Blue Christmas

The Way

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex!reader, Charles Leclerc x reader

Authors Note: yo soy tired | multiple fics in a week who is this diva

Warnings: Break-ups, cursing, max is an angsty boy, not proofread

Word Count: 4.5k

Requested: Yes/No

Summary: You and max had been in love once upon a time. Now, well…. It was never supposed to be this way.

It was never supposed to be this way.

When you and Max had started dating, you hadn’t planned for it to end with a messy breakup that had both of you looking the other way with even a mention of the other’s name.

You’d like to preface by saying the breakup wasn’t your fault. At least, not entirely. You were just done dealing with the way Max constantly put you on the back burner for racing, even with you in a car just a few garages down from his own.

Last season, it hadn’t been that much of a problem. In a Williams, you weren’t often faced with the Red Bull drivers. They were fighting for podiums, you were fighting to even be in the points.

But in the offseason, you had been moved to Mercedes. Now, he was all you could see.

The press seemed to have caught wind of your break-up as well because, as opposed to before, now it felt like you were placed in the same conference as him every. Single. Time.

You’re not sure if it’s all bad, though. Because now, you get to see the look on his face when reporters comment on the unprecedented pace of the Mercedes while Max is stuck with comments on Red Bull’s recent dip in performance.

“You’ve won again,” The reporter starts, smiling at you as he stands, “That’s three wins in a row and three 1-2’s in a row as well. What do you have to credit for this sudden switch in Mercedes’s luck?”

You smile as he talks, lips forming a sharp grin, your thoughts barely held back, “Well, we could start with thanking me, no?”

You say it jokingly, some laughs echoing around the small one as you say it. George, who’s sat next to you, pats your shoulder proudly. Max is sat on his other side, having gotten a p-3 in the race. But, from what you heard, it was no easy feat, he’d fought the car the entire time, having had to rely on both the Ferrari’s DNFing to get the podium. Even then, he’d finished thirty seconds off of George.

“But I’d say it’s a combination of things,” you begin again, taking the question seriously this time, “The team is great, the car gets better every weekend, me and George are both putting in maximum effort week in and week out to maximize our performance. It also sometimes just comes down to relying on our competition to do worse than us. Recently, it has seemed like we are just running better than some other teams.”

If people want to see that as a did, you’ll let them. You were never one to mince words. Especially not about Max. Never about him.

The journalist seems pleased, most likely already picking out adjectives he’ll use to describe your tone when he writes his article. Snide, petty, confident, arrogant. You wouldn’t mind any of the above, truly.

The line of questioning moves, reporters turning to Max. That’s when you stop listening. You didn’t mind knowing he could see you succeeding right in front of him but even looking in his direction still makes your stomach turn.

You don’t look his way, don’t listen when they ask him about the race, don’t want to hear his voice, don’t want to see his features, set up in a way he only looks when he’s deep in focus. A face you had stared at many a night, watching as he told you every detail about the race from his point of view, his fingers fidgeting with whatever was nearest by. You were never sure if he even knew he was doing it. You’d stare and he’d talk. Then, he’d pause his rambling, noticing your stare, and a grin would paint his face. Then he’d lean in, laughing as you tried to pretend you hadn’t been enchanted by his features as he talked.

So, when Max starts talking, you lean back in your seat, hiding behind George. Your eyes drift close and you try to pretend you're anywhere else, not listening to your ex-boyfriend try to save face in front of tens of cameras.

You can’t really believe that, at one point, you’d been happy. Mentioning his name had once upon a time made you the happiest person on earth. Now, the name fills you with a sense of dread and you can feel the unresolved anger bubbling just under the surface.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

Max is fuming.

It seemed, these days, he always was. But, right now, at this moment, he’s angrier than usual.

He’d finally won. Thirteen races deep into the season, he had finally won. It hadn’t been easy. He wouldn’t have won, if it weren’t for Mercedes double pitting just before a safety car had given the rest of the grid free pit stops.

Then, you and George had gotten taken out by a rogue Alpine and a Haas, the pink car trying to overtake the Haas and missing, sending the American car into the back of George, who had no choice but to watch as his car careened into your own.

So, having no sight of a black race suit on the podium, Max was happy.

He’d won, getting to celebrate with the Ferraris, a pair of people he held in the highest esteem, a racing legend and one of his closest friends.

It was a nice podium too! His team had come, he’d relished in the sound of the Dutch anthem as it blasted around the track, fans and team members in Red Bull gear all celebrating the long-awaited win.

It was what happened after that had made his anger spike so badly.

Max is walking off the podium when it happens. His skin is sticky and his hair is damp, his face still flushed with the heat of the race. He’s a little light-headed, the warmth in the car still sticking around to make him a little dizzy.

But he’s happy, a feeling he could get used to feeling again. It seemed like it had been so long. So long since he truly felt joy coursing through his veins.

He walks down the steps, prepared to hand his trophy off to a Red Bull employee to handle it for him. The empty champagne bottle had already been taken from him, whisked off to be discarded.

Lewis is walking just in front of him and he knows Charles is drifting behind him, having walked off last. Lewis gets down the steps, waving a goodbye to the Dutch man with a smile, walking off to, no-doubt, clean up from the event.

After saying bye to the Brit, Max turns to where he knew Charles had been, ready to comment on the race. But where Charles should be is nothing but empty air.

He glances around, looking for his friend. What he’s met with makes his eye practically twitch. Maybe it does twitch, he’s not in a right enough mind to know.

He sees Charles, turned away from his gaze, his red suit the only thing on display to the room. What gets max, though, is the arms wrapped around the Monagasque’s neck, black sleeves adorned with sponsors making it obvious just who the arms belong to.

Max isn’t sure if Charles knows that he can see the two of you. If he does know, he’d surely be getting an earful from the Dutch man for knowingly putting him through this. But Max is pretty sure he’s unaware when a laugh echoes between the two of you and suddenly you’re unwrapping yourself from around his neck and grasping his hand in your own, promptly setting off down the hall, pulling him along with you. He lets you, prompting a wide smile on your lips, something he hadn’t seen in such close proximity in a while.

It makes him angry. Everything about it.

The way you don’t seem to care that you lost, when every loss of his own had plagued Max’s mind like a disease, resting in the back of his head and ruining every thought.

The way you seem happy now, even without Max. You seem to have moved on, finding happiness somewhere else when Max hadn’t even gotten a whiff of it until he had crossed that finish line first.

The way Charles seems to think this is okay, letting himself get involved with his close friend’s ex-girlfriend, someone he knew Max wasn’t completely detached from.

More than anything, it’s the way that Max can’t stop thinking about it. The sight is burned into his mind, he can practically see it on the back of his eyelids when he closes his eyes. The sound of your laugh mixed with Charles’s echoes in his brain, taunting him, making him insane. He can still see your hands, running through the hair at the nape of Charles’s neck, not even caring that he was, no doubt, dripping with sweat and champagne. It’s the sight of you two running off, Charles letting you lead him away immediately after the race, something Max had never let you do, the Dutch man too laser-focused on celebrating his win to indulge you for even a second.

In hindsight, he should have been celebrating with you. The love of his life. That’s what these guys lived for, right? Stepping out of the car or off the podium and straight into the arms of the person they love, all cares forgotten in that hold.

Now that he no longer had the thrill of winning to hold him over, he truly felt the absence you had left in his life. Every day, he tried to move on. But you were still ingrained in his life, in him.

He found hair ties sometimes. In the glove box of a car he hadn’t driven in a while, hiding on a ledge in his shower, deep in the pockets of his jeans. They all reminded him of you. They all got thrown away.

You haunt him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

“Charles!” You’re laughing, running through the paddock, Charles hot on your heels.

It had started as a joke. He’d made some self-deprecating comment about his hair, made in passing. You, apparently to your detriment, had agreed with his comment, causing your own giggle.

Charles, ever the prideful, had scoffed, promptly trying to tackle you onto the couch of his driver's room. You’d escaped, running out of his room.

That’s how you got to this point, laughing loudly as Charles tried to navigate his way past the crowd, weaving between bodies and people who just couldn’t seem to get the hint that they should get out of the way.

You look behind you to see how close he is, not realizing until it’s too late that you’re about to run into someone. The someone in question moves away after the impact but you’re still hurtling toward the ground. But the hit never comes. Instead, your arm is caught and suddenly you're pulled up and spun into a pair of arms, holding you close, strong but gentle.

Charles looks down at you, a smile ghosting onto his lips, “Got you.”

You smile softly as well, looking up into his eyes, “You did.”

You stay there for a few moments, simply basking in the other’s presence. It had been a while since you had let yourself be happy like this.

What had started as a way to get back at Max had become your life, body, and soul. The way Charles held you could become your religion, the words he whispered at night your bible. You could worship at the altar of this love until the end of your days, your only sin being not devoting yourself sooner.

