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cherryjuiceblues · 29 days

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𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃 | 𝟏

➯ HARRY EXPERIENCES THE BIGGEST LOSS OF HIS CAREER BUT HIS BEST FRIEND IS ALWAYS THERE TO SOFTEN THE BLOW. ✰ rugby!harry friends to lovers. minor warnings for somnophilia. heavy descriptions of size kink and harry being bigger than reader. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 5.2k ッ converted masterlist

Y/N watches from the sidelines, eyes ping-ponging to each side of the pitch as the ball makes its way back and forth, back and forth. Her lungs beg for fresh oxygen that she won’t grant them. France’s full-back pellets the ball high up into the air, straight into the arms of England’s full-back, England’s full-back wallops it back to France’s full-back. Y/N’s skin fucking burns with impatience—could someone just play the ball? Her gaze flits over the broad numbers littering the field… three—grass stains streaking across white—eight, twelve—blood streaming down temples—eleven, nine… Ten.

Harry hangs back, intense, focused eyes following every movement of the ball; just like Y/N, only with pinpoint accuracy. He’s the decision maker of the team, the fly-half—the player that sets up most of the scores, who guides the play. One of the most important pieces of the puzzle and… he’s frazzled, Y/N can tell. By the slight mania in his widened eyes and the frantic point he stresses towards the other side of the pitch, desperate for his teammates to attack—to get some phases going, some passes—anything other than kick tennis.

France have had the upperhand all game. They’re the favourites, after all, and playing at their home ground—but this is the final game of the Six Nations. This is the win England need to set them up for the World Cup.

And they’re losing. They’ve been losing since the second minute when France scored a try from their own twenty two—their lightning fast winger weaving in and out of all of England’s defence to dive over the line—leaving his electric trail in a bolt behind him.

And now it’s the seventy eighth minute and France are two points ahead. Y/N knows why Harry is signalling so passionately—he is desperate to get the ball further down the opponent’s end of the field. If not to score then to force them to make an error, to give away a penalty. Anything to secure the win in the final two minutes.

She is practically barking orders at the players herself—only quietly under her breath instead of the way she is sure Harry is shouting. Every technique, every tactic—Y/N has observed them all. She knows that the clock ticks twice as fast in the final moments of a game. She knows that Harry’s close to losing control of the match completely—of losing that chance of evening the scoreline—and her heart is beating out of her chest watching it all unfold.

The ball finally makes its way into a player’s hands for more than two seconds. France don’t kick it away; their number nine makes a run for it—determined to end the game with an extra score on the board. He executes a dummy pass, feigning to throw the ball to his teammate and successfully losing England’s own nine that slips in the grass in his attempt to mark. Disarmingly quick for a small player, he gets all the way to the halfway line before being tackled.

And this… this is when everything changes. Y/N shoots up from her seat when he goes down—piled upon by white jerseys desperate to rip the ball right out of his hands. She holds her breath as he stays on the floor, can’t find the ball within the chaos—flits her eyes over to Harry who is standing in formation with the rest of the backs. His mouth moves a million miles a second, expression rampant, arms flailing as he screams at his players.

Just a little longer, just a little longer… “Come on, ref,” Y/N mutters under her breath, “blow the fucking whistle.” She watches the man in red do just that—bring the whistle up to his lips in a rapid motion, throwing his arm up in the air to favour England.

A penalty. In the final minute. For England.

The stadium goes up in a cacophony of roars. Furious French moans drowned out by the deafening screams of the English. A rivalry as old as time goes down to the wire once again. Y/N’s heart pounds away inside of her ribs—hardly able to process the sight of Harry and his team celebrating—the relieved clenching of his fists.

Waterboys rush onto the pitch, slinging the kicking tee to Harry’s awaiting palms. Time continues to pass—the clock sure to enter the red before he’s made contact with the ball that he meticulously balances at the perfect angle. Y/N has watched Harry perform a thousand kicks and yet nothing will ever quell the gut-churning anxiety she feels during these moments in a match. To witness the mass of eighty thousand people reduced to murmurs as Please respect the kicker appears on every screen in sight. To watch Harry, his routine—because every fly-half has one—the way he eyes up the ball, angles himself, blocks out the world around him to draw that invisible line from the ball to the posts… it's an honour and a damnation.

And Y/N is always nervous to watch him kick, but right now, her body feels as though it might start emanating electricity. Harry’s a near perfect shot. His success rate is one of the highest in the game—past and present—but… This angle is, for lack of a better word, fucked. He’s practically kissing the touchline, ball facing a direction you would not expect to be the correct one. But Harry prepares himself, positioned with the posts nearly behind him, ready to curve it just right.

Then he kicks it—he boots it as all kickers do. And it bends. It curves in the air, slicing through it like soft, melted butter. Y/N goes deathly still—time slows down—she’s only half-aware of the screens showing the clock tick over to red. The ball soars, heading straight for the posts, it glides like it has fucking wings—

And then it collides heavily against the left post and bounces back into play. Straight into French hands.

He’s missed. He’s—missed. Y/N’s exhale comes out as some sort of wet exasperation, hands flying to cover her cheek in pure disbelief. No. The stadium cries out so loudly she can hardly hear herself think. All she can see is Harry. The way he crouches down and pinches the bridge of his nose as France kicks the ball out of play and the referee blows the final whistle.

It’s over. All those weeks, all those games, all that fighting. Just to lose it on the last kick of the game. Y/N can’t believe her eyes.

“You’ve got this, Harry. You’ve got this. Don’t even worry. Y’the best England have seen since Farrell.”

She betrayed him by encouraging such a statement, she’s sure (despite the fact of it). Maybe it got to him; the pressure. The kind of pressure Y/N hoped would be helpful. The truth being that he is the best player they have right now. He’s breaking records, he’s setting new standards, he is the bright, shining new star. But maybe that’s too much to place on a person’s shoulders. Even on the breadth of Harry’s.

The pitch starts hurtling closer and it’s only then that Y/N processes the speed in which her legs are stampeding towards Harry. She can’t get at all as close as she yearns to be—reaching the edge of the box with an aching chest. Not with anger, not with disappointment. With sadness for her friend, for her best friend. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration, a night of euphoria and drunkenness and laughter.

All Y/N can see is Harry’s sullen face as his teammate hauls him up and slaps him heavily on the back—no gentility from the hardness of a rugby player. The teams shake hands and France take a victory lap around the pitch, celebrating with fans whilst the award podium is set up. All Y/N wants to do is get to Harry but England have to stand there and watch France lift the trophy. She glances at it now with disdain.

It’s always a struggle to find Harry after a match—sometimes he’s got press to do, sometimes he’s being ushered into the changing rooms, sometimes he strolls around the pitch with his team, taking photos with fans. Y/N always waits, always watches with stars in her eyes. Nothing ever quite matches the rapid beat of her heart when she gets to observe him in his element; after a win.

But today they’ve lost. And today, Harry doesn’t linger. He doesn’t even let himself get pulled aside for pitchside interviews—lucky that the captain is hounded first. Y/N can already see the headlines. Styles Sulks After Shattering Six Nations Defeat. His hands clapping for France but the line of his mouth hard and the sheen of his eyes glossed over. She knows the noise all fades into the background for him, his mind is elsewhere—body desperate to join.

Her own knows the feeling; too far away from him to relax as their magnetic forces pull towards one another. Keeping her feet planted firmly on the ground is a hard task, when the only focused object in her vision is the outline of Harry. And as soon as he makes that first step towards the tunnel, she’ll make sure to run through anyone who stands in her way.

Getting to Harry’s hotel room proves harder than it should be. Y/N had wasted her time looking for him anywhere else—of course he wouldn’t have wanted to go to an afterparty. To celebrate what? A crushing loss? France’s pilfering victory? Entering a room as Harry Styles might as well be the equivalent of shitting on a plate and offering it around like some kind of hors d'oeuvres. Charm is usually his specialty but it’s no surprise that he chose to hide himself away as soon as the opportunity arose—to take back what little control he has over today and deny prying eyes passing judgement where he can see them.

She thinks, for a moment, that he’s not going to answer the door and her sympathy nearly bubbles into misguided anger before she alters its path. She is so frantic to reach him that it feels like a waste of time to stand still for even a second. But the soft padding of socked feet against carpet sounds from behind the thick wood, and the click of a lock as the door gives way to reveal the image of a forlorn Harry.

He’s so tall, and so broad, and his personality is larger than life—but right now… Right now, Harry looks small. His shoulders weigh heavy and his posture slumps forward, and despite the fact of his towering height, Y/N doesn’t feel so dwarfed in his presence right now. Neither of them say anything; both waiting for the other to speak up first but neither does. Y/N just stands there… in the hallway, suspended in a moment, looking at Harry with sad eyes as his fingers linger on the door handle.

And then she throws her arms around his hulking shoulders and feels his chest deflate against her own expanding one, as she breathes, “I’m sorry, Harry.”

He doesn’t reply—what is there to say? Nothing positive or optimistic, only bashes to his performance, his ability as a player. Instead, he curls his arms around her back; an immediate solace to breathe in the wash of her scent, the soft of her hair as he buries his nose against her crown. His biceps squeeze around her, compressing the bones in her body with a heavenly kind of weight. Small in his arms but big enough to provide comfort. Always the biggest part of his heart, the place he goes to for relief.

