has freed his cock from the confines of his trousers and underwear, hissing slightly as he grips himself.

When you return, the sight of him has your footsteps faltering in the doorway. He leans his head back, watching you through hooded eyes and a tense jaw. He sees your eyes widen, like a little deer in headlights. He sees your gaze flicker down to his exposed cock and your thighs tremble as they press against each other.

He tilts his head at you.

“Come sit on my cock, milaya.”

A slight shake of your head.

“It won’t fit.”

“Yes it will. Come here.” Still you don’t move. “I won’t ask again.”

His tone has you stumbling forwards.

As you struggle to straddle his lap, he pushes the hem of your dress, velvet smoothing easily upwards to reveal bare skin. The underwear you’re wearing is nice, though he knows you own much prettier sets. That knowledge reassures him that you hadn’t intended on sleeping with your date tonight.

Retrieving his drink from the table beside him, watching you with a self satisfied smirk as he lifts his glass to your lips.

“Some liquid courage for you.”

He breathes out a soft laugh when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste; evidently you must have swallowed more than you were anticipating.

“Now let’s have a look at what we have here,” he muses, pushing the gusset of your panties aside to reveal your glistening cunt, flushed and glossy with arousal. A perfect little mess. “Have you been in this state since we arrived? Or during the car ride home?”

He can feel your body burning as you admit,

“Since dinner, sir.”

“Oh sweet girl, have I left you wanting?”

“Please,” you whisper weakly. He brushes the head of his cock over your quivering entrance, grinning at the sound of your whimpers.

“Let’s start with the tip, shall we?”

He begins to ease you onto his cock, stretching you out slowly and a small cry escapes from your lips at the sensation. Sweat glistens over your chest as you heave in a few hurried breaths.

Aleksander praises you with every inch, telling you how perfect you are as you writhe and buck against his hold. Once you’re fully seated on his cock, he runs his hands over your thighs soothingly, encouraging you to relax as your cunt continues to twitch around him.

He tugs the front of your dress down, revealing your breasts for him to fondle freely. His hands wander over your body, squeezing the sensitive flesh. Almost absentmindedly, he begins to play with your nipples, pressing kisses from your forehead down to your jawline.

“Such a pretty sight. How are you feeling, my love?”

“So full,” you whine, on the verge of tears. “So good. Aleksander.”

“That’s it, darling.” He holds onto your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”

A weak shake of your head that doesn’t convince him. He suspects you can’t even convince yourself that you don’t want this. Nevertheless, he can’t help but argue with you.

“Who’s been housing you, and feeding you, these last few months?”

He watches your expression crumble in defeat, giving in to your desire.

“You have.”

“That’s right, milaya.” He grasps onto your hips, encouraging you to begin bouncing on his cock.“You have no idea..” The feeling of your cunt squeezing him like a vice makes him groan, hands gripping your trembling thighs. “…how difficult it’s been to resist buying clothes for you as well.” His words are breathless, panted out against your lips as he presses your foreheads together. “Dresses and skirts and pretty lingerie sets. But we have a wedding to save for, don’t we?”

His question seems to catch you off guard, as an obscene moan is ripped from the back of your throat. He rolls his hips upwards, notching the head of his cock against that sweet spot inside you that makes you clench violently. Something akin to a sob heaves at your shoulders as you tremble.

“I’m going to spoil you, darling. I want my ring on your finger. I want you in white lace and diamonds.”

Aleksander moans at the feeling of your nails digging into his arms through the fabric of his shirt. He keeps one hand on your hip, occasionally stroking the tense muscles of your abdomen, the other hand cupping your face so that he can kiss you.

He sees your toes curl, calves twitching as your cunt pulses an erratic beat that makes pleasure rocket down his spine. Aleksander moans your name softly, over and over until you’re shaking with overstimulation as you near your climax. When you begin to plead, he hushes you soothingly.

He knows you haven’t touched yourself in quite some time. He knows that the orgasm you’re seconds away from will unravel you completely. He can’t wait to see it.

“Let go, milaya. I’m right here,” he says warmly as he reaches down to rub firm circles over your swollen clit. “Cum around my cock like the good girl you are. Let me have you.”

Aleksander would consider it something of a religious experience, watching you lose yourself to pleasure. To see something so intimate, so sacred, in such proximity, when he has only ever seen you through a screen for months. The orgasm that hits you is lengthy, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as your cunt pulses around him. Every movement, every sound you make, is so breathtakingly beautiful that he stares openly at you with his lips parted in awe. His beautiful girl. His.

That final thought is what pushes him into completion, spilling inside you with a deep moan. He looks down at where the two of you are joined, admiring the glistening mess there. He kisses your forehead as you slump down against his chest. There’s a dazed look in your eyes as you stare down at the buttons on his shirt, fidgeting with them absentmindedly.

“I can leave, if you’d like,” you suggest in a quiet murmur. He places his hands on your lower back, keeping you pressed to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You would freeze out there.”

Aleksander lifts you upwards, squeezing your hips gently as he does so, and his cock slips out of you. He leans forwards, kissing you again as he ticks himself back into his trousers. He sucks on your lower lip, dragging it lightly between his teeth as he buttons up his trousers with one hand.

“Stay,” he says.

The smile you give him is shy as you nod, whispering,

“Okay.”

He hooks his hands under your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. Instantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, coiling yourself around him as he carries you up the stairs.

Some of his cum slips out of you, as he lowers you down onto his sheets. He presses his fingers against your cunt, pushing his spend back inside you where it belongs. A quiet groan catches in his throat at the sensation of your warm cunt clinging to his digits, desperate to keep him inside. He curls his finger, pressing his thumb against your clit.

Aleksander grins when you cant your hips forwards mindlessly.

“What a mess we’ve made. Let me clean you up, milaya.”

Then he ducks his head between your thighs and enters heaven.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander nudges the front door closed with his hip, his hands occupied by shopping bags. He kicks his feet together to dislodge some of the snow stuck to the sole of his shoes, wondering if you’re still asleep.

He finds his answer in the kitchen; you’re dressed in one of his t-shirts. At the sound of him approaching you turn, wide eyed as he stands in the doorway, snowflakes in his hair. He notices your tears immediately, staining your cheeks as you sniffle.

“Milaya?”

“I thought you left me.” The words wobble on their way out. “I woke up and you were gone and I thought you’d left me.”

He lowers the bags, stepping towards you to take you into his arms. After the events of last night, it seems you’re in a somewhat fragile state. He folds his arms around you, giving your body a gentle squeeze as you press yourself tightly against his chest.