Charles is perfect. Attentive, kind, caring, a good listener, and, most importantly, he didn’t ignore you. Didn’t pretend like you didn’t exist at the paddock, knowing just as well as you do that this world is as much your own as it is his.

Your hands, that had been resting against his chest, reach back to pull his arm off of your shoulder, your fingers ghosting along the skin of his arm until they reach his wrist. You look up at him for a moment, eyes twinkling, before your attention turns back to his arm or, more specifically, the dainty black band around it. You hook your finger on the edge of it, pulling it off of his wrist and holding the hair tie between your fingers.

You were about to put your hair up, knowing you were about to escape and run from him again. But he didn’t need to know your motives, he just carried a hair tie with him all the time, having barely taken it off since the first time you’d handed it to him.

Once the hair tie is securely in your hair, you’re off again, Charles figuring out your ruse just a second too late. His realization is accompanied by the shout of your name, a laugh, and his own run as he tries, and mostly fails, to catch up to you.

It was lovely.

For everyone except one person. The very person you had run into a few minutes prior before not even noticing who you’d clashed with, not even bothering to utter an apology in his direction.

For what it’s worth, Max had walked away as soon as he could, retreating to the Red Bull hospitality he’d just come out of, having to pretend he wasn’t staring (or seething).

He had tried so hard not to think about you. God, he’d actually thought he was succeeding too!

Then the very god who’s name he’d just used in vain had quite literally thrown you at him, your perfect boyfriend in tow. If that’s even what you guys are. Neither of you had commented on it and the media hadn’t gotten enough of a rumour to ask.

Had he done something to deserve this? Had he cursed some god that had come back to haunt him? They wouldn’t be the only one haunting him, it seemed. You are everywhere.

On podiums, in interviews, on billboards, magazines, social media, parades, events completely unrelated to F1, everywhere. He couldn’t avoid you. No matter how hard he tried.

This had to be some sort of eternal punishment.

He used to be the person you’d run to after a good result, looking for solace in his arms.

Now, you didn’t even notice it was him even when you ran smack-dab into him.

It was never supposed to be this way.

——

If there was some deity out there that hates Max, the same one must love you.

Because you couldn’t think of a better conference than the one you were in right now. The top three: you, Charles, Max. All together on one couch. What could go wrong?

Max’s jaw is set, his eyebrows forming a straight line, betraying just how angry he is to be up here with the two of you.

Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. A grin is on his lips, his hair ruffled from his helmet (and your hands), his face full of the post-podium glow, his skin flushed and, thankfully, no longer sticky with champagne. He occasionally leans over to whisper something to you, his words much quieter than the giggles they cause.

You don’t know if Max is looking. You don’t care, really. Well, you care in the sense that you would love for max to be fuming on the other side of that couch. But you don’t care in the sense that it wasn’t your priority in your interactions with Charles. Not anymore.

The questions start, most being aimed toward the winner of the race, Charles, sitting next to you.

A question gets aimed at Max and Charles, not truly listening, takes the distraction of the audience to lightly grasp your hand in his own, before looking back to Max. You know he isn’t doing it to rile things up. He’s just happy and he wants to be happy with you.

It’s when Max is done talking and the attention is brought back to you for a question, does the reporter take pause. You can see the gears turning in his head, eyes flickering between your faces and your intertwined hands.

You pretend they haven’t noticed, raising your eyebrows to prompt the reporter to ask a question.

He does, an edge of humor in his voice, “First off, you two have anything you want to tell us?”

Laughs echo around the small room and you shake your head, a soft smile on your lips, “Nope.”

The reporter narrows his eyes, his grin not fading in the slightest, “Well then, I want to ask what fuels you when you race. You seemed so alive out there, so exciting, I wanted to ask what has changed.”

You can’t help yourself, your smile widening exponentially despite your best efforts, “Well, I’m just very happy, I guess. I know I’m not known as the most smiley person but life has just…. Been treating me very well recently.”

The reporter nods, smirking as his eyes pass between you and Charles, “Anything to do with a certain Monegasque?”

Charles, ever the comedian, furrows his eyebrows, muttering a quick “Who?” Under his breath, making you snort.

“Um-,” you start, trying your hardest not to laugh. Then, you look to your side and Charles is just staring at you, the softest look on his face as he watches you speak, “No comment.”

That’s enough for the reporter, who sits down, happy with the information he had managed to get.

The rest of the conference runs quickly, questions being split between the three of you pretty evenly.

You and Charles leave together, hands clasped together as he spins you around, asking you questions about evening plans between well-timed spins, both of you moving in some kind of child-like joy.

There’s a song playing from a speaker somewhere, a soft, floaty rhythm that fuels your movements. It’s almost psychic, the way you both move in tune with the other.

Max had never liked to dance, writing it off as silly or frivolous. You’d offer him your hand and he’d wave it away, leaning away from your hand and unknowingly leaning farther away from your relationship as he did. It couldn’t have hurt him to entertain your happiness just for once during your time together. But apparently it did, based on how he’d react like you had burnt him whenever you even suggested dancing.

Now, Charles was spinning you around without you even having to ask, humming along to the song playing through a speaker in an unknown location, eyes locked on you to trail your every movement.

It wouldn’t be so bad if this isthe way it was always meant to be.

——

The last time you think about Max in any significant way is a relatively inconspicuous day.

It’s a race weekend, just like any other. But this time, your home race. You were always fond of these weekends, when you get to be in your own country, racing on home soil, knowing the people in the stands, the people of your country, are rooting for you.

The past two seasons you’d been racing at the track, Max had won both times, getting to raise his fist in celebration in front of your fans, in front of your country.

Maybe that’s what makes you want the win so bad. What makes you try and overtake just a tad bit too aggressively, what makes Max go off the track, losing the position to you, Charles and Lewis funneling past him as well.

To anyone watching the race, it would look like a clean overtake, Max just having lost control over the car. But you knew what it was. You had known Max. Maybe not now, but once upon a time you had, and you also knew exactly what to do to make him stumble.

You hadn’t meant to do it, hadn’t meant to send him off. You also knew you weren’t going to get penalized for it. If you had any focus that wasn’t already on the race, you’d probably feel decently guilty. But your race engineer chalks it up to a racing incident, focusing your attention on Carlos in front of you, the only thing between yourself and a win.

In the end, after a well-executed overtake and your simply outpacing the Ferraris, you take the win.

It’s euphoric, if you had to describe it. Flags of your country wave in the stands, signs with your face and shirts adorned with the Mercedes logo decorate the crowds.

You quickly stand on top of your car, holding your arms out to the crowd around you, relishing in the sound of their cheers and screams.

Charles is standing next to your car when you turn to the side and you let him catch you as you jump down. You throw yourself into his hug, grasping him tightly as he rocks you back and forth. You can barely hear him through both your helmets, the words “I love you” just barely passing through.

He leans back, flipping up his visor and pushing yours up as well. His eyes lock on your own, fueling the tears already pooling in your eyes.

You know you have to pull away eventually and when you do, Lewis is standing behind you, quick to pull you into a tight hug. He knows how much this means to you. In your time in the Ferrari hospitality, he had become quite close to you, quickly becoming one of your closest friends.

He lets you go after a few seconds, shouting something about being proud of you through your helmets.

Once he’s dropped you, you turn toward your team, running straight into their arms. It’s something that could never be replicated, the joy you feel in this moment. You were with the people you love the most, succeeding at the thing you love the most in the place you love the most. It’s a perfect moment.

You eventually have to pull yourself from the grasps of their team, Toto landing a particularly spirited pat on your head as you do, making you laugh.

You let Charles walk you over to get weighed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, Lewis walking along on their other side. It’s nice, having people that care about you like this.

George is in the room when you go to get weighed. He hugs you, you smile and hug him back, whispering a quick “thank you” to the older man. He smiles back, patting you on the back before falling back into conversation with Lewis.

You pass through the process passively, not bothering to pay too much attention to the room around you, your brain somewhere else. Somewhere floating.

Then you’re up on the podium and everything comes back into focus.

Your anthem is playing, the music floating through your head, bringing every happy memory here back into the forefront of your mind.

They hand you your trophy. It feels like it fits in your hands perfectly. You stare down at it, trying to memorize every detail before you set it down, replacing it with the oversized bottle of champagne.

Charles is standing beside you, though you’re not looking at him. You know he’s looking at you but you can’t tear your gaze away from the crowd below, spreading out across the track, shouting your name.

Then, the champagne comes. You don’t even fight it as Lewis and Charles both immediately aim for you. You can’t do anything to get away so you let the alcohol hit you, the liquid seeping into the fabric of your fireproofs and causing a chill to run through your skin.

You try your hardest to aim the bottle onto the Ferrari’s, giving up when you can’t beat them, instead aiming the bottle onto your team down below.

