Xavi: "So Lap Time Deleted For Verstappen."

Salt, Sweat, and Tarred Oakum

Max Verstappen x Oscar Piastri Golden Age of Piracy AU

Summary: A wicked lift came unbidden to the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m trained to hunt pirates, sir – you have fewer secrets than you think.”

The inscrutable set of Verstappen’s face hardened, and Oscar marveled at the captain’s ability to be such a sphinx when he needed to be. It was the perfect combination of unsettling and disturbing - no wonder the man had a three-year running reputation as the Caribbean's most fearsome pirate. 

In which a harrowing storm pushes Pirate Captain!Max and Captured Naval Lieutenant!Oscar to their limits.  

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (handjobs); explicit language; pirates being pirates; discussion of death at sea and pirate ship destruction; hurt/comfort; hand wounds (cuts and blisters)

Word Count: 10k+ 

Also on A03

A/N: If anyone had said that the Qatar GP cool down room would spawn this AU, I wouldn't have believed it, buuut... here we are lol. I totally blame credit this to the fic's awesome beta xsunny for the inspirational post-race chat we had. And no offense meant to Lando here, but Max and Oscar both on the floor (despite the not good reasons why) was just too good to let go. 🏎️🏴‍☠️

Water soaks him to the bone. Oscar can’t even tell his own sweat from the sea water and rain water. Not that it really matters when puddles form in his boots, his hair mats to his forehead, and thick drops fall from his chin and drenched clothing. 

The ship and rest of the deck crew look just as waterlogged now that the rain finally tapers off. Such a godsend after the last two hours of brutal torture at the helm as the ship tossed and pitched about in the unforgiving, merciless waves. Adrenaline seeps from his veins as exhaustion settles deep in his bones. His hands ache from controlling the wheel, from fighting the rudder’s resistance against the powerful sea. At least Pierre and Esteban had managed to drop the mainsail before the storm unleashed its full fury.

Biting back a grimace, he flexes his hands and tries to work some feeling back into his numb muscles. A burning blister announces itself on the junction of his left thumb, protesting the motion. He steadies himself against the wheel as the ship rocks in the calmer water, paying little mind to the rainy drizzle falling around him. 

In all his years at sea - despite his young age - he’s never encountered such a fierce storm. He’s never had to push himself so hard just to hold on, just do the job he’s trained his life to fulfill. His chest heaves with deep breaths as he closes his eyes and tries to calm the thunderous roar of his own heart that matches the thunder now fading into the distance behind them.

He opens his eyes, blinking water from his eyelashes, and his gaze lands on the captain. Verstappen’s face holds the gaunt pallor of over-exertion and exhaustion even as rainwater glistens on his skin and hair. Oscar doesn’t know where the man’s tricorn has gone, but he still wears his dark canvas coat over the white blouse and dark trousers plastered to his skin. The captain rakes a hand through his hair as he surveys the deck, unleashing a cascade of water droplets down his neck, and a tendril of unwanted, traitorous heat curls in Oscar’s gut.

Cannon fire still pounded in his ears as saltwater filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. Another wave swell overtook him as he swam against the choppy, crystal water. The heavy wool of his uniform threatened to drag him under, but his fingers found purchase against a piece of floating debris and he hauled himself up. The section of splintered decking wasn’t so large to fit his entire body, but just wide enough to keep his head out of the rolling waves.

He gasped for breath, still trying to clear his head. Smoke hung in the air as the destroyed remnants of the navy ship floated around him, and he fervently looked for any other men in the water. His heart sank to not immediately find any, instead only finding the pirate ship floating victoriously off the port side. A small tender approached out of the ship’s ominous shadow, and Oscar’s stomach lurched. He didn’t know what this pirate crew would do with a naval officer like himself, but he'd heard plenty of tales back at the barracks.  

His feet kicked in the water on instinct, trying to get away even though it was futile. He wouldn’t be able to outswim them and there was no land in sight this far out in the Caribbean. Anxiety clenched his chest as he slumped against the flotsam to catch his breath and save his strength. He would need all of it for what lay ahead.

“Doesn’t look to be much left.” A French-accented voice carried over the rolling waves. “Perhaps the captain hit them too hard, non?”

“No.” Another French – but maybe Italian? – voice piped up. “You saw it blow from within – they scuttled themselves to prevent us from taking their cargo.”

“But that’s what we’re out here for.” A wizened Spanish-accented voice said, carrying a soft authority. “Whatever they were carrying was valuable enough to not let us take it, but some of it may yet be afloat. Stay sharp.”

Oscar worked an uneasy swallow down his throat as a general chorus of ‘aye, sir’ filled the air. He tightened his grip on the wooden plank, ignoring the growing ache in his shoulders as he bobbed in the water. Would telling the pirates that the cargo hold of the king's treasury bullion now rested at the bottom of the sea spare his life or just earn him a quicker slit of the throat? Tilting his head down, he watched helplessly as the tender floated into view. He could only hope that the extensive amount of wreckage floating around him would camouflage him.

The pirate crew looked like the expected ragtag bunch of brigands – young seadogs each seeking their own fortune and following their chosen captain in hopes of attaining it. The man standing at the tiller sported uncommonly refined white streaks in his hair, his face marked with deep lines indicative of a long life at sea. He didn’t wear the obvious adornments of command, but an unspoken authority still rested on his shoulders. The ship’s bosun, then.

Oscar froze as a sailor fixed him with piercing green eyes. The man’s face curled to an intrigued smile beneath his mop of wild brown curls as he pointed at Oscar. “A survivor!”

The other sailors in the boat instantly turned towards him, and he had nowhere to hide. A chuckle broke out from another man with rakish brown curls and short facial hair. “Are you sure, Charles?” He asked with a heavy French accent. “It looks more like a drowned rat!”

A sailor with straight black hair and pointed features moved his oar in the water as the boat approached. “All navy men look like rats to me.”

Indignation stiffened Oscar’s spine as his face hardened. The man on the tiller offered a kind smile despite the dark, serious set of his eyes. “What’s your name, son?” His Spanish-accented syllables held a tone that promised reward for obedience and punishment for obstinacy.

“Lieutenant Piastri.” He called out, putting a note of steel in his voice.

“Well, Lieutenant Piastri,” the Spaniard’s grin widened with a toothy edge. “You have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m fine right here, thank you.” He adjusted his grip on the floating flotsam for emphasis.

A low chuckle rose from the tender, and the green eyed French-Italian man shook his head. “Don’t be foolish, mate – you can’t possibly hope to survive.”

He nodded, unable to deny the pirate’s words. “Death at sea is preferable to life among pirates.”

“Oh-ho!” The Spaniard chuckled and glanced down at the crew. “You hear that, mates? Refusing our hospitality even before he’s met the captain!” Another chorus of laughter rose from the pirates, and Oscar’s mouth pinched to a tight line of irritation. “Well, we can’t do that, mate,” the Spainard continued with a definitive shake of his head. “You may yet know something useful. Especially since your captain decided to sacrifice his ship, his cargo and his crew... you’re about all that we can salvage.”

“Well, unfortunately for you,” Oscar returned as he tried to kick away from the tender’s bow. “I’m unsalvagea-"

Multiple pairs of rough, strong hands grabbed him all at once. The pirates leaned over the gunwale, intent to haul him onboard, and he clung tighter to the driftwood. The French sailor with brown curls grunted in exertion as he pulled on Oscar’s arms. “Let go, mate!”

Oscar grit his teeth, tightening his grip and thrashing his feet as he tried to dislodge the hands pulling at this water-logged uniform.

“On three!” The Spaniard called out. “One, two… three!”

All three sailors in the boat tugged hard and fast in unison, and Oscar’s hands ripped away from the wooden plank. White hot pain erupted in his left hand and the saltwater instantly burned, distracting his concentration as the pirates dragged him up into the boat. 

He fell to the bottom of the tender with an undignified groan, instinctively cradling his left hand close to his chest. A nasty, jagged gash sliced across his palm, probably from some unseen nail or splinter. Blood soaked into his uniform coat as the sailors retook their seats on the tender benches and resumed rowing.

“Don’t you worry, Lt. Piastri,” the Spainard said, sounding half-distracted as he glanced out over the sea ahead. “We’ll try to forget that you insulted us so brazenly, but I suggest watching your tongue around the captain. Or he will cut it out.”

“And don’t tell him that you’re a lieutenant,” the black-haired Frenchman chuckled. “Or he will remove your stripes with your own toenails.”

Another round of laughter rang above him as Oscar bit his tongue. His opportunity to fight back may yet come, but this wasn’t it. He tossed about the bottom of the tender in a puddle of seawater until the hull knocked against the side of the pirate ship. The ship loomed impressively large overhead – larger than he had originally estimated – and his gaze caught on the flag held high in the midday wind.  

A pair of white stitched cross bones occupied the bottom of the black flag, but where a skull should reside, instead sat a white patchwork emblem of a lion’s head with its mouth open in a fierce roar. Oscar’s stomach dropped to his feet as recognition seized him. 

Only one ship in the Caribbean flew this emblem – Captain Max Verstappen's notorious Sea Lion.

A dark chuckle sounded overhead before the Spanish bosun stepped into view. “Come on, mate,” he encouraged, nudging Oscar’s shoulder with the toe of his boot. “If you recognize the flag, then you know that he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Oscar's mind reeled as his body numbly moved, rolling to his feet and reaching out for the rope ladder slung over the side of the ship. The cut on his hand screamed even as he gingerly tried to adjust his grip on the rungs, but with the bosun right behind him, he had no choice but to keep climbing. More pairs of hands awaited him at the top, seizing his shoulders to drag him fully on deck, but Oscar stayed on his feet as the crew closed in.

In a show of subtle defiance, he straightened the lapels of his soggy navy coat as if that would somehow lend an air of commanding stature to his appearance. But as the wind ruffled his sopping wet hair, he recognized how painfully young he must look compared to the crew around him. 

A man with wide, soulful brown eyes stepped forward, assessing him up and down. “You’re injured, yes?” He, too, had a Spanish accent though he appeared to be many years younger than the bosun.

Oscar glanced down at his left hand, spying the small puddle of blood forming on the deck. “Obviously, yes.”

“Just your hand?” The man clarified, darting his gaze back up to Oscar’s.

“Yes.”

The young Spainard gave a curt nod before he turned and disappeared towards the ship ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. Oscar watched him go, tracking his movements until he stopped to converse with the man at the helm who could only be the ship's captain. 

The man wore a rough leather tricorn with no plumage or frivolous accessories. His coat and blouse complemented the broad set of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist. With the overhead sun, Oscar couldn’t discern the captain’s facial features, but something in the man’s confident, unassuming stature made his heart leap.

As the captain descended the ship ladder to the main deck, Oscar didn’t bother to hide his curiously open stare. Captain Verstappen’s exploits had been legendary for three years now, and any navy man worth his salt had dreamed about being the one to finally bring him to justice. Maybe if Oscar played his cards right, he would have that chance.

Verstappen came to a stop in front of him and fixed him with sharp blue eyes. Despite the neutral set of the captain’s face, Oscar missed none of the calculating assessment taking place in those crystalline depths. Heat gathered beneath the drenched shirt collar sticking uncomfortably to his skin, but Oscar refused to look away. If the captain meant to intimidate him, then he refused to give the man that satisfaction, even though something about Verstappen's gaze made Oscar incredibly self-conscious in his nearly transparent white trousers and shirt.

The captain suddenly blinked away to regard someone over Oscar’s shoulder. “Fernando,” he said, voice thick with a Dutch accent. “Why is this man bleeding on my deck?”

“The navy ship scuttled her cargo, captain.” Fernando's words floated over his shoulder. “This sailor was the only thing of any value to be found.”

“Are you sure about that?” Verstappen's gaze darted back to Oscar and the gold stripes on his uniform coat. “Tell me, sailor, what was your post?”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth lifted before he could stop it. “Sail Master.”

A hush fell on deck as everyone stared at him. The crew probably thought he was bluffing, but that would be their mistake. Even his commanding naval officers had marveled at his uncanny skill and innate talent for seafaring navigation – especially for one so young – but he had long proven himself capable. And if this pirate captain now truly doubted his worth, then that would also be his misfortune.

A disparaging, cackling laughter came from somewhere on Oscar's left. “Yeah, right mate.” A man with sandy-blonde curls and a British accent scoffed. “If you’re a Sail Master, then I’m the King of England.”

Laughter rang across the deck, but nothing changed in the intensity of the captain’s eyes despite the almost bored set of his face. Oscar held his gaze in silent challenge, in a silent assessment of his own – until the captain blinked and somehow looked even more bored than before. “Carlos, take him to my cabin.” He said as he abruptly turned away. “I’ll deal with him there, and for fuck’s sake, stop him bleeding everywhere. As for the rest of you, back to your stations and set sail!”

A roaring chorus of support sounded around him as Carlos stepped forward, glancing down the lines of Oscar’s coat. “Does that thing have pockets?”

Oscar scoffed before he could stop it. “Is that seriously your answer to my bleeding hand? Just shove it in a pocket?”

Carlos shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “The captain hasn’t decided yet if he’s keeping you or not. Best not to waste supplies until he does.”

“Keep me?” Oscar echoed. “What? Like I’m a fish to be thrown back into the sea?”

“If he decides you’re not worth it, then yes. Come on,” he stepped forward to wrap a strong hand around Oscar's upper-arm. “Hand in your pocket and let’s go. There’s work to do.”

Fernando’s voice filled the air around them, calling out orders as the men scrambled into action securing deck supplies, ascending the rigging ratlines, and taking up sailing positions. Oscar squared his jaw but loosely balled his hand to shove it in his coat pocket. He let Carlos lead him across the deck to disappear into the ship’s interior.

Gunners and powder monkeys scurried about, tying cannons down and securing barrels of shot after the thwarted attack on his navy ship. He tried to get a count of how many guns flanked the pirate ship’s deck, but Carlos pulled him through another doorway before he could finish.

“Don’t touch anything,” Carlos instructed curtly as they passed through the wardroom. “You can probably guess what will happen if you do, let alone if you’re caught stealing anything.” He pulled Oscar towards the door set in the far rear of the ship – the door that needed no introduction. “And don’t get blood on his floor or else you’ll answer to me.”

“If I’m still here, though. Right?” Oscar asked cheekily before he could stop himself.

Carlos blinked back, unimpressed. “Just for that, I’ll send you straight to Fernando.” He pulled open the captain’s cabin door and shoved Oscar inside. Despite the sun’s brilliance, the salt-crusted windows cast dim shadows about the space. It looked tidy enough – a hastily made bunk along the far wall, a sea chest strapped against the foot of the bunk, a closed-door cabinet adorning the other wall. At the center of the cabin resided a large square table – a desk, a dining table, a charting table all in one functional furnishing. The scuffed surface revealed that it once held a gleaming polished finish, but now it just bore the scars from life in the service of Captain Verstappen.