Every exhale against her head bleeds warmly into her scalp, seeping down to her toes and regulating her heartbeat. Weightlessness is a common feeling in the presence of Harry, more often physically than not, as he pulls her off the tips of her toes and carries their embrace to the foot of the hotel bed. The door clicking shut serves as a reminder of the outside world; of time continuing to tick away despite the silence that blankets the room they’re in. Y/N removes her hands from Harry’s nape as he sits down, his own paws lingering on the plush of her hips. His eyes are sad, tired, embarrassed. Y/N doesn’t recognise him like this.

“Kev is gonna kill me,” Harry laughs with exasperation, a hand dragging itself down his face. It’s not often that he finds himself on coach’s bad side—he’s not sure he ever really has. He’s well disciplined, a little too cheeky sometimes, perhaps, but manages to ride the line with ease. He works hard, he trains hard, he respects the game and lives to improve with every new day. (Y/N once joked that Harry would struggle getting on the bad side of a wasp; could charm his way out of a potential sting without breaking a sweat.)

She breathes softly, fingertips carding through freshly washed hair; a shower the only thing he could force himself to do after the loss. “Kevin is not going to kill you. You’re his best player.”

It’s hard not to let his sigh turn into a moan with the way she handles him with such tenderness. There’s no fight, none at all, when he closes his eyes and lets her scratch his scalp. “Not supposed to sulk about it. Got t’get up and move on. Prepare for the next thing.”

A gentle tug at the back of his head, not painful, but stern. He looks up at her figure between his legs. “Harry, you can be upset, it’s okay.”

“Can’t be grumpy tomorrow.”

“Just for tonight then.”

It works. He huffs, “I fuckin’—” falling backwards and pulling Y/N’s body with him. She holds back her affronted squeal, palms landing on either side of his shoulders. “—ruined it for everyone.”

“No you did not.” It’s not fair to berate him but Y/N has never been one to allow self-deprecation. That was reserved for herself, and herself only. Her palm meets his chest lightly as she frowns, “You didn’t ruin anything, are you kidding? You kept that match alive.”

“And then I bottled it! Right at the bloody end.”

Her smile is sad; wishing for thaumaturgy to run through her veins—or the ability to turn back time. “And next time the posts won’t get in the way.”

“Hm. Not funny. Might not even be a next time. I’ll probably get dropped for this.”

“No, you won’t, don’t be silly. If everyone got dropped for a single mistake, you’d have no fucking players left.”

It falls silent for a while, their embrace a steady rising and falling of chests—like a dingy floating down a lazy river. Harry strokes up and down her back, as though she’s the one that needs reassurance. It feels nice all the same. The only thing Y/N can do is let her weight settle atop of his hefty body, trying to breathe as deeply as her lungs can manage in hopes that Harry’s heart will mirror. Of course, she’s kidding herself into believing she is any sort of definition of calm, but her mind hasn’t quite caught up yet. Maybe it’s the humidity that forces the catch of her breath as Harry shifts beneath her—maybe it’s the pollen count. Probably the pollen count.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, mindless hands fidgeting amongst her clothes. The layers she’d meticulously arranged to combat the brandishing winds have untucked themselves from the denim of her jeans. Harry’s fingers slip underneath and brush against the silken skin of her waist. He sighs, speaking once more before Y/N can hum her agreement, “You’re so soft.”

There are unspoken lines in relationships, right? Boundaries, expectations, societal normalities. Y/N has lost count over the years, how often herself and Harry have been mistaken for a couple. It alludes to something deeper than neither of the two have ever addressed. And the line… it’s never been crossed but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been toed upon. The waters aren’t as cold as they’ve been before. Y/N’s cheeks warm with the comfort of hiding in her best friend’s chest. The things he says always make her skin thrum with unbridled energy; there’s just something about the way he wields words that has her feeling special. But she hides it with great effort; yearns to maintain a cooler front, perhaps to match her counterpart and appear a worthy equal beside Harry’s coveted self. Being described as soft isn’t an inherently romantic thing—it’s simply a statement—but Harry hums it so freely, like her softness is the salve for all of his cuts and scrapes. The delicacy of a girl, his girl, it’s enough to plaster over the disappointment of his day, because bigger things matter more.

In moments like these, Y/N could reply with a myriad of things. She sure as hell hears a million and one of them pinging around her head. Maybe she’s cowardly, or maybe she’s sensible—she adopts a jibing approach, “It helps not to roll yourself around a muddy field every day.”

“Charming. We’re not pigs, you little shit.” She makes him laugh, a huffed exhale, but a humoured noise nonetheless. Her lips curl up into his neck and she pretends that he’s happy for just a moment.

When the lull of silence passes and Harry starts to shuffle beneath her, a sense of panic morphs to desperate distraction—not too dissimilar to the reaction of an overworked mother catching her toddler on the verge of bouncing its wails off the walls like some twisted sort of hyena mimicry—she waves a brightly coloured toy in front of his face, equipped with all kinds of bells and whistles.

His pecs indent with the pads of her fingers as she pushes herself up and plasters on an exaggerated grin that can only preface mischief, wiggling her eyebrows, “Want a massage?” ever the unalluring as her drawl tiptoes into the boundaries of offensively inaccurate Northern, “Hm? Free of charge.”

A blip of relief radiates through Y/N’s chest like the echo of a submarine when the corners of Harry’s mouth twitch upwards; in response to the sudden animation of her movements or the laxation that comes promised with her proposition, she’s not sure. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he hums, neck propped up lazily by the palm of his hand, “They’re all free of charge.”

She runs with this fragment of a game—practically bullies herself into a sprint as she nods, “You should be grateful I’m not charging you by the minute. I studied for years.”

She did study for years, and Harry’s never been more grateful for it—selfishly cashing in all the massages he can get. “And look—”

“Roll over—” she hoists her hips up to alleviate her weight, off of his body so he can do as she says and shuffle onto his front.

“—Where you’ve ended up.” It’s a self-deprecating thought, not one to banter or jibe, despite being disguised as such. Holed up in lacklustre Room 143, frittering time away with a subpar athlete. Harry’s lucky she’s here lest he dig himself into an even deeper hole.

“I know…” her sigh is light, completely oblivious to Harry’s thoughts only a mere skull’s width away, “so tragic.”

It’s quiet again after that, the vacant hotel air perforated with an occasional thick exhale from Harry’s pouting mouth as Y/N’s hands work through knots and kinks over the breadth of his back. He tries to fight sleep but she presses in harder, just shy of too hard, just enough to melt the taut into goo. When those breaths start coating themselves in gravel, the air catching on his larynx on its way out, and salaciously undiluted hums turn to feathery grunts—Y/N feels smug when she does that to a person—especially when it’s Harry.

Y/N doesn’t have to ask what he wants when she orders room service. Five years of friendship lends itself to the memorisation of eating habits. He’s tired after the massage, muscles heavy and bones squishy, when her efforts to scoot him towards the headboard proved impossibly strenuous. It’s caught up with him like a wave crashing to the shore—all-consuming; submerging. Harry drowns in it entirely, can barely keep his eyes open long enough to shovel his cheat dinner into his mouth. The TV ends up screening old reruns of Friends. Y/N can tell Harry’s clocked out—mind traversing the depths of his insecurities—and it tugs her lips downwards to know she can’t distract him. Not even acting along to their favourite scene makes the smile reach his eyes. She unfocuses her own just to pretend she’s seeing what he is—the blur of the television, colours melting together in kaleidoscope swirls. Ross’ forlorn Hi pulls her out of it.

She feels bad for projecting; for expecting or hoping him to be okay. Of course, he’s not going to be okay. Okay is waking up on a Monday morning with time to buy yourself a treat for lunch before heading into your dreary office job. Harry’s not even knocking on the door of Oh-Kay. But it’s a useless feeling—to be witnessing misery so candidly with nothing worthwhile to offer as a fix. Then she looks over at him, prompted by a thick rumble, and it all goes quiet inside her head for a moment. He’s asleep—plate resting precariously over his lap. The waves catch up to her too, brows smoothing out to mirror the peace of Harry’s expression, and she knows it's time for bed.

Everything seems so much louder when you’re trying to be quiet. Y/N experiences that tenfold in the en-suite bathroom. Her toothbrush vibrates too hard, the water splashes too violently, the cap of her cleanser is obnoxious when it clicks shut. Harry peeks an eye open when she settles atop the covers once again; rosy notes clinging to the full of her soft cheeks, glowing in the soft vibrance of the bedside lamp she’d leant over his chest to click on. There’s no guilt on his face that might suggest he’s been awake for a while, and the rumble of his voice solidifies Y/N’s panic of disrupting his sleep.

“Sorry,” she winces, adjusting her bare knees on top of the sheets. Harry’s sleepy eyes flit down to the hem of her shorts brushing against the plush of her thighs. Then he shrugs a shoulder and extends his arm, beckoning her forward with a curl of his fingers. “Come on. Need a cuddle.”

And Y/N falls into him easily—head tucked beneath his chin, open palm smoothing over his heart, just like that—as they both ignore the intimacy of their embrace.

Parisian sunlight doesn’t filter past Y/N’s eyelids when they twitch awake, fluttering open less than elegantly. The stitches of memories sew themselves back together piecemeal—too slowly to find it questionable—the caress of soft pads across the puff of her cheek. She thinks she grunts.

It’s the moon that shows her. The silhouette of wide shoulders and a sloping neck; the sheer curtain enveloped with gentle pockets of wind that slip through the open window, billowing inwards. It pools across the carpet; cool moonlight, casting an unearthly glow along the bicep that reaches out.

Harry’s thumb brushes the girl’s feathery lashes, ducking beneath her undereye to stroke the skin there. It’s such a gentle awakening that Y/N feels heavy—half awake and half still dreaming—still floating through the clouds of her imagination. Weights tug her eyes shut again.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” a quiet murmur, not quite a whisper, the edges grisly but well-intentioned.