“The snow is getting heavy. I thought I would stock up on some essentials to last us until the weather improves,” he explains calmly. He hears how your breathing shakes with emotion. His clothes are still cold from his trip outside and you are delightfully warm. “As if I could ever leave you, my sweet girl.”

He kisses your forehead and your grip on him tightens.

“I’m here,” he murmurs gently, swaying the two of you from side to side as he strokes his hands down your body.

He ducks his head down, hooking a finger beneath your chin to tilt your head backwards so he can kiss you properly. His lips move slowly against yours, palms cupping your cheeks tenderly.

He ensures that you remain attached to him as he puts the perishables away, your arms looped around his neck and your body nestled into his side. Then he abandons the rest of the shopping, opting to bend you over the kitchen countertop, shoving his trousers down so that he can drive his cock into you.

He heaves a sigh of relief at the sound of your breathy gasp, kissing over your neck as you scramble for purchase against the marble.

“That’s it,” he breathes out with a smile, nuzzling his nose into the hollow of your throat. “Isn’t that better?”

Aleksander grips at your waist, dragging you towards him, delighting in your moans as he rolls his hips forwards. He curls a hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to bring your attention to his face. His nose grazes against yours as he insists,

“I meant every word I said last night.”

He leans in, kissing you throughly until he has to stop and breathe. Lowering his hand, his fingers circle your clit, causing you to jerk forwards with a soft moan as he sucks on your lower lip.

“I’m not letting you go, milaya.”

»»---------------------►

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THE GRID’S DELIGHT | SERIES MASTERLIST

summary: the shenanigans of female gen z driver and the formula one grid.

author’s note: I started this series, because I’d like to imagine what it would be like to be part of the group of drivers and how it would be like to interact with them on a regular basis. It’s all fun and games, and I don’t know these people in real life. everything is fiction! the stories aren’t written in chronological order, but I try to put them in the right order below! 

Requests are always welcome in my inbox! Opinions, thoughts and feedback are also greatly appreciated.

Keep reading

Tangerine

Masterlist

Summary: You’re definitely not an insomniac. But Oscar keeps finding you awake at all hours, and he’s starting to get worried. Or: I wrote this while actually being unable to sleep, passed out for 3 hours, woke up and finished it. So… here you go, I guess?

Warnings: insomnia, anxiety/mild paranoia?, alcohol, limited knowledge of the actual structure of the MTC and the corporate structure of McLaren in general, a poorly researched night in Tokyo

The MTC lobby is empty, besides you. The lights are half turned off, motion sensors that have gone hours without detecting anything. You’ve stuck to your table in the corner. It’s quiet, just how you like it.

You look up from your notebook after who knows how long, blinking your weary eyes. Outside, the floodlights reflect off the inky black lake. There’s a car, pulling up in the drop off area outside the front doors. It’s Oscar, you think, his car one of a few that are easily recognizable. Sure enough, it’s confirmed when he climbs out of the driver’s side door. He leaves it running as he makes his way up to the door.

Oscar scans his pass and the doors wing open, followed by all of the lights in the lobby flickering on. You squint, fighting the urge to shield your eyes from the harsh lighting. Oscar is rushing through the lobby, a man on a mission, but he skids to a stop about halfway across the shiny tiled floor.

He turns, slowly, and makes eye contact with you. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

You hold back a laugh, thinking that might be a little mean, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”

He sighs, hands hanging at his sides. “I forgot my phone charger, and my laptop, and…” he pauses, frowning at you. “What are you doing here?”

You raise your brows right back. “Working?”

You watch his eyes flicker across your setup. You’re still in the same McLaren sweatshirt you’d been wearing when you saw him that morning. Your hair is piled atop your head. Your laptop sits open in front of you, the only source of light before Oscar burst through the doors. There are papers and notebooks scattered on the tabletop. Your pen is missing- you selfishly hope that as he scours your table, he’ll spot it.

“You got here at 8am,” he says, bewildered. “It’s almost midnight. That’s almost 16 hours.”

He says nothing about the pen. Why would he? He doesn’t know it’s missing. Logically, it must be here somewhere, probably under a paper or clipped to a notebook, but you’ve given up.

“Yes,” you answer, smirking. “You’re great at math, Oscar.”

He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, home? Sleeping?”

You shrug. “I took breaks. It’s not like I’ve been working all day straight.”

You’re not lying. You’d taken a good, long lunch break, and an afternoon walk around the grounds. You’ve gotten up to stretch a couple times, made runs to the break room for coffee. You hope he doesn’t see straight through it, though. Hope he can’t see the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.

It’s not that you weren’t tired. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. One of those days. So instead, you had decided to be productive. Which had led to this- you in the lobby of your office building, hunched over a laptop. Oscar, the driver whose data you’re scouring, staring at you with wide eyes.

“Go grab your stuff,” you tell him, nodding towards the doors he’d been headed to. “You have an early flight tomorrow.”

He blinks wildly. “We’re on the same flight.”

You nod, because you both know this quite well. There’d been a meeting this morning about who had to be where and at what times. You’re on the first flight out with the main team, headed to Singapore.

“I’m not the one who has to drive the car at very high speeds this weekend,” you remind him, pointing the eraser of your pencil at him. “Or the one who has to be in front of the cameras. You need your beauty sleep.”

Oscar laughs at that, a happy sound that makes you smile, too. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

You think about disappearing to the bathroom or the break room while he’s gone, just to avoid any further questions. You know Oscar relatively well, though, and knowing him, he’d just wait around until you came back. Or worse, come and try to find you. You can picture it- you pouring your third cup of coffee in the last hour, Oscar watching from the doorway with disdain. You stay put, sipping from your mug and scribbling notes.

He’s back within a few minutes, a backpack in hand. His keys dangle from his fingertips. You don’t look up from your laptop as he walks towards you, that is until he’s standing right in front of you. You blink up at him through your lashes. There’s a frown on his face- this close, you know your lack of sleep must be obvious.

He nudges the top panel of your laptop with a single fingertip. “C’mon. Time to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

“What, you just gonna stay here until we all meet up in the morning to go to the airport?” He scoffs.

“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.

“It would,” he agrees. He seems to see straight through you, though. “Come on. Close the laptop, close the notebooks. You can work on this on the flight, like a normal person.”

“I’m trying to improve your car, you know.”

“I’m not leaving until you do,” he finally says, and you scoff with wide eyes. “And remember, I’m the one who has to actually drive the car. And go in front of the cameras. I need my beauty sleep.”

You rear your head back, unsure how to even counter that. He takes the opportunity to close the laptop for you, and you bat at his hands. Then he’s sweeping your papers into piles, stacking your notebooks and gathering them up into his arms.