An unbidden shiver ran down Oscar’s spine despite the stale warmth of the captain’s personal space. The air hung heavy with an oddly pleasant musky, sweet scent, and he absently wondered if it came from some part of the captain’s toilette or if that was just his natural scent.

His hand started to throb as he held it in the warm confines of his pocket, and he debated seating himself at the table until the captain arrived. Despite being below decks, the increasing sway in the ship’s movement indicated a steady increase in speed as the sails caught the wind, carrying him away from the remains of his ship and the bodies of his fellow sailors.

The thought punched him in the gut. A ship of 122 hands – all elite sailors to defend the king’s treasury – and fate had decided that only he should be the one to bear their memories. He tried to summon a prayer for the lost souls, but the sudden scrape of the wooden door distracted him.

The captain entered without a second glance behind him and closed the door. His assessing stare landed on Oscar before darting around the room in a careful study as if to confirm no signs of tampering.

Oscar sighed softly. “I didn’t touch anything.”

The captain scoffed with a faint edge of amusement. “I already suspect you of lying, mate, so that won’t work.” His boots thudded off the deck as he stepped up the large table and dropped his tricorn atop the surface. His dark sandy-blonde hair held a curiously short style and loose strands flopped over his forehead. Even in the dim light, Oscar could see beads of sweat that clung to the fine hairs on the nape of his neck. He turned back to regard Oscar. “I assume that you already know who I am?”

Oscar tilted his head in a moment of consideration before answering. “Your colors are well known, Captain Verstappen.”

He looked neither pleased nor disappointed in Oscar’s answer as he pulled out a chair to sit. “Now this is where you tell me your name.”

“Oscar Piastri, Lieutenant of –“

“Just Piastri will do.” Verstappen cut him off as he leaned back against the chair and stared back at him with a gaze to cut through bullshit. “And you claim to be a Sail Master, yes?”

“If I had my sailing log, I could prove it to you.”

Verstappen tilted his own head in contemplation. “Quite a bit young, aren’t you?”

“22, sir. Older than I look.”

“Then, tell me Piastri,” the captain continued unfazed. “Your course to reach Tortuga from here?”

Oscar blinked in a moment of surprise, thrown by the sudden question. Realization slowly dawned and his brow furrowed with curiosity. “Wait, are you… are you testing me?”

“Liars waste my time.” Verstappen simply replied. “And since your sailing log isn’t available, as you said – I’m left with limited options. Either you’re a ballsy liar or you’re a truthful idiot.”

Another wave of indignation stiffened Oscar's spine as he wet his top lip, choosing to ignore the captain’s comment and instead focus on the question. He summoned the navigation chart in his mind’ eye and recalled the last known compass bearings. “Four points off the starboard bow, east by north-east.” He said, pointing his right hand in the appointed direction for emphasis. “Tack the sails larboard and ride the headwinds until sunset.”

His words hung in the cabin’s silence for a long moment as Verstappen stared back at him, betraying nothing about his thoughts. The urge to fidget under the unwavering scrutiny tugged at Oscar, but he resisted. It was nothing more than another intimidation tactic – an admittedly effective one, but Oscar still refused to back down. 

“And from Tortuga,” the captain said suddenly. “To Nassau? What would be your recommendation?”

Oscar nibbled his bottom lip as he conjured the map in his mind. It wasn't a route that he had personally sailed, but the naval charts bore many markings of hidden reefs and sandbars along the Bahamian islands that just waited to ensnare unsuspecting ships. “I suppose it depends,” he started softly as the wheels of his mind worked. “On the tide and the draft of the ship.”

“We usually run 4 meters.”

“4 meters,” Oscar repeated with a nod. “Then, the coastal tides of the Cockburn Shoals will snag us. Best to stay on a westerly course. A bit more exposure to the open sea, but less risk to thread the shoreline.”

Verstappen arched a brow. “You know about Cockburn Shoals?”

A wicked lift came unbidden to the corner of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m trained to hunt pirates, sir – you have fewer secrets than you think.”

The inscrutable set of Verstappen’s face hardened, and Oscar marveled at the captain’s ability to be such a sphinx when he needed to be. It was the perfect combination of unsettling and disturbing - no wonder the man had a three-year running reputation as the Caribbean's most fearsome pirate. 

Without warning, Verstappen shoved his chair back and pushed to his full height. He stood a couple of centimeters taller than Oscar and he crossed the room to the closed-up cabinet. A key materialized from his pocket, and Oscar could just see the ribbon tied to the key’s end that disappeared back into the pocket’s interior. A wise decision to sew one’s keys to one’s clothing when living on the water with known thieves.

The cabinet doors swung open to display an array of indistinguishable bottles, books, and rolled charts before its contents were blocked by the captain’s broad shoulders. “We should dress your hand,” he said matter-of-factly as he took a bottle in hand. “You’re no use to me with sepsis.”

Oscar’s ears perked. “I’m no use to you, as in… you’re keeping me onboard?”

“Perhaps you’re more valuable than you look.”

Verstappen turned back around, and Oscar fixed him with a hard look. “Respectfully, captain, I would like to request that you maroon me instead.”

“Really?” Nothing in Verstappen’s tone changed as he moved back to the table, brown bottle in one hand, a wooden bowl under one arm, and a roll of clean linen in the other hand. “Starvation and death instead of serving on a pirate ship, hmm?”

“Exactly right.” Even as Oscar spoke, Verstappen’s words settled with a lethal finality in his ears. It didn’t make his response any less true, however.

“Then, you should have kept your mouth shut, Sail Master.” Verstappen replied, dipping his head with an admonishing edge as he dropped the linen roll and bowl to the tabletop. “If you trusted that fact to keep you alive, it worked – but did you consider the ramification that it would press you into my service?”

Up close, Verstappen’s eyes glittered like the crystal sea as they reflected the dim sunlight. His scent carried hints of salt, sweat, and tarred oakum worthy of any seaman, but something about it stuck in Oscar’s gut. He didn’t realize just how close they stood, running his gaze over Verstappen’s features until he noticed the freckle on the captain’s upper lip.

He worked a swallow down his suddenly tight throat. “And you’re really going to install the man who requested death instead of your service at the helm of your ship?”

“Just because you turn the wheel doesn’t mean you know the destination,” Verstappen smoothly countered. “And since you’ll report directly to me – I’ll be the first to know if you put even just one toe out of line, and then you’ll probably lose it.” He looked down to pull the cork free from the bottle. “Give me your hand.”

The words reminded Oscar about his left hand pulsing with pain and growing uncomfortably hot inside his pocket even as he replied. “Is that the same encouraging incentive you give your crew?”

“My crew aren’t prisoners. They understand that if they follow orders and don’t try my patience, we will be successful. But I can’t speak for a navy man fresh off his ship who chooses death over my service.” He nodded down at Oscar’s arm. “Give me your hand. I won’t repeat myself again.”

Verstappen’s tone gave Oscar little room for doubt, and he swallowed his words to bide his time. Perhaps this wasn’t his moment of escape, but it may yet come. The Sea Lion will have to dock eventually, and there would be plenty of opportunities to seek freedom at that time. Deciding that he had made the captain wait just long enough, he slowly pulled his hand from his pocket.

The captain wasted no time grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling it down towards the bowl. Oscar braced himself as Verstappen tipped the bottle and a stream of brown liquid poured over the gaping wound on his palm. Fire erupted in his veins as the alcoholic grog made contact with his blood, and he hissed sharply, unable to hide a wince. It burned for a long unpleasant minute before Verstappen sloshed another wave over the oozing wound. His hand twitched in the captain’s firm grip as he bit back a groan, and Verstappen’s steadying hold tightened.

“You’re taking this well, for what it’s worth.” Verstappen commented absently as he inspected the gash.

Oscar drew a sharp breath as pain lanced up his arm. “Not my first wound. Won’t be my last.”

The captain hummed – perhaps in agreement, perhaps in consideration – before he pulled back and released Oscar’s wrist. He drew it back on protective instinct, shaking the excess grog into the wooden bowl, mindful not to throw any drops onto the floor. If he was indeed going to be stuck on this ship for the time being, then he didn’t want to risk earning Carlos’ ire too quickly.

“Keep it dry and keep it clean.” Verstappen commanded as he reached for the roll of linen and retook Oscar’s wrist. He wrapped the linen to form a crude bandage and secured the ends with a knot that rested between Oscar’s thumb and forefinger. “Report to Fernando for a hammock and another bandage. You’ll serve a 10-hour shift behind the wheel daily-”

“10 hours?”

Verstappen arched an unimpressed brow. “Do you think that’s unfair?”

It was certainly longer than any navy shift, but if he was indeed a prisoner of sorts, then he had no leg to stand on here. However much he wanted to fight and push back against Captain Verstappen, he must keep reminding himself that this was not his opportune moment. He pinched his mouth shut and curtly shook his head.

“Good. I didn’t think so.” Verstappen continued, drawing back to fix him with a hard look. “You’ll serve a 10-hour shift at the helm daily and report directly to me. Logan will be your master’s mate and minder on your off-shift hours. You will never go anywhere on this ship unaccompanied, and you will heed every order that comes from me, my quartermaster, and my bosun. Are we understood?”

The words sank like lead in Oscar’s stomach, but he vowed to find a way to turn this situation to his advantage. “Understood.”

Verstappen nodded sharply before his gaze dropped down Oscar’s body and a concerned wrinkle appeared between his eyes. “You need to remove that coat. I won’t risk those brass buttons catching the sun's gleam in someone’s spy glass.”  

Oscar nearly laughed but stopped himself. “Well, if I don't wear my navy coat, sir, then what do you suggest?”

“Your whites will do, for now. If we take on cargo that includes clothing, you can perhaps have a share if your behavior warrants it.”

Well, maybe he wouldn’t stand out as a captured navy man in his blue coat, but his cream and white ensemble would still betray him. Perhaps that was Verstappen’s intent – if he remained dressed in all-light clothing, he wouldn’t be able to easily hide in the ship’s shadows, nor would his master’s mate be able to mistake him for someone else. 

The moment drew out for another breath before Oscar sighed and shrugged out of his navy coat. The wet wool stuck to the linen of his soggy shirt as he pulled it free, suddenly self-conscious all over again.

Verstappen took the dark coat in hand, giving him another once over, and something in the air shifted as he no longer appeared to be assessing a threat. In fact, his gaze held almost a hint… some appreciative gleam in those glacial eyes that sparked heat in Oscar’s chest…

But then he abruptly turned away and Oscar finally remembered how to breathe. 

A cry from the forward ratlines drags him out of the memory, and he watches Pierre start to climb. Blinking more water out of his eyes, he glances up to see a damaged piece of rigging swaying in the gently falling rain. He hopes the breakage isn’t too severe - Alonso had already said the canvas provisions were getting low and Carlos didn’t know when the ship would next dock. 

The blister on his hand protests as he grips the wet wood, but he doesn’t dare let go. Between the thinning clouds and the hazy starlight, the horizon appears as a dark, grey smudge, but it’s enough for him to keep the ship pointed in the right direction. At least until he can relinquish the wheel long enough to use his compass.  

The salt beef and potatoes settled in his stomach with a satisfying fullness as he waited for the start of his shift. Standing by the quarterdeck railing, Oscar let the refreshing evening breeze blow over him and he glanced up at the stars. He didn’t remember anything about the skies over his home. Probably because he’d been way too young to know better, but maybe that was what he loved about the Caribbean skies. No matter where the sea took him, the stars overhead always made him feel at home.

Even if that home was still a pirate ship.

The thought hit his gut with a sour note, and the singing merriment from the main deck below suddenly sounded way too loud.

“The captain’s wife was Charlotte, born and bred a harlot. Her thighs at night were lily white, by morning they were scarlet!”

Raucous laughter rose from others in the crew as they joined the chorus, but Oscar had little desire to sing along. He still couldn’t shake the guilt of helping Captain Verstappen take down yet another merchant ship. But the day’s haul of yerba mate tea and cocoa had put everyone else on board in high spirits.

Even Captain Verstappen seemed pleased by the day’s take, but the man still proved difficult to read. Glancing away from the horizon, Oscar's gaze strayed unbidden to the man currently at the helm. Captain Verstappen draped almost lazily over the large wheel, making minor course adjustments as they rode the nightly currents. He had earlier decreed a night of rest and celebration for the crew’s successful venture with a promise to dock soon and sell their ill-gotten goods for the benefit of all – and the promise of fresh coin immediately had called for a triple rationing of grog.

“You should be down there, you know.” Verstappen’s voice sliced through his thoughts. “You did your part as a member of my crew today.”

The words nearly made Oscar cringe. “No, thank you, sir. I take no joy in what we accomplished today.”

“No? It only took one shot across the bow for them to raise the white flag. They offered no resistance, no one was hurt, and they sailed off with a significantly lighter hold – but they did sail off.” Verstappen shook his head with disbelief. “If that’s not a victory, then I don’t know what is.”

Bile rose in Oscar’s throat but he swallowed it down. “Victory is not stealing from innocent people just doing their jobs.”

“Innocent people," Verstappen scoffed. “Your naivety shows itself if you think colonization is innocent – no doubt the tea and cocoa below is rooted in blood labor and their masters are the only ones who profit from its sale.”

Perhaps the captain did have a point there. Oscar had seen enough of the slave trade ships to have some idea, but by Verstappen’s logic – if someone only stole from those who stood to profit, then why not make the whole world a target? But as he blinked over at the unassuming man commanding his ship with easy competence, perhaps that was exactly Verstappen’s plan.

Why stop now when he could be king of the world?

A rush of warm appreciation rolled through Oscar, and he shook the thought away, trying to work a swallow down his suddenly dry throat. The singing from the main deck seemed to grow in volume, affording him another moment to collect himself.

“Aboard the good ship Venus, you really should have seen us! With a figurehead, a whore in bed, and a mast of a phallic genus!”

“Well,” Oscar finally said, glancing back up at the captain. “At least the crew are in good spirits. That should make you happy, either way.”

“It does,” the taller man confirmed. “But you’re part of that crew now, too.”

Oscar scoffed softly. “I don’t think so, sir.”

“But you could have run away three weeks ago, could you not?” Verstappen suddenly turned and fixed his sharp eyes on Oscar, leaving him nowhere to hide. “We docked in Antigua, and you had every opportunity to not come back.”

“You had Logan stick to me like a flea on a dog -”

“And you could have forced a brawl in a bid to win your freedom –”

“And then be arrested for brawling in the street?!”

Something mischievous twinkled in Verstappen’s eyes. “But then you’d be free of my ship.”