“...What time ‘s it?” The pillow sinks in further, weighted with the nuzzle of a nose and an overt inhale. Seasalt and sandalwood, from a little blue bottle—travel size—bathing the cotton covers and tucking Y/N safely into cushions of secure muscle and warm skin.

“Not sure, go back t’sleep.”

Just enough of the day before creeps into the periphery of her consciousness, forcing the sleep away with an obvious disgruntled twitch. “Are you okay?”

Harry supplies a hum, noncommittal and faraway—too engrossed in the trail of his thumb against her cheek to provide much more. “What‘re you doing?” She whines, fighting the curl of her mouth with the principle of her pilfered slumber. Each nerve ending he passes over leaves bumps in his wake in an endearing betrayal.

“Don’t move,” he tuts when she wriggles her head some—ticklish. “I was thinking…” and if Y/N were less catatonic she’d quip something predictable to earn an answering pinch, “thinking that I’m really glad you’re here.” It’s a saving grace that her tongue lays heavy behind her lips. Harry’s timbre slicks itself over her, satiny like silk. Sincerity isn’t their forte most of the time. It makes her stiffen, anticipating what comes next.

“I really love you.”

The weight behind his words should be more startling—a stumble during an elegant figure skating routine—but it glides over the ice with ease, buttery and smooth. Y/N feels herself slipping under the cotton wool covers of unconsciousness with these words, a tiny smile evidence enough for Harry that she heard him, understood him. What might encourage a pregnant pause in the afternoon light, coaxes her back to sleep in the predawn.

It’s a sentiment untold, bearing new significance in the whisperings between sheets. His hotel room, now a honeymoon suite, perhaps—with promises of romantic views and crisp, white palettes bouncing light from wall to wall. Too much room for a newly wedded couple but grand in gesture and boundless in memory.

Only they’re not even lovers, let alone united in matrimony, and no newfound intimacy comes without question. But it’s two in the morning, or three, or four, and this all feels like some sort of beautiful dream—weightless—venturing beyond imagination. Maybe Y/N is dreaming, maybe she’s conquered the intricacies of lucid dreaming, maybe that’s why it isn’t scary to hear. Because it’s not entirely true.

But it’s hard to imagine, to fabricate the pressing of lips against the corner of her mouth and the soft plumes of air tickling her cheek. And it’s even harder when those same lips knit themselves over her hairline and a winding forearm pulls her in closer into a grounding embrace. She falls asleep again before her brain can whir up enough to provide conclusion.

Harry sounds different when Y/N wakes up. He feels different too. He’s solid as ever, solid yet yielding around her own softer form, but there are new ridges where she’s never known them to be and skin rocking forwards to kiss curves.

For a moment, it doesn’t register that this is… unusual. Y/N seems to process it twice.

Once with a sense of nonchalance.

Oh, Harry’s humping me in his sleep.

And once with an urgent kind of astonishment.

Oh. Harry is humping me in his sleep.

But that realisation doesn’t lend itself to her advantage. It doesn’t make her shoot upwards and scramble away before he realises. Because—sleepiness aside—it feels… it feels really good. His body is warm and his arms are tight around her waist; a security blanket made of bicep and sinewy forearm. But it’s wrong to enjoy him like this, without his permission, without his awareness.

“Harry. Harry, wake up, you’re—”

“Y/N…” her name falls from his lips like a feather; a confession soft spoken.

“Yes,” but he’s not awake. “Harry,” she digs her fingernails into his wrist, hoping the pinch will stir his slumber but he only ruts into her harder, a groan catching in his throat.

“Baby—” Y/N gasps with his moan, muscles tightening, seizing with panic. The bump in his sweats knocks over the rounds of her bum, sleep shorts thin and easily mussed. She can feel them riding up with each roll that Harry gives and the voice in the back of her head telling her to let him… it only gets louder.

He’s holding her so tight, entirely safe in his arms, so cardinal, so desired. It wouldn’t be so wrong of her to let him use her body like this. He deserves to feel good. She tells herself it’s not selfish, it’s not impolite of her to feel fulfilled too. There’s no control over what makes her body sing. But Harry seems to be pretty good at it, even in sleep.

His breath is in her ear; it blankets over the slope of her shoulder, warm and seducing. It feels right to have Harry’s lips tucked against her neck, like it was always supposed to be there. What if the side of her neck never feels warm again. It’s the shift of her hips backwards, mistakenly, that arouses him.

His body stills and the groans in his throat diminish as realisation dawns. But he’s not hurried, or stuttery in his movements. No, there’s no rush at all. A slight tumble over his words as he wakes up, “Oh sh—shit, m’sorry peaches,” and a stroke across the exposed skin of her stomach when he pulls back, “That’s my bad.” But that’s all he reveals, before untangling himself from the sheets.

Y/N coughs, splutters, over a response, unable to reply with anything that could be considered coherent. Her eyes are fighting to dart down when he stands. That’s my bad. His indifference, Y/N thinks, strikes a chord. But she doesn’t understand. Why her heart pounds harder and her legs squeeze tighter. Is she disappointed or is she disturbed? It’s too early to piece any of her feelings together. Her phone beams seven-forty when she taps the screen.

She rolls over onto her back, dragging her clammy palms over her face as Harry takes himself to the on-suite too casually. Her skin is all hot, roiling waves washing over her and strangling her thudding heart. The ghost of his body still presses against her, the hardness, the softness, all of it. The sounds he was making; new to her ears in all their time knowing one another. No amount of pretending could send her back to sleep now.

The bathroom fan whirs and Y/N can’t decide if she’s grateful or dismayed that she can’t make out any clear sounds.

When Harry emerges, the dusting of rouge across his cheeks makes Y/N’s stomach flutter, eyes darting around the room to look at anything else. He clears his throat and brushes the back of his index finger under his nose. Y/N might believe he was trying not to laugh if she weren’t so mortified.

And then he actually speaks. He speaks to her and she has to acknowledge him. “I’ve got to get the coach back this mornin’.”

She swallows, “Yeah, mhm, okay.”

“Alright,” A keycard appears between his fingers, and then he places it on the console table, “y’can return this to the front desk f’me?” Y/N nods silently. She doesn’t watch Harry as he gets dressed, or as he shoves things into his bag. She doesn’t even sit up, mouth seemingly stuck open in a gape. “Okay, bye, see you later, stinky.”

“See you—” but the door has already clicked shut, “—later.”

#harry styles #rugby!harry #harry styles smut #harry styles one shots #harry styles fanfiction #writing #harry styles fluff #fanfiction #rugbyrry #friends to lovers

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daydreamerdrew · 1 year

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The Avengers (1963) #1.5 (published September 1999)

#throughout this issue I think that Tony is the only one that wasn’t ever mean to the Hulk #like Janet Thor and Hank all have moments where they insulted him and/or were frustrated with him #but Tony takes it even further by saying ‘thanks for taking the point Hulk’#referring to how the Hulk wouldn’t listen to the others and was impatient and just acted which made the others have to follow suit #actually that happens earlier in the issue to when they first get to Doom’s ship and the Hulk rushes in before everyone else #and Thor is bothered but Tony defends him and says that the Hulk might have the right idea #cause they might have better luck finding Doom if they split up #not to suggest that Tony is like always great with the Hulk and the rest of the Avengers alienated him #there’s a great issue with Hank after the Hulk leaves the team where Hank tries to find him on his own to try to help him #also I can’t forget when the Hulk had that trial in I think the early 70s #and Tony basically argued that it was wrong to give the Hulk the death penalty cause that would mean killing Bruce Banner #like no defending the Hulk himself at all #anyway it’s been a bit since I read these early Avengers issues and I don’t remember all the dynamics entirely #from the Hulk’s brief stint on the team #so this little discussion about Tony and the Hulk is just about how it was portrayed in this issue #marvel #tony stark #bruce banner #my posts #comic panels

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scientia-rex · 2 months

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I feel like disappointment in Biden is baffling to me because he was always a disappointment. He was the asshole who got to ride to power on the coattails of a better man. He told bizarre and repeated lies (despite getting caught at it and his team telling him not to) about having a Welsh coal miner dad when he did not and he stole that story from actual Welsh people. I read a profile of him years back that pointed this out and told the story of the time he straight up ignored good advice from an expert not to plant a certain kind of tree too close together and flew a bunch of them out to plant, at night because he was just too fucking excited about it, and they all died. He’s not a smart man! He’s charismatic ish and lacks principles and as far as I can tell doesn’t really care about abortion rights or a lot of things we’d consider pretty critical to preserving freedom. I sincerely thought he couldn’t become President because there were so many obviously better candidates in the pool. I underestimated the sexism and antisemitism in American politics, and when he became the candidate in 2020 I gritted my teeth and voted for him because the alternative was a man who is not only an idiot but also profoundly dangerous. Trump is not ha-ha crazy, he’s Mussolini crazy. He is not dangerous because he’s stupid, although that doesn’t help; he’s dangerous because he does not care about anyone except himself under any circumstances and if that means he lets the far right push us straight into forced birth for white women and sterilization for women of color he’s going to do that. If that means conversion therapy for queers and death penalty for homosexual acts he’s going to do that. He has literally no limits. If he gets back into power, a whole lot of people are going to die, again. It’s not a hypothetical because it happened the first time and he’s only going to get worse.