“That’s my intellectual property, you know,” you scold him, reaching for the papers. He holds them up above your head easily, and you groan. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, just- I lost my pen, earlier. It’s my favorite one. I just have find it and then I promise I’ll go- you can go home, really, I’ll see you-“

He’s reaching for your head, suddenly, and you freeze. When his hand returns to your view, he’d holding the pen between his fingertips. You blink once, twice, then reach for it, but he’s holding it above your head within seconds, too.

“We’re leaving,” he tells you, firmly. “Come on. Up we go.”

You get to your feet reluctantly and pack your things into your bag. Oscar helps, handing you your papers in neat little piles. He keeps you in front of him as you both exit the lobby, like he’s afraid you might take off running further into the office building. His car is still parked out front, still running, and you see him wince.

“Didn’t expect to be inside for so long,” he says sheepishly.

You laugh lightly, starting your walk towards the employee lot. It’s down a well lit path, but every step feels heavy this late at night.

“Wait,” he says, and you pause. “Do you want a ride? You seem tired. You know, sometimes that’s as bad as driving drunk.”

“I’m not gonna fall asleep behind the wheel,” you tell him. You say it with confidence, because it’s pretty likely you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.

He cocks his head at you, cast in the bright glow of the floodlights. “At least let me drive you to your car. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not going to just go back inside?”

You roll your eyes. “And how do I know you’re not trying to kidnap me?”

You end up getting in the car, because he makes it pretty clear he’s not leaving until you do. You contemplate just walking to your own car, but honestly your feet feel so heavy it’s just not worth the fight. Oscar, to his credit, doesn’t kidnap you. He also doesn’t comment on your very modest car, the only one left in the parking lot. He does try to offer you a ride home one more time, but he lets it go after your repeat refusal.

You say goodbye, climb into your own car, and start the engine. The heat kicks on quickly, thank god, and you start up a playlist. It’s only when you look up, ready to leave, that you notice his car is still sitting there. You can just barely see Oscar behind the windshield, and he waves at you. He’s waiting for you to leave.

You flip him off as you roll out of the parking lot, and you watch him laugh in response.

…..

You’re one of the first ones at the office the next morning, and therefore one of the first ones on a shuttle to the airport. Oscar’s chronically late, or as he would call it, chronically precisely on time, so you don’t see him until he’s climbing on the plane. McLaren’s rented out a charter plane for this trip, with the double header making it the easiest solution.

You’re already settled into a seat, laptop open on the table in front of you, headphones on. You barely even look up when you feel him looking over you, but then he’s tugging one side of your headphones off your ear.

“Did you even sleep?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“Yes,” you lie, raising your brows at him defensively.

Oscar raises his brows in return. He obviously doesn’t believe you.

Before he can say anything else, Lando’s behind him, leaning up over his shoulder. “Oscar, mate, get a move on.”

Oscar rolls his eyes but does as Lando’s urging. There’s not assigned seats, per say, but the two drivers are headed towards the middle of the plane where their trainers and other senior staff are sitting. That’s how these things normally go- it just makes sense. They’ll have meeting on the plane, talk about meal plans and strategies and get ready for the weekend. You’ll spend your flight going through the data just one more time, trying to unlock all of the secrets to give Oscar the best possible chance on Sunday.

…..

Singapore is good. Not great, not perfect, but good. For Lando’s team, it’s a huge weekend. And honestly, 4th place for Oscar in his rookie year is huge too. He’s thrilled, tells you as much after the race, after the briefing.

“I know you worked hard this weekend, put in a lot of hours,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.

“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”

You smile up at him, knowing it’s wobbly and insincere. You don’t take compliments well. “No problem.”

When you get to the hotel that night, you lay down in the bed and try to fall asleep. It’s no use, really, because it’s not your bed, and because your mind is racing. There’s nothing even bothering you, that’s the stupid thing. Just… a billion thoughts flying by all at once. So you wander the hotel, up and down the stairs, down the halls. You make a pit stop in the exercise room, walk on the treadmill, try out the towing machine. You’ve never been one for working out, but the internet says exercise can help with sleep issues. It’s worth a try, but it doesn’t work.

You contemplate sneaking into the closed hotel pool, but ultimately decide against it. You’d probably get caught, and then you’d get in trouble, and it would somehow make it back to your boss. Then you’d get fired in Singapore, left to find your own way home. So instead, you head for the vending machines on your floor. There’s got to be something in there that’ll cure the racing in your head. Or at least bring you some comfort in the dead of night.

What doesn’t bring you comfort in the dead of night is a face in the reflection on the glass of the vending machine. You nearly scream when you meet someone else’s eyes. You whirl around, arms in a defensive position, and come face to face with Oscar.

“Would’ve pegged you for flight, not fight,” he says drowsily.

“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides.

“Payback,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face clumsily. “B‘sides, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to get a snack.”

You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”

He nods, blinks slowly. You almost expect his eyes to stay closed, almost expect him to fall asleep standing up.

“I woke up starving,” he says, shuffling towards one of the vending machines. “Promise you won’t tell Kim? I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

He’s cute when he’s sleepy. You want to tuck him into bed and tell him bedtime stories. You want to kiss his forehead. You blink hard, trying to reset your brain. The sleep deprivation is really getting to you. This is your coworker, your teammate.

You shrug and nod in agreement. “Would’ve kept the secret without the bribe, but if you’re offering…”

Oscar laughs, a quiet sound in the empty night air. “What’ll it be, then?”

He’s leaning against the glass heavily. He must still be half asleep. You can’t blame him. You point at the bag of chips you’d been eyeing, and then at the gummy worms in the corner. He nods in approval of both, selects them, feeds the machine his money. Then he’s picking his own snack- a poptart and a bag of Cheetos. He backs away, but you make a noise and point at the drinks machine.

“And a Red Bull?” You ask, pointing at your favorite flavor where it sits, lit up by fluorescent light.

He turns back, almost puts the money in, and then he pauses and looks at you. “It’s 3am.”

“Right, we established that.”

“Why would you drink Red Bull at 3am?” He asks, bewildered.

You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”

“Go work for them, then,” he suggests. You laugh. “Actually, I have a feeling that would be severely detrimental to your health. Too many free energy drinks. Do you ever sleep?”

“Those are big words for 3am,” you tease, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. The tangerine one, please.”

“I’m not buying you a Red Bull.” He shakes his head. “I am walking you back to your room and you’re going to bed.”

“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”

“No, you won’t.”

You let him walk you back to your room. He stands there as you swipe the key card, as you open the door and shuffle inside. He says goodnight from the doorway. You close the door after you echo the sentiment, lock all the locks, and lay down in your bed. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep. You really, truly try. But when the clock turns over to 4am, and you realize it’s useless, you roll out of bed and head down to the vending machine. You buy the Redbull with your own money, carry it back to your room, turn on the tv, and settle in until the sun comes up.