After the bottles have run out, you’re left standing, sipping on the champagne that is left and trying not to feel the cold liquid on your skin. It almost feels lonely, just for a second.

But then Charles is there, wrapping an arm around your waist and looking out onto the crowd with you. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting you bask in the sound of your name being cheered by thousands of people.

Lewis pats you on the back as he walks by, prompting you both to snap out of your staring, looking at each other with matching smiles.

As for Max, he’s below, standing on the edge of the crowd, not a part of the celebration, not sharing in the joy.

He had finished fifth, but he didn’t care about that now. Now, he only cares about you. The vision of you, grinning on the podium, eyes welling with tears as you look out on the crowd chanting your name. The sight of Charles pulling you into his arms, landing a warm kiss on the top of your head just before he pulls you off the podium, disappearing down the steps.

He wanted to be mad, he really did. He wanted to storm over and yell at you for passing him the way you had. But, to the outward eye, there was nothing wrong with the pass. Yelling at you would involve admitting that your only crime here was knowing him better than anyone, a fact he absolutely refused to acknowledge.

Besides, he couldn’t be mad. No matter how much he tried to be, he just isn’t. Not at you, at least. Maybe at Charles. Maybe at Carlos who had fended him off for 6 laps at the end. Maybe at the car for just being disappointing. But not at you. The anger would be misplaced. Fueled by the fact that he had lost you and couldn’t do anything about it.

His race engineer had tried to support him, Liam had tried to distract him. But he wasn’t having it. He couldn’t have it when you were looking at Charles like that.

He knows that, in another life, it would have been him standing next to you, by your side for your big moment. He refuses to acknowledge the idea that he probably wouldn’t have stayed by your side, his feet carrying him off the podium quickly, racking his brain to figure out why he hadn’t won instead of celebrating the fact that you had.

But it could have been him. It should have been.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t.

You have moved on. Found happiness in Charles. True, real happiness.

That’s when Max realizes, maybe this is the way it was always meant to be.

——

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSPIDERGIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Is Your Relationship With Batfam In General?

☆⁠ NOTES : Reader is a pervert. Reader have the same abilities as spiderman. Again another silly fic that should not be taken seriously. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

At 22, you were a far cry from the scrappy little thief Bruce and Dick had caught all those years ago. Sure, you were still crass, still brutally honest, and still had a penchant for letting your intrusive thoughts win, but now? Now you were hot.

Like, objectively hot. Your tight black spider suit left very little to the imagination, clinging to every curve and muscle as you swung through the city. And you loved every second of it. The attention? Oh, the attention was your lifeblood. You basked in it like a lizard in the sun.

Dick was still wearing those tight pants, wasn’t he? You couldn’t help but stare. I mean, seriously, the guy had a killer ass. You were supposed to be on a mission, but all you could think about was how the suit hugged his figure in ways that made you forget everything except your growing thoughts. You even compared your ass to his when he wasn’t looking—just to make sure you were still in the running for the Best Butt in Gotham.

“Hey, Grayson,” you called out, voice dripping with amusement. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Nice ass.” You grinned, winking.

He blinked. “What?” He stopped walking and spun around, completely thrown off by your bluntness.

“Oh, nothing, just admiring the view,” you shrugged, taking a step forward and pretending to actually pay attention to the mission. His cheeks turned red, but you didn’t care. You were busy eyeing his backside like it was a prize you were about to claim.

You convinced Dick to teach you yoga, but it wasn’t for flexibility—it was so you could watch him stretch.

“Wow, Dick,” you said, laying on the mat and pretending to follow his moves. “You’re really… bendy.”

He flushed. “It’s not like that!”

“Sure it’s not,” you teased, snapping a quick photo of him in a compromising pose. “This one’s going on the Batfam group chat.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare!”

You were bleeding out. Your side was burning, your vision blurry, and yet you were having the time of your life. Why? Because Jason Todd—walking sex god and part-time vigilante—was carrying you in his arms like you were a damsel in distress.

“Don’t worry,” Jason said, sprinting through an alley as explosions sounded in the distance. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.”

You stared up at him, dazed but grinning. “You’re so pretty.”

“Y/N, stay awake,” Jason barked.

“I’m awake my angel,” you slurred. Your eyes drifted downward to his broad chest, the tight shirt doing little to hide the muscle underneath. You reached out, resting a hand on his pec. “You got...man boobs.”

Jason groaned. “You're hallucinating, stay awake please.”

“They’re perfect,” you whispered, leaning closer. And then—because you were you—you bit him.

Jason skidded to a stop, staring at you in disbelief. “Did you just—”

“I couldn’t help it,” you said, grinning despite the blood trickling down your chin. “They’re so biteable.”

You discovered Jason was ticklish purely by accident, and you never let him live it down. Anytime he annoyed you, you’d jab him in the ribs or poke his sides until he squirmed.

“Stop it, Y/N!” he growled, swatting at your hands.

“You wish,” you said, chasing him around the room.

The rest of the Batfam watched in stunned silence as Jason “Red Hood” Todd ran from you like a child.

You declared the Batcave chair yours one day and refused to let anyone else sit in it.

“It’s my throne,” you said, lounging dramatically as the others stood around, glaring.

“Get up,” Jason said, crossing his arms.

“Make me,” you replied, sticking your tongue out.

He grabbed you, but instead of throwing you out, you ended up on his lap, smirking. “Guess this works too.”

Anytime you were in the middle of a Dick and Jason argument, you somehow always ended up physically between them. And, oh, you weren’t complaining.

“Move, Dickhead,” Jason growled, pushing into your right shoulder, his broad chest pressing into the side of your face.

“Not a chance, Hood,” Dick snapped, leaning in on your other side, his own muscular frame trapping you against Jason.

You? You just stood there, smiling like a cat with a bowl of cream. “Ooh, I love this. It’s like being sandwiched between two very attractive brick walls.”

“What?!” they shouted in unison.

Jason shot Dick a death glare. “See what you did? You’re giving her ideas.”

“Me? You’re the one pressing into her like some kind of Neanderthal!”

You just smirked, leaning back into the tension. “Don’t mind me, boys. Please, continue. This is very entertaining.”

Dick was your favorite pillow, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime you were hanging out in the Batcave, you’d just casually rest your head on his shoulder or lean against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“Very,” you replied, closing your eyes.

He smiled, wrapping an arm around you. “Good.”

You peeked up at him, grinning. “You know, you make a great pillow. Very firm, but also soft in the right places.”

Dick laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” you said, smirking.

Dick’s ass was basically your personal stress ball at this point. It didn’t matter if you were on a mission, in the Batcave, or just walking through Gotham—if the opportunity presented itself, you’d take it.

SMACK!

“Jesus, Y/N!” Dick would jump, spinning around, his cheeks flushed.

“What?” you’d say innocently, shrugging. “It’s just so perfect. You work hard for that, right? I’m just appreciating the effort.”

He’d sigh, rubbing his neck, but you knew he secretly loved it.

Jason’s chest was another favorite of yours, especially when he was shirtless (which, let’s face it, happened a lot). You’d walk up to him, your fingers twitching, and—pinch!

“Damn it, Y/N!” Jason would glare at you, rubbing the spot where you’d gotten him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” you’d say with a cheeky grin. “Just checking if these are real.”

He’d groan, shaking his head, but you’d catch the tiny smirk he tried to hide.

You loved teasing, and nothing was off-limits. During a mission, your suit "mysteriously" ripped—right in front of Jason and Dick.

“Oh no,” you said innocently, looking over your shoulder at the tear just below your back. “Guess I’ll have to fix this later.”

Jason’s jaw tightened. “Y/N, stop.”

Dick looked away, flustered. “Maybe cover it up or something?”

“Why? You guys can’t handle a little skin?” You smirked, adjusting your suit to make it worse.

Jason grumbled, “I’m about to shoot that suit off you if you don’t stop playing.”

You had zero shame. Once, during a stakeout with Dick, you leaned over and kissed him right in the middle of his report to Bruce.

“Nightwing, report—” Bruce’s voice came over the comms, but you cut Dick off with your lips, pulling him into a deep kiss.

“Y/N!” he protested, his face red as he tried to pull away. “Bruce can hear us!”

“So?” you replied, shrugging as you went in for another kiss.

The first time you met Superman, you were not prepared.

“Y/N, this is Clark Kent,” Bruce said, his tone clipped as ever. “He’s Superman.”

You blinked up at the man of steel, all 6’4” of farm-boy perfection, and immediately zeroed in on one thing: the bulge.

You weren’t subtle about it either. Your eyes widened slightly as you stared, your head tilting to the side like you were trying to calculate something.

Clark, oblivious, smiled warmly. “It’s nice to meet you. Bruce has told me a lot about you.”

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, still staring. “Damn, you’re packing. Your wife must be so lucky.”