I am not, never have been, and never will be a fan of Biden. To pretend that he and Trump are in any way equivalent is wrong at best and another goddamn Russian psy-op at worst. To pretend that a third party candidacy is viable in the US is to completely ignore every election of your lifetime and your parents’ lifetimes, and to further ignore the lesson of Ross Perot.

You cannot save Palestinians by not voting for Biden in November; the best you can do is chip away at his margin, and the worst you can do is see Trump elected so he can decide to do the worst possible thing in ever circumstance. Biden has Palestinian blood on his hands and watching this when we could have had Bernie or Elizabeth Warren instead is maddening. (I would have preferred Hillary to Trump, but I don’t think she’d be any different than Biden here. They’re both old-school politicians.)

I hate everything about this, and I hate that saying “maybe don’t put the man who literally said he would kill his political enemies in power” is seen as supporting genocide. It’s acknowledging reality. Joe Biden as a person can eat rocks for all I care. I was kind of hoping he’d die sooner in his term so we’d have time to get used to and then vote for President Harris. (Remember when the line was “she’s a cop, don’t vote for her”? Funny how there’s always a reason not to vote for a woman or a person of color or someone you just “don’t like” and can’t put a finger on why except she “seems angry.” Oh does she. How would she not? When Michelle fucking Obama, the picture of grace , STILL got called angry for having the nerve to be a Black woman with an opinion? When Hillary Clinton lost to a man with no political experience to her decades and who openly discussed sexually assaulting women? Would you have voted for President Harris? Or would you let Trump win again because you don’t LIKE her personally and she’s made decisions and statements you disagree with?)

Biden has both less power than his critics give him credit for and more power than his fans give him credit for. He needs to do more to pressure Israel and although it’s a delicate diplomatic situation I’d rather see us fuck up our diplomatic relationship with Israel than watch more Palestinians get murdered for things like “wanting to eat” and “existing.” The line has been crossed, and he doesn’t see it. Because he wasn’t the best person for the job. Because they didn’t get elected, because of sexism/antisemitism/racism. Hell, I have no idea what bootlicker Pete Buttegieg would have done here, but I’d have given him a try. But no. We got Biden and we’re stuck with this reality where you can be as leftist as you want and still have to look at the situation and decide whether you’re comfortable contributing to a Trump victory through inaction. I want socialism—I want every single person on Earth to have clean drinking water, enough safe food, shelter, medical care, and education—and I’m going to vote for Biden, pissy as it makes me, because the only actual alternative is so, so much worse, for me personally as both a woman and a queer, and for everyone in America and the rest of the world who Trump would find reasons to hurt. What do you think the man who openly and repeatedly praises dictators is going to do when those dictators massacre their own people? Yes, we need to care about this genocide now. We also need to care about all of the other people who are at real risk, both at home and abroad. Would a Trump government agree to fund military intervention in Haiti without insisting on it being a colonial exercise in power? Would a Trump government roll back the restrictions on discriminating against transgender patients in healthcare? How would Trump respond if Orban started dragging people into the streets and shooting them en masse? How would Trump respond if China finally went for it and invaded Taiwan? There are more lives at stake here than mine or yours or even those of the Palestinians, who have deserved better for literally decades and are being mass killed in ways that should result in immediate sanctions, a war crimes trial, and the execution of Netanyahu.

The world deserves better from you than complicity in a Trump victory.

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lewisvinga · 4 months

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forza madrid | carlos sainz x fem! bellingham! reader

summary;, when posting about being a ferrari fan gets y/n bellingham invited to a grand prix where she meets carlos who is shocked by her last name.

fc; tyla

warnings; cursing

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

notes; requested ! omg i love this sm, real madrid and f1 , ahhhhh, esp carlos and judeeee! and i decided to do a race instead bc of the spanish gp n stuff yk

masterlist !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; what i do while getting ready before someone’s… match, forza ferrari ! scuderiaferrari] [caption 2; i know you scored a golazo but put a damn shirt on judebellingham…..]

judebellingham replied to your story !

judebellingham but if i was one of your ferrari boys, you wouldn’t be complaining 🙄🙄🙄🙄

ynbellingham shut the fuck up you will never be carlos sainz.

judebellingham WOMP WOMP i’ll meet him before u #madridprivilege 🤪

ynbellingham yeah OKAY SURE we’ll see

liked by judebellingham, carlossainz55, and others !

ynbellingham: tysm scuderiaferrari for giving me the opportunity to go to the spanish grand prix! 🫶 it’s a dream come true to see a race in person and meet the amazing ferrari drivers 🥹 forza ferrari❤️

tagged; scuderiaferrari, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc

scuderiaferrari: we loved having the coolest bellingham in our garage !

ynbellingham: YOU HEAR THAT judebellingham jobebellingham ?

jobebellingham: u have admin at gun point stfu

scuderiaferrari: we ❤️ y/n too much sorry😅

judebellingham: so that’s why you didn’t come to your dear little brothers match this sunday 😒😒

ynbellingham: u scored womp womp, ferrari is cooler

judebellingham: wow…. WOWW… ok i see how it is

camavinga: that’s how it always is with you two🙄

username: the bellinghams are all fine asf what the fuck

username: Y/NNNN😍😍

username: omg carlos and charles 😣

vinijr: wow you didn’t take me🙄

ynbellingham: u had goals to score, vinicius.

username: the way she automatically got close w the squad bc of jude and how pretty she is is so funny

charles_leclerc: it was fun to have you visit ! liked by ynbellingham !

carlossainz55: wait, you’re a bellingham? like jude bellingham’s sister??? and no one told me?

ynbellingham: yes unfortunately i’m related to the tap in merchant

judebellingham: FUCK OFF how’d u meet an f1 driver before me

carlossainz55: ferrari admin said she’s the coolest 🥸

judebellingham: carlos sainz….. as a madridista ur supposed to like me more

ynbellingham: go away, pude pellingham

judebellingham: it was one penalty..

username: let carlos shoot his shot w her damn jude liked by carlossainz55 and ynbellingham !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; ❤️] [caption 2; red at the beach bc ferrari double podium today 😁]

carlossainz55 replied to your story !

carlossainz55 liking spain ?

ynbellingham is the carlos sainz of ferrari liking and replying to my stories ???🤭🤭🤭 give me a second to fangirl

ynbellingham but yes lol, i’ve been staying w my brother and it’s amazing, i prefer madrid though, i’😁

carlossainz55 madrid’s the best part of spain

ynbellingham says the madrid native

carlossainz55 and why do you prefer madrid ?

ynbellingham touché

ynbellingham my brother plays for real madrid and he’s bugging me to tell u he says hi🙄

carlossainz55 tell him i said hi and thank you for saving us 😁 he’s been amazing it’s crazy! the amount of times he has saved me from going crazy with his goals😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

ynbellingham literally how is my brother saving my sanity when he’s been making me lose it since the day he was born 😀😀

carlossainz55 quick question, have you been to best parts of madrid ?🤨

ynbellingham i go wherever jude goes who goes wherever cama, tchou, rodry, and vini go 😄

carlossainz55 noooo as a madrid native, i know the absolute best parts😌😌

carlossainz55 i’m going to madrid tonight for a few days

ynbellingham and you want to see me🧐

carlossainz55 can you blame me? you are the best bellingham

ynbellingham why thank u carlos

ynbellingham luckily for you, i’m free all week

carlossainz55 q bueno [excellent]

carlossainz55 i’ll see you again soon 😉 liked by ynbellingham !

ynbellingham uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; mornings in madrid ☀️] [caption 2; when bellingol buys u a dress to impress a man 🤎 thank u stupid judebellingham] [caption 3; ‘i’ll show you the best of madrid’…. makes us pasta… 😀😀 ( there were no open spots at the restaurant we were going to)]

judebellingham replied to your story !

judebellingham gross get a room

judebellingham i take it back, DONT GET A ROOM

ynbellingham ur a cock blocker btw

judebellingham Y/N????

carlossainz55 replied to your story !

story one

carlossainz55 hermosa 😍 [beautiful] liked by ynbellingham !

story two

carlossainz55 he has good taste 😉 liked by ynbellingham !

story three

carlossainz55 you liked my pasta !

ynbellingham it was delicious but i was looking forward to getting the best paella 😞

carlossainz55 are you busy tonight ?

ynbellingham are you asking me out 🧐

carlossainz55 you up for date 2 ?😁

ynbellingham give me the time and place 😌

carlossainz55 oh no, i’m picking you up, hermosa. at 5, i’ll make reservations

carlossainz55 you’ll get that paella , trust me liked by yourusername !

carlossainz55 uploaded to his story !

[caption 1; gracias judebellingham !🤍] [caption 2; ferrari red ❤️] [caption 3; the best paella in madrid!]

liked by carlossainz55, judebellingham, and others !

ynbellingham: my month so far; post ucl game win club fit , ferrari garage , taste testing his own lobster carbonara, wearing the dress my stupid brother got me, my stupid brother w my other stupid brother, carlos after i jokingly told him i was gonna turn into a culer

tagged; carlossainz55, judebellingham, jobebellingham

carlossainz55: hermosa😍

yourusername: and you’re guapo 🤭 [handsome]

carlossainz55: it was a pretty good carbonara though

ynbellingham: it was truly amazing

username: OMG??

username: carlos and y/n???

username: carlos already down bad for y/n iktr

username: her body teaaaa😩

username: she got a white man on her rosterrrr

username: AND he feeds her pasta & lobster 😫😫

judebellingham: u jokingly said what now…

carlossainz55: my exact reaction !

ynbellingham: u both are such drama queens I WAS JOKING

carlossainz55: amor, we never joke about liking the rivals.

vinijr: WOW y/n WOWW

camavinga: no me?

ynbellingham: next photo dump promise edu😢

jobebellingham: i don’t live in madrid and don’t see u often so that means jude is automatically the stupid one

ynbellingham: so true bestie so true

judebellingham: reminder that i buy you things all the time. BOTH OF YOU😒

username: bellingham’s and the sainz??? what in the multiverse

username: when i forza ferrari and hala madrid too hard they become forza madrid liked by ynbellingham and carlossainz55!