…..

Tokyo may just be your favorite city in the entire world. Everything is open all the time. You’ve never felt more seen by a city. The days that you and the rest of the team spend there between the two races are heaven. You have meetings during the day, but they’re short and easy. At night, there are plenty of places for you to roam, plenty of things to do and see.

You spend your nights in ramen bars, in arcades, in toy stores that seem to stretch on for miles. You collect so many souvenirs you’re worried you’ll have to buy a second suitcase. Frankly, you’re going on week two of sleeping only in one to two hour stints, and it’s likely you’re beginning to get a little manic. In Tokyo, though, nobody bats an eye.

You join the team for breakfast in the hotel lobby on Thursday. You’ve somehow ended up at a table with Oscar and Lando- you’d gotten here before anyone else, and Oscar had chosen the seat across from you. Lando asks what you’ve been up to. They’ve been busy with promo stuff, you’ve hardly seen the two of them all week.

You regale them with your stories and hand off your phone to Lando so he can scroll through your pictures. Oscar listens with rapt attention, leaning to look at the photos too.

“How do you do all this and find time to sleep?” Lando asks, an amused tone in his voice.

“She doesn’t, mate,” Oscar replies, pointing at your phone. “Look at the time stamps.”

You roll your eyes and snatch the phone away from them. Lando’s looking at you with wide eyes, Oscar is smiling amusedly.

“Sleep is for the weak,” you tell them, and you swear Lando’s eyes are going to bug out of his head. “We’re in Tokyo, I’m making the most of it.”

To Oscar’s credit, he doesn’t bring up the encounter at the MTC, or the run in at the vending machines. Still, this revelation seems to bewilder Lando.

“Sleep is like, the most important thing,” he says, shaking his head. “For your health.”

“Not all of us have to be in tip top shape,” you say, stabbing your fork into a waffle on your plate. “Some of us get to have fun. Exhibit B. Our breakfasts.”

Lando looks at your plate, filled with waffles and bacon and your cup of coffee, next to it. He casts his glance to his sad looking bowl of oatmeal, then, and sighs heavily. Oscar’s laughing at the two of you, though his plate looks just as sad.

“When you pass out halfway through the day,” Lando says, a retaliatory furrow in his brow, “I’m telling Andrea why.”

“That won’t happen,” you reassure him. “And besides, it’s media day. I have it easy.”

…..

Oscar makes it on the podium on Sunday. You scream your lungs out with the rest of the team, run to the pit wall, watch the podium celebrations. He’s wrapping everyone in enthusiastic hugs, slapping everyone’s backs and grinning so, so widely. All the lost sleep feels worth it, just to see him smile like that.

When he makes it to you, he hauls you into his chest, arms around your shoulders, holding you tight. You could stay like that forever, if he’d let you. He tucks his chin atop your head and you think you’d like to make a home right there, in his arms.

The celebrations go late, and so does the debrief. By the time it’s all said and done, everyone looks exhausted, including the drivers. They start shuttling you all back to the hotel for the night, back in Tokyo so you can get on the plane easily tomorrow morning. You’re just glad to be back in the city. On a night like tonight, buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine, there’s no way you’re falling asleep.

You somehow end up in a shuttle with Oscar. He smells like champagne and sweat, and you tease him about it when he sits down in the back row next to you.

He smiled sheepishly. “So I smell like a podium finisher, then.”

You watch as the city goes by out the window and listen to him chat idly with the others in the van. When you get back, you’re the last one out of the car. He’s waiting outside the hotel, leaning on the wall.

“So, what’s your plan for the night?” He asks, cocking a brow.

“No judgement?” You ask.

“No judgement,” he promises.

You shrug. “Not exactly sure. There’s a lot to do. I’ll probably get some ramen, maybe go shopping. Might just take a walk.”

He nods. “Sleep?”

“Not high on the priority list,” you admit.

He nods again. “Can I come with?”

You blank, staring at him. “What?”

“On your adventure,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I come along?”

Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest. He wants to come with? Why? There’s a part of you that doesn’t like the idea, that thinks your sleepless adventures are for you and you alone. The other part of you, the one that wins out, thinks it might not be so bad to have some companionship.

“… sure,” you agree, eyeing him carefully. “But you have to play along. No forcing me to go to sleep.”

“Promise,” he says, holding out his pinky.

You hook yours with his and seal the deal.

…..

You both head up to your hotel rooms to change clothes, and in Oscar’s case, to take a shower. He sends you a text when he’s ready and you meet him in the lobby. He’s in a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie. You’re dressed similarly, in a pair of black jeans and a crewneck.

“Where to?” He asks, wide grin on his face.

It turns out that Oscar is the ideal late night adventure companion. You start your night out at a sushi conveyor restaurant, both of you joking about how Lando would never dare to eat there. You eat to your heart’s content and make comments about fueling up for the night ahead. He even joins you in having an energy drink, some Japanese brand that you’ve never heard of. Oscar reads part of the label to you, balks at the amount of caffeine in it, and drinks it anyways.

After the restaurant, the two of you climb into a cab and head to the Shibuya district. It’s crawling with people, buzzing with energy, and you feel right at home. Oscar sticks close to your side, hanging onto the back of your sweatshirt as you cross the busy crosswalks in a sea of people. When you turn, though, he’s smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The two of you climb the stairs to an observatory where you can watch the dance of pedestrians and traffic from above. There’s a glow to the city that feels akin to how your brain feels when you can’t sleep- like it never goes out, never turns off.

You tell this to Oscar, who gives you a contemplative look.

“Is it the energy drinks?” He asks. His hand is on your wrist, likely just to keep track of you in the crowds.

You shake your head. “The energy drinks came after the… not sleeping-“

“Insomnia,” he suggests.

“… not sleeping,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Anyways. I was like a zombie. The energy drinks make it so I’m functional. I figure if I’m gonna be awake, may as well enjoy it.”

You head back out onto the streets and begin to wander again. Oscar follows along, always holding onto you in some way, always smiling when you look at him. The two of you wander through art galleries and museums lit up with neon lights. Somewhere in the middle of one of them, he slips his fingers between yours. You’re not complaining. There’s something grounding, leveling about his presence.

You stop for drinks at a bar- some sort of local beer that Oscar orders for both of you in Japanese. It’s followed by a vodka Red Bull, at your insistence. Oscar wrinkles his nose but drinks the whole thing, seemingly determined to match you.