The room went silent. Bruce closed his eyes, looking like he was about to have an aneurysm. Clark cleared his throat, cheeks turning bright red.

“What—what does that mean?” Superman asked, clearly flustered.

“Oh, nothing,” you said, shrugging. “Just making an observation. By the way, you ever need help with Lois, let me know. I’m excellent at teamwork.”

Bruce groaned audibly in the background.

“Anyway,” he stammered, shifting awkwardly, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about Damian and Jon.”

You didn’t hear a word he said.

Poor Tim. Sweet, awkward Tim. He didn’t deserve you, and yet you tormented him at every opportunity.

You were taller than him, which you used to your advantage constantly. One day, after a successful mission, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tight hug. Your boobs pressed against the back of his head, and you could feel him stiffen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Good boy,”

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hmm?”

“Let go.”

“But you’re so cute when you’re flustered.”

“LET GO!”

Tim was your little puppy, and you made sure he knew it. Anytime he looked stressed (which was, like, always), you’d grab him by the shoulders and pull him down onto your lap.

“Shhh,” you’d coo, stroking his hair while he sat there stiff as a board. “You’re working too hard, Timmy. Just relax.”

He’d blush furiously, stammering out a protest, but you’d silence him with a kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy,” you’d whisper, your voice soft but teasing. “You’re doing great.”

Poor Tim would be a mess, his face redder than Jason’s helmet, but you didn’t care. It was adorable.

Jason walked in once and nearly gagged. “This is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.”

When you first met Damian, you were charmed. Not by his skill, or his intellect, or his reputation as the Demon’s Son. No, you were charmed because he looked like an angry little bird.

He’d just finished beating the crap out of Tim in the training room when you walked in.

“Who is this?” Damian demanded, glaring at you.

You clasped your hands together, grinning. “Aww, you’re so cute!”

Damian bristled. “I am not cute! I am an assassin!”

You squealed, bouncing on your heels. “Look at him! He’s like a tiny murder pigeon!”

Tim, still lying on the mat, muttered, “Please kill me.”

“So adorable,” you said, holding your hands together in a “squee” motion, jumping up and down like a fangirl. “I didn’t know you were so mad! Look at you, little angry pookie!”

Damian, of course, was not impressed. “Shut up, woman.”

But you? You couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re, like, a pocket-sized villain. So cute.”

Since then, you’d taken to treating Damian like a literal baby. You’d sit him on your lap, spoon-feed him during meals, and ruffle his hair at every opportunity.

Damian was your baby, no matter how much he tried to argue otherwise. You gave him the most attention—whether it was ruffling his hair, pinching his cheeks, or straight-up kissing him on the forehead during missions.

“Y/N, cease this nonsense!” he’d shout, trying to push you away.

“Aw, but you’re so cute,” you’d tease, holding his face in your hands.

Damian would glare, but the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. You knew he secretly loved it, especially when you called him your “adorable angry bird.”

Jon Kent adored you. But when he let it slip in front of Damian?

“Y/N is… well, she’s amazing,” Jon had said shyly, scratching the back of his neck.

Damian froze, his eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?”

“Uh, nothing!” Jon backpedaled, but Damian was already chasing him across the Batcave, sword in hand.

“YOU THINK YOU HAVE A CHANCE?!” Damian yelled as Jon flew for his life.

Bruce wasn’t immune to your antics either. You’d long since dropped the “old man” or “Bruce” in favor of something much more fun: “Daddy.”

“Good work tonight, Y/N,” Bruce said one evening, his tone professional.

You leaned against the Batcomputer, smirking. “Thanks, Daddy.”

Bruce froze, his eye twitching slightly.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? You always been my suger daddy, it's only make sense if I call you daddy.”

He walked away without another word.

You made it your life mission to annoy Bruce whenever possible. During one of his infamous brooding sessions in the Batcave, you casually walked up to him, poked his nose, and said, “Boop.”

He froze, slowly turning to glare at you. “Don’t.”

“Boop,” you repeated, doing it again.

Dick and Tim were in hysterics in the background, and Jason muttered, “She’s got a death wish.”

Bruce, exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised?”

It started as a joke. You stole one of Bruce’s button-up shirts and wore it around the Manor. Now it was a regular occurrence, much to Bruce’s annoyance.

“That’s mine,” he’d say.

“Yup, and it’s comfy,” you’d reply, lounging on the couch.

Once, during a mission debrief, you leaned on the table and purred, “What’s the plan, Daddy?”

Jason choked on his drink, Dick coughed awkwardly, and Tim turned bright red.

Bruce didn’t even look up. “I will ground you.”

“Kinky,” you replied with a grin.

You had a thing for flirting with dangerous villains, and the Batfam hated it.

“I could totally take Deathstroke,” you said once after a fight.

“He tried to kill you!” Jason snapped.

“Yeah, but did you see the way he looked at me? Sparks, I tell you. Also who said I was talking about fighting?”

“She’s insane,” Damian muttered, but you just shrugged.

During a fight with the Joker, you’d stopped mid-battle to tilt your head and give him an appraising look.

“Y’know,” you said, webbing one of his henchmen to the wall. “You’d be kinda hot if you didn’t look like a corpse. Ever thought about skincare?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Dick had yelled, dodging a swing from Harley Quinn.

“SHUT UP!” you shot back. “I CAN FIX HIM!”

Despite all the chaos and teasing, there’s a hidden, vulnerable side to you that craves attention—not just the kind that’s lustful, but the caring kind.

After a long night of missions, you’ll often crash in the Batcave. The family can be in the middle of an intense discussion or debriefing, but you’ll barge in, throw yourself onto Tim, and use his lap as a pillow.

Jason will grumble and say something about you “acting like a child,” but then you'll casually climb onto his back, burrowing your face into his shoulder as you cling to him.

Of course, Bruce just looks away like he’s done with all of you, but deep down, he knows that if he even tried to stop it, the whole family would turn on him. You're the glue holding them all together.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— MAIN HEADCANON ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

Claiming - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic)

Words: 1,310 Summary: In a world where F1 drivers can claim someone as a wife while at a race, here is Charles' version. Note(s): DARK FIC, this is dark. Dubious Consent/Touching (not sexual), Reader was essentially kidnapped. I will be making other fics like this for a few other drivers where they claim a wife. And thank you 🦢 anon for this idea and all your thoughts! Edit: Takes place during/after Imola 2024

Masterlist | Support Me! 

She doesn’t want to sit on the bed. She doesn’t want to be in this room. She doesn’t want him touching her. But she doesn’t want to make him angry, fears what his reaction could be, what he could do to her. So she sits at the edge of the luxurious hotel bed. Her shoulders hunching, her hands gathered in her lap, her legs pressed painfully tight together.

She’s taking up as little space as she can, but he still sits right next to her, his thigh pressing against her and she has to resist flinching.

“You are so tense.” He murmurs, his voice practically caressing her ear. The sound of it makes her release a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. And in doing so she takes in a breath, nearly becoming dizzy at the perfect smell of his cologne. “I’m sorry.” She manages to say. He clicks his tongue, running a hand up and down her back. It’s supposed to be a soothing touch and she has to force herself not to tense further. “Don’t apologize, mon ange. Would a bath help?” She eagerly nods at the suggestion, wants to weep at the idea of it.

She needs a moment alone. Ever since she was taken to Ferrari’s garage, she’s had him right there by her, never more than an arms length away. She wants to sink into scalding water and let the pain of it distract her from what has happened.

“Please.” She whispers. He smiles, pleased, and she hates that she likes the look on him. “I’ll go get it started.” She wants to protest, but he’s pressing his lips to her forehead and then standing, striding over to the bathroom. And she remains frozen on the bed, even when she hears the sound of water rushing out and hitting the tub.

When Charles comes back, he’s shirtless and she makes a noise at the sight. He gives her another pleased smile. “I prefer my baths to be very hot, so if you’d like it to be cooler, you will have to wait a few minutes.” He tells her, gesturing for her to join him and she does, letting him guide her with a hand on the back into the bathroom. Stepping inside, she lets out a shaky breath. The entire mirror is steamed up and she can see how hot the water is in the large tub. “Thank you.” “Of course.” She waits for a moment for him to leave, but he just continues to look at her, eyes half lidded, lips ever so slightly parted as he leans against the bathroom counter.

She turns away from him, tears threatening to prick her eyes, and she forces herself to breath as she reaches for the hem of her polo. As soon as it’s pulled over her head, she nearly shakes. She wants to ask him to look away, to stop watching her undress, she can feel his eyes on her. She wants to drop to her knees and beg for him to come back when she’s fully naked. She’s never gotten undressed in front of anyone. It feels intimate to do so, it feels worse somehow for him to be watching her do this.