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 scenario #formula one scenarios #f1 imagine #formula one imagines #formula one imagine #f1 scenarios #formula one social media au #carlos sainz smau #carlos sainz social media au #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x reader #jude bellingham x reader

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mutfruit-salad · 2 months

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Long post ahead. My full thoughts on the fallout series. TW for references to Sexual Assault, racism, antisemitism. It's not particularly in depth here- but I do reference specific acts of violence done in the show.

I've had people insinuate I'm only mad because I'm a New Vegas fan, because I think they retconned the lore. I'm not upset at the fallout show for its dubious lore additions and reworks. I think they're quite bad in places, but they're by far the least of the show's problems.

This isn't a case of a New Vegas fan mad they messed with my game in a way I didn't like.

Please refer to literally any of my posts pointing out the racism and antisemitism in the show. They brand a black man in episode 1. They named the enclave scientist after a real life holocaust survivor and then spent most of the show lobbing around his decapitated head like a volleyball.

But I'd like to consider other elements of the show. View it as a whole.

Consider the inherent misogyny of having a female main character whose entire character arc is just her getting abused for 8 episodes. How the trajectory of her character revolves around not giving up on the humanity of the man who waterboarded her and sold her to organ harvesters. A female main character who is raped in the first episode and watches her entire community get brutalized and who comes out of it completely unphased- still as plucky as ever- just worried about her dad.

Consider the horror of having a black woman be the one to drop the bombs. Consider the horror of her leading a council of elites who have infiltrated and taken over the US government. Consider the ways this group is presented and shown, the ways every fault of the US government in the series is offloaded onto a shadowy group of elites.

Consider how the capitalist critique of the show only goes so far as saying there's a secret organization of bad people who must be purged. The antisemitism and conspiratorial nonsense inherent to that premise.

Consider the rampant classism with the show's depiction of Wastelanders as either animalistic monsters or too stupid to live.

Consider the ways the show punishes nearly every act of kindness- the ways the world rewards might-makes-right authoritarians.

Consider the way the NCR collapsed offscreen because a disgruntled husband was mad his wife left him, and how after it collapsed the army immediately became raiders and the survivors became blood drinking cultists. Don't give me "it's just shady sands that collapsed" because the NCR was a developed nation. If one of their cities blew up, they would send aid. They would assist.

Consider the way the show constantly uses sex crimes as comedy and horror- the incest jokes and the "chicken fucker" bit, and the Vault 4 monster impregnation and the main character's rape in the first episode.

Consider the ableism of the treatment of ghouls, how every ghoul is now a ticking time bomb, how Lucy helps free a small dementia-riddled old ghoul woman from a medical torture facility and then is immediately punished with the woman trying to inexplicably murder her. Thaddeus openly talks about ghoul exterminationism and it's never a joke or a bit- he just says it and nobody reacts or says anything.

Consider the way the Vault 33 town councillors use real world progressive talking points about restorative justice and prison abolition and multiculturalism- meanwhile Norm advocates for the death penalty and a closed society. How Norm is shown as good and righteous and the vault dwellers range from deluded to damningly stupid- how the mere concept of restorative justice is made a farce because the NCR raiders are screaming about eating organs and murdering people 24/7.

Consider the way they removed the Boneyard, and the Followers of the Apocalypse by extension. In New Vegas we heard about the Followers operating a university in LA. It's gone now. Not destroyed by bombs- but written out of existence because the Boneyard never existed, and Shady Sands is in its place. Consider what that says about this world- that the group most dedicated to peace and rebuilding has been surgically excised from the narrative- destroyed more wholly than even the NCR- written out of existence entirely.

This is the single most reactionary fallout story that has been produced. By a fucking country mile.

Whatever lore critiques there are should be secondary. The storytelling is reactionary in ways I straight up have not seen from other Bethesda entries in the series. It is cruel to a fault, and depicts a world that is incapable of healing or growing- where the best you can do is hold onto that small spark of goodness while every bit of the society around you tries to murder it out of you. This isn't a story about rebuilding, or about postwar politics, or about society- it's about dueling warlords and might makes right attitudes and grimdark views of the nature of humanity. It's fallout in aesthetics alone- and it's perhaps the most hateful thing I've seen come out of this series outside of the actual neonazis in the fanbase.

Whatever hope there is in Moldaver's final moments looking out over the glittering ruins of LA is undercut by the knowledge of what came before. What was destroyed. And it's undercut by the Brotherhood's totalitarian control. It's not hopeful, it's the bare minimum of survival. It's all the progress of the postwar world, 200 years of humanity and history, reduced to just barely getting the lights back on.

In the intro to fallout 1, "War Never Changes" is used as thematic glue. It ties together two concepts- past wars- and present capitalism and militarism.

Ron Perlman describes the Roman Empire, the Spanish conquests of the Americas, and the Nazi regime- and then he says "war never changes" and uses it to connect those past atrocities to the modern world of the setting- to the war that ended everything. The phrase existed to link the resource wars and their ensuing fallout to all the crimes of empire prior. War never changes wasn't a hard and fast rule of human nature- it was a specific condemnation of America.

Lonesome Road even ends with the phrase refuted. War Never Changes. But men do, through the roads they walk. There is hope. That's what this series has always been about. The Master died at the end of fallout 1 and said "leave while you still have hope."

In this show, the black woman Vault Tec exec who ends the world says the phrase. It's stripped of all meaning. Just a generic throwback because it's a famous phrase in the series' history. It's not a condemnation of America, it's a celebratory thing. Vault Tec toasting to the end of the world.

What a thing to see this series become. What a thing to see celebrated.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout show #this has gotten more feedback then I was expecting #and i'm glad this is resonating with some folks #turned off reblogs cuz i cant actually deal with the response this has been getting at this point 👍

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starkwlkr · 1 month

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she’s the boss | sebastian vettel

ferrari team principal!reader

an: for fanfic purposes, sebastian won a championship with ferrari let me be delusional sorry lewis

2015

A new season of formula 1 had started and with it came the arrival of Sebastian to Ferrari. While Sebastian was dominating the track with Red Bull, you stayed with the red team and in 2014, you were declared the new team principal. Of course the news made headlines. A woman as team principal for one of the top teams in formula 1? Would Enzo Ferrari approve of this?

But you were determined to prove you belong with the team. That was something Sebastian admired about you.

Race after race, Kimi and Sebastian finished in the points. It was clear that the season was Ferrari’s season. After each race, you always made sure to watch Kimi and Sebastian on the podium. Each podium, Sebastian made sure to wink at you. Sometimes he would even mouth a few loving words towards you.

After Sebastian’s victory in Singapore, the German had asked you to meet him for a celebratory dinner. Thinking he had asked Kimi and others from the team, you didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t until he knocked on your hotel door that you finally figured it out.

“So is this a date?” You asked.

“Only if you want it to be.” Sebastian replied.

“You are such a flirt, Sebastian Vettel.” You playfully rolled your eyes.

“I’ve been told that, but it sounds so much better coming from you.”

Soon, you and Sebastian were on your way to a restaurant that he thought you would love. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was perfect for you two.

Sebastian, being the gentleman he is, made sure you felt comfortable at all times. Instead of talking about work, he wanted to get to know you better. He learned that you always loved the color red, about your siblings and that when you were younger you had a massive crush on Patrick Swayze. When your food came to the table, Sebastian took the opportunity to ask something he’s been dying to know.

“Do you think we can go on another date soon?” Sebastian asked.

“I want to, but what if the FIA thinks what we’re doing is inappropriate?”

You enjoyed being around Sebastian. Not only was he a great driver, but he was an even greater person. He always made you laugh and comforted you when you needed it. It was hard not to fall in love with Sebastian Vettel.

“Sebastian, I don’t want either of us to get fired.” You told him.

“I guess we’ll have to sneak around. God, you make me feel like a teenager again.”

So that’s what you did. Before every race, you would sneak into his driver’s room and give him a good luck kiss. He insisted on getting one from you every race, you didn’t kind of course.

It was the last race of the 2015 season and Sebastian was fighting Lewis for the championship. You were nervous, but confident that Sebastian would bring home the title. It felt like a dream come true seeing Sebastian come in first while Lewis came in third.

“Sebastian Vettel, you’re the world champion! You did it, Seb!” Sebastian heard you on the radio.

“This one’s for you!” His message warmed your heart. If only you could truly celebrate as a couple without hiding.

At the podium, Sebastian was all smiles. Who wouldn’t? He had just one his first championship with Ferrari. It was a dream come true. While you stayed with the team, Sebastian celebrated on the podium with Kimi and Lewis.

“Y/n, you’ve been called to the stewards.” Sebastian’s race engineer, Riccardo, told you. “Have we been given a penalty just now? Do you know something?”

“No . . . If Sebastian asks, tell him I’ll see him later. We have no penalty, I’m sure of that. This is probably not serious.” You tried to play it off, but he wasn’t buying it.

“Okay, if you say so.” Riccardo gave you a hug before you left.

As you walk to the stewards, people around you called your name followed by congratulations or a hug. At the moment, you didn’t even feel like celebrating. All you felt was the nerves going through your body.