“At least your prison has sails and stars,” Oscar heard himself say. “A prison on land would just…” Words escaped him as his stomach soured. Even just the idea of being locked away in a dingy stone cell unable to have the sea spray on his face or feel the deck rolling beneath his feet or see the starry sky hurt his soul.

Verstappen regarded him for a long moment before stepping away from the wheel. He approached with his long steady stride, crossing over to where Oscar stood just in the shadow of the mizzenmast. Starlight shone on the captain’s Caribbean sun-kissed skin and deck torchlight gleamed in his blue eyes as he drew up close – close enough for his perpetual scent of salt, sweat, and tarred oakum to catch in Oscar’s nose. A scent that had no right to be so appealing, no right to make Oscar want to lean in and taste it on his tongue.

Memory sparked in Verstappen’s gaze, leaning down to make himself heard over the lively celebration raging on the main deck below. “That doesn’t sound any different than being marooned, you know.”

Oscar’s mind replayed the first conversation he ever had with Captain Verstappen that day in his cabin, and he couldn’t look away from the older man. “But that would have been my choice, unlike imprisonment.”

“And would you make that same choice now?” Verstappen’s voice dropped to a low register that settled uneasily in Oscar’s gut.

He worked a swallow down his throat as he debated how to answer. Somehow saying anything but ‘yes’ felt like a condemnable betrayal, a precipice from which he could never return. Yet the truth of Verstappen’s words stared him in the face - he didn’t try to escape Logan’s watchful eye, he hadn’t tried to plant subversion on the ship, and he had only helped Captain Verstappen navigate the sea to take more plunder. Everything he had ever been raised to believe dictated that he should want nothing more than to abandon this ship and see it rot at the bottom of the sea... the sea that glittered at night like the light in Verstappen’s crystalline eyes…

The corner of Verstappen’s mouth ticked up, revealing the little freckle that dotted the pink, plump skin. “You know what I think?” He purred softly. “I think that you actually like being aboard my ship. You can’t admit it, of course – betrayal of duty and honor and so forth – but I look at you and I don’t see a man wanting to escape.”

Oscar’s mouth went dry as his voice turned thready. “Then what do you see?”

An inscrutable edge came to Verstappen’s face even though nothing in his expression changed. He held Oscar’s gaze for what felt like eternity before he broke away to glance down at his coat and rummage in a pocket. A flash of brass appeared in his hand, and he reached out for Oscar’s right wrist. He upturned Oscar’s hand and placed the cool metal object in his empty palm. Oscar’s eyes darted down to his hand, stunned at the object’s familiar, circular shape.

He raised his left hand and popped the brass cover to reveal a smart, functional compass. The arrow aligned in its north-south orientation with clearly marked points of sail extending in all the designated directions. Not all compasses were suitable for sailing the sea, but this one couldn’t be more perfect.

His gaze flew back up to the captain, trying to understand. It certainly wasn’t Verstappen’s usual compass. Even though Oscar had never been allowed to use it, he had seen the captain consult it plenty of times on deck. “Where on earth did you get this?”

The corner of Verstappen's mouth ticked up with playful mischief. “Another acquisition from our merchant friend today. I thought it would suit you.”

Oscar nearly went dizzy from the implication. “But I thought… well, you said that I wasn’t allowed to know the destination.”

“Then perhaps it will help you see what I already see,” he said softly as Oscar drowned under his gaze. “Someone who’s already free if he only just chooses to be.” A stunningly handsome smile lit his face before he ducked his head with striking modesty and turned away.

As he resumed his post at the helm, his mask of calm, collected command fell back into place. But it did nothing to disguise the open fondness in his gaze as he surveyed the celebrations of his crew on the deck below, and maybe… just maybe… Oscar could admit that being on board the Sea Lion wasn’t a fate worse than death.

He pats a hand against his soaked trousers, searching the clinging fabric for the familiar shape of the compass casing. It should probably bother him how such a simple object can immediately put him at ease, but it anchors him all the same. 

“Piastri?” 

He straightens up on instinct, his gaze focusing on the captain’s broad shouldered form at the base of the ship ladder. “Yes, sir?” 

“Assess our position. I want to know how far the storm threw us off course.” Verstappen’s voice sounds hoarse from shouting orders over the storm’s fury, but his sharp eyes still shine through his bone-weary exhaustion. “Let Lando have the helm. And report to me in my cabin once it’s done.”

Oscar nods numbly. “Yes, sir.” 

Verstappen turns without another word to seek out Carlos, finding his quartermaster as the man makes his rounds on the main deck. When the storm had blown up with little warning, Oscar had stumbled up from the orlop deck to report directly to Verstappen for orders, as always. Even now, Oscar can still see the captain at the helm in his mind’s eye. Silhouetted against the pounding rain and blinding lightning as he stood with imperious dominance in defiance of the sea’s raw power. But as soon as Oscar had climbed up to the quarterdeck, shouting over the thunder to make himself heard - Verstappen hadn’t hesitated to hand the wheel over to him. 

In that moment, Oscar hadn't given it another thought - but eight months ago when he first joined the crew, that never would have happened. God… eight months. The thought lands heavy in his stomach, or maybe… maybe he’s just hungry after such intense exertion? Or maybe he’s just beyond exhausted…

But he still has a job to do. He spots Charles plodding by on the wet deck, arms laden with thick cords of rope. “Charles,” he calls out, barely recognizing his own breathless voice as the sailor looks over. “Verstappen wants Lando at the helm. Pass the word along?" 

Charles looks barely able to stand but he nods before hefting a heavy line over his shoulder for better balance. In fact, as Oscar glances out over the main deck, all of the deck crew moves about in a haze of weary exhaustion. Some look far too green around the gills, others look on the verge of collapse, and others… others stagger about just trying to press on with their duties. 

Even Verstappen isn’t immune to it as he braces heavy hands on his hips while now talking with Alonso. Honestly, the bosun appears to have weathered the storm almost better than the captain, but maybe that’s the benefit of the man’s nearly forty years at sea. Oscar has every intention of being retired by then - or, rather… at least, that was his plan before being pressed into a life of piracy. 

Again, his gaze strays to Verstappen but he can’t summon any venom through his exhaustion. As much as he faults the man for ruining his life, he just can’t… can’t quite bring himself to entirely condemn Verstappen. There’s just something in the mischievous edge of his smile, in his direct approach to the world, in his ruthless determination to be the best. 

He sighs, flexing his fingers against the wheel, and the blister screams with pain. A hiss passes his lips before he can stop it as heavy thudding boots tromp up the steps. Lando looks unusually pale in the wane light, but he’s shockingly dry as he rakes his gaze up and down Oscar’s waterlogged form. “Did you fall overboard, mate?” 

Oscar works a swallow down his parched throat. “Certainly feels that way.” 

“Did Max have the helm the whole time?” 

It still strikes Oscar as odd that Lando maintains such a causal basis when speaking about the captain while the man's not around. But he pushes the thought aside and shakes his head. “No… it wasn’t too long after the storm hit that he turned the ship over to me.”

Lando’s brows climb to his unfairly dry hairline. “You? You mean - that was you steering us through that howling gale?” 

Oscar’s face pinches uneasily. “Yes, and you can give me the full critique later -” 

“No, it’s just that you… he trusted you!?” Lando’s voice rings with a heavy note of incredulity. “Despite your naval rank, you’re still a greenhorn if I’ve ever seen one, but that…? You shouldn't just be able to do that!" 

A modest blush tries to color Oscar’s cheeks, but he’s just so worn out. He shakes his head in dismissal as he loosens his fingers from the wheel and tries to relax them at his sides. “Well… Verstappen said for you to take the helm now. I need to go chart our position and report back.”

Lando steps up to the wheel, running his fingers over the dripping wheel pegs. “Ask Carlos to tie a rope around your waist if you feel like you’ll fall over the railing - or maybe not!" His words sound glib but Oscar doesn't doubt that Lando might just push him overboard if he outperforms the Brit under Verstappen's watch. 

He forces a tired lift to the corner of his mouth as he steps back to relinquish his post. “I’ll keep that in mind, mate.” Dragging his feet that feel far too away from his head, water sloshes in the confines of his boots as he trudges across the deck. His leg muscles nearly tremble from overuse and he longs to sit down, but not yet. 

Grimacing from the blister’s sting, he reaches for the lid of the navigation trunk. The sextant’s cool metal stings his overheated skin as he pulls it free and adjusts the settings. Discerning their position through hazy clouds and falling rain always involves more guess-work than actual charting, but his honed sense of direction continues to serve him well. By the time he consults the position bearing and glances at the tattered chart in the bottom of the trunk, he has enough confidence to call the task complete. Locking the trunk, he stuffs the key back into his pocket before reaching for his compass. 

As the needle orients itself north, he glances out over the ship’s deck. Carlos continues his rounds, checking on the men and glancing up at Pierre and Esteban assessing the damage. Oscar doesn’t immediately spot the captain’s familiar form, and he hates that he’s actually disappointed about it. Perhaps the man has already retired to his cabin.

After all, Verstappen had spent the storm’s duration running between the quarterdeck and the main deck, relaying orders and commands - getting everyone to pull together and heave the sails, pushing to hold his ship and crew together as the storm threatened to tear them apart. Even now, the memory of the man’s unwaveringly fierce determination stirs something warm in Oscar’s chest.

Glancing down at his compass, he confirms the ship’s orientation, pleased that they haven’t drifted too far afield. They may not arrive in time to intercept the Lusail, but the merchant ship can’t be too far away. Especially not if they also suffered a battering from the same storm. 

He snaps the compass lid closed and turns for a quick word with Lando to confirm the heading. His face wrinkles with a grimace, courtesy of his blister, as he takes the ship ladder down to the main deck and pushes through the door that leads into the ship’s interior. Fortunately, most of the ship’s supplies stay well-secured for life at sea, but some ropes and fastenings have broken. He navigates through a rolling minefield of grapeshot, hearing Yuki curse heavily as he works to retrieve and store them away. Loose scrolls and a few upended books litter the wardroom as he pushes towards the ship's stern.

Verstappen’s cabin door doesn’t announce itself with any ostentatious ornamentation, and Oscar steps up to it, knocking softly. He strains to listen for a reply, brow furrowing as another frustrated cry sounds from Yuki. His mind doesn’t engage fast enough to stop his hand from reaching for the door handle and pulling it open. 

The interior of Verstappen’s cabin is blessedly dark and it further tempts the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. It also offers an inviting reprieve from the stifling moisture in the air - perhaps it should be stale and unwelcome compared to the sea breeze filling his lungs for the past couple of hours, but the familiar musky scent of Verstappen’s personal space draws him forward. 

After all, Verstappen had told him to report to his cabin once he finished charting. And if he happened to beat the captain here, that’s hardly his fault. He closes the door behind him and indulges a long, slow breath. His eyelids grow heavy in the dim darkness, and maybe Verstappen will reward his initiative for lighting a candle. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable squelch of water in his boots, he doesn’t think about how he’s been in Verstappen’s cabin enough to know where the man stores his flint. Reaching for his knife, he steps up to the glass lantern that swings from the ceiling and strikes steel to flint. Sparks catch on the wick and a soft golden glow suffuses the room. It’s not bright enough to read by, but it might just be bright enough to keep Oscar on his feet. 

Or maybe not. Darkness eats at the edge of his vision and maybe if he… maybe if he just rests on the floor for a few minutes, that will be enough. At least until Verstappen arrives. With a soft groan, he lowers himself down to sit on the wooden decking and rocks onto his back. A blissful moment of relief overtakes him and he brings his hands to his face, scrubbing them up over his eyes and through his wet hair as he stretches his legs out. 

His shoulders and back sing with sweet relief as he relaxes against the hard surface, unwinding from the storm’s demanding intensity. With another sigh, he unfolds his arms out at his sides against the floor, paying no mind to the wet stick of his shirt-sleeves. No doubt his drenched clothing clings to him like a second skin, but it’s of little consequence. 

Especially now that reality hits him.

He hasn’t crashed the ship. He hasn’t pitched anyone overboard. He hasn’t rolled them completely off-course. 

He has done everything that training and instinct compelled him to do and… maybe Lando has a point. 

"You shouldn't just be able to do that!"

The door’s dull scrape slices through his thoughts, but his mind moves too slow for his body to catch up. He hears the crisp thud of Verstappen’s boots and the wet slap of his discarded canvas coat against the wood floor before his eyes fly open. Turning his head against the wooden planks, he watches in disbelief as Captain Max Verstappen folds himself in half and lowers down to the floor. He settles his back against the cabin wall, stretching his long legs out to give Oscar a prime view of his boot soles. Verstappen sighs, running a hand through his dripping hair as his eyes close in a moment of... relief? Relaxation? Respite? 

Oscar can’t place it, but it’s a shockingly vulnerable look on his commanding officer. And yet… Verstappen has proved so different from any naval commander that it just… 

Something twists in Oscar’s gut as he continues to glance up at Verstappen, watching the candle’s glow catch in the water dripping from his hair like golden jewels. But as Verstappen opens his eyes, and those glacial pools connect with his gaze, Oscar’s throat begins to tighten. “I-I apologize, sir. If this…” He trails off as a dull ache lodges in the back of his skull. “I just needed a minute.” 

“Clearly.” Verstappen deadpans but there’s no displeasure behind it. “I think everyone who was on deck does. That storm…” He pauses with a heavy sigh. “One of the top five worst I’ve ever seen, I think.” 

“That was definitely the hardest fight of my life.” Oscar doesn’t hesitate to say. “It just never let up… a constant attack, a constant struggle to hold steady and keep the course.” 

The corner of Verstappen’s mouth lifts with heavy exhaustion but also… is it pride? “But infinitely worth the reward.” 

Oscar’s brow furrows gently. “The reward?” 

Verstappen hums low in his throat. “Or perhaps satisfaction is the better word. That… man versus nature, the freedom of life at sea, braving the elements… whatever it is that compels you to a life at sea.” He shakes his head slowly as he tilts it back against the wall. “There’s little else more satisfying than a contest fought and won.” 

Oscar turns away from the captain to blink up at the long shadows playing on the ceiling. “There’s just… nothing else that I wanted to do with my life. The sea is all I’ve ever wanted.” 

The words hang in the cabin’s silence for the space of several breaths before movement shuffles over Oscar’s shoulder. He turns his head as Verstappen sits forward, folding his legs underneath him. Sitting so close, he nearly looms over Oscar in his wet trousers and clinging drenched shirt, and the firelight casts a mesmerizing glow in his clear blue eyes. “Me, too,” he says softly. “It’s what I’m good at. It’s what I like to do. If someone took away my ability to sail… I guess I don’t know what I would do.”

“I think you’d surprise yourself, sir.” Oscar offers a small smile as he rallies his strength to sit up. Bracing his hands against the floor, the painful pressure on his blister draws a hiss between his clenched teeth. He also isn’t quick enough to hide his grimace from the captain’s concerned gaze as he meets the older man at eye level, close enough to breathe in the scent of rain on Verstappen's skin.