Next door, there’s a highly American themed bowling alley. Oscar laughs about how Logan would love it and pulls you inside. It’s the first stop of the night that he’s suggested, so you go along eagerly. He’s snapping pictures, ones to send to Logan, ones for himself, ones of you smiling, renting out bowling shoes. He pays for the game, and you both do terribly. The worker puts the bumper guards up out of pity, because the two of you obviously have no idea what you’re doing. He’s a world renowned athlete, you’re a highly skilled engineer, and yet, you both suck at bowling.

“When did the in-“ you fix him with a glare, and he stops mid sentence. “When did the not sleeping start?”

You look up at the ceiling of the bowling alley and purse your lips, watching the disco ball spin. “Next question.”

He huffs and shrugs, rolling the ball down the lane. “I don’t have a next question.”

“What’s your family like?”’you ask him, and he smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen him smile before.

“Well, I have three sisters,” he starts, eyes lighting up.

Somewhere between the bowling alley, the next bar, and the shopping mall you end up in, you start to really get to know Oscar. It’s funny how the night opens people up. Everything feels safer in the dark, surrounded by other people. It’s creeping up on 1am- in theory, both of you should be sound asleep. The fact that you’re not makes anything okay. You learn about his family, his childhood, his friends back home and in the UK. You tell him about yourself, too. He listens with an eager look on his face, laughing at all the right moments, squeezing your hand at the right ones, too.

You end up in a store that’s packed to the brim with stuffed animals. He lets you drag him around the whole thing, pointing out cute ones and the ones you think are a bit odd. Then you gasp, pointing excitedly, pulling on his hand.

“It’s you,” you squeak, the delirium beginning to set in. It’s a stuffed Kangaroo, and he groans softly. “Look, you’re even making the same face.”

Oscar seems unable to argue with that. Both he and the stuffed kangaroo do seem to be scowling. He smiles instead, picks it up, and takes it to the register. He buys it before you can really even say anything, and the cashier packages it in a bag. The kangaroo’s head sticks out over the paper, your second faithful companion for the night.

By 3am, Oscar is starting to drag. He perks up every time you look at him and smiles brightly, but you can tell. His grip on your hand is looser lately, and his blinks are growing longer and longer. You turn to him, a sympathetic smile on your face.

“We can go back to the hotel, if you want,” you say, poking his cheek lightly.

He smiles. “Are you tired?”

You sigh. “No, but you are.”

“I’m okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “What about the batting cages you mentioned? That sounded fun.”

You pout at him. “Oscar, you’re half asleep. You’d definitely get hit by a ball.”

He nods in agreement. “Maybe I just need another energy drink?”

You cock your head at him, take in his heavy eyelids, his parted lips. “That would be your third one of the night. And that would be very unhealthy.”

He nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just… I said I’d be along for the ride.”

“We can hang out at the hotel,” you suggest. “The pool area is open all night.”

“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

“Me neither.”

You somehow end up with a pizza on your way back, and the two of you plant yourselves in the pool area on one of the chaise lounge chairs, the pizza box in front of you. You eat the greasy, cheesy food, and even Oscar indulges in it. He has his hand planted on the chair behind your back. Every so often you lean backs against his arm just to feel his presence. His knee bumps against yours, and you smile.

The pool is clear and blue. Neither of you will be swimming, but this felt like a neutral enough place. You’d thought about inviting him back to your room but had felt weird about it. There’s something calming about the still water and the smell of the chlorine, anyways.

He leans his head on your shoulder. The heavy weight of him is nice. He’s solid, sturdy, grounding. You’re chatting idly about something that happened at the race, something he’d missed while he was driving the car. You break off in the middle of a sentence to yawn, and then you close your eyes for just a moment. Oscar’s breath hitches.

The two of you are silent for a moment. You stare into the clear water, aching to drift and float and fall asleep. You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest.

“It started when I was a kid,” you tell him. “I just… stopped sleeping. It comes and goes in cycles. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I just…”

“Can’t sleep,” Oscar finishes for you, his words contradicting the sleepy tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.

Your head droops, resting against his. He’s so warm, so comforting. He must feel you drifting, must feel your grip faltering, because then he’s sitting up, tucking you into his chest.

“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, drowsily.

“M’so tired,” you admit, curling into him. “Justwannasleep.”

Tears are stinging at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for this part. The moment when your lack of sleep catches up to you, and you become an emotional, distraught mess. You’re seconds away from full on sobbing.

Oscar seems to sense this. “Okay. Okay, how about- I have a pull out couch in my suite. Why don’t you- if you’re comfortable, you could come sleep there. Maybe it would help to know somebody’s there if you need it? Maybe-“

“Okay,” you answer, nodding against his chest. “Okay, yeah.”

He takes care of the empty pizza box and guides you up to his room. You know there’ll be questions to answer if anyone sees you, but you’re comforted by the fact that it’s 4am and nearly every sane person is sound asleep. He scans into the room, and you let out a sigh when he lets go of your hand. He moves quickly, unfolding the pull out couch, grabbing extra blankets from the cabinets. Before you know it, you’re sitting down on the bed, rubbing your eyes.

It’s strange, now that you’re here. You’re in Oscar’s hotel room. You’ve just spent the night wandering Tokyo with him. You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, still on the verge of tears. Everything feels hazy and blurry.

“I can… go, if you want,” he says, and you blink up at him through your blurry vision. “Or I can sit with you till you fall asleep.”

“That might take a while,” you tell him. “Like, you’re more likely to fall asleep. Even… when I finally get to this point, it takes a while.”

He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”

That’s exactly what you do. He turns on the tv, spots Finding Nemo on the guide, and turns it on. He sinks down on the bed, leaning against the couch back. You crawl up next to him as he turns the volume low. At first, you just sit shoulder to shoulder. Then he reaches out, wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into his side. You sigh against him. Cradled close, you let the exhausted tears flow. He can’t see you, probably, and even if he can, you can’t bring yourself to care. He leans down, brushes his lips against your forehead.

“M’right here,” he says, softly. “I’ve got you.”

You wake up at 8am with your head in his lap. His alarm is blaring from the side table, and you’re both springing apart. He fumbles for his phone, shutting the alarm off with the shaky hands of someone who’s just been woken up from not nearly enough sleep.

You, on the other hand, have gotten the most consecutive sleep of your last two weeks. You stretch, rubbing the blur from your eyes and blinking at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“For what?” He asks, voice steady.

“For… I don’t know. Keeping you up so late? Falling asleep on you?” You shrug. “I… that was a lot, for me to put that all on you.”

Oscar shrugs, so nonchalant about it. “It’s what friends are for.”