Her bra comes off next and she can hear the sound of his breathing pick up as it drops onto the floor, the skin of her back exposed to him. She takes her underwear and pants off at the same time, thankful when her socks come off as well.

She thinks she’s supposed to turn to him, to let him get a full look at her, but the bath is right there, calling her name, the water clear, no bath bomb or bubbles to hide anything. He could get a full look at her like that.

Stepping into the bath, she shudders at the feeling of near burning hot water. It laps around her and while she normally sinks into her baths, this time she eases herself down and into the water. Her eyes closing when she is fully in and laying down, the top of her neck even a little wet.

She almost forgets that he is there, but then a hand is caressing her shoulder and this time she can’t help her flinch. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes and she hates that it sounds sincere. “Scoot up for me?” Grabbing at the sill of the tub, she carefully pulls herself forward, stopping when he makes a noise. “Good girl.” He murmurs and suddenly the water rises against her and her eyes fly open when she feels the sensation of skin grazing her back and as she looks down, she sees legs on either side of her body just barely not touching her. Then hands are on her hips, gently guiding her back until her back is pressed against a naked chest and she can feel him against her. His hands move from her hips so he can wrap his arms around her.

He lets out a happy sound at contact. “Comfortable?” She forces herself to nod. “Good. Now just relax, mon ange. You’ll feel much better.”

—

She wakes up and Charles is still holding on to her, his grip tight but not bruising, so clearly keeping her there and she can’t help but cry.

She was his forever, he had claimed her, the paperwork probably already has been registered. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her family. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind until now, but it does and she has to slap a hand over her mouth.

She was never going to see her mom, have her fuss over her. Her dad was never going to call her champ, she was never going to get to eat his food again. Her grandmother and her heart aches even more. She was never going to see her grandma again, feel her hand against her cheek as she looked in her eyes, making sure that when she said of course I’m happy that she actually was. She was never going to get the family dinners with so many things being passed around it made her dizzy. The shots that everyone took if they were old enough.

She doesn’t realize it, but her whole body is shaking and it wakes the man holding her.

“Mon ange,” his voice is thick with sleep and confusion and she holds her breath. “What’s the matter?” She doesn’t say anything, her body still shaking, but she hopes her lack of response will make him think that she’s asleep. It doesn’t, his hands move around her body until he easily can turn her so she’s facing him. “Oh,” his eyes are wide, voice mournful as he sees her tears. “What happened?” She doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with tears in her eyes, hand still clamped over her mouth. His brows furrow and he moves her hand away from her mouth. “What is wrong? What has you crying?” “I’m never gonna see them.” The words come out and she’s gasping for breath and his brows furrow more. “Who, mon ange?” “My family. I’m never going to see my mom or my dad. My grandma, my cousins, my aunts and uncles. I’m never going to see any of them again.” She’s sobbing and she hates that when he runs a hand over her back, trying to calm her before urging her to press her face into his chest, she does. “Of course you will.” He finally says when she’s calmed a little. The words have her pulling back, silent as she stares at him with wide eyes. He chuckles, running a finger beneath her eye to get rid of the tears still clinging there. “Of course you will see them again. They make you happy and I want to know my in-laws, after all.”

paddock bunny!

... or when you *teasingly* ask the drivers to sign on a pretty canvas. (dilfs version // slc verse)

sebastian

sebastian's grin could be pictured from a mile away as he uncaps the pen, "just my signature?" he asks, his tone playful and suggestive.

"i could write you an essay. i feel quite inspired right now..." the ferrari driver says in a cheeky quip, while you giggled at him.

"just the name, superstar." you reply, tilting your head at him amusedly. sebastian smilingly writes his name down, his strokes were slow and deliberate. sebasti.. he was gonna let the pen do all the working while his eyes drifted from your soft skin to..

"so, are you around here often?"

"why? you wanna feel me up more?"

sebastian whips his head so fast you heard a miniscule pop from it. you reel back from his proximity, overwhelmed by his closeness and his— oh, he smelled so good. you've always loved armani on him.

"say that again, hase." he utters in a hoarse voice.

"tu m'as fait peur, sebastian. you act like you haven't seen me naked." you yelp as he quickly wraps his arms around you, smothering you in kisses all over your chest and neck. "seb!" you garbled as you threw your head back laughing, feeling ticklish from his overgrown stubble.

"sometimes it's even too vivid, darling..." the german grins at you suggestively, as he expertly takes the ferrari jacket away from you. "but everytime, it's not enough until i get my hands on the real thing."

fernando

"anything for my favorite girl..." fernando hums with a cheeky smile, his fingers playing with one of the buttons of your blouse, "liked the race so far, hermosa?" he asks you casually, his gaze flicking back and forth to your chest and to your face— watching your expression closely.

"hmmm. thought the podium finish deserved some fanfare." you say lightly, to which he chuckles. "you having fun there?" you pat his hand that casually rested a touch away from your chest.

"very." he answers shamelessly, licking his lips as if he were a kid on a candy shop.

jenson

"jenson..." you call out to him, amused at seeing him so focused.

"shush, love." jenson replies absentmindedly, bending his pen to write his full number. "i'm writing a masterpiece, on a masterpiece."

"hey picasso, those look like numbers to me!" you hear the yell of his engineer who casually walked past his driver room, followed by cheers and laughter of his team, who, despite being unaware of what was happening inside; were already familiar with the usual shennanigans jenson was usually up to.

"what do you know about art, you uncultured swine!" jenson shouts back playfully, kicking the door close while you'd threw your head back in laughter.

"now where were we..." he tilts his head to look at his masterpiece, smirking. "let me write on—" you smacked his head upside down.

╰┈➤Day 18: Fellatio || GR63 x Hamilton!reader

Warnings: 18+, blowjob, sub!george, drivers room sex, secret relationship, fwb Wordcount: 0.7k Fellatio (also known as fellation, and in slang as blowjob, BJ, giving head, or sucking off) is an oral sex act involving a person stimulating the penis of another by using the mouth

George was always hard before a race. Adrenaline pumping through his blood or some shit

Normally he wouldn't care. Drive with the boner, but if it hurt too much, he'd take care of it before

Everything changed when she came around

It was probably wrong of him to think of Lewis' sister like that, but god, she was an angel sent from heaven

The first time he had seen her, it was right before a race, so of course, when she had noticed he was hard, she had blushed furously, thinking it was because of her

He found her later, making himself look like an idiot when he stuttered out his words, trying to explain to her that it wasn't because of her, then having to apologise because he made it sound like she wasn't pretty or attractive, to then after being in his drivers room, her lips wrapped around his cock becuase she offered to "help"

They kept going like this. She would show up to as many races as could, "helping" George before each race

When she couldn't be there, he raced with the oner, no matter how uncomfortable it was, finding himself feel… Guilty? If he touched himself without her being there

She had been promoted, so she didn't show at the races for a long time. When George finally saw her walk by Lewis' side into the garage, he felt as though he could fall to his knees right in the middle of it all, begging her to suck him off- or litterly anything that included skin against skin contact

He got himself together, making a eyecontact with her before he walked to his drivers room. It wasn't just eye contact, it was the eye contact

When she got to his drivers room a minute after, he sat on the couch, already gotten rid of his shirt and his jeans and boxers pushed down to his mid-thighs

She scoffed slightly, locking the door behind her "What if anyone that wasn't me walked in, hm?" She hummed, walking over to him

"Don't care. Just want you" He looked up at her with begging eyes, reaching out to touch her hand carefully

She took a pillow from the couch, throwing it to the floor at his feet, lowering herself to be leveled with his cock

One of her hands were placed on his waist, the other holding his hand, his other hand placed over his mouth once she finally licked a stribe up his cock, flicking it over his slit, making his body jump slightly

"You're so perfect" She muttered, placing a kiss on his hip bone before swallowing him whole, gagging slightly. Normally he would apologise, but she had told him the first time to never apologise for it, so he didn't

She moved slowly. She had pulled her hair up in a ponytail before she left the hotel, knowing this waas gonna happen, so her hair was no problem to worry about

She looked up at him, expecting to find his eyes, but she didn't seethem. His head was thrown back, hand covering his mouth

He thrusted his hips up into her mouth soft and slow, meeting her mouth halfway

She smiled as well as she could around him as she felt him slightly twitch inside her mouth, knowing he was close now

Without a warning, beside his hand tightning around hers, he came down her throat, a quiet moan escaping his lips, caught by his hand covering it

She swallowed all of him, only popping off of him once he was soft again, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand

She stood up, their hands still interwined as she leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth softly, caressing his hair "Missed you" She said softly

"I missed you too" He panted heavily

Hi love! Joel Miller has rotted my brain for forever now and I’m so excited to see the influx of fanfiction for him! ☺️☺️ if I could put in another request with pre-outbreak Joel again, please, could you do one where it’s outbreak day and the reader is already in an established relationship with Joel and is close with Sarah. Maybe the reader is with Sarah when everything starts to go down? A nice mix of angst and fluff? Thank you hun 🥰🥰

AN | There’s plenty of softness and fluff 🥰 but also a very sad ending (sorry, but also not)!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, TLOU typical violence [outbreak day chaos, attack by infected, non-descriptive mentions of injury and blood]

Word Count | 2.9k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” he heard your voice, soft and sweet like golden honey. He felt your touch, soft and warm, ghosting over the exposed skin of his back, mindlessly tracing over his freckles, “hey sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.”