“Are you hurt?” Verstappen’s tone comes softly but there’s no mistaking the command on his words. 

“Not really,” Oscar answers with a slow shake of his head. “Just a blister. From the wheel, I guess. I thought after all these years my skin would be tough enough, but… still not enough, it seems.” 

Verstappen’s gaze roams over his face as if looking for something before he drops down to study Oscar’s hands. It takes nothing for him to reach out for Oscar's blistered hand. He holds it up in the faint candle light, studying the inflamed welt with a strange look of reverence and care. It makes him look so young… much younger than the 26 years that Oscar knows him to be. Loose strands of wet hair hang over his forehead, casting dark shadows that contrast to the exhausted pallor of his skin, and the sight of him tears through Oscar’s heart. 

Verstappen wets his top lip thoughtfully. “When I first met you, you had also injured this hand.” He strokes a long finger along the dark pink scar crossing Oscar’s palm. “But you survived that, and you’ll survive this. You… you’re a lot tougher than you think, you know.” 

Oscar’s heart lodges in his heart and he tries to swallow around it. “I-I guess so. I mean - well, we didn’t lose anyone today. The ship’s still in one piece. So, I guess that’s the reward I most care about.” 

Despite his weariness, a spark of mischief catches in Verstappen’s gaze. “Even though we’re just a ship of pirates?” 

Oscar takes a long minute to look at him and the air thickens. “Even though.” He confirms as his voice drops to a low, soft tone. “It’s like you said… it’s what I’m good at.”

Another heavy silence falls as Verstappen regards him in equal measure, still holding his left hand. Heat grows along his skin from the shared point of contact and an unspeakable urge itches under his skin. The captain looks at him with such… awe and satisfaction and longing and - 

Oscar’s heart stops when he finally recognizes it.

Desire. 

His breathing quickens as his mouth goes dry. He has no defense left to offer, and he doesn’t know what Verstappen can read on his own face in return and he’s too tired to care. But it shouldn’t matter - all that matters is that they achieved their goal, they persevered in the face of intensity, and they’re both still alive and still here. 

Beneath the scent of rain, Verstappen's natural scent of salt, sweat and tarred oakum still permeates the air, intoxicating him as it reaches  deep into his lungs, urging him closer. He doesn’t know who falls into who, but as their mouths slot together, some long lost part of Oscar snaps into place. For the longest moment, they just hold the kiss together, breathing each other in, basking in the solid, reassuring contact. The slow pace of the embrace takes Oscar’s breath away as his exhaustion amplifies each sensation. 

The captain’s broad hand raises to cup Oscar’s cheek, holding him closer in the slow, lingering, exploratory kiss. A sigh falls from Oscar’s lips as he leans into Verstappen’s strong hand, and the heat from the sensual kiss spreads through his tired muscles. The edge of Verstappen’s tongue prods at the seam of his mouth, and he relaxes his jaw to deepen their embrace. 

A moan rumbles low in Verstappen’s chest as they learn each other’s taste, curling Oscar’s toes in his soggy boots. He chases the velvety heat of Verstappen’s mouth as an answering moan crawls up his throat, and the hunger of their kiss grows. Oscar nearly goes dizzy as Verstappen’s strong fingers tighten around his jaw, dragging his mouth down to lick and nibble at Oscar’s throat. 

His heart threatens to beat out of his chest as he tries to catch his breath. “C-captain…?” 

“Max,” the other man murmurs with a pleading edge against his skin. “I just want to be Max right now…” 

The vulnerability in Max’s voice swallows Oscar whole, and both hands surge up to cup Max’s face. He doesn’t feel the blister’s sting as he crushes their mouths together in a searing, endless, breathless kiss. The heavy weight of Max’s hand grips his shoulder in fierce encouragement as their tongues tangle and get lost in each other. Everything about it sets Oscar’s body aflame, blood rushing to fill out his cock despite the weary state of his body. But somehow… this feels like the perfect answer after such a harrowing experience. 

Max’s hand drifts down the plane of his chest, settling over a nipple. The plastered fit of Oscar’s drenched shirt adds a delicious friction as Max rolls the hardening nub between his fingers. Pleasure arcs down Oscar’s spine and he whimpers into Max’s mouth. A pleased growl sounds in Max’s throat as he licks into the heat of Oscar’s mouth while his fingers continue their sweet torture against the shirt's wet fabric.

His cock aches with need, growing impossibly harder with each twisting pinch of Max’s fingers, and, God… what would it be to have Max’s fingers on his skin without his shirt or trousers in the way? He goes blind with delirious desire as Max works the sensitive nub, scraping a blunt nail across for added effect. 

The groan that punches from Oscar’s chest sounds way too loud in the deafeningly silent cabin, not helped when Max’s other hand cups his right hand and guides it down the expanse of his broad chest. His finger skim over the drenched fabric of Max’s shirt, feeling the sea-toughened muscles beneath before Max guides him over the waist of his trousers to settle on his straining erection. 

“Oh, fuck… Max.” The words spill from Oscar with abandon as he gives a gentle squeeze, swallowing Max’s answering groan. The delicious sound settles in Oscar’s chest and it’s everything that he wants to hear as Max’s fingers deliver one last teasing caress before dropping down the length of Oscar’s torso.

Anticipation burns as Max’s fingers skim lower and finally cup his own aching erection. He doesn’t care if Max can taste his desperation as kisses turn messy and frantic. With Max’s calloused fingers tracing the hardened shape of him and Max’s erection in the palm of his hand, there’s no turning back from what they both want.

His tongue chases the water drops on Max’s neck as he fumbles with the laces of the man’s trousers. His blister only announces itself one time, drowned by the rush of eager need as Max’s fingers tug at his own laces. The first touch of Max’s bare skin in his hand takes his breath away, but it’s all he can do to hold on to his sanity as Max’s hand wraps around his own naked cock.

The raw touch borders on uncomfortable as their wet skin chafes but it couldn’t be more perfect. Their mouths reconnect in a sloppy kiss as they pant their pleasure into each other’s mouth. Max’s salty, sweet musky scent surrounds him as he works his hand over Max’s cock, drowning in the pleasured gasps and moans that fall from the older man’s lips. It fuels his own building pleasure as Max’s hand twists and squeezes in return, driving him closer to the brink of sweet, maddening release.

He’s far too keyed up and far too gone far too soon, and he spills over Max’s hand with a choked off cry as Max’s teeth scrape against his neck. It’s only two strokes later that Max’s own release coats his hand, and a new scent permeates the air as they slump together in post-orgasmic bliss. Oscar drops his head to Max’s shoulder, chest heaving as he tries to calm the thundering of his heart. His eyes grow heavy as the wonderful high rolls through him, relaxing his tense muscles, and God… he just wants to sleep for days. 

Max groans in relief as his head rests similarly on Oscar’s other shoulder, his lips pressing a hard kiss to the side of Oscar’s neck. A pleasant aftershock courses through him and he gives Max’s softening cock one last gentle squeeze. 

Max grunts. “You tease.” 

Oscar hums low in his throat. “I do believe that you encouraged me.” He gasps in oversensitized pleasure as Max imparts a farewell squeeze to his own spent cock. It sparks another aftershock in his blood, but every muscle in his body is far too overworked to respond. Max’s release turns tacky on his hand and he probably has a mess in own trousers to deal with before it dries too much further. Max seems to have the same idea as he pulls back and reaches for his discarded wet coat. 

He tugs an inside flap free and wipes down his hand before attempting to clean himself up. The wordless invitation extends to Oscar, and he hesitates for a brief moment before Max sighs. “It’s alright,” he says as Oscar finally reaches for the coat. “It’s on the inside so I can carry it out without anyone seeing. Easier to wash that way, too.” 

With their hands mostly clean and their trousers mostly presentable, Oscar finds himself at a loss. Just what does he say to his captain now? Now that he knows how the man sounds when licking into Oscar’s mouth, when spilling into his hand? The memory curls a bolt of latent heat down his spine as he glances over at Max in the flickering, swaying candlelight. Fortunately for him, Max looks just equally lost for words as if… as if this is the first time he’s ever encountered a situation like this. 

And maybe it is. 

Something about that thought warms Oscar’s chest, and he desperately hopes that he is the first person aboard that Max has taken in his cabin like this. At length, he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, breathing in the remnants of Max on his skin. “Two points south-southwest.” He suddenly says, drawing Max’s confused, piqued gaze. “That’s how far off course we are… I told Lando to hold a steady southerly course and we should be closer by morning. Though, we can’t know how the Lusail fared in the storm, either. She could be even further off course.” 

Max takes a moment to respond, nodding gently. “Then, we’ll just have to keep on her shadow. Until the opportunity presents itself, we keep to what we know and see what the dawn brings.” His gaze drops to his feet in an uncharacteristically hesitant moment. “Oscar, I don’t…” He starts and stops just as quickly before raising his eyes. They shine with a painfully raw determination and something unspeakably intimate. “The dawn already brings about one change for me… but whatever we have shared - or may yet share - behind that closed door must never escape that closed door.”

Oscar immediately nods as his heart leaps. “Of course, Max. Yes, I understand.” Even as he responds, he suddenly doubts his hearing. Maybe it’s just his exhausted mind playing tricks on him, but did Max really just imply that this could happen again? It’s more than Oscar could have ever hoped for, and the corner of his mouth lifts with a hopeful edge as he meets Max’s gaze in the candlelight.

Despite the desperation and need with which they had clung to each other on the floor, the moment now isn’t right to kiss Max again and so he doesn’t. In fact, he watches as Max starts to replace his armor, transforming from the young man who shook apart in his hand back into Captain Verstappen, legendary pirate of the Caribbean Sea.   

He nods again, this time in farewell. “Good night, captain.” He turns without another word, reaching for the door handle just as Verstappen’s voice sounds over his shoulder. 

“Good to have you aboard, Piastri.” 

Fin

Licence to Thrill || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: You give Charles the ride of his life when he’s running late to an important event. Warnings: 18+ only, illegal driving, sexual innuendos, fluff WC: 2.7k

F1 Masterlist || Based on this request

“No, no, no, shit.” Charles’ curses woke you up and you rubbed your bleary eyes as he tossed the blankets back, cold air rushing over your skin. You immediately missed the warmth of his body where he had been spooning you all night and grabbed your phone to see the time.

“Fuck!” Charles growled as his little toe caught the corner of the bedpost, again, and you leapt up to get dressed too. “We are so late, mon amour.”

He had been looking forward to the charity football game all week and the prospect of missing the kick off made him clumsy in his rush. While you pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt he struggled to get one leg into his team’s black football shorts, falling twice as he lost his balance. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured as you curled an arm around his waist to steady him. “I shouldn’t have kept you up so late.”

He grabbed a shirt before sparing a moment to press his lips to your forehead. “Don’t be, I enjoyed myself very much.”

“Oh, I know, and I’m pretty sure my neighbours know it too,” you teased as you took your shirt from his hands and tossed him the correct shirt with his name and driver number on the back. “Come on, get that sexy ass moving.”

He laughed as you squeezed his butt when he bent down to tie his shoes. “Hands off the goods, honey, I’m not a piece of meat.”

“Keep telling yourself that, handsome,” you shot back as he made for the stairs and you locked the house behind you.

“Shit,” Charles groaned as he hit his head on the steering wheel. “I am stupid.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked, leaning over to see the dashboard. “You forgot to put petrol in again, didn’t you?”

“I was in a rush to get here last night,” he admitted sheepishly. “I’ll call Arthur to come get us.”

“I can take us.” You opened your handbag and found your keys as well as the remote for the garage door.

“Wait, you drive?”

“Of course I do,” you laughed as you climbed out of the Pista.

He quickly hopped out his side to follow. “I didn’t even know you had a licence. Why am I only just learning this now?”

“You never asked,” you said with a shrug, “and you always offer to pick me up.”

“Because I thought you didn’t drive.”

You giggled as you hit the remote and the door lifted up. “What did you think was in the garage?”

“Storage? Chérie,” he sighed as he followed you down the driveway that passed by the front door that he had a key for and he pointed to it. “I’ve never come in your backdoor, how should I know?” You cocked an eyebrow up with a smirk and he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Well, just so you know, the garage is where I park my car.” You waved a hand to the opened door and Charles whistled as he saw the gleaming black hood catch the morning sun. He automatically started walking to the drivers side and you tutted at him. “Don’t even think about it, love. That’s my baby.”

“But-“

“No buts, if you want to make it to the match on time you ride shotgun.” You grabbed his shoulders and turned him in the direction of the other door and he grumbled as he started to walk around. “If it’s any consolation, you can pick the music.”

The door creaked open and slammed shut behind him before he groaned and you laughed as you climbed in to see him holding his phone, the Spotify app useless with the old radio. “Forgot to mention, she only takes cassette tapes.”

“You know you can update the stereo,” he pointed out as he opened the glove compartment and rifled through the stacks of old cassettes. “Fleetwood Mac. Michael Jackson. There’s nothing from this century.”

“Hey, don’t hate on them. They are classics and this is a classic car.” You turned the key and grinned as he dropped the tape at the sudden roar that was deafening in the small garage. “You might want to buckle up, baby.”

“Why are there racing harnesses in here?” he asked as he pulled the five point harness over his shoulders and bucked it in.

“You probably shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” you admitted as you shoved a random mixtape into the radio and turned the volume dial up.

The kick drum intro to Ram Jam’s  Black Betty thumped from the speakers as you pushed down the clutch and put the ‘70 Dodge Charger into gear. The full force of the V8 engine drove your body back into the seat as the car hurtled forward and burst into the sunlight. Charles latched onto the handle above his door and while the other hand pressed against the dash and his knees tucked up like he was preparing for impact.

“I’m trying not to be insulted here,” you huffed as you pushed his knee down between shifting gears. “I may not have a super licence like some people, but I have never crashed.”

A terrified scream erupted as you burst out of the driveway and pulled the handbrake, kicking the back wheels out as you drifted into the quiet suburban street and took off with a trail of burnt rubber. Your neighbours wouldn’t be too happy but you didn’t care as long as you got Charles to where he needed to be on time.

You spared a glance over to your boyfriend and saw the whites of his eyes as they stared at the road ahead and his knuckles turned white from the tight gripe he held. “Chérie, road, road, cars, look, traffic, look at the road. The road!”

He turned to you wide eyed as you approached the busy intersection at full speed before hitting the brake. You held his eye contact as you shifted down the gears before coming to a gentle stop at the lines in front of the traffic light and he exhaled in relief.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he said but the words were warm and his smile was one amazement as the adrenaline hit him. His hands tugged the harness until it was snug and he settled into the seat as you waited for the light to turn green. “I’m ready this time.”