You nod, though you’re not convinced. You pull away, and Oscar’s soft smile drops to a flat frown. He reaches for you, but you dodge his touch.

“I should go,” you tell him. “We have to leave soon, people are going to be getting up and- if they see me come out of your room-“

“We can be friends,” he says, again, brows furrowing. “We didn’t do anything wrong, everything is okay-“

He doesn’t understand. It’s fine for him, but this is too much for you. He wants to be friends, but you’re looking at him and thinking about how if you could curl up on his chest every night, you might never have trouble sleeping again. He wants friends, you want more. You can’t have more, though, because there’s no way you’ll keep your job. And he doesn’t want that, anyways. Why would he? You’re just his pity project, the poor girl who can’t sleep, who fails at counting sheep.

“I should go,” you repeat, standing up. You can’t look at him, can’t watch him watching you. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry.”

He stands up too, and he grabs your hand. You pause, stuck between ripping your hand from his and running, or whirling around and snapping at him. Fight or flight. Instead, you take a deep breath. You’re still sleep deprived, still exhausted. 4 hours doesn’t fix two weeks of little to no sleep.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shoulders sagging. “I have a hard time letting people take care of me.”

“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “Just- come sit down? Let’s talk, okay?”

You sink down on the bed, rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “Why do you care?”

Oscar sits down next to you. He reaches out, knits your fingers together. You’re reminded of the art galleries, of the crowds, of the bowling alley. You split yourself open last night, in the safety of the time when you should’ve been sleeping. He saw you and he’s still here, somehow, hanging on. Your bones are tired. Your head is pounding. You need caffeine.

“I care,” he says, gently, “because I care about you. Because I think you’re a good person, and I want to get to know you better. And because this whole thing is not healthy.”

You sigh. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand methodically, back and forth. The funny thing is, you could fall asleep again, just like this. You could lean into his shoulder, let the warmth of him deep into your skin, and fall asleep. You wonder if he knows it.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing at your face sleepily. “Osc, I’ve been like this for years. It’s not just going to change now.”

“Not overnight,” he says, softly. There’s a callous on his thumb, you can feel the scrape of it over your skin. It’s oddly soothing. “But I can try. I can be here.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Because despite all the craziness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he says, and you could cry. “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. Take you on dates. The whole nine yards.”

You should’ve expected this. Oscar can be shy, and quiet, but he can be straightforward, too. He’s pretty easy to read. He’s blunt with Lando, almost to the point of contention sometimes. But you’d been so focused on trying to prove to him that you were just fine that you hadn’t considered he was feeling the sparks, too. That maybe he wasn’t holding onto you in the crowd just so he didn’t lose you. That maybe he liked the feeling of your skin on his, too.

“If you want that,” he says, voice low.

You blink blearily, pull away to look up at him. “I do.”

He nods, leans forward, kisses your forehead. The rest of it will come later, you think. You can work all the details out when you’re both more awake. Right now, he pulls your into his chest and flops back onto the bed.

“We have an hour before anyone comes looking for us,” he says, rubbing your back lightly. “Close your eyes? You don’t have to sleep, just-“

You blink once, twice, and then you’re fast asleep before he can get another word out.

…..

Oscar wins the sprint race in Qatar, and then takes second on Sunday. He’s nothing but endless wide grins all weekend, despite the heat and the dehydration and his obvious exhaustion. You laugh when you watch him lay down on the floor in the cool down room and smile when he gets sprayed with champagne on the podium. He chases you through the garage afterwards to give you a hug, despite your screeching about how sticky he is.

He tucks you into his chest. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”

Later, you help corral a very tired Oscar and Lando to the shuttles and back to the hotel. They’re each stumbling over their own feet, giggling and laughing about the race, shoving at each other’s shoulders. For a minute, you’re walking through an empty parking lot, far from any other McLaren staff, and Oscar links his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His fingers are sticky with champagne, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Lando sees and doesn’t say anything, just smiles.

You’re keeping it quiet for now. Time to figure it out between the two of you before you get your bosses involved. You have a feeling it’ll be mostly okay. You’ll figure it out, one way or another.

You follow Oscar up to his hotel room, saying goodnight to Lando as he heads further down the hall. He knits his fingers with your again, leads you into his room, collapses onto the bed.

“I’m exhausted,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you?”

You smile down at him, laid out on the bed. He should probably shower, at the very least change his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that.

You sigh. “I mean, yeah, but if you’re asking if I’ll be able to sleep… probably not.”

He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “D’you think… would you just… stay, until I fall asleep?” He asks, blinking up at you. “After that you can take my card and get a Red Bull and go do whatever, just-“

“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.

It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He gets ready for bed, and you do the same. You lean against the headboard and he crawls up the bed. He puts his head on a pillow in your lap, curls up into a little c shape. He’s very cat like, you’ve noticed, especially when he’s sleepy. You run your fingers through his hair, the tv playing quietly in the background, and he sighs and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

He’s out within minutes. Oscar is a sound sleeper. You could move him, could shift his head and get up. You could wander the halls, take his card and buy all the energy drinks you desire. But you look down at him, his brow unfurrowed, lips parted, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You could sit here and watch him breathe all night. It’s a terrifying and comforting thought, all at once.

You don’t sleep. It’s likely you’ll crash on the flight home, or maybe shortly after that. With your luck, you’ll pass out in a meeting when you get back to the MTC. Oscar doesn’t scold you when he wakes up and it’s obvious you’ve been awake all night.

He gets you coffee from the breakfast bar, exactly how you like it. And when he finds you in the backseat of the airport shuttle, he hands you a tangerine Red Bull. It’s early, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, washing the whole city with orange. He’s smiling at you, and you’re smiling right back.

When you fall asleep on his shoulder on the way to the airport, nobody dares to say a word.

…..

“Did you hear we’re gonna be sponsored by Monster next year?” Lando asks, throwing a tennis ball at a wall in the courtyard.

You sit up in the grass nearby, eyes lighting up. “You’re kidding. Free Monster?”

Oscar, whose stomach you’d been laying on, sits up behind you and wraps his arm around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Your consumption will be restricted,” he says, and you laugh.