“I’m up, I’m up,” his protest was weak and his resolve to actually get up melted even further as you wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled yourself closer to him, “baby.”

“Come on birthday boy,” a row of kisses was pressed to his bare shoulder as you tried to nudge him towards the edge of the bed, “busy day today, we’ve gotta get up.”

“Can’t we just stay here all day?” He knew it wasn’t an option but he figured it was worthy of a try.

“I-”

“Get up!” you heard Sarah’s voice from the other side of the slightly cracked door, “and if you’re doing anything nasty, close the door at least!”

Joel grinned but Sarah giggled as she ran downstairs and to the kitchen. You rolled onto your back and sighed happily at the ceiling. You really, really loved the Millers. 

“You heard the lady,” you rolled out of bed and pulled on his t-shirt from the night before. Joel opened an appreciative eye as he watched you head into the ensuite bathroom. But before you disappeared from sight, you stuck your head around the corner and beamed at him. God, he loved your pretty smile, “happy birthday, my love.”

Joel sat up against the headboard, arms crossed over his broad, golden chest. He was tired, but there was a warm smile quirking up the corners of his mouth nonetheless, “thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you tossed a clean towel at him, “now get up, or we’re both going to get yelled at.”

“And we definitely don’t want that.”

“We absolutely do not.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“This looks amazing,” Sarah was a wonderful kid. Like, truly so. You never thought you’d feel that way about any kid, but she’d proved you wrong. She preened under your praise as you pressed a kiss to the side of her head, “you did this all by yourself?”

“As if,” Tommy Miller poked his head out from the fridge and cheekily waved his hand at you. You playfully rolled your eyes but returned the wave. When you said you loved the Millers, you really meant all the Millers, “I squeezed - by hand - the oranges that made that delicious juice. And cooked the bacon.”

“I don’t like the grease,” Sarah shrugged with a teasing glower at her uncle. You grinned when you saw the balloons they’d blown up floating around the kitchen, along with a wonkily hung happy birthday banner, “but I made the pancakes.”

“Well, both of you did a wonderful job,” you praised as the three of you heard Joel coming down the stairs. You exchanged a quick look with Tommy and Sarah and the two of them nodded in silent understanding.

“Happy Birthday!”

The two of you shouted in unison, catching the poor man off guard as he almost jumped at the sound of all three of you at once. He clutched at his heart as he watched into the kitchen, pulled into a hug by his daughter and brother. Once they let him go, he came over and pulled you into his arms, hugging in a bone crushing grip, before kissing you sweetly. 

“Save that for later,” Sarah groaned before taking his hand and leading him to the table, “we have to have breakfast and then you’ve got to take me to school, old man.”

“I should make you walk,” he joked and the girl pretended to be upset. The two of them were too funny for their own good, “I’m thirty-six years old you little shit, who are you calling an old man?”

“Definitely not my wonderful, amazing father that’s not old at all,” she tried again, “and the one who gives me rides to school.”

“Yeah,” he waved her off, but the affection and love was written all over his face, “you’re lucky I love you!”

“I love you more, dad!”

-─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"You seem very happy today," Betty gave you a knowing smile as you walked into the office's break room to grab a cup of coffee; well another. It's been a long day at the law office already.

"Well," you took a sip and smiled softly, "it's Joel's birthday today. He likes to pretend to be all grumpy, but we know he loves it. His brother and daughter made him breakfast this morning and you should have seen his face light up."

"He's a nice guy," she agreed. Most of the women - people - in the office loved him, "any plans tonight, then?"

"Stop," your face warmed as you laughed softly, "not tonight. He's working late, so I'm hanging with Sarah. If he's home at a decent hour, we're having a movie night. But…I do have a little something planned for the long weekend."

"Oh, do tell," Betty was funny in a way, but you liked her. She was older than you, and she'd been married for eons. She liked to joke around that marriage was such a drag but it was obvious just how much she loved her husband. You hoped that would be you and Joel one day.

"I've got a little weekend getaway planned," you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively, "Tommy is going to watch Sarah, so it'll be just the two of us."

"Very nice," she clinked her mug against yours, "well, cheers to Joel, and you."

"Cheers!"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Do you think he'll like it?" Sarah gave her cake a dismal little look as you looked over. It was a little wonky looking with mismatched candles, but still beautiful. All her.

“He’s going to be over the moon babe,” you promised her, watching as the smile on her face grew and grew. She set the plate on the dining room table, next to the present she got for him (with your assistance but that didn’t matter), “I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

“I hope,” she agreed, “he’s been working late a lot and it’s birthday. He should be here.”

“And here he is,” the back door creaked open, both of you too wrapped up in what you were doing to hear his truck. He beamed at the two of you, causing Sarah to squeal and run over to him, throwing herself in his arms, “hey, kid.”

“I missed you,” she looked at him, her big brown eyes mirroring his own, “you said you’d be home like an hour ago!”

“I know baby, I know,” he touched her cheek affectionately, “there was somethin’ weird going on in the city and it took forever to get home. What’d I miss, huh?”

“Nothing,” she grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the table before throwing her arms out in a ta-da gesture, “except this amazing cake!”

“And present,” you added with a cheeky wink.

“And present,” she agreed happily, “now hurry up so we can have some cake and watch the movie? It’s getting late and unfortunately, you force me to go to school everyday, so.”

“So,” he put his hands on his hips as he stuck tongue out at her, “go in and get ready for bed. Then we can have some cake and watch the movie.”

“Yes!” she pumped her fist excitedly, but before she could run upstairs, she stopped herself, “wait - open this first.”

“What is it?” his grin only grew as she handed him the box, “where’d you get the money for this?”

“Drugs,” she snorted in amusement, “I sell hardcore drugs.”

“I should have known,” he shook while delicately opening the small box, “you’ve always been nothing but trouble. What is - wow.”

He took the watch in his hand and looked it over carefully, watching it steadily tick again. It hadn’t worked properly in years; he’d always loved it, but now, seeing it fixed by his brilliant daughter, he decided it was his favorite thing in the world. 

“Do you like it?” her voice was small; timid. She suddenly sounded every bit her age, so young and full of life, “I know you’d never get it fixed yourself and now you don’t have to.”

“I love it,” he put the watch on and pulled in for a tight hug, “I love you, baby. Thank you so much.”

“Happy birthday dad,” she kissed his cheek before running upstairs to change. 

“Troublemakers,” Joel teased as he took the few steps over to you, “both of you.”

“Good trouble,” you insisted, easily falling into his touch as he wrapped his arms around you. You felt him kiss the crown of your head as melted into him causing him to hum contentedly, “happy birthday, my love. Cheers to today and a lifetime more.”

“Thank you,” he pulled back and kissed you softly, both of silently asking for more and refusing to break apart until you heard Sarah clear her throat.

“You’re going away and you’ve got all weekend to do that,” she grabbed the DVD off the table and headed into the living room, “my virgin eyes don’t need to see this!” 

“You heard her, Miller,” you nudged him in the direction of the couch, “control yourself!”

“This isn’t finished,” he whispered under his breath, “far from it.”

“I’m counting on that.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sarah was sleeping, sprawled half on your lap and half on Joel’s. The two of you were halfheartedly watching the movie, lost in each other’s small touches and looks. This - this simple act of being home with the two people you loved most in his world - was everything to you. There was no place you’d rather have been. 

You were in the midst of exchanging a look with Joel when you heard a loud boom outside. The two of you startled as Sarah woke up and looked around in confusion. The sound of yelling and screaming soon reached your ears as Sarah hugged onto you, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted as Joel went to the front door to look outside. The neighborhood was normally quiet and sleepy; nothing like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat as a few car alarms went off, “Joel?”

“There’s a fire down the street,” there was a deep frown on his face, “stay here. I’m going to go and take a look.”

“I don’t know if that’s-”

“Just real quick,” he insisted, “it’s old man Smith’s house. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

“Okay,” you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. You didn’t like the idea of him going out there, “be careful…please.”

“I’ll be back in just a few,” he promised with a nod before slipping on his boots and heading down the street.

“Come on,” you tenderly nudged up the girl so you take her upstairs and hopefully too bed. You wanted her to be able to get some rest, “let’s get you to bed, missy.”

“Do you think dad will be okay?”