Finally, you made it to the stewards office ready to face what was coming. Would you be fired for being in a relationship with one of your drivers? You hoped not.

You entered the office and saw the FIA president, Jean Todt, looking over race footage. When he noticed you, he smiled. You weren’t told he would be attending the race.

“Y/n, congratulations to you and Ferrari. You have done a great job. I hope I didn’t interrupt any celebrations yet.” Jean told you.

“No, Sebastian was still celebrating on the podium when i was called here.” You tried your best to look fine, but deep down you were scared.

“Speaking of Sebastian, he’s a great driver, isn’t he?” Oh no, here it comes.

“Yes, Ferrari is honored to have him and Kimi as well. They’re both incredible drivers”

“But what do you think about Sebastian?”

Suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Jean, you know I respect you and Ferrari and Formula one so much. I don’t want to lose my job. I love this team to death. I understand what I did was inappropriate and it will never happen again, I swear by it. But if I’m no longer the team principal, I understand.” You blurted out.

All Jean did was chuckle. What?

“You think you’re fired? Y/n, Ferrari just won another championship and you think I’m going to fire you? The team would be crazy to let you go.” Jean spoke.

“Can I ask why I’m here then? Did Sebastian get a penalty?” You gasped. It would absolutely crush you if Sebastian got a penalty and he got his championship taken away.

“No, no! You’re here because I wanted to congratulate you and Sebastian on your engagement.”

What?

“I’m sorry?” You stood there more confused than ever.

“Marriage is a beautiful thing. I’m not yet married, but i know it is. I’m sure you and Sebastian will be very happy with each other.” Jean said. “I don’t want to hold you here for much longer. I don’t want Sebastian thinking you were kidnapped. Congratulations.” Jean gave you a hug.

Again, you were so confused. Did he know something? As you left the office, you saw Sebastian waiting outside with a concerned look on his face.

“What happened? Hey, talk to me.” Sebastian grabbed your hand. He was surprised you didn’t pinch or gave him a look for grabbing your hand in public.

“Did you say something to Jean about me?” You ask him.

“Like what? You know I always talk about you.” Sebastian replied. It was true. He took any opportunity to talk about you.

“Well he congratulated us on our engagement, which I didn’t know about. When were you going to tell me we were engaged?”

Oh shit, thought Sebastian.

“I might’ve told Jean that I loved you so much that I would marry you as soon as possible. To be fair, i was drunk! But that doesn’t mean it’s a lie!”

All you could do was laugh. At least he wasn’t the type of drunk to cause problems. You found it cute that he said that when he was drunk actually.

“You’re unbelievable, Seb.” You smiled at him.

“So you think we should do that? Get married?” He placed a kiss on your hand.

“When the time comes around. Come on, champ, let’s celebrate.” You finally kissed him not caring that others were around you. You were done hiding.

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 #sebastian vettel fluff #sebastian vettel x reader #sv5 fanfic #sv5 #sebastian vettel one shot #sebastian vettel fanfiction #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fanfic

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skitskatdacat63 · 8 months

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I don't know how to feel about the track limits thing :/ On one hand, I'm like yes they should know how to stay within the lines and they should be penalized for blatantly violating them, but on the other, it's really unfortunate to just have your result completely wiped away, and oftentimes, after the fact, so there's literally nothing they can do about it. It just feels very unfair and cruel sometimes :/

#sometimes i like it bcs it benefits my driver 😭😭😭#but even then it feels unfair #like i understand theyre going off thr track but sometimes its not even giving them an advantage???#i mean think about how yesterday both mcl boys had their p3s ripped away after the fact #oscar being told during his interview was so incredibly cruel #id be happier with the track limits thing if it didnt always happen after everything was already said and done #and i just saw for fernando in this shootout he got p5!! and then boom nope now hes dnf and p9 #like how is that fair??? that you dont even know and cant safeguard against that #maybe give a warning or something???#i can't remember which racs but it wasnt one with strict limits like this one #but max kept going off and they warned him how many times he could keep doing it before penalty #it reminds me of jeddah 23. how fernando literally got thru the entire podium and then they penalized him #completely unfair!!!#and like of course austria 23 was just insane #i still havent really gotten the full scope of that bcs i was literally there and couldnt see the track limits #but i remember getting home and then seeing how many people had been demoted after the fact #though that one was kinda funny bcs aston decided to commit terrorism on all the other teams for a few points #ugh yeah idk it kinda just ruins the race a bit for me? it all feels very petty i guess #not completely ruins i just mean it sucks to keep doing this bcs theres no joy in it #catie.rambling.txt #f1 #formula 1 #2023 qatar gp

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tetheredbysin · 3 months

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people always ask me why kmag is my favorite driver and for years I've been telling them because he is the ONLY driver who will never give up a race and today was a perfect example. he took 20sec in penalties (which he fully admitted to) and at NO point was he like "well that's my race done". He got told to defend and he *defended*. he fought for his teammate's one point like it was his own WDC title. he kept people behind him so long that they got lapped and scored a P12 with those penalties. he is my champion.

#formula 1 #kevin magnussen #haas f1 team #f1

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honeipie · 1 month

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HOCKEY BOYS

part 1; katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

synopsis: you catch the eye of japan’s best defenseman

authors note: hockey really isn’t big in japan, but it’s big in my heart so anyways-

part two

katsuki bakugo, the falcon, or at least that’s the name that’s been created for him.

he was known for two things. his love of fighting, and his speed. it could be a split second that someone does or says something to piss him off. next thing they know, they’re on the ground giving the ever living shit beat out of them.

the penalty box was this man’s second home. so it wasn’t surprising that’s where the tickets were most freaking expensive. as soon as he hopped in there fans would scream and cry his name, vying for his attention. he never turned around for them though.

he never batted an eyelash at anyone the wrong way if it wasn’t on the rink. the only people he needed to worry about was his teammates, and if the game was over, he’d focus on himself.

so it came as a surprise to everyone when he started going back and forth with one of the sports reporters at one of the press conferences after a game.

“mr. bakugo i was simply asking a question-“

“well i don’t like your question so ask another one”

your eyes squinted slightly as his behavior. you expected him to be stubborn, but this had to be a new level of it “i don’t understand why my first question wasn’t enough for you?”

“because it’s boring. if you really want me to engage find something better than that. you look like you’re good at your job, so be good at your job”

katsuki wasn’t the kind of guy to date or have flings, but he would still find women attractive, and damn did he find you attractive. makeup all perfectly done and not a hair out of place. not to mention the white pantsuit you had on. it made you stand out among the rest, but the question you asked made you blend right back in. he knew there was more to you then the stupid introductory shit. katsuki knew you had some fire in you, and he was just here to fan the flames.

murmurs started to ripple throughout the room like water. his crimson eyes stayed glued onto yours with every word spoken. you could see through his persona. the quirk up of his lips, the casual lean back from the mic. he wanted you to back down, and not even that. he expected you to.

clearing your throat you nodded “you’re right mr. bakugo, i apologize. i should’ve just been straight up about my original intentions”

“spit it out-“

“since you have joined the team the only thing that i can think of when i think of you is fighting. that’s it. no special moves, no improvement of your work, just fighting. now everybody knows that you’re fast, but you don’t apply your abilities to the right things, now why is that mr. bakugo?”

his face completely changed into something more still. other reporters from the pit started slowly agreeing with you and pointed their cameras back up to him for a response. even from your seat you could see pink creep up from his neck up to the tips of his ears. he was pissed.

and before he could open his big mouth to tarnish his reputation, his manager came into view.

“i think that’s enough questions for now. thank you for attending everyone” with a quick bow, they made their way of the platform. reporters attempted to get up to swarm katsuki with more questions, but the bodyguards stepped in the way of their path. you didn’t bother following the crowd as you packed up your things to leave. you had already had your fill of the man for the next three lifetimes.

if only you knew.

you sat right across from your boss hands held together on your lap. he had called you in here for an impromptu meeting a week after the press conference, and you couldn’t put a finger on it as to why.

he leaned back in his chair gazing at his computer monitor for what felt like forever. right when you were about to open your mouth he sat back up again turning the monitor towards you.

“what is this?” he asked as you analyzed the screen. it was a paused frame of you at the press conference, and you could tell the exact moment as well with katsuki’s facial expression directly in the frame. unnerve filled in your stomach, but you decided it was best if you kept your composure. after taking a deep breath you looked back at him.

“that’s me at the conference. i was asking mr. bakugo a question”

he nodded his head in understanding turning the monitor back in his direction “a question. a question that made his damn manager have to stop the whole press conference just to make sure this man didn’t ruin his career”

the feeling spread from your stomach down through your legs making them bounce at a mile a minute “i know it might look bad-“

“look bad? kid, this is amazing”

the shaking in your leg came to a halt when you heard his praise.

“i- thank you sir”

he took his phone off of the desk swiftly unlocking it “you were able to get under his skin. something i haven’t seen from someone who isn’t off the ice. people are going crazy over this interaction so we’re gonna milk it for all it worth, you got that?”

a soft ping came from your phone and you went to check it.

“that’s the bar that they usually go to after some games. you need a pass to get in and i just sent you yours”

your eyebrows scrunched together looking at it “isn’t it risky to go to a bar during the season? isn’t paparazzi all over that kind of stuff?”

he shrugged going to place his phone back onto the desk “once you see it you’ll understand. the address is right under your pass. go there tonight and try and see if you can get any sort of in with the team. they don’t usually allow locker room interviews so if we strike now this could be a goldmine”

with a sigh, you looked back up at your boss “i’m not sure about this. using my own personal time to go be a double agent. i mean it’s-“

another ping rang from your phone, this time from your bank app. you had noticed a generous amount of money had been added along with the words ‘bonus’ next to them.