You suppose that’s fair. Besides, Monster is fine, but nothing will ever top tangerine Red Bull.

thanks for reading, hope you sleep better than me! you can find my other fics here! sweet dreams y’all

when you say you're unlucky do you mean like a "I lost hydraulics and crashed in the formation lap" or "I kept it clean at the start, went from p17 to 12 and then a tyre, as though sent from God, struck me down in a biblical, guided missile way"

organised by oldest ⟶ newest

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 sweet like honey 18+ got drunk on you 18+

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 dark paradise18+ cherry wine 18+ all my love for you 18+ fill her veins 18+

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 a different light18+ sleep soft 18+

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 the love we left 18+

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 sweetener 18+

generous ⋆ carlos/lando/reader 18+ forever mine ⋆ lando norris 18+ take care of you ⋆ lando norris different kind of ride ⋆ lando norris 18+ homecoming ⋆ lando norris rustling sheets ⋆ lando norris18+ wild and unruly ⋆ lando norris 18+ blinding pleasure ⋆ max verstappen 18+ pleasant surprise ⋆ max verstappen 18+ reassurance⋆ lando norris sun in your eyes ⋆ lando norris 18+

F1 Masterlist

Fake messages au

p.t 1 | bffs with the rookies+ Lando(cause we love him)

A small insight into the lives of the reader and their relationship with the rookies.

p.t 2 | Max still doesn't know who tf y/n is

How Max Verstappen is introduced to the rookie maddness

p.t 3 | we beefing with fan pages frfr

When did meeting your idol make him your boyfriend? Also Lando's possessive abt his teammates but we been knew that.

p.t 4 | being menaces to society

McDonald's and annoying the shit out of a particular Monganesque, could the day get any better?

p.t 5 | Arthur's probléme

You meet THE Charles Leclerc, so yes, the day could get better!

p.t 6 | very concerning text w/each other

Reader is a menace, the boys deal with it... every.single.day.

p.t.7 | back on the paddock

Logan rocked, everyone shocked.

p.t.8 | The Hangover

Parties and After parties, the rookies are all right! Well, maybe not but they make for great cautionary tales.

p.t.9 | The Hangover II

The rookies are like gremlins, don't give them alcohol after midnight and maybe invest in a few leashes.

p.t.10 | The Hangover III

We finally know everything the rookies got up to in their drunken crusade.

p.t.11 | Melbourne in the summer

Reader goes to Australia and is reminded of all the times Logan, Oscar and her spent in the Aussies' house as teens.

p.t.12 | Monaco for one, please!

Reader finally meets the Leclercs but maybe they don't want to meet her.

p.t. 13 | Home alone in Monaco

Arthur and Reader cause chaos and chaos only

p.t.14 | Halloween is sacred

Oh Micky you're so fine.... oh and also y/n throws a killer Halloween party

p.t. 15 | "Come pick me up I'm scared"

we're beefing with the paparazzi once again and damn Y/n's got hands

P.t. 16 | Revenge is a dish best served cold and glittery

we're so back

P.t. 17 | The Sleepover I

The planning

Special additions:

incorrect quotes 1!

The Cute One

Smosh : Fic

Damien x Reader

Word Count: 2496

Warnings: Lots of giggles… a try not to laugh challenge… and a possibly questionable white van joke?

A/N: Guest staring on Smosh Pit was every bit as fun as you hoped, maybe even a little romantic as a certain Damien Haas flirted during the entire game

“Guys, welcome back to the Try Not to Laugh Challenge,” Keith addressed the camera as the rest of the cast cheered. “You guys wanted it, so we’re doing it again.”

Shayne clapped his hands together, “We’re doing it again, it’s going to be crazier. You know why it’s gonna be crazier?”

“Why?” Olivia perked up.

 “Cause we’ve got a guest this time.”

 Everyone gave their own round of applause as they amped up the soon to be revealed contestant.

 “And we’re not just talking about Damien because he ends up being here way too often.” Damien waved at the camera and avoided a well aimed smack from Courtney.

 Shayne continued, “Introducing (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!”

Keep reading

Ren gets something of Soap's (finally)

previous

This is by far the strangest field training you've ever experienced. And it's definitely not something you ever would have predicted. The pub is busy, even for the early weeknight hour. You stand against the wall trying to be as unassuming as possible while you wait for Price's voice in your ear to tell you your objective.

Earlier in the day, he'd said field training would be off base and to wear civvies appropriate for going out with friends. His eyes had giving you a quick once over, lingering on the patches at your neck, amending, "Nothing that would put your omega in danger, but nothing that screams military either."

You'd shown up at their barracks at 2000 in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and loosely-fitted floral top, pretty pink heels on your feet. Walking into the rec room, your teammates gave you the kind of appraising looks you usually shunned. Your omega preened at their attention. There was more in their glances than you received during other trainings, and your omega reminded you that when Price invited you into the team, he said the pack would be open to courting you.

Before your racing heart could cause any problems, Price cut the tension. "Sometimes our intelligence recovery is finding things, like ya did in the hanger. But sometimes it's more personal subterfuge. Gettin' close to someone and gettin' them ta talk, takin' somethin' off 'em, distractin' their attention while someone else does the diggin'. I know ya've never done interrogation trainin', and we'll get ya some 'a tha' eventually, but tonight we're gunna practice some real world interrogation. How ya can get all people an' all designations ta open up."

Then Ghost dropped a leather jacket on your shoulders, muttering, "'S gunna be cold in th' pub." The brown leather shifted like butter; it was worn, not stiff, but smelled a little musty, like it'd been sitting around outside. Still, there was something familiar about its weight on your shoulders, and you felt safer about venturing out for this training.

Now here you are trying to guess who Price will make your target and for what. There's a pop of static in ear followed by his warm honey tone. "Right, Ren, the group by the pool table. There's one with a wedding ring. Get his mate's name." One glance across the bar shows your team in the corner booth at the back where they have a view of the entire room.

You wander over to the game and for fifteen painful minutes you try to get the man to share the information Price asked for. You try playing pool, talking about the footie on the telly. You try to look enticing then non-threatening. You play up the innocent omega bit. His friends are happy to entertain you, chat, teach you to play, get you a drink. After twenty minutes, Price calls it. "Head to the booth, Ren." Shame creeps down your spine. You heard the barely constrained laughter and hate that you failed.

You expect teasing when you get to the table and avoid eye contact with the others as you slide into an open chair. "Hey," Gaz calls softly, raising his voice just above the din of the pub. Your eyes flick to him momentarily before skittering off again, but from the glance, he doesn't look upset or amused. "That was a good first try, Ren."

"Sergeant's right," Price adds. "Didn't give ya an easy mark to start because I wanted to see yer gut reaction. Ya have good instincts. Ya didn't barrel in, weren't blunt. Ya tried several different angles. Now we're gunna teach you a few tricks, an' we'll try again wi' someone else."

You sit and listen as they give you some tactical pointers: how to read a mark's body language, how to use your body language, the impact of light touches, how verbal repetition can get someone to open up. The whole thing reminds you of the old show Leverage and how the con artist taught the others to be better con artists. Which leads you to the realization that this is all improv: put on your part, run your scene, work towards an established outcome.