“Good, because we won’t make it if I stop for every red light.”

“Wait, what?” The light changed and you put your foot to the floor as Charles chuckled nervously. “You’re joking right?”

“If it helps, sure,” you shrugged, weaving in and out of the cars and ignoring the angry honks of their horns. “Do you think I could take your car for a spin?”

“Absolutely…not.” 

You narrowed your eyes as he got your hopes up and almost missed the turn that would shave a few seconds off the travel time. Any normal person would have struggled to stay upright in their seat but Charles’ line of work made it easy for him to tense his abdominals and neck so he barely moved as the mass shifted and the back wheels drifted behind the turn.

“What if I let you drive this?” you bartered as the road straightened out and you reached speeds high enough to instantly lose your licence and the car. 

“Oh, mon amour,” he murmured as he chewed his bottom lip and he debated the offer before looking at his watch. “If you get me there before kick off you have a deal.”

He should have known you wouldn’t miss out on the opportunity very few people got and the smile you gave him gave him pause as he wondered what he had just got himself into.

“It’s going to be tight,” you muttered as you saw the time, just catching the hint of a smile on his face. “But doable.”

Charles watched with fascination. He saw your eyes scanning the road far ahead, making plans and contingency plans for the hazards that you might face. All the while you blindly shifted up the gears with your feet working in tandem, releasing the accelerator as you double clutched for a smoother transition. 

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” he chuckled in disbelief as you took a corner with enough speed that he knew there had to be some g-force working against you, but you didn’t even notice as you gripped the wheel tight and exited the apex without slowing down.

“I’m pretty sure if you were dreaming we would be doing something else, not driving.”

“I’m not sure now, I’m finding this extremely hot. You could pull over and make that dream come true?”

“And miss out on driving your baby? No way.” You shook your head with a laugh before biting your lip. “It is tempting, but I have to think of the children. They would be very disappointed if you didn’t show up for the match.”

“And Pierre, I don’t think he would forgive me.”

“I said children didn’t I. Oh, shit.” You ripped the handbrake and did a 180 as you missed the street you needed. “Stop distracting me.”

The stadium was just up ahead and you could see the parking lot on the other side of the overpass but there was only one road to get there. Unless you wanted to drive the long way around but then you would be late.

“Amour, that’s a one way street,” Charles pointed out as you headed to the underground pass. “You’re going the wrong way. There’s traffic cameras here too.”

“You’re right,” you huffed before twisting the wheel a little to the left then all the way to the right. The suspension would not like the pressure you were putting it under but she spun around and you shoved the car in reverse and draped your arm across Charles’ chair as you looked over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to get a fine.”

The engine roared inside the tunnel as you pushed the limits of the gear and you swerved through the lanes. You were grateful that it wasn’t rush hour traffic so there were only a few drivers angry with your recklessness before you burst out of the tunnel, through the intersection and into the parking lot. 

The stadium was quiet since the event was only televised but there were still lots of media crews at the entrance and they all turned your way as the back of your car careened towards them. You reached the last row of empty parking spaces and pulled the handbrake, whipping the front around and coming to a stop beside the gate entrance.

“Twelve seconds to spare,” you laughed as you drummed your fingers on the steering wheel. “That will be twenty euros and a five star rating, s’il vous plaît.”

“Just enough time to change my shorts,” he joked as he pushed his door open.

“Good thing they are black this year,” you retorted with a laugh as you tossed him his boots he would have forgotten. “Go, I’ll meet you inside.”

He blew a kiss as he took off at a jog and waved to the stunned reporters who were still recording.

“Is that Y/N?” A female presenter asked her male colleague.

“Leclerc’s girlfriend?” He laughed and shook his head. “No way. This has to be some stunt.”

You drove more sedately to a spot a few spaces away where you spotted Pierre’s car and parked beside it before killing the engine and letting the silence settle. Adjusting your mirror, you saw everyone still watching, waiting to see who it was being the wheel.

“I told you,” the woman gasped as she elbowed the man. “It was her! Do you have a moment?”

“Sorry, games about to kick off,” you apologised as you rushed past and into the stadium just in time to see Charles faceplant. “Ohh,” you gasped along with the others watching before cupping your hands around your mouth. “Yellow card ref!”

“He tripped over himself,” Kika whispered as she joined you.

“Oh I know, I just thought he could use a little 15 minute rest.” You grinned as you gave her a kiss on the cheek. “He’s had a rough morning.”

“What happened?”

“He stubbed his toe.” Your phone started vibrating and you pulled it out of your pocket to see your twitter notifications blowing up. “Huh, that was quick. The devil works hard but F1 fans work harder.”

You showed her the thread which started with a short clip of your car thrashing it down the street, Charles holding on for dear life. You chuckled as you saved it to show him later, knowing he would get a kick out of it too.

“Yeah, I don’t think that was the stubbed toe, hun…” she hummed.

“Meh,” you shrugged, pocketing the device so you could concentrate on the game.

Charles and Pierre’s team won the match and you climbed over the baluster to jump down to the grass as the pair jogged over. Charles swept you up with a proud grin as he spun around.

“Well played, handsome,” you praised as you brushed his sweaty hair back into place before helping yourself to a quick kiss.

“Wouldn’t have made it without you, chérie.”

Pierre clapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head to the reporters waiting for a post match interview and he reluctantly placed your feet back on the ground.

“Well, this should be interesting,” you muttered to Kika as you waved to the camera that remained pointed at you until Charles said something.

“Just how bad was your driving?” she asked curiously.

“Bad? Oh it wasn’t bad,” you chuckled. “My driving is actually very good, if I do say so myself. It was just a little faster than he was expecting.”

She curled an eyebrow up. “He goes 200 mph for a living.”

“Yeah, funny right.”

Charles was still catching his breath when the microphone was held in front of him and could see videos of his entrance playing on the big screens around the stadium. Pierre’s eyebrows disappeared under his hair in surprise as he saw the black Charger spinning to a stop and his friend climbing out.

“No fucking way,” Pierre laughed as he looked back at you laughing with his girlfriend. “That’s awesome.”

“I know right,” Charles said with a proud smile. “You should have seen it, she was going full on sideways through these corners, it was insane.”

“So, Charles, I'm sure this comes as no surprise,” the reported began, “but we have some questions about your girlfriend, after the entrance she made.”

“You have some questions?” He threw his head back and laughed. “I have some questions! I had no idea she could drive like that.”

“Her father is a rally driver. Did you really never suspect anything?”

“My mother is a hairdresser, doesn’t mean I am good at cutting hair. Why do you think I wore a bandana during lockdown? I butchered it that’s why.” He brushed his hair back that had thankfully grown back after his terrible attempt and laughed to himself. “So no, I didn’t assume she could drive because her father can.”

The interview finally turned to the football match and then a little bit about the upcoming race before Charles was able to escape. He held up a finger and mouthed one minute as he made a detour to the few fans that had been invited. He talked with some of them, shaking hands and signing autographs.

You wolf whistled loudly as Charles took his shirt off and he grinned without even having to check who it came from before he gave it to a fan and waved goodbye. You knew you were staring as he jogged back and you knew you weren’t the only one, but he only had eyes for you as he gave you a wink and draped his arm over your shoulder.

“How cool is that shot,” he said as he looked up at the screens still playing a rotation of highlights from the game and your arrival. “There’s just one way to make it better.”

“Excuse me?” you dared him to criticise your driving but his charming smile only grew wider.

“Do it in a Ferrari.”

Apparently its canon that:

Dick and Jason look alike.

Dick is basically Bruce's carbon copy.

Can you imagine how many times Dick have been mistaken as Jason and Bruce? Or Jason being mistaken as Dick?

Dick, wearing a black tank top and sweats— looking exactly like Bruce, walks into the kitchen:

Damian: Morning, Father.

Dick, turns around, expecting to see Bruce behind him: ?????

——————

20 year old Dick casually picking up his 13 year old brother Jason from school:

Random teacher: Ah, Mr. Wayne. Are you here to pick Jason up?

Dick: Mr— It's me, Dick??? Dick Grayson??????

——————

Dick walking into the Manor after Bruce and Jason having an argument about something:

Bruce: Jason? You're back?

Dick in a leather jacket: He's out killing people wdym??????

——————

Dick just wanting to get some coffee, gets stopped by paparazzi, thinking he was Bruce:

Random reporter: Mr. Wayne!

Dick: STOP CONFUSING ME AS MY DAD

——————

Dick hanging out with Tim:

Random passerby whispering to their friend: That's Bruce Wayne and his son Timothy Drake!

Dick, who could hear it: ...

Tim: Calm down. Calm your tits.

——————

Jason walking into the kitchen, Bruce and Tim are there, both have been awake for 72 hours now:

Bruce: Morning Dick.

Jason: Did you just call me a dick????

Tim: But— that's your name?

Jason: My name is Jason. I'm NOT DICK.

——————

Jason and Dick getting de-aged, both wearing their Robin costumes:

Cassandra: Sooooo... which one is Dick and which one is Jason?

Bruce: I— I never realised they look so similar.

Duke: The angry and feral one must be Jason. Dick's the smiley one.

Tim: Nope. Dick's the feral. Jason's the happy. Been stalking them for years, I would know.

——————

Dick crying hysterically: Do I look old enough to be mistaken as Bruce?!?!?!?!

Bruce: *glares*

Jason: Exactly! I don't look that old to look like Dick.

Dick: FUCK YOU

——————

But of course, sometimes it's an advantage. Dick could get away with things like being Batman, getting his brothers out of trouble, etc.

While Jason could get away with being Nightwing and stuff. (ehem that time when he dressed up as Nightwing and killed people in the suit.)

This is a cute blurb idea, I just fell asleep at my school's library and I imagined Liam coming to find you and sees you are at the university and fell asleep

He'd been away and you two have only been talking via messages and facetime. Those little chats have been getting fewer and farther apart as your school year has gone by.

Liam was aware of that, and he had no issues with it, but he has been missing you. So as a little surprise he decided to hop on a plane and come back to England to see you.

Of course, you weren't answering your phone which had him tracking it instead. Seeing as you were in the library he smiled, always the bookworm. Skipping each step and stops, seeing your head down and hunched over a book.

Sneaking up he goes to surprise you but stops seeing your sleeping face. "Aw, my little bug." Grabbing an extra chair he sits down, smiling at you. How tired you must have been recently to fall asleep in the library.

Feeling a presence next to you, your eyes pry open only to be met with not the words of your textbook, but the smiling face of your very blonde boyfriend. "Hi," You whisper, Liam cocking his head to the side smiling back. "Hi,"

"Take me home?" You yawn, rubbing your eyes. "Always,"

how about Jason with the prompt "text me when you get home"? the one time they forget/fall asleep before sending the text and Jay loses hid mind. rushes over expecting them to be dead but they passed out on the couch as soon as they got home

really superbly SCRUMPTIOUS prompt Aud. I love protective jaybird 🥰‼️ thanks for sending something in 🫶

jason todd x gn!reader. worried protective snuggly jason. no warnings really, ya boy is just paranoid and madly in love with you 💓

request something! I rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

As soon as you get out of your last class of the day, your phone rings.

You answer it, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder as you fish in your bag for a couple of bills. You're already walking to the train station.

"Hi, snookie bear," you say into the phone, slightly delirious with hunger and sleep deprivation.

Jason snorts on the other end. "That's a new one. Hey, baby. Y'heading home?"

"Indeed I am."

"Need a ride?"

You wait and listen. Eventually, you hear the sounds of hitting and grunting in the background. You roll your eyes—only Jason would be in the middle of a fight and then ask if you need a ride home.

"No, I'm okay. It's not dark yet. Plus you sound busy."

"I'm never too busy for you," he says immediately. "And it's gonna get dark in an hour. Are you sure—"

"Yes, Jay," you say gently. "I'm sure. Don't worry about me. I'm going straight home."

You're already at the station. There's a good amount of people, students and workers alike. The university is in a relatively okay part of town, especially during the day. You're not worried. It's not like you traipse through Crime Alley on your downtime.

"Okay." Jason takes a deep breath. "Just—just be careful. Text me when you get home."

You note the hint of worry in his tone. Maybe this week has been particularly saturated with crime. Jason tends to get a little overbearing about your safety when he's had a tough week. You know he had go down to Blüdhaven and help his brother—with what specifically, you don't know.

Most of the time, you're sure you don't want to know.

"I always do," you say. The train pulls up to the station. "Ooh, train's here! I'll talk to you later. I'm thinking of ordering takeout. Too tired to cook."

"Okay, sweetheart. Be safe. Love you. Lock your door."

You roll your eyes fondly. "Yes, Jay. Love you too. Bye."

You hang up as you step onto the train. You pull your headphones out of your bag and shut your brain off during the ride. By the time you get off the train, you've lost hope that you'll be doing any work tonight. You're absolutely wiped out after three back-to-back classes.

It's still light when you get home. You lock the door after you get in, the habit ingrained into you, and dump your bag onto the couch.

Takeout is a no-go. You're hungry now and about thirty seconds away from passing out on the couch.

You change into your home clothes, eat a granola bar, and call it a day. You'll eat more later.

You turn off your phone to bar any annoying notifications and fall into bed, eyes closing immediately.

****

The sound of your deadbolt being teared off its chain wakes you up. You flinch and jump awake, trying to blink through sleep. Your mouth is dry from how hard you slept, and your eyesight is slightly blurry from the sudden flood of moisture.

Your bedroom door swings open, and suddenly you're pulled into warm, heavily muscled arms. You hug back on instinct; you'd know the feel of your boyfriend anywhere.

"Jay, h—"

"You didn't text," he says, voice shaking. "You said you would. I was—I thought you were—"

You tense, guilt knocking into you.

"Shit. Jason, I'm so sorry. I meant to, I was just so tired..."

Jason pulls back to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. His expression is stern.

"I'm gonna pick you up from now on. When are your late days?"

"Jay, no, GCU is across town. You can't possibly pick me up three days a week. That's too much! What about patrol?"

"Somebody else is out at this time," he says stonily. "Crime Alley can wait an hour while I get you home."

His eyes blaze green, a side effect of the Pit. You can tell he's putting every effort into keeping a lid on the worry and fear and anger over your silence.

"Jason." You cup his face. "Honey, I'm safe. I'm sorry I didn't text you. I'm sorry I worried you. But your adrenaline is spiked right now, Jay. Everything feels magnified. I don't need to be picked up. I was perfectly safe coming home. Okay?"

He shakes his head, holding your wrists. "Anything could've happened. I was so—fuck, baby, I was so scared. I-I checked the station footage and the traffic cams, and I didn't see you after you cut through the park, and I thought—I was sure you'd—"

Jason pulls your arms around his neck and buries his face into your shoulder. He supports you by the backs of your thighs, tugging you into his lap. Then he clings tight.

