rafe cameron
i loved you
7 times he realised he loved you
jj maybank
six times he realises he loves you
dc comics
social media imagines
visting jon with damian
batfam road trip
dating jay and roy
living with dick
damian being soft
#waynetravels
babysitting lian harper
carnival with the yj team
yj snapchats
batfam x superfam (super!reader)
older damian
batfam x reader christmas
dating wally west
best friend or girlfriend artemis
dick grayson
saviour (batboys)
tim drake
saviour (batboys)
jason todd
saviour (batboys)
arthur curry (aquaman)
secrets of the ocean
formula one/motorsport
social media imagines
BTS of dating the drivers:
george russell
daniel ricciardo
carlos sainz
mick schumacher
charles leclerc
dennis hauger
paul aron
esteban ocon
oscar piastri
lando norris
lewis hamilton
max fewtrell
pierre gasly
max verstappen
fernando alonso
logan sargeant
Working for Prema
carlos sainz
firsts
max verstappen
good
stranger things
steve harrington
6 times steve was pining for you
football
mason mount
for luck
BTS of dating mason mount pt 1
BTS of dating mason mount pt 2
who would've thought that alex albon's appendix would ultimately lead to liam lawson knocking 2x WDC max verstappen out of the top ten in his 3rd ever grand prix qualifying
summary: every since you were kids you’ve kissed mason’s football jersey for luck, until one time you’re not there, and it’s all his own fault.
warnings: smidge of angst, miscommunication, but a happy ending i promise requests are open!
word count: 3.3k
It had started when you were kids, a dumb, off-handed action that you hadn’t meant anything by.
You had been friends as long as you could remember, which, considering you were about six, wasn’t a vast span of time, but regardless your friendship meant the world to the both of you.
His parents had picked you up along the way to one of his matches, the whole week had been a build up of excitement, finally getting to hang out after school and show you his passion and talent.
Unfortunately, the game had turned into a loss, with baby Mason returning to his family with shuffling feet and a pout. Not at all the epic win he had spent five earlier days hyping you up for. The car ride home was filled with the usual play analysis and the brunette desperately trying to convey the other multitude of more exciting matches that you would have to come and see.
Arriving back at the Mount household, you had stopped Mason before he rushed away to change so you could continue on with your day together. Your gentle tug on his arm had brought him stepping slowly back towards you, confused. Turning him away from you, you had leant down and pressed a swift kiss onto the number on the back. ‘For luck next time’ you had said.
Mason had gone bright red before mumbling a ‘thank you’.
His next game, the team won a cruising 4 - 0. And thus your little ritual began.
-
Aged twelve, shirt still baggy on his body and a new number, your ritual remained.
Playing in the one of the junior Chelsea teams, it had become a weekend routine for you, early mornings and extra layers of jackets. Curling into his mothers side on days when neither of you could really keep your eyes open.
The canteen on site becoming your best friend second only to the boy on the field.
But Mason was forever grateful for your continued support, always leaving your mark on his clean jersey in the car before each match, because last weeks luck got washed off in the washing machine, obviously.
-
You couldn’t be at every game obviously due to travel and work, but he never played with your kiss on his number. He would show up to your house during the week beforehand and then guard the shirt like the crown jewels until he put it on for the game. Or for long stints away He would line up his multiple match day tops and wait as you rolled your eyes and left your mark on all of them.
Or, like now, he would simply fly you out to the world cup, because you’re just friends and this is what friends do, obviously.
Except you weren’t there today.
Mason was about to play the biggest game of his career, of his life. And you weren’t there and he was about to fall apart. He had fucked it up and now he was about to go onto the world stage and you wouldn’t even answer his calls.
He knew last night, as soon as he said it that he was wrong, that he was joking about and trying to make light of a situation that, if he could be honest with himself, would have solved a lot of tension in the last four years of your lives. But he didn’t think you would hear him.
Admittedly, clubbing the night before your first World Cup match was probably not the wisest idea, but it was a late game and they had wanted something to fill in the time, given the alternative was laying awake, anxious about the coming day.
Of course Mason had asked (begged) you to come with them, the boys had been in his ear for weeks, telling him that “what better time than the world cup to confess”, and maybe if he told you before they played, it would be one outcome he would know the answer of.
The night was awfully hot, the warm wind making you crave the air conditioned space you knew was waiting on the other end of the car ride. Squished in the back between two of the players girlfriends who you had spent the rushed hour getting ready with before, trading tips and compliments as they cooed over your situation with Mason.
The club was filled with regulars and the extra influx of football fans. Floating in between the bar and dancing with the girls you kept your gaze on Mason, watching as the girls would dance with their partners, wishing that just maybe you could be doing the same, acting as if the man who flew you all the way from England to be here with him, would actually want something more.
In your next rotation, as one of the girlfriends moved back to their player, you decided to suck it up and make your way over to Mason, his shirt hanging loose on his body, chest open despite still showing off the muscles across his shoulders.
There’s a girl on his arm, not unusual, but soul crushing all the same. You get ready to squish yourself closer to him, to tap his shoulder, an attempt to get his attention from behind and let him know you are ready to head out.
You let yourself hover for a moment, admire, before you force yourself to leave. The way he leans on the bar, arm extended to let the girl stand in his personal space. The way her fingers play with the hem of his shirt, keeping his attention trained on her. You could only dream.
“What about the girl you came with?”
You can see him cock his head. It doesn’t take you even a second to know she means you. You’ve been in his life for years, the Daily Mail article and paparazzi photos you have dealt with the lows.
“Are you together?” You suppose it’s a bit late to ask, but her voice doesn’t seem malicious, only curious, as if she is genuinely confused why he’s with her when he could be with you.
You don’t wait for an answer, deciding it really is time to go, and you reach out to get his attention. Exactly as Mason opens his mouth.
“God no. She just kinda follows me around.”
You know time slows because it’s like every word hits you in the chest individually. As does the look on Mason’s face as he turns around. It’s like a movie, when the music fades into a numbing background thud. You can see his mouth moving, words most likely matching the stumbling of his lips but your chest is too tight and you still can’t hear so you force yourself to get your own message out.
“I’m heading back.”
The girl’s face is shocked, definitely not the outcome she expected from such an innocent question. But she slips herself out of Mason’s space about the same time you do. Turning to face the door as you get ready to force yourself through the