You try to remember as much as possible, not wanting to disappoint Price or the team. Finally, he slides you a pack of cigarettes. When you wrinkle your nose and grimace, he says, "They're fer you but not." He jerks his head to the bar's far end, and you track the long walnut top down to a small gaggle of women by the bar. Based on how they're dressed and how they're behaving, they're here for a good time and have been at it for a while. After giving them a once-over, you turn back, clearly confused. Price looks you square in the eye and says, "Get one of them to go out for a smoke break with you."

You nod, mission focused, and snag the cigarettes off the table. Standing, you wind your way through the increasingly noisy pub. A tall man bumps into you, nearly spilling his beer on you, his retort about "watch it!" dying as he really looks at you. Sidestepping him, you squeeze past a few tables, accidentally brushing against the people standing there. The stares you receive remind you why you don't like coming out like this. By the time you get to the bar, near the women but not intruding, you feel like you could use a cigarette.

You lean on the bar, not quite obviously waiting on a drink. The group beside you opens slightly, the woman at your shoulder taking a half-step back as she laughs at her companion. You lean forward a bit, now edging into their bubble briefly, and point at the blue drink on the bar top. Just loud enough so the woman who was sipping from it can hear, you say, "That looks fun! What's it called?"

She shifts at your voice before turning her attention fully on you. You'd left the jacket on your chair, easier to seem unimposing. Her gaze is a little predatory but not as hungry as some of the men you've seen. There's no scent blockers or mating marks on her neck, so she's either an alpha or a beta. She must quickly deem you're not a threat because she smiles wide, leans close, and says, "'S a tipsy mermaid."

You tell her thanks and flag the bartender down. "One of those, please," you say, pointing at the concoction. A quick nod and he's sliding your card before heading to another well for the alcohol he needs. When you have the drink on hand, you turn to the woman and say, "Cheers!"

She watches you drink and smiles again, a little less appraisingly. "'S good, yeah?"

You return her smile. "Yeah. Thanks for that." You make to turn back to the bar and drink alone, but she's stepped a full length back and motions you to join her and her friends. You shift closer with grin, introducing yourself and thanking her again for the hospitality. They women introduce themselves in turn. You quickly learn Molly, a beta, is getting married soon, so her sisters, Annabel and your new friend Casey, brought her and her new pack's omega, Sydney, out for drinks.

Their conversation washes over you, but you make sure to leave gentle touches on Casey when you can, a hand on her shoulder when you lean in with a question, arm brushing against hers when you stand with your drink. Little things she can write off as innocuous or flirty. Either interpretation would suit your objective. When you slide your empty glass onto the bar, Casey is eager to buy you another. You decline, citing the need for a cigarette break. She loops her arm around yours and drags Annabel along, claiming the break is to give Molly and Sydney some "pack bonding time." You snicker with Annabel as Casey drags you out front. As the pub door closes behind you, Price's voice growls, "Nicely done, Ren. Make your exit and meet us at the truck. I've got yer jacket."

You want to protest it isn't your jacket, but right now the desire to be wrapped in its soft comfort has you devising all sorts of ways to leave. Not for the first time, you wish conversations had the same mission exfils, though you startle to realize that's exactly what this is. "Thank you for the lovely night, Casey, Annabel," you say, turning to them while you snub out your mostly unused cigarette. "I've got an early shift and need to get home." Before you can take more than two steps away, Casey grabs your wrist and tugs you in, dropping a kiss on your cheek. You feel pressure on your forearm and look down to see Annabel writing two numbers with hearts. One number has an A and a beta symbol, the other has a C and an alpha symbol.

"If you ever want company pub hopping," Casey says, "call us, yeah?"

They walk inside; you're too stunned to move for a solid minute. You don't have to meet the team at the truck because when they pour out from the door, you're still standing there. None of them could see you outside, but Price could hear everything. You feel like you should be embarrassed or ashamed, but your omega reminds you this was a job, a mission, and since you aren't part of any pack, entertaining an alpha isn't shameful.

Ghost puts the leather jacket around your shoulders, and that first deep inhale of the jacket's scent is immediately soothing. It warms you quickly and snaps you out of your stupor. Ghost's hand hovers behind you, like a sheepdog helping herd you to their vehicle. You climb into the back between Soap and Gaz, who both give you proud smiles. The drive to base is quiet, the only debrief was Price, again, telling you you'd done a good job.

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𝐅𝟏 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 ─

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 → f1 grid x fem! driver oc!

𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → platonic! f1 grid x fem! schumacher! figure skater! reader

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𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → carlos sainz x fem! marquez! reader

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𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐖𝐄𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → esteban ocon x fem! actress! reader

𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎 ─

𝟏+𝟏=𝟒? ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → fernando alonso x fem! wife! reader

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𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐖 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → george russell x fem! actress! reader

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𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐍 ─

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𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ─

𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lance stroll x fem! korean! chaebol! reader

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lance stroll x fem! aston martin! f1 driver! reader

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 ─

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! artist! reader

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 → 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! gasly! reader

𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍! ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! streamer! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! gf! reader

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 ─

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𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 ─

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → logan sargent x fem! university student! reader

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃? → 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃? ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mark webber x fem! retiring! red bull! f1 driver! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 ─

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 → 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐂𝐄 ─ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 → max verstappen x fem! polish! mma fighter! reader

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 → 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎 → 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! hamilton! engineer! reader

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐕𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! leclerc! pianist! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐎 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! actress! reader

𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! newly wed! single mother! reader

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! alonso! model! reader

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! kpop idol! soloist! reader

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! leclerc! runner! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐀 & 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! australian! surfur! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x male! man city! football player! reader

𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 ─

𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐊𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mick schumacher x fem! gf! reader

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mick schumacher x fem! ocon! super model! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mick schumacher x wolff! merc! engineer! reader

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 ─

𝟕 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! mexican! model! reader

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! motogp driver! reader

𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! gf! reader

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐘 ─

𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → pierre gasly x fem! french/korean! singer reader

𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 → 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → pierre gasly x fem! photographer! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 ─

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 & 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → sebastian vettel x fem! wife! writer! director! reader

𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐅 ─

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 → 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 ─ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 → toto wolff x fem! redbull! engineer! strategist! reader

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 → 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! billionaire! reader

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! prima ballerina! reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐙𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! ferrari! f1 driver! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! mercedes! sports psychologist! reader

𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐎𝐃𝐀 ─

𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → yuki tsunoda x fem! arab! heiress! reader

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐅 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → yuki tsunoda x fem! gf! bookworm! reader

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → yuki tsunoda x fem! gf! surgeon! reader

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐔 ─

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → zhou guanyu x fem! japanese! architect! reader