"Oh, Jay," you murmur, petting his curls. "I'm alright. This end of Gotham isn't so bad. And I know you'd have found me even if something had happened. But nothing did."

"Can't lose you," he chokes out.

"You won't lose me, honey," you say. "You keep me safe."

He trembles in your embrace. You kiss the shell of his ear and continue to pet his hair.

"Let me pick you up tomorrow, at least," he pleads. "We'll get dumplings at that place you like. You barely ate anything when you came home."

"Okay, Jay," you say, because you know he needs that reassurance. He won't relax without it. "That sounds good."

You keep stroking his hair. "Y'wanna order in now?"

"In a minute."

Jason lays you both down on the bed. He throws a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest. It's now that you see just how much tension is locked in his shoulders. He's exhausted.

"Jus' wanna hold you for a bit," he says, lips resting on your shoulder.

He's drowsy, the adrenaline finally ebbing. You close your eyes and snuggle into his arms.

"You can hold me for as long as you want," you say, threading your fingers with his. "I'm not going anywhere."

Get well soon! Always drink your water 💗

I also want to say

I LOVE YOU AND YOUR FICS HOPE WE GET MORE DEVIL READER ✨️

Fallen (Bonus Scene) || CL16

The fireworks had ended, the songs had fallen silent, the New Year celebrations were almost over. The yacht had been the centre of much of the excitement but it too was quiet with dawn’s approach. 

A blanket draped over your shoulders before Charles took a seat beside you at the bow, your legs dangling over the side where the anchor disappeared into the depths. 

“I suppose I will have to make a resolution,” you said as you pulled the blanket closer and shuffled into his side. “That’s a human thing to do, right?”

“Very, but then you have to give up after a few weeks. That’s how it goes,” he chuckled, leaning closer he brushed his lips gently over your temple. “How is your head?”

“Sore.” You automatically reached for the bump and hissed when you felt the tender bruise on your forehead. “I’m not doing it as much though, that's progress.” You were still getting used to having to do menial tasks like opening doors and the bruises that littered your body showed just how hard the habit of apparating was to break. 

“You’ll get used to it, mi diablesse.”

“Sooner rather than later, it’s not like I have all the time in the world anymore.” You abandoned the blanket and climbed onto Charles’ lap since his body was much better at warming yours. “What is your resolution going to be then, champ? What shiny trophy do you want now?”

His arms settled around you with a sigh of contentment. “I don’t know,” he admitted, having spent more than a decade trying to get to right where he was, a Formula 1 World Champion. “I never thought about what would happen after I won.”

“I guess you could just win it again.”

He chuckled but his shrug was unconvincing. “Maybe I can help someone else win. Arthur just needs an empty seat.”

“I do have a little experience there.”

Charles' lips parted but he managed to curb his curiosity before he could ask about it and it was probably for the best. “I’m thinking less along the lines of threats, more like taking  a step back so he can have his shot. He did it for me when we were younger, I figure I owe him that.”

“With a heart like that, you could have been an angel.”

The tide changed and the yacht swung around until you were facing the east, the sun rising at your back and Charles pointed to the horizon where the last star remained. Hues of purple bled to orange and you smiled at the brilliant ember burning among it. Suddenly the star began to fall, cascading from the heavens until it disappeared from sight and you nearly fell from the boat as you hopelessly reached for it.

“Shhh, hey, it's okay,” Charles cooed as he cradled you to his chest. “It’s a falling star, you’re meant to wish upon it.”

“But it’s the Morningstar, my star. How am I meant to find my way home?”

Charles cupped your face in his palms and tipped your head back to look at him. “Close your eyes,” he said, kissing your lips when you obeyed. “Now make a wish.”

in another life we are 2 cats sitting on a windowsill

got drunk on you — daniel ricciardo

daniel ricciardo x verstappen!reader [6.5k] summary: max comes for a visit before the race in monza and he fails to mention that he'd invited daniel along. warnings: 18+ explicit smut, verstappen!reader, explicit language. a/n: not me writing this during my 12hr shift lmfao i hope it's somewhat enjoyable to read. as always, feedback is v much appreciated. love you all 🤍

The first time you saw Daniel, was when he’d been clad in orange at the paddock in Bahrain. It wasn’t so much as your eyes being drawn to him automatically, but more so his laughter. You still remembered where you stood with Max and his girlfriend, offering words of support to your brother before qualifiers. Your eyes had solely been on him, but they’d immediately glanced around at sound of the big belly laugh from across the paddock, drawn like a moth to a flame.

It wasn’t hard to match the laughter to the smiling face, watching with mild interest as he messed around with Lando; slapping him between the legs and dodging the punches the British boy dished out in retaliation. He looked fun, carefree, bearing absolutely no tension or nerves that half the grid did for the upcoming race.

Daniel was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him. The sheer charm radiating off of him had your interest piqued immediately, and pairing that with the forbidden fruit feeling, you were hooked. There had never been any real desire to break the unspoken rule of you dating your brother’s friends and colleagues, but it was easy to imagine stepping over that line when you’d watched the tall Australian.

No words were exchanged, but you did get glances and friendly smiles whenever you passed each other. Your best friend received the brunt of your inner thoughts, texting her like a madman of the tall glass of water on the grid.

When Max won, you’d gone back to the hotel and had a few drinks while you got ready for the after party, keeping Sofia - your friend - on the line. She’d somehow convinced you to follow him on Instagram, which you did, and you’d tried not to overthink it when he’d sent you a follow request back a few minutes later.

If liking pictures was flirting, then you were well on the right track.

You’d only ever gotten glimpses of him whenever you did end up tagging along to races, but the first time you actually met him was when Max showed up on your doorstep with Kelly, claiming that he missed his little sister and wanted to spend a few days with you before he was off to Monza. You didn't point out that you'd be right there with him in Italy, accepting his intrusion easily because despite it all, you missed him a whole lot.

What he’d failed to mention was that Daniel would be dropping by too, having invited him without checking with you. It usually wasn’t a problem, sometimes guys from the grid would show up with your brother and it was always a good time.

You really, really wished he’d mentioned it before you opened the door the morning after your brother’s arrival though, still in your very embarrassing pajamas and a toothbrush used and abandoned in your bathroom, fully expecting to see the delivery man on the other end. What you didn’t expect was the tall man who you’d silently been yearning for, looking way too good for someone who'd stepped off a plane.

“Hey.” He greeted you, shooting you a smile that made you blink owlishly. “Good morning.”

You frowned, opening your mouth to greet him but was pushed to the side by your idiot brother. There was a loud and silly exchange between the two men, like you weren’t standing right there with a big question mark on your face, and you watched in silence before Daniel’s gaze on you made Max turn around; like he’d forgotten you were there. In your own home.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you but I invited Daniel.” Max said and you refrained from glaring at him, giving the other man a kind smile instead. “It’s no problem, yeah?”

Killing your brother would have to wait.

“Hi, sorry, of course not.” You thrust your hand out for him to shake, which he did. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You invited him in, closing the door and shooting your brother a glare when his friend wasn’t looking. He responded with a clueless frown of his own, eyes dropping to what you were wearing.

“What are you wearing?” He asked, yelping when you elbowed him a little too hard in the ribs. “And what do you have on your face?”

He reached a hand out to swipe at your cheek, rubbing off toothpaste and you watched in horror, wanting nothing more than the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Thankfully, Max lead the way without another word, chatting with the Australian as he showed him to the room he’d presumably be staying in. You watched them round a corner before fleeing to the kitchen, finding Kelly by the stove, looking ten times more put together than you did. The whole place smelled like pancakes, and you almost lost your track of thoughts just by the sheer smell of them. But you were too wound up, a little upset and a whole lot embarrassed.

“What is he doing here?” You asked, careful to keep your voice hushed because you knew how well sound traveled through your house. “Why didn’t Max say anything!”

Kelly looked a little lost, like she wasn’t sure why you were as upset as you were. Which, fair, she didn’t know the absolute turmoil you’d experience whenever you caught sight of Daniel. It was embarrassing, how nervous the man made you. Like a teenaged girl with a crush on her brother's best friend.

“I thought he did.” She looked over her shoulder at you before plating a pancake with practiced ease. “He’s coming with us to the vineyard.”

You leaned against the counter, feeling a little miffed and she must’ve seen the look on your face because she smiled in amusement.

“You’re the one who complained about third wheeling when I booked the tour for us.”

She had a point, but you didn’t say it out loud. Instead, you plucked a cut up strawberry from a plate and turned around to go get ready before the boys came back. The giraffe pajamas had caused you enough embarrassment for a day. It was time for them to retire deep, deep in the back of the closet.

Breakfast was surprisingly pleasant, conversation flowing freely as you dug into your food. You’d forgotten how incredibly well your brother and Daniel fit together, bickering like siblings and taking friendly jabs at each other. Kelly shifted the conversation to the vineyard you’d be touring, talking about the kinds of wines they made and would have in the menu.

It was a beautiful day to spend outside, the Spanish sun shining brightly as you found your little group huddled around the entrance. It was a small group consisting of maybe fifteen people, and you looked around as Kelly and Max walked ahead of you.

“D’ya reckon we’ll get drunk off our asses?” Daniel asked and you gave the man an amused smile.

“I don’t think the samples are that big.” You frowned. “Right?”

“No clue.” He looked ahead as the two of you fell into step, presumably glancing at Max. “Do you like wine?”

You considered lying, but then you figured that it wouldn’t do much harm to just be honest so you shook your head in the negative.

“Absolutely hate it.” You let out a small giggle when Daniel laughed, bumping his arm against yours. “I’m sorry but it smells and tastes so bad!”

“It does the job, though, no?”

You smiled, opening your mouth to reply but Max cut in, yelling at you to hurry up and join them. The tour guide had appeared like magic, out of thin air, and he was standing to the side patiently. You eyed him suspiciously, turning to Kelly to ask her whether it was an English or Spanish tour, but then the man started speaking and your suspicion turned into sheer amusement.

“Why’s he speaking Spanish?” Max murmured quietly enough for only the three of you to hear.

“Because we’re in Spain, Max.” You answered him sarcastically, earning a snort from Daniel and an exasperated eye roll from your brother.

Kelly made a sound in her throat, sounding a lot like a warning to shut up like she did so many times whenever the two of you started bickering in public.

“I think I might’ve booked the wrong guide.” Kelly admitted sheepishly, quietly and you muffled a laugh behind your hand.

It was a funny thought, that she’d managed to choose a tour with a Spanish guide when only one out of the four of you could speak the language. The one being you. You knew it was only a matter of time before your brother would disassociate out of boredom, and you couldn’t wait to witness it.

“He’s telling us to follow him.” You murmured helpfully, referring to the guide and the group moved in tandem as everyone entered the vineyard.

The tour went as well as expected, watching with mild interest and confusion as you walked the fields, descending stairs to basements and getting to sip on samples of expensive wine in the dampness of old cellars.

You tried not to grimace too hard when you brought the glass to your lips, stomach roiling dangerously as you sipped. And it was only when you’d shuddered that you noticed Daniel watching and grinning across from you, catching you in the act.

At some point, you lost sight of Max and Kelly. You suspected that they’d broken out of the group and gone to the restaurant to sample more wines; like their lips weren’t already stained and Kelly wasn’t starting to get into that giggly mood she always got into when she’d had a little much to drink.

You and Daniel stuck together though, eventually wandering off and getting lost in the field of grapes and greens.

It was fun. More fun than you’d had in a while. You took silly pictures, talked and you forgot the time completely.

“I think Max is a little drunk.” You pointed out, holding your phone in your hand with the screen lit up by a text from the man himself.

You held out your phone so Daniel could read the text, watching how he threw his head back to laugh at the jumble of words he found there. Much like the texts he’d sometimes receive after bar crawls and night clubs.

where arew yoh?? This wind is amazing

??? Wind not wind

WINE

are yyu lost? do I nee f to call for help

“He’s trashed.” Daniel agreed.

You sent back a quick assurance that you were fine, pocketing your phone and looking up to find the man already looking at you. It sent a zip of awareness down your back and you looked away bashfully.

The sun had done a lot of good for him, his cheeks were gaining colour and had already started to freckle. It was pretty, and so, so endearing.

“So, are you excited for Monza?” You asked lightly, turning a corner in the hopes of finding the way back to the restaurant but it was another dead end.

The both of you kept walking though, figuring that you’d find your way back eventually. You just hoped it would be before it got dark outside. Max was drunk, but he’d send a search party out and you had no doubt about that.

“Oh yeah, I got it in the bag.” He said, playful, easy. So very attractive. “Max doesn’t stand a chance.”

You laughed, shoving him in the side and he stumbled with a cackle; regaining his footing easily.

"The most skillful driver out there." It wasn't a complete lie, Daniel was one of the good ones. He just needed a team that could keep up with his speed.

“I’m in the category of the more good looking drivers, actually.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah,” he puffs up his chest, lips getting sucked between his teeth in a poor effort to keep the massive smile off his face. “That’s what my mom said anyway.”

You let out a laugh, thinking of how utterly charming he was. It seemed to come naturally to him, and usually it’d intimidate you when that charm is paired with wildly good looks but he somehow managed to put you at ease.

It wasn’t difficult to see why Daniel was so popular and loved in and out of the grid. He made everyone feel like they were old childhood friends and that was a rare quality to possess.

“I’m starting to think that she lied, though.” He continued, like he hadn’t been staring at your smiling face for a beat too long.

You’d been staring too, though. He was too mesmerising.

“Why’s that?” You grinned, knowing that he’d say something that would reel you in completely, judging by the playful little shake of his head.

“Because you didn’t agree.” He laughed at your eyebrows jumping on your forehead. “You laughed too hard.”

“How do you know I wasn’t laughing out of agreement?” You narrowed your eyes a little playfully.

Daniel smiled, delighted that you were playing along and falling right into his little flirty traps. He couldn’t even remember why he was so nervous to talk to you in the first place.

But then you smiled at him, eyes glistening a little too prettily and it was like someone had knocked the breath out of him. So, he looked away and tried not to show how he’d suddenly felt like someone had pulled the rug right from underneath him.

Never mind that you were Max’s sister, knowing that there was some silent bro-code that he had to consider. It was hard when you had all the qualities he usually looked for in women. And not to mention how fucking attracted he was to you.

“So you do agree that I’m good looking.” He nodded, looking a little smug and you shook your head in amusement.

“Who doesn’t?” You asked, before you had any time to rethink the words coming out of your mouth.

He looked at you and you struggled to not break eye contact, even though your face was feeling a few degrees hotter. If he noticed your nerves, he didn’t say anything and you were eternally grateful for that.

“Well,” he sucked his teeth and tried not to look like his ego hadn’t tripled by that one comment. “ditto, sweetheart.”

The way he said it so casually almost made you stop in your tracks, heat creeping up your neck at the way the word sweetheart sounded on his tongue. You briefly wondered how it’d sound in other contexts.

The thought made your heart race and you quickly banished that thought, because what the fuck?

Daniel made a little sound and stopped walking, and you automatically looked up to notice that you’d finally found your way back. You laughed because somehow you’d accidentally circled around and ended up back where you started.

“Ready for some more wine?” Daniel asked jokingly, brushing his hand against yours and you resisted the urge to grab it.

It was easier to nod, words stuck in your throat as you made your way up the stairs to the restaurant.

It was night by the time you came stumbling back through the threshold of your house, Kelly and Max a little tipsy with Daniel not too far behind; judging by the slight flush on his cheeks that definitely hadn’t been caused by the Spanish sun.

Your cheeks were aching from smiling and laughing too much during the evening, heart feeling light as you navigated your way through the house. Your brother grabbed you with an arm around the shoulders, pulling you into his embrace so suddenly that it made you stumble.

“Easy, Max.” You let out a yelp when he smacked a kiss on your head, slapping at him with your hands until he eased his hold on you.

“Goodnight, bunny.” He was slurring a little, but the words sounded fond coming from his mouth.

You got a similar kiss from Kelly - but less sloppy - and you watched them walk away before disappearing out of sight. The sound of a half-snorted laugh made you turn around, finding Daniel hiding his smile behind his hand. Not that it did much hiding, eyes scrunched up in amusement.

“Bunny?” He referred to your brother’s nickname for you and you frowned in embarrassment. He easily recognised the sheer disdain colouring your face and was quick to plead. “No, no. I need to hear that story.”

“No, you really don’t.” You shook your head with a laugh and began walking to the kitchen. “It’s horrifying enough that you saw me in my pajamas this morning.”

Daniel let out a laugh this time, the sound echoing in the kitchen and you couldn’t even hide your smile even if you tried.

“Hey, giraffes are cute, alright?” He plucked a clean glass out a cabinet and accepted the water bottle you’d gotten out of the refrigerator. “I thought you looked good.”

“Oh, you’re a bad driver and a liar.” You hauled yourself up to sit on the counter.

“I’m not ly— you think I’m a bad driver?” He looked offended, voice going up an octave in sheer disbelief. “You really do have your brother’s sense of humour.”

You stretched a leg out to poke his waist and he easily caught your leg when you tried to pull back. A startled yelp left your lips at his quick reflexes, and you tried not to think too hard about the fact that he was trailing the grip up your leg as he inched closer to you.

“Tell me why he calls you bunny.” He said seriously, and you blinked in disbelief because how did he break the tension so fast?

“You’re not allowed to laugh.” You warned him and he nodded, the smile telling you that he was going to do exactly that. “I used to pretend to be a bunny when I was little. I’d demand carrots for dinner and it has just stuck through all these years.”

He threw his head back and cackled so loudly that you were almost worried that Max would come back out and see what the commotion was all about. But it was hard to deny that his laughter was contagious, so loud and carefree that you couldn’t find it in yourself to even pretend to be mad.

“That’s adorable!” He placed both hands on your thighs as he stepped between them, giving you a bright smile. “Did you hop around as well? Oh you did, didn’t you?”

Your embarrassed smile was enough of an answer, and it sent him into fits of laughter again until you groaned and hid your burning face behind your hands. Daniel’s peals of laughter slowly died down and he made a noise of protest, hands coming up to pry yours off your face.

“Don’t be embarrassed, bunny.” He said and you glared.

“Don’t call me that.” You pointed a finger at him. “Only Max is allowed because he rarely does anymore. I don’t want that nickname to stick.”

He held up his hands in surrender, sucking in his lips to stop himself from smiling and you held your own smile back while staring straight at him.

You hadn’t realised how close the two of you had gotten, your thighs on either side of his waist and him leaning oh, so close to you. There was a shift in the air then, where you both seemed to realize the position you found yourselves in. He didn’t make any moves to pull away though, and you weren’t about to be the one to push him away.

You were aware that you were playing a dangerous game, toeing the fine line that Max had drawn in the imaginary sand. There was no telling how your brother would react if he walked into the kitchen right now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your hands found life of their own; trailing up the meaty expanse of Daniel’s arms until you reached his broad shoulders.

He wasn’t a massive guy, by any means, but he was defined and had muscle. It wasn’t so hard to see that he’d put in work to look the way he did, it came with his job after all.

“Can I…” His words died on his tongue when you glanced up at him, getting a little lost in your eyes and the way you were practically eating him up with your gaze. It was intoxicating. “Can I kiss you?”

A rush of heat flooded your stomach, and you responded by running your fingers through his hair and bringing his head closer to yours. He went easily, eagerly settling his mouth over yours in a kiss that had you gripping his hair and shoulder.

The need took over so fast, you barely had time to take a breath. Your heart sped up when he took that last step forward, bringing his knees flush to the counter as his mouth opened under yours.

You didn’t know what to focus on, getting lost in the feeling of his hands gripping at your ass cheeks and pulling you into him until your crotch was slotted right against his lower belly; allowing you to rub off on him if you so pleased. And fuck, you really wanted to.

He must’ve sensed it, or even read your thoughts because he helped you thrust forward with the help of his hands on your ass, groaning deeply into your mouth when you started grinding against his torso. Daniel didn’t know if he was imagining the heat against his stomach, but you felt warm and so ready for him to take you apart however he pleased.

“Tell me what you want.” He demanded quietly against your lips, and you let out a needy little whimper when he squeezed the meat of your ass in his palms. “You gotta tell me what you want.”

“You.” You managed, leaning forward to kiss him and Daniel allowed it before pulling back slightly.

You almost huffed in frustration, but refrained from doing so. Instead, you grabbed one of his hands and guided them up the apex of your thighs, under your dress and settled his hands right where you needed him most. Daniel’s breath stuttered, the heat of it hitting your face and you blinked at him with pleading eyes.

“Touch me, please, Daniel.” You arched your back a little until his hand moved of its own accord, stroking softly over the dampness of your underwear.

He couldn’t believe how wet you already were, fingers eagerly searching for your hole through the cotton and pressing down until you were whining. It was like music to his ears, and he needed to hear more.

Daniel yanked your panties to the side, cursing loudly at the wetness of your pussy against the pads of his fingers. He touched your swollen clit in circles, never taking his eyes off of your face. You were so animated, pleasure written in large bold letters on your face as your eyelids fluttered; eyes rolling a little when he stroked you particularly nicely, mouth dropping opening in breathy moans.

He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss, the filthiness of it making his cock ache.

“Does that feel good?” He asked when you broke from the kiss, tipping your head backwards so his mouth met your chin instead. He kissed down the column of your throat and sucked against the skin there, mindful to not leave any visible marks.

“Feels perfect.” You slurred, your accent melding into your English and it was so horribly endearing and hot at the same time that Daniel couldn’t resist sinking a finger into you.

The response from you was beautiful, your back arching and hips thrusting into his hand as your hole swallowed his digit without any trouble. Daniel wasn’t sure if you were even aware of the noises you were making, high pitched little uh’s that rose in octaves and he was quick to silence them by kissing you.

He took the opportunity to slide another finger alongside his middle one, meeting a little resistance before you relaxed in his hold. The wetness and warmth of you was so intoxicating that he had to take a deep breath to not blow too soon in his pants.

“Want you—“ your words trailed off as your hands came up to search for the button of his pants.

You were panting, feeling impatient and Daniel watched in silence as the sound of the zipper echoed in the quiet kitchen. There was a brief sense of relief when you dragged down the hem of his underwear, just enough for you to fish him out and get your hands on him.

“Fuck.” You cursed in a whisper, voice laced in enough wonder for Daniel to laugh breathlessly. It was unbelievable how that one word could breathe so much confidence into his body.

Daniel was heavy and hard in your hand, and you took a moment to stroke him to get him fully hard, marvelling at the sheer weight and size of him. Of course, he couldn’t possess the personality and looks, he had to have the full package as well.

“You sure you want this?” He asked and you glanced up at him.

“I want this.” You almost said need, but bit your tongue.

You looked for any sign that maybe he didn’t want this, but you could find none and that made the urgency flare up in your chest as you brought him closer to you. He went easily, hands gripping your thighs to spread them.

“Spread your legs wider.” He instructed you and you did as you were told, ignoring the slight ache in your thighs at being stretched so wide.

Maybe you should’ve felt embarrassed by the position you were in, on display on your kitchen counter with your dress flipped up to reveal your bottom half. But Daniel was roving his eyes over you like he hadn’t seen anything like it before, and that was enough for the last smidge of self-consciousness to dissipate into thin air.

He took himself in his hand and stroked a couple of times, and you were so mesmerised by the sight of it that you almost missed the way he suddenly halted and looked around.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, frowning and he glanced at you.

“Do you have… anything?”

It took a second for you to gather your thoughts and understand what he meant, and dread suddenly sank in your stomach when you realised that no, you really didn’t have protection.

“Shit.” You swore, frowning as you sat up a bit. You looked at him, eyes searching his face as the most stupid idea crept into your mind. “I don’t— I don’t mind?”

His eyebrows jumped, and you couldn’t blame his surprise because it was a reckless move. But you were on the pill and you hadn’t been sexually active for a while. And maybe you shouldn’t, but you trusted Daniel enough.

“I mean, I’m clean and I’m on the pill.” You quickly added when he still hadn’t said anything.

You briefly contemplated sneaking into the sleeping couple’s room and stealing from Kelly, but the sheer horror you felt at the thought of being caught by your brother was enough for you to dismiss that thought. No way.

“I’m clean too.” Daniel said, placing a hand on your cheek and tilting your head up to look at him. “Are you sure about this? We don’t have to do it.”

“I’m sure.” You said and you meant it.

Daniel smiled with a nod, leaning forward to press a tentative kiss to your lips and it didn’t take long to fall back into that previous urgency you’d felt. You loved on his lower lip as he stepped forward, slipping two fingers into you and stretching you out for good measure before he gripped himself in his hand and guided you forward on the counter.

It felt like the breath was stolen from you as he breached you, keeping his eyes on your face to watch for any change and your eyelids fluttered shut as he pushed inside.

“Fuuuuck me.” He dragged out the words, struggling to find his breath at the sheer warmth enveloping him. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

You blinked them open, mouth falling into an O that looked too inviting for Daniel. He kept his eyes on yours as he bottomed out, waiting for a nod from you before he pulled back and thrusted forward, jolting you and making you moan out.

“Fuck, baby.” He set up a good rhythm, leaning his forehead against yours as he started fucking you. “Sound so pretty for me but you need to keep it down. Wouldn’t want your brother to find us like this, do you?”

He groaned when you tightened around him, giving you a particularly hard thrust in retaliation that made you whimper.

“That got you tight.” He turned his head to nudge his nose against your cheek, and you could feel him smile slowly against your skin. You could only imagine how downright filthy it looked. “Does that turn you on? The fact that someone could walk in and see you like this?”

It was a horrifying thought, but you couldn’t deny the heat spreading through your entire body as you imagined it. And Daniel could feel it affecting you, feeling you squeeze around his cock so deliciously tight that he almost faltered in his rhythm.

Your stomach was starting to tighten up, a telltale sign that you were so close but you still needed that incentive; that last push over the edge of wild oblivion. Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck to keep you upright while the other one found a home between your legs, fingers a little too slippery to cause any real friction. You let out a frustrated huff and wiped your hands on your dress before returning to touching yourself.

Daniel had his eyes fastened on you the entire time, feeling dangerously close to climaxing but he refused to be the one to come first, staving off for as long as he could.

It was difficult, it was so hard to keep up pace when you were clenching around him like you were subconsciously trying to keep him deep inside. He glanced up at your face and got exactly a two second warning before your mouth fell open and your legs got tight around him.

“Dan—“ The rest of your moan got choked off against the dampness of his shirt as he placed a hand on the back of your head and pressed your face to his shoulder; a poor attempt at muffling your sounds.

He couldn’t hold it off any longer, burying his face against the side of your head. “Where do you want me?” He should’ve pulled out, and he would if you told him so, but you felt heavenly around him and he momentarily wished that he could bury himself deep in your being and never get up for air.

“In.” Your words were trembling, breathless. “In me, please.”

And who was he to deny that, when you were begging so prettily?

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He gave a thrust, two and let out a guttural moan that he struggled to keep inside. Your breathy little noises as he shot off inside you was the only thing he could hear alongside the rush of blood in his ears. “This cunt.”

Your whole world tilted on its axis and you found yourself on your back, the hard and cool plane of the counter a nice contrast against your sweaty back. A giggle left your lips when you glanced down where Daniel had somehow managed to lose his balance, folding himself on top of you.

Daniel glanced up at the sound of your laughter, a dazed smile creeping onto his face and you couldn’t help but run your fingers through his sweaty hair, pushing the locks away from his forehead so you could get a look at his eyes.

He looked a lot like he did after a gruelling race. Sweaty and flushed, the apples of his cheeks tinted pink. But there was a bliss to him that definitely didn’t come from racing, and you flushed all over when you realized that it was your doing, you’d done that.

It was a powerful feeling to bring a man like that to his knees.

“Sorry.” He apologised as he placed both hands on either side of you, pushing himself up on unsteady feet. He held his hand out and helped you sit up. The stickiness between your legs was starting to cool, feeling uncomfortable and very much like you were in dire need of a shower. “You alright?”

You glanced up at him and smiled. “Perfect.”

He reciprocated the smile, looking like he was a little unsure of how to proceed. You didn’t blame him, because what did you do after that whole ordeal, in a kitchen, nonetheless. You wrapped one leg around his thigh and urged him forward, hands grabbing at his arms when he was close enough.

“You look beautiful.” He said, voice sincere and quiet, just for your ears. It made you feel a little sheepish, but you thought that you’d never get tired of hearing it if it came from his mouth.

“So do you.” You said, words spoken against his lips before he slotted his mouth over yours in a kiss.

The skin around your mouth was feeling a little chafed from his beard, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you let yourself be kissed; lost in the taste and smell of him. It was unbelievable how intoxicating he was.

“I’m gonna need a shower after that.” You said, laughing when he gave you a look and burying your face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, wrapping yourself around him - much like a koala bear. Daniel must’ve mirrored your delirious thoughts, because he spoke up a moment later.

“Alright, you little koala bear.” He laughed, sounding five shades of amused as he wrapped his arms around you.

You slapped at his back, “Do not make that a nickname.”

The counter disappeared beneath you as he lifted you, the feeling of being weightless so sudden and jarring that you let out a yelp; arms clutching at him to not fall. He had no intention of dropping you though, hauling you up in his arms until he was holding you steadily.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, half-hushed and it was kind of ridiculous that you were being mindful of your voice after all the noise you’d surely created a few minutes prior.

The possibility of Max walking in felt a lot more dangerous now that you weren’t blind with lust, and you still didn’t know how Daniel felt about screwing his friend’s sister behind his back. It was a lot of feelings to unpack, but you put it in an imaginary box and locked it away in your mind for another day.

“You said you needed a shower.” His smile was blinding as always when you pulled back to look at him. “I’m here to assist.”

“That’s what they’re calling it nowadays? Assisting?” You joked and Daniel raised his brows in amusement as he began navigating the way to the bathroom.

It was an old house, depriving you of an en suite that you desperately wished you had now. You’d never felt a need for it, seeing as you were living alone, but it would’ve lowered the chances of the other two occupants hearing the shower running so late.

Your concerns went up in smoke when Daniel finally found the bathroom, kicking the door shut gently behind him. It was a failed attempt, the door screeching like something out of a scary movie and it made you muffle your laugh behind your hand.

“Gonna need to oil that, love.” He said, putting you down on your feet.

That’s what you’d told yourself a hundred times since moving in, but it had a weird charm to it so you never did. That, and you just never got around to fixing the door.

There was a bizarre thought that was so fleeting that you dismissed it almost immediately, imagining Daniel dropping by in Spain and coming to visit you between GP's. Him in your kitchen with his guard down, doing maintenance work on your house that so desperately needed it. It warmed your heart to the core, thinking of him squeezing you into his busy schedule but then you thought of Max and your thoughts halted.

Max. He'd done nothing throughout your childhood but protect you, being there for you whenever you needed it and you'd been leaning on each other into adulthood. He was the closest person to you in your life, and the thought of going behind his back made something sour bloom in your mouth.

"Hey."

You looked up at the hushed word, blinking in slight confusion when you saw the concern marring Daniel's face. He must've seen you zone out completely and you realized that you'd been deep in your thoughts for a while because the shower was running already.

Daniel reached a hand out to touch your shoulder, just a quick stroke of his fingers against your skin and you felt your body light up at the slightest touch from him.

"Lost you there for a minute." He said, tilting his head to the side to catch your eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

You looked at him, considered lying, but again, what good would it do?

"Max." You said, the name heavy on your tongue.

His face morphed into something unreadable and he regarded you silently. Like he was trying to reach into your brain and dissect your thoughts.

"Look," He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and peered up at you with his beautifully brown eyes. "I want to explore this with you, see where it takes us. Do you?"

You nodded before he'd finished his sentence, relief seeping into your tense body because he understood your sudden fear, he knew what you'd meant.

"Alright." He gave you a smile, radiant and reassuring. "We don't have to involve Max until we're absolutely sure where we stand."

He made it sound so easy, and maybe it was. Maybe you could do this without involving the outside world, exist in your own little bubble and see where it takes you without the added pressure from the public or either families.

Daniel helped you out of your dress, pressing small and fleeting kisses to your shoulder and arms. It was like he was trying to encourage you to take the plunge.

And in some way you did, as you stepped under the spray of the shower with him.

Can I request something with Lando and reader where she’s max’s (f) little sister and she hangs out with them a lot and she’s a little shy and has a crush on Lando so everytime he talks to her she’s blushing and stammers and he has a crush on her too and eventually they get together?

On My Mind - LN

Y/n loves her big brother. She’s adored him and almost clung to him since they were kids and he’d tell anyone any day of the week, that there is no one who is bigger fan of his. Not Kelly, not Christian, certainly not Jos.

Pictures of her support through they years make his heart swell and she is main source of why he values family so much above all else.

His protective side comes out when it comes to y/n because she’s much quieter and shy compared to him.

One particular weakness of his little sister, the fellow F1 driver, Lando Norris.

Max has never voiced the way he notices his sister getting flustered and stumbling over words when Lando is around but it definitely isn’t a secret to him that she is crushing hard on Lando. But Lando seems to believe that’s not the case and he is without a doubt misreading her.

“Hey, Max. Hello, Y/n.” Lando greets walking up to them as they head towards going to the drivers parade.

“Hi.” Y/n smiles waving her hand as that shy shield drops down over her.

Lando shoots Max a look but her older brother just smiles at him.

“How is my favourite brother-sister duo today?” Lando asks as Max reaches around to pull y/n in front of him, hands on her shoulders while her eyes widen since that’s his way of forcing her to answer.

“We’re uhh…good. Max thinks he’s going to win.” Y/n states earning a laugh from behind her.

“Yeah, I think everyone thinks he’s going to win.” Lando laughs watching her grin at him. Every time he manages to make her smile, he mentally marks a score for himself. “I hope you’re rooting for McLaren after Red Bull.”

Y/n can’t even muster the words to confirm she is definitely rooting for McLaren.

“I-I should go.” Y/n stutters turning to hug Max quickly while Max tries not to give away his amusement over her clear distress. “Good luck.”

“Do I not get a hug?” Lando jokes but out of pure impulse of not wanting to feel like she’s disappointing him, she moves over and hugs him. “Aww…must run in the family to give good hugs. Thank you.”

Y/n disappears without another word and laughs when he looks at her for a moment.

-

Seeing y/n goofing around with Max by putting on his suit and helmet, Lando can’t help but get caught up watching her. Her laughing and screaming when Max chases her a bit, it’s nice to see she’s not so tense and nervous. As she always seems to get whenever he’s around.

“Lando!” Max laughs spotting the McLaren driver which makes y/n literally true and misstep hard into, landing on the ground with a squeak and grunt. “Well…”

“Ah, ow.” Y/n groans pulling the crash helmet off.

“Here, let me help.” Lando smiles pulling her up before she has a chance to decline the offer.

“Th-Thanks.” Y/n smiles avoiding looking at him while Max picks up his helmet.

“How you doing mate?” Max asks making Lando tear his gaze from y/n and smile at his friend.

“I’m good, was just going to ask if you wanted to come play a few games of padel? We’re missing one person.” Lando states making Max decide to play wing man for both his friend and little sister.

“I have some plans with Kelly, but I know for a fact that y/n has no plans. Will you substitute me for the better Verstappen?” Max asks ignoring when y/n reaches for him, nipping his side with a sort of strength only siblings possess for each other. But he keeps a poker face and doesn’t let it show.

Thankfully, Lando has one of his brighter moments and realises what Max is doing.

“That’s great. Don’t worry, you’ll be on my team. It’s us against Ferrari.” Lando grins while y/n tries to find the words but her voice fails to form any noise in trying to get her out of this.

“When’s the game?” Max asks making Lando look back at him.

“I can swing around to grab you at 6-ish.” Lando smiles brightly before he grins at her.

“Sounds good.” Max nods while Y/n is still struggling to process what’s going on and why on earth her brother would put her forward for such a thing. “Great, she’ll be properly dressed for it.”

Max gestures to his racing suit that is currently drowning her body while she smiles nervously.

“She will see you later.” Max smiles nodding before he tugs y/n away to mentally prep her to not mess up this chance that he is making happen for her.

“I will see you.” Lando grins giving her a wink before heading off while she feels like her head explode with the burning of blood rush.

Max found no end of amusement in y/n shouting at him since behind close doors with people she knows well, she is not afraid to raise her voice.

But she got changed into a skort and t-shirt for going to the padel court.

“Lando is here, have you forgiven me enough to go out and join him for the game?” Max asks as she pouts at her brother. “I know you have a crush. I am helping you.”

“You are stressing me out.” Y/n argues while Max laughs at her. “Stop laughing!”

“You like Lando and he is a nice guy. Now can you get out and go play padel.” Max demands pointing for her to leave.

Y/n glares at her brother before doing as she’s told only because she swallows thickly. Her whole body shudders before she swallows thickly and heads out managing a smile to Lando as she walks up to him.

“Hey, ready to go?” Lando asks making her nod as he voice proves to fail her yet again. “Max had mentioned that you two sometimes team up for padel games. I didn’t know if you’d want to have a different teammate.”

“Well, Max isn’t amazing at other sports the way he is at driving.” Y/n shrugs while Lando laughs at her comment. He definitely didn’t expect her to say that. “Are you good?”

“Yeah, I’m basically champion.” Lando nods while she laughs a little. Settling a little since she doesn’t even have the option to hide behind Max, she has to build the courage from somewhere and not be a devastatingly embarrassing person. “Don’t worry, I know I’m going to walk away a winner with you.”

Y/n almost lets herself misinterupt that before shaking it off and as Lando opens the door for her.

“Thank you.” Again that eruption of a flush on her face which Lando clearly notices.

“Hey, I did not realise you meant y/n when you said Verstappen.” Carlos laughs when the two arrive at the padel court.

“Sorry, he had other plans.” Y/n smiles a little but he immediately changes his tune.

“I will have her on my team.” Charles states making her eyes widen in surprise while Lando looks ready to choke the Ferrari golden boy.

“I’ve already called dibs. It’s us against Ferrari.” Lando declares making Charles concede while Carlos sends Lando a look that y/n can’t quite read but Lando just shrugs it off. “Ready to play?”

“I’m ready.”

Admittedly to Lando’s surprise, y/n isn’t just good at padel but she clearly has carries the same gene for competitiveness that is usually overshadowed by her quiet persona. Not that she gets aggressive but the annoyed look when Charles or Carlos win a point or round speaks louder than her voice does.

But after three matches, y/n and Lando have won and he runs to her picking her up when she wins the last point.

“Proving once again, the Verstappen bloodline produces only winners.” Lando laughs while the Ferrari drivers try not to be such bitter losers over Lando and y/n winning.

Somehow y/n is not so much talked into but pulled along for lunch with Lando while Carlos and Charles announce they have other things they need to do.

“Any other sports you excel at?” Lando asks trying to make sure that she feels like he wants to hear her talk.

“Uhhh…tennis?” Y/n laughs nervously before clearing her throat a little. “I’ve really spent my life just…supporting Max.”

Lando softens a little thinking about the type of bond that Max and y/n have. He knows that Max has spoken publicly about how he hates race weekends that his little sister isn’t there, that he’s more confident with her support throughout the weekend.

“That’s quite sweet.” Lando states making a mental note to call his siblings and just check in with them. “Did you ever want to get into racing?”

“I karted, I got really into it. Max thinks if I haven’t continued we could’ve both been in F1…but I think that he’s just trying to build up my confidence about how good I was.” Y/n shrugs with a sad smile.

An idea sparks in Lando’s head but he keeps himself quiet, not wanting to scare her with it.

“I would’ve liked to see you on the grid. It’d be nice to see a woman up with us, why not two Verstappen?”

“Because siblings rivalry is dangerous enough without fast cars and competition?” Y/n jokes earning a laugh from Lando.

“Even better for racing though.”

-

Arranging it with Max took secrecy and compliance but they managed to arrange something for y/n that Lando has to admit, he’s pretty proud of making happen.

“What is this?” Y/n questions pulling off her sunglasses as Max guides her to the karting track.

“Lando wanted to invite us to be apart of his YouTube video. We’re going karting.” Max states proudly while y/n’s smile wavers breaking into a nearly fearful look. “It’s ok, it’s fine.”

“No, because last time we karted together you literally knocked me off track and out of my kart.”

“But I won’t this time. Only clean racing, I promise.” Max states then pushing her toward Lando who is standing with the Quadrant team. “She’s ready to race.”

Using the fact that y/n is too shy in front of new people, and especially Lando, to say no about karting. Y/n smiles when she’s handed a helmet that Max must’ve got to Lando ahead of time since it’s a helmet she had designed and used previously.

Being a part of the video is an unusual experience but Lando helping y/n get into her kart and make sure she feels secure in it, he doesn’t get himself ready until he’s triple checked that she’s happy.

Max is lined up beside her, but she doesn’t dare look at him knowing he’ll knock her focus.

They’ve raced each other as kids, but as adults it’s a different story.

Karts are obviously more limited than an F1 car for speed and general racing ability.

When they finally get going Max shoots ahead, but y/n has a bit of a hare and tortoise attitude. The others prove to be a bit of a hurdle but she slides past them and accidentally past her brother beginning to lead the race and not long later laps some people while Max tries to chase his sister down.

She nearly misses the chequered flag spinning around to a breaking stop which does up with her being rammed into by Max.

“Ah.” Y/n grunts from the impact then sucking in a breath and sighing to herself as she leans back in her seat and raises a middle finger to the world champion. “Sore loser.”

Not to Max’s surprise, Lando jumps at the chance to help her.

“Are you ok?” Lando asks getting her helmet off once she’s out the kart while Max stands up pulling his own helmet off. “That was amazing.”

“Told you she was good.”

“Too bad you had to punish me for it.” Y/n states earning a fake pout before Max hugs his sister.

“You should get back into it.” Max whispers making her tsk clicking her tongue.

“I second that.” Lando adds while she shoots him a small smile.

“I think I’ll stick to a supportive role.” Y/n shrugs then clearing her throat. “That was fun though. Proof that F1 drivers aren’t always the best drivers on a track.”

“Well I told you that you would be the champion if you had’ve stuck with me on the track.” Max shrugs while she rolls her eyes. Then Max nudges Lando. “You should bring her karting again, I think she enjoyed it more than she wants to admit.”

“I’m right here, Max.” Y/n murmurs as if to remind him that she can in fact hear him.

Max does decide that maybe he pushed y/n a little far out of her comfort zone and is maybe pushing her even further which isn’t going her any favours.

“We have to go, but thank you for including us.” Max smiles while Y/n looks almost sad to go. “Or…I could leave y/n here with you guys and someone drop her off later?”

“Sounds good to me.” Lando nods while y/n pauses for a moment then nodding in agreement quickly.

-

Y/n doesn’t get dropped off, instead her and Lando end up in his hotel room with her.

“I wouldn’t have thought Max would be the type of brother to trust you in the hands of another driver. He’s always seemed quite protective.” Lando comments while Y/n lies at the opposite end of the sofa to Lando.

“He’s…not as protective as people think. I think if he thinks something is making me happy, then he won’t get in the way.” Y/n shrugs while picking up some popcorn that they had ordered in room service.

“I think he’s playing wingman to both of us.” Lando comments while she digs herself down as if to try and hide herself. “No…there’s no hiding this time. I’m not hiding anything. If you’ll let me take you on dates and spend nights with you, then I want to do that.”

Lando says it exactly how it is. Complete transparency.

“That sounds good to me.” Y/n nods before he offers her hand that she takes allowing him to pull her over on top of him chest to chest while her face burns hot enough to it radiate off of her.

“Don’t get shy again on me now.” Lando grins before kissing her softly, an action that makes her melt down against him. “I think since I have Max’s permission we’re ok to go ahead.”

what they dont tell you about growing up as a very lonely little girl is that you grow up and still a part of you remains that very lonely little girl