“that’s what happens when you impress me”

suddenly, you felt a smile creep up to your face.

“i’ll try and get there tonight sir”

you knew what time their latest game would be ending and decided to head to the bar a little after then. the address that your boss had given you led you to what looked like some sketchy dealing ground. after scoping out the area (and saying a quick prayer) you made your way down the stairs. a man you hadn’t seen before stepped out from next to the door.

“what’re you here for?” he asked, his voice monotone. blinking away the confusion you pulled out your phone silently showing him the pass. he gave it a nice once over before opening the door for you “have fun ma’am”

stepping inside, you noticed how the outside had been very misleading. it didn’t smell like a usual bar. no alcohol intensely filling your senses to the point where you felt drunk from merely standing there. it smelt like a nice cedar wood cologne had been sprayed through the air. that or it was coming from the multiple men scattered around the club who looked like they could buy at least one yacht.

it didn't seem to look like a bar either, at least not the ones you remember from your college days. the bar was illuminated by a golden hue from lamps distending from the ceiling. you walked up to the bar placing one of your hands on the stools. they were pure leather. and the sigh you almost let out when you sat on one of them was embarrassing.

"when i get that raise these are the first things i'm buying" you mumbled to yourself before getting back on track. as subtly as you could you looked around trying to find the team of interest. though what you didn't know is that they already had their eyes set on you.

eijiro and izuku had been whispering back and forth to each other for a good minute. the rest of the team were too deep into their own conversations to notice, but katsuki did. he tried to lean over a bit to hear what they were saying, but they both knew him better than that. they quickly stopped talking and peered over at him.

"hey kacchan, could you get us a drink from the bar?"

"do your feet not work?"

"they do. i'm just actually having a conversation and you don't look like you're too busy"

he huffed in annoyance rising to his feet. without a look back he headed over to the bar.

"two shirley temples!-"

"you'll get what you get!"

eijiro and izuku watched as he walked almost right next to you were sitting.

"how much you wanna bet they fight?"

"oh they're gonna fight. i wanna see if they fu-"

"what the hell are you doing here?"

you had heard his voice before you saw him, but when you did see him, he had situated himself next to you. his hair was still a bit messed up. most likely from having his helmet on at the game. it didn't look bad on him though. in fact, it fit right in with his casual attire. he had on jeans, and a plain black hoodie. something that would be rather casual for a place like this, but you had to remember that this was a casual place for someone like him.

"you might not know anything about this, but i was invited. the thing that happens when you're nice to people and they actually want you to be there?"

"i know what a fuckin' invitation is. you think i'm that damn dense?" he scoffed at your words shaking his head "what i really wanna know is who would want you around for more than five minutes?"

you turned your body to now face him. he was close enough that you could catch a whiff of his cologne. it was sharper than what the majority of the bar, like a spice blend. it filled your senses but didn't let it distract you from the conversation.

"excuse me? i have lots of people who enjoy my company. plus from your reputation i wouldn't think many people would want to hang around you"

he let out a chuckle "you gonna believe everything they say in those tabloids? thought someone who worked in that shitty industry would know better than that"

"okay first of all i do not work in tabloids, i am a reporter. second off, i never said i believed them. i'm just making an assumption from the interactions we've had"

"you call you flaming me in front of a bunch of people an interaction?"

you couldn't help but smile when he said that "so i got under your skin?"

this made him raise an eyebrow "shut up" he finally flagged the bartender over to order the two drinks.

"didn't take you as a shirley temple kind of guy"

"i'm not. it's for those two idiots" he motioned back towards the two men who quickly looked away when you turned your head.

"they seem awfully invested" you lips turned into a playful look of sympathy "do you not feel comfortable ordering drinks by yourself?"

he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth "you are really fuckin' annoying you know that"

laughter rang out from you at his words, the sound making his stomach do a small flip that he wanted to ignore. there was something about the way you carried yourself. about the way you weren't afraid to tease him, say whatever the hell was on your mind. it was captivating.

"not the first time i've heard that, but it helps with the job. you've got to be able to know what buttons to push. what really gets to a person"

he let out a soft grunt, eyes going from yours down to your lips. his gaze made you want to shrink into the plush leather seat. it never failed to be intense.

"i bet.. if you gave me an hour i could figure out what really gets to you"

the forwardness wasn't expected. especially not from him. you swallowed what felt like a lump in your throat. this would be a good opportunity to convince him to do an interview.

.. yeah, an interview.

#bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #katsuki #anime #honeipie #mha #writing #x reader #fanfics #katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #hockey au

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mecachrome · 1 month

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not sure whether excerpts from oscar's book have alr been posted here but i found some of the quotes from the author's exclusive interviews with j.sera & rené quite interesting and thought i'd gather them in one place ❓__❓

i always love hearing insights on his karting days and how his unique rc bg & transition from australian to european karting shaped his racecraft... also notable that Every Single person who ever speaks about oscar is just like "well more than anything... he was SMART" 😭 obsessed with baby oscar already learning to dispense his energy in understated / calculative / strategic ways... more below the cut:

another thing i find quite interesting is how because oscar started karting in a relatively smaller scene that wasn't quite as competitive or talent-heavy as in europe, he was always too young/small for the classes he competed in (as with rc racing). of course he was never quite as egregiously undersized as lando but it's kind of fun that they have very similar karting lore in that aspect. not from the book but self-provided visuals:

also love how much the seras talk about his style, from his smooth inputs and clean driving to how much open-wheel potential he exhibited from the very beginning T__T

as for rené's insights on oscar's time at prema, i also find them interesting because while they corroborate a lot of surface level details about his junior campaigns that we're alr familiar with it's cool to be reminded of his growth from f3 (zero front row starts, winning more off consistency and competitor error than any personal dominant performance) to putting it all together in the second half of f2 (consecutive run of poles/fr wins to end the season).

also interesting to hear that THE most angry rené ever saw him was after his f3 monza penalty, because oscar's demeanor & reactions to adversity get discussed a lot and while he's always been very level-headed and i'd argue his core personality has not changed much if at all over the past 5 years, you can still see how he was just that touch less filtered and more defensive during his junior days. oscar is definitely still someone who refuses to take blame if he knows he wasn't at fault and who will never give credit to others when the work was mostly done by him ("i was the one driving" re: mweb helping him) but there has been a fairly noticeable growth curve from the guy who said he felt Physically Weak at the fr finale because of how nervous he was, who said he was grateful to be in school because it distracted him from his "habit of overthinking" that he was trying to get rid of, who complained extensively at monza about the novalak / beckmann incidents and then said "seems to be quite a common theme with liam if i'm honest 😐" re: continued contact in the press conf, to the guy today who reacts to deleted laps with a dry 👍 and stealthily downplays racing incidents to the point of not even calling them "incidents" at all.

there's also a bit from rené about how close he is to chris piastri and how he traveled to melbourne from italy Solely to attend his 50th birthday party, and basically how the piastris are just Good People and that oscar's demeanor is what sets him apart. which i thought was sweet :')

also bonus interesting media quote from laurent rossi, which i've seen before but don't remember in its entirety — specifically the part saying that the other academy drivers "weren't as curious" and basically calling oscar the only smart one of the bunch.... 😭😭😭 this freaking guy

#oscar piastri #text #*m #prob not v interesting but i wanted to save these somewhere ! 0 desktop organization going on here

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haddonfieldwhore · 6 months

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talk me down - vince dunn

vince dunn x gender neutral! reader

summary: after a late game penalty and a frustrating shootout loss, vince is in a bad mood. good thing he has you to make him feel better

warnings: mentions of violence, langauge, angry vinny, a bit of angst but mostly fluff

word count: 1.2k

as the whistle blew with only a few minutes left in overtime, you ran a hand over your face in frustration as a penalty was called on your boyfriend, vince dunn, for deliberately whacking another player with his stick. while there should have been a call for the opponent holding and tripping vince, the way that vince had reacted was unnecessary. you’re making it worse, you thought, as he punched fiala in the face, nearly hitting him with his stick before the refs separated them. even in the stands you could hear dunn swearing his head off, and you were shocked he didn’t get more than a 2 minute penalty for what he’d done. thankfully los angeles wasn’t able to take advantage of the extra man on the ice and score a goal, but things went to the shootout and eventually the game ended in favour of the kings.

a cloud of disappointment hung heavy in the air of climate pledge arena as kraken fans filed out, without a win but still with a point as the players left the ice. you sighed as you stood up from your seat, the other players wives and girlfriends who had been at the game also getting up to go find their partners. they were talking about the game, and while you could have joined their conversation, you were more concerned with vince. you made your way to the back and waited impatiently for him to come out of the locker room.

after what felt like forever - the team surely having had a long talk with their coach about the events of the game - a familiar curly haired brunette emerged from the doorway, a scowl on his face.