“Of course he will,” but it was a promise that didn’t settle quite right in your stomach. There was a nagging feeling that was slowly starting to consume you and you hated it, “dad’s gonna get through anything. And I’m sure it’s nothing major - maybe something just caught fire.”

“Okay,” but you could tell she wasn’t quite convinced either, “I love you.”

“I love you too, babe,” you didn’t like how final her words seemed to be appear, “more than anything.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You ended up pacing around the living room for almost an hour as you waited for Joel to get back. Just a few minutes, you sighed lightly, of course it wasn't just a few minutes. Your nerves grew with each passing moment. 

It grew quiet for a while, which you weren't sure was a good or bad sign. Your question was soon answered by screaming and barking from next door. Sarah barreled down the stairs, panic on her face.

"The dog," she said, "next door. He's barking and I-I think he's scared. I want to go and check on him."

"Sarah," you shook your head, blood rushing in your ears and heart pounding in your chest, "we should just wait inside."

"But-"

"Your dad's not back."

"Well, then we have to find him too!" and she was out the door before you could stop her. You followed after her, not even bothering with shoes.

"Sarah!" you found her running down next door, trying to comfort the whimpering dog. Something just felt off. The front door was open but the lights were off; the fire at the end of the street was showering the neighborhood in an orange haze, "don't go in there!"

"But…"

"Don't," you insisted, "come here. Please. I know you want to save the dog, but it's not safe."

She looked close to tears but gave you a small nod. When you turned to look at the neighborhood, you finally saw all the chaos that had broken out. There was fire around, people screaming and running and shouting. It felt apocalyptic.

"Come on," you took her hand and tried to lead her back to the house. You weren't sure if it was the best choice but it was all you could think of at the moment. Joel would come back and save you soon, "I think we'll be better off-"

"Watch out!"

But Sarah's warning shout came just a moment too late. You couldn't blame her; everything around you was falling apart. 

Your knees buckled and hit the ground as you tried to keep your scream of pain down as much as possible. Whoever - or whatever it was - made a horrible sound, somewhere between a growl and shout as it tackled you to the ground. When you got a look at whatever was holding you down, you realized it was Al Walker from down the block. Or at least, it had been. But this version was not; it was something much more sinister. 

You tried to keep him back as he tried to lunge and bite you, but you were only so strong. All you could do when you felt the burning in your neck was to wince; you were too busy trying to mentally calm Sarah down. She was in full panic mode and trying to figure out what to do if anything. Your upper body felt sticky and warm; a coppery metallic smell overwhelmed you. 

Before you could try to shove him off you again, you heard a loud gunshot coming from some direction before his lifeless body fell on top of you.

“Fuck!” you crawled out from under him, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and gather your bearings. You found Joel standing in front of Sarah, gently shielding her from whatever was around - from you. All around you people were running around and trying to leave or meeting the same fortune as you. 

You swallowed thickly, tears already welling up and running down your face. Joel’s gaze was on your torso and you followed it, inhaling sharply. You were soaked in your own blood and the wound on your neck was burning profusely. Although you didn’t full know what was happening or what sort of chaos had been set loose in the world, you knew this wasn’t good. 

“Baby-”

“Joel,” your voice was shaken as you looked at the two of them. You already knew that this would be the last time you’d ever see them. There was just a feeling in your gut that told you so, “go. Go.”

“Not without you.”

“Please,” you’d beg, you weren’t ashamed. All you wanted was for the two of them to get somewhere safe. You could see Tommy pulling up with Joel’s truck; even he seemed extremely rattled, “go with Sarah and Tommy and get to safety. Please, listen to me for once.”

Joel let out a loud groan of frustration before coming over and wrapping you up in a tight hug. You hugged him just as fiercely, despite your initial insistence that he leave, “baby.”

“I know,” you pulled back and took his face in your hands, neither of you caring about the blood that was now covering you both. You kissed him, one last time, sweet and saccharine as it always was, “I love you. But please, get going now. Keep them safe. Keep yourself safe.”

“But-”

“Promise me, Joel Miller,” you insisted firmly and he gave you a teary-eyed nod, “I’ll catch up to you.”

It was a lie. You both knew that.

“I swear it.”

“Good,” you whispered, “now go, and don’t look back.”

“I love you.”

“I know,” you smiled softly and gave him one last kiss, “I know.”

You gently pushed him back as he reached for Sarah and pulled her towards the truck. It felt like time slowed down as you watched them get in and drive away, headed to what you hoped was safety. 

Your heart was beyond heavy.

You’d just lost your entire world. 

If only you knew what was yet to come.

HEADCANONS — BIRTHDAY BOY!F.ALONSO

CONTAINS: afab!reader, sfw and nsfw hcs, oral sex, slight exhibitionism, making out, p in v.

AUTHORS NOTE: happy birthday babygirl! i love humiliating you! come in me next! reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ;)

sfw.

In his birthday he says he likes to spend it quietly in his home with you, maybe inviting some friends over.

But you know he relishes in the birthday wishes, reposting every story he’s tagged on.

He gets giddy when you get him a full breakfast from that place he loves.

Enjoys a little too much the attention he gets from you.

Fernando loves going out with you for lunch, and gets a little red when you get the staff to sing him a happy birthday, a little humiliation as he deserves.

In the night he prefers to host a little gathering with his friends, after all his house is fucking big and very able to host parties.

He will definitely have a hand glued to your hip the whole night, and won’t let you out of his sight for too long.

nsfw.

The ego of this man will fucking elevate when it’s his birthday.

“What will you let me do to you today, cariño?”

As a gag gift you will give him a little container of viagra.

You wake him up sucking his cock, it’s something you two talked about for long and you of course implemented it on his birthday.

You get to tease him the whole day, slight touches during lunch in public, accidentally bending over to pick your fork flashing him right in the middle of the restaurant.

He has a hand glued to your inner thigh the whole ride back home.

After the guests of his party leave, he gets to devour your mouth in the most filthy way possible against the kitchen counter.

After making out with you for a long time, he makes you sit in the counter and spreads your thighs, getting on his knees to have a second dinner.

He will pull you upstairs to get you naked as soon as he can, fumbling with his pants as he is just in a hurry to fill you up.

“You’ve been teasing me all day, want to pay for it?” He purrs.

You playfully throw the viagra at him, and he just growls and throws it away.

“I don’t fucking need that.”

You snicker, shrugging. “Let’s see.”

As a birthday joke, he comes very quick.

He’s so embarrassed, humiliated hiding on the crook of your neck while still buried on your pussy, his cock softening.

“Mierda, I’m sorry.”

You kiss the side of his face, giggling. “Don’t worry, I will make you come again later, sweetheart. Maybe consider the viagra though?”

He groans.

Cams, olha esse edit maravilhosoooooo! 🥲🥵

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMMnh578g/

ai amiga… já não bastava esse que você me mandou que fez minhas pernas ficarem meio bambas, eu fui procurar um pra te mostrar de volta e simplesmente achei o edit que eu acho que me fez ficar completamente obcecada por esse homem. é da conta @/dreamswithkay no tik tok. juro por deus amigas O SEGUNDO clipe que ele tá concordando com a cabeça enquanto o sorrisinho só cresce no rosto me faz pensar em coisas… pensamentos muito fortes. PUTA QUE PARIU de vdd irmãs esse homem ESTRALANDO de gostoso desumano de vdd uuuu buuuu 🍅🍅🍅🍅. não mas agora é sério esse aqui me deixa que nem um animal com raiva SALIVANDO ESPUMANDO pela boca minha nossa senhora que homem é esse…

ʚïɞ "the sweet life" FC43

↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more with williams racing!

✧₊⁺ franco colapinto x maria amelia rodriguez (female!oc)

✧₊⁺ word count: 1,9k⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺ genre: fluff

summary: in witch franco and maria are finally living the good life and they know how to enjoy it.

warnings: just the sweetest couple ever, cursing, some pda/making out sessions, just sad i couldn't write all their dialogs in spanish but i kinda did get a bit carried away. characters celebrating minor things like we do. there's two languages written in this and none is my native language so take it easy, i tried my best. hope you like it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

⠀

Maria watched as her boyfriend exited the blue car, trying to stay calm and remove her big headphones with ease. Her purse was left somewhere in the box,  her focus was entirely on him. She looked around, trying to find any reason not to run to him.

But she couldn't resist. Just as he was about to take off his helmet, she sped up, a big smile spreading across her face as he opened his arms. It was like nothing else mattered.

"Vamos, bebéééé! P7!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Dios mío, I can't believe this is our life now!"

"It is, baby. Best believe." he laughed, lifting her off the ground and shaking her playfully.

"You're amazing! You're the greatest! Look at you!" Maria continued to praise him, back on the floor now and holding his face between her hands. "¡Te quiero muchísimo! ¡Muchísimo! I can't wait for the race tomorrow."

"Just imagine how I feel!" he said before pecking her lips, smudging it a little in their shared joke. They had so many of these.. "Te quiero mucho más, princesa. Thank you for being here."

They went way back. Back to middle school, when Franco would tear himself apart to keep everything together. Their love had only grown stronger with time. It survived the distance when he moved to Europe for his shot, until she turned sixteen and joined him two years later. All the homesickness and challenges they faced together only strengthened their bond.

Celebrating his win felt like celebrating her own, squeezing in between her college life. Everyone in the Williams box knew that having Franco meant having Maria; they were inseparable.

So it was no surprise when he carried her back inside the box, bouncing her around like she weighed nothing before dropping her on one of the couches.

"We're celebrating tonight, huh? Let me talk to the team, and we'll set it up." he said, giving her one last kiss before messing up her hair and turning away to celebrate with the team.

It had been too long since Williams dragged a car into P7, and if you asked Maria, she'd say only Franco could take it there. It was amazing to watch the team celebrate and fool around, before the excitement cooled down and they headed back to their accommodations. It was only a matter of time until the door was locked and Maria was in her boyfriend's arms, pressed between him and the wooden door.

"When you said celebrating..." her hands roamed over his torso, her words whispered against his lips with a little smirk.

"That's exactly what I meant," Franco smiled, his hands pinning her by the waist as he pulled her in for a real kiss.

Her hands slipped around his neck, fingers brushing against his skin and into his soft curls, while his hand moved gently to her cheek, sending shivers up her spine. The room was silent except for their shared breaths, the adrenaline from Q3 qualy  still pumping. In the privacy of that small space, the kiss grew more heated, like they could become one at any moment. It was a kiss that spoke of celebration and the quiet comfort of knowing they belonged to each other, no words needed.

When he started to explore her covered skin, their breaths becoming more labored, Maria chuckled at how strong she was about to be, stopping him from pulling her Williams shirt away.

A whine and a frown from her boyfriend; she almost gave in.

"Bebé... You're racing tomorrow, you need to rest," she said, holding his chin softly as he leaned into her touch, resting his head on her hand. "Don't give me those eyes! I'm taking care of you!"

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," he sighed. "I mean... I can lay back and let you do all the work! I swear to God, Maria."

"No, mi amor. No way. You qualified P7 today, I can't let that go to waste. You're laying back and sleeping, sir. Let's go shower," she said, patting his chest and waiting for him to turn around so she could follow him.

"A quickie, then?"

"Franco, no!"

"Ese, try this one. I swear it's delicious," Franco approached Maria with a plate full of small dishes he'd gathered for them to taste.

"What is this? Is this a shrimp? You know I hate shrimp!" she dodged the food he held close to her mouth, Franco insisting as he got closer.

"Mi amoooor... It's delicious! There's bacon, you'll like it!"

"The things you make me do, Jesus Cristo." she rolled her eyes, closing them so she wouldn't see the shrimp going into her mouth.

"Tell me. Delicious, huh?" Franco looked at her expectantly, celebrating with a silent "yes!" once she made a surprised face. "See!? I told you! Now try this one, this one you'll like. It's sweet, something with chocolate. Hold it."

"You guys are funny."

"Ai, Alex! Don't do that!"

Albon laughed as he came across the room to grab some water, watching the couple while they focused on chewing. They were at the Williams accommodation in the paddock, with food and beverages served before the race and that is something they always knew exactly how to act around. Free food is free dood, no matter if you’re a teenager trying life in another continent or a good surprise in Formula One.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you guys were so distracted." the Thai driver said, still laughing. "Lily was asking me about you, and I didn't know the answers... How long have you guys been together?"

"Eight years and four months," Franco answered, taking his teammate by surprise.

"Eight years? Eight? Aren't you like... Twenty? You've been dating for eight years? You guys are married!" Alex almost spilled his water.

"She's twenty, I'm twenty-one," Franco began to explain. "We were thirteen when we first kissed and never let each other go. Take notes."

"Wow, wow! That's why you guys are so close! That’s crazy! It must be amazing growing up together like that."

"It is," Maria smiled. "Through the best and the worst. My best buddy." It was easy for them to declare their love, just as it was for her arms to wrap around his waist.

"Uh- tooth-rotting sweet. I hate you guys," Alex pretended to be annoyed. "And marriage? Do you guys think about it?"

"My girlfriend in white? Of course I do," Franco said, hugging her tightly. "I'm securing my seat, and then we'll think about it. She's also graduating, so... We've got time."

The truth is, they could spend a lifetime talking about their relationship, and Alex seemed genuinely interested. They talked about their plans for a modest house back home, a big backyard, and children. They were still young, enjoying the present while dreaming about the future. Alex found it amazing how excited they were for the next steps, yet so calm and happy living day by day, enjoying the small things like expensive food, big hotel rooms, fans screaming Franco's name, and the thrill of being recognized in the mall. Just sweet and pure, that’s what they are.

“¡Cállate la boca, Dios mío!”

Maria giggled beneath the fluffy blankets, pretending to still be asleep. Birthdays had always been a special kind of game between them, an unspoken contest to outdo each other with surprises. Was it a real competition? No. But it was theirs, a tradition that filled their lives with joy and spontaneity.

On Franco’s last birthday, she had convinced him she wouldn’t be able to make it. He was still racing in Formula Two then, fresh off the Monaco GP, only to have her show up at the motorhome with a cake in hand and a parade of drivers ready to celebrate his 21st.

Today, it was her turn. Half-awake, she assumed he might have rallied a few familiar faces; after all, back-to-back races left little time for elaborate plans. But the sleepy haze couldn’t explain why she heard voices speaking rapid Spanish in the next room.

“Bebé, I’m coming in. Hope you’re dressed.”

A small smile tugged at her lips as the door creaked open. Before she could process it, Franco walked in holding a cake, flanked by her mother and little brother, both bursting into song.

“¡Cumpleaños feliz, cumpleaños feliz, te deseamos todos, cumpleaños feliz!”

Her eyes welled with tears at the sight, lips trembling with emotion. “Alright, now you caught me off guard,” she laughed, voice thick. “Hola, mamá. ¡Vos extrañé tanto!” She hurried out of bed, pulling them into a hug so tight it almost toppled them over.

“Hey! ¿No me extrañabas, Pinón?” her brother joked, tugging her hair until she leaned down to wrap him in a proper embrace.

“Feliz cumple, hermanita. Te quiero mucho, y más ahora que estoy volando para los GPs.”

“Te quiero muchísimo también, Pinónzito. Gracias, Fran. No sabía que vendrían.” She turned to Franco, who stood there with a smile that matched the warmth in his eyes. Leaning in, she kissed him lightly. “Te quiero taaanto, mi amor. Gracias, de verdad.”

“El mínimo para ti,” he whispered with a grin, stealing another quick kiss. “Now, let’s cut this cake. We’ve got a full day ahead, and I’m starving.”

“Jesús,” Franco said, a hint of disbelief in his voice as he stepped behind Maria, her beach bag slung over his shoulder. They boarded the yacht, its polished deck gleaming under the sun.

“Did we peak in life, or…” he teased, eyes sweeping over the stunning seascape.

“We peaked life.” she said with a playful glint, spinning around and looping her arms over his shoulders. “And you know what? I wouldn’t want any of this without you.”

He looked at her, eyes roving her features like a map he knew by heart, hands resting comfortably at her waist. It was the kind of touch that spoke of familiarity and time.

“I think we’re here because it’s us. I wouldn’t do any of this without you,” he replied, a declaration wrapped in simplicity, the weight of his love implied in every word. “I can’t believe I got this lucky.”

“I’m the lucky one, mi amor. You’re going places, and I’m the one who gets to stand by your side.”

They were both right. They’d grown together, woven into each other’s achievements, dreams, and futures. She was on the cusp of finishing law school, and he was rising higher in motorsport. It was their shared success — a partnership that went beyond love.

“If I’m going places, you’re going with me. Wherever we go.” His eyes held a brightness that felt almost tangible. “Te quiero, Maria. I really do.”

“Te quiero mucho,” she replied, eyes crinkling with emotion as they leaned in.

The yacht rocked gently beneath them as the sea stretched out infinitely. The sun, now lower on the horizon, turned the sky into a masterpiece of warm oranges and soft pinks. His dark hair caught the sea breeze, and her curls shimmered as they met, caught between the golden glow of day’s end and the promise of tomorrow.

They kissed, a connection steeped in years of love, laughter, whispered dreams, and shared victories. It spoke volumes of what they were — two parts of a whole, with an unbreakable bond.

In that perfect moment, surrounded by the sea’s vastness and the sky’s splendor, they had everything. The taste of salt on their lips, the warmth of each other’s touch, and the absolute certainty that home was here, in their embrace.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. check my masterlist or drop a request (:

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:.