“hey,” you said softly as you stood up, walking over and grabbing his hand gently. to your surprise he didn’t pull it away, but didn’t say anything, simply tilting his head in the direction of the exit. getting the message that he just wanted to go home, you nodded, walking with him out to your car and getting in the drivers seat, and the two of you began a silent drive home.

when you arrived home to his house, he went straight upstairs without a word, and you heard the sound of a door slamming upstairs as he disappeared into your shared bedroom. you grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, your fingers anxiously tapping the granite counter tops as you sighed. you hated seeing him like this; beyond frustrated and tired. you knew he would never do anything to hurt you, you also understood that it was best to give him some space and time to cool down when he got like this. you took a seat on the sectional in the living room and scrolled through different apps on your phone, avoiding anything you saw about the game. about 15 minutes went by before you began to yawn, and decided to head upstairs to find vince.

as you walked into the bedroom, you saw him laying face down on the bed, his head at the wrong end. his one arm was hanging over the edge while the other was folded under his head like a pillow. he had discarded his clothes except for his sweatpants, and you admired the toned muscles of his back that were on display as he lay turned away from the door. it was clear he had just collapsed onto the bed, the blanket barely covering his legs and crumpled from being kicked aside. you quietly got changed into some shorts and one of vince’s t-shirts, before padding over to the bed and sitting down next to him.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by his arm and the mattress. reaching towards him you brushed your fingers through his messy curls, shaking your head, though he couldn’t see you.

“you don’t have to apologize to me,” you assured him.

“i still am.”

“i know,” you replied, moving closer to him as you let your hands travel down to his shoulders, gently massaging the tense muscles. he shivered slightly at the feeling of your hands on the back of his neck, but then sighed softly as you worked at the knots in his back, trying to relieve some of the tension from the game. you spent about 10 minutes in silence, and you were honestly beginning to think vince had fallen asleep, until he spoke again.

“i’ll be lucky if i don’t get suspended or fined,” he said, groaning softly as you kneaded a particularly sore spot on his lower back.

“yeah,” you agreed cautiously. “i’m sorry, vinny; i really don’t know what to say.”

“now who’s apologizing?” he laughed dryly, and while it was bittersweet, it was the first hint of a smile you’d heard in his voice all night. “i fucked up, i have to deal with the consequences.”

“that’s true. but they should have called a penalty on the other guy.”

“yeah well i guess they thought otherwise. i didn’t exactly make the situation any better. i think i owe joey an apology for sending us to the shootout,” he gave another halfhearted laugh.

“i wouldn’t say it’s your fault it went to a shootout. give me your other arm,” you instructed, having finished massaging the arm you could reach. vince rolled over onto his back, looking up at you as he extended his right arm into your lap.

“i guess it doesn’t matter in the end,” he sighed, watching you as your hands ran up and down his bicep, soothing the tired aching beneath his skin.

“you guys still got a point,” you said optimistically, trying to look on the bright side of a shitty end to the night. vince smiled at you, the admiring gaze going unnoticed as you continued pampering him.

“yeah,” he mumbled, as you lifted his hand, playing with his fingers gently. “thank you.” you finally looked at him, his eyes tired but full of love as he stared back at you.

“anytime,” you smiled warmly, and giggling softly as vince opened his arms for you to crawl into. you laid down next to him, letting him pull you into his side as he stared up at the ceiling. you closely admired each freckle and detail of his face, and if life were a cartoon your eyes would have had hearts popping out of them.

“i love you,” you spoke quietly, placing a few kisses on his cheek. he turned his face toward you, your foreheads pressing together as he bumped his nose against yours softly.

“i love you,” he whispered. “i don’t know what i would do without you,” he admitted, kissing the tip of your nose, and then your forehead before pulling you closer, tucking your head under his chin.

“you’d have a stiffer back for one-“ you were interrupted by your own laugh as he tickled your side, and you smiled as you curled your body into him, inhaling the scent of his body wash that lingered on his skin from his post-game shower. “okay - okay i’m done.”

“goodnight baby,” he squeezed you tightly in his arms before reaching over and turning off the lamp next to the bed. a wave of tiredness washed over you as the darkness in the room enveloped you, and you quickly fell asleep.

vince laid awake for a little while, listening to the tiny snores that fell from your lips as you slept. whatever repercussions were to come from tonight, and whether they had lost the game or not, he had you, and that was a win in his mind.

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

#vince dunn fic #all my fics have the same ending i’m sorry #vince dunn x reader #vince dunn #nhl fic #nhl #nhl hockey #nhl players #nhl imagine #vince dunn imagine #real person fiction #seattle kraken #seattle #kraken #kraken nhl

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sebscore · 11 months

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could we get more lando and gzd moments? like them playing more into their marriage rumor and reeking havoc during races like pushing into each other on the track or chasing each other around the paddock, they’d be such a chaos duo😭 i love grids delight💗

SNITCHES GET STITCHES

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader

warnings: a collection of gen-z driver moments during the 2023 austria grand prix :)

author's note: i am so confused about this as well, but just enjoy our lovely gzd being chaotic and just as confused as us! thank you for loving the series, darling!! i appreciate it a lot!!!

• • • • • • •

''Okay Y/N, so we have a 5 second penalty for the lap track limits. Keep it clean from now on.'' Marco's voice came through the radio, notifying the driver.

She loudly sighed, momentarily lifting her hand from the steering wheel to show her frustration. ''What? Who snitched? Lando? Was it Lando? Oh, I bet it was Lando.'' Y/N rambled, glancing at the McLaren driver in her mirrors.

''Just focus on driving. They're giving a lot of drivers penalties at the moment so don't worry about it too much.'' He brushed it off, not wanting her to get distracted by which driver reported on her breaking the rules.

Y/N listened to his words and calmed down. ''Understood, Polo.'' She answered, trusting his judgement.

''Y/N, Sainz told over the radio that you're intimidating him.'' Marco informed her as she pressured Carlos, fighting for the third spot on the podium.

The driver frowned. ''Well… is the intimidation on the track with us right now?'' She chuckled.

''Push harder, we have better pace than them.'' Her engineer had laughed himself when the message came in, finding humour in the Ferrari driver's comment to his own team.

Y/N listened to Marco's instruction and intimidated the car in front of her even more, eventually passing him a few corners later. ''Marco, I passed him so he doesn't feel threatened anymore- aren't I such a good friend?'' She laughed, giving herself a pat on the wrist.

The commentators and analysts tried hard not to cackle as her radio message was replayed on the broadcast, still wanting to remain their professional attitude.

''Y/L overtakes Sainz from the inside with a nice message for the Spaniard attached to it- beautiful stuff we are seeing here at the Red Bull Ring.'' Crofty's voice sounded over the replay of said overtake.

''Charlie, you're in my chair again.'' Y/N walked into the cooldown room, immediately noticing the Monégasque occupying her seat. The situation had also happened in Baku when the three of them made it onto the podium.

The Ferrari driver glanced behind him, seeing her car number and team logo above his chair. ''Oh, sorry…''

He made an advance to switch seats, but she stopped him. ''It's okay- I'm P2 now.'' She teased, sitting down on his original chair.

''It's been a while since we were on the podium together.'' Max stated, standing up from his seat and grabbing one of the towels that were laid there for them.

Both Charles and Y/N nodded at him. ''Well, it's been a while since Charles was on the podium with us.'' The youngest corrected the Dutchman, chuckling at the Monégasque's unimpressed face.

''I'm back.'' He simply smiled.

While the second and third place drivers were joking around with each other, the RBR driver watched the replay of the race. ''A lot of penalties.'' He noted.

''I got one.'' Y/N admitted, raising her eyebrow in light annoyance.

The two men's heads shot up at that. ''Really? Track limits or what?'' Charles asked.

The young woman nodded. ''Yeah, Mr. Norris ratted me out.'' There was a sarcastic tone to her voice, indicating she was joking and wasn't actually upset with her British friend.

''Lando? That's funny.'' Charles had always been a fan of Y/N and Lando's friendship, their banter having made many great moments on the paddock and online.

Max pointed at her. ''You should get revenge.'' He grinned, knowing she most likely already had something in mind.

He realised he was right once he saw the mischievous smirk on her face. ''You know I will.'' She folded her hands together as if she was a villain in a superhero movie planning a grand scheme.

''I'm scared for him.'' Charles said, relieved he wasn't a victim of her humorous retaliation.

''You should be, Charlie.''

''YOU TOLD EVERYONE I PEED MYSELF SO HARD DURING THE RACE THAT THERE WAS A HOLE IN MY SUIT?!'' Lando stormed into her motorhome, his eyes widened in disbelief.

Y/N had a devilish smirk on her face as the McLaren driver walked in, having expected him to waltz in. ''Snitches get stitches.''

''Oh, come on! You would have done the same thing!'' He defended his actions.

''You,'' she pointed at him, ''think I,'' she pointed at herself, ''would have reported on you every time you went over the track limits? I would never, Lando.'' The way in which she was speaking sounded like that is exactly what she would do.

''And by the way, no one would believe a thing like peeing so hard that there are holes in your clothes- people aren't that gullible.'' She said, brushing the entire thing off.

Lando rolled his eyes. ''People are believing it! 'Lando peeing' is trending on Twitter already.''

Y/N snorted at his words, immediately covering her face as she loudly laughed in his face. ''L-Lan… pee- peeing…'' She couldn't get any words out, finding the situation too funny.

''Stop laughing, it's not funny!'' Despite his words, Lando had started grinning himself- the sight of his best friend completely losing it being too much for her 'I have to remain serious'-facade.

''I'm sorry, okay? I didn't think people would take it seriously.'' Y/N was still cackling while delivering her ''apology''.

The Brit sighed. ''This is gonna haunt me for a while, isn't it?''

''I'm afraid so, Rumple.''

taglist :: @lorarri @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @alonsogirlie @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123 @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis @champomiel @ooooohmicky @koufaxx @flannelforthetoads

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#f1 fic #f1 fics #lando norris x oc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x female driver #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x oc #f1 imagines #f1 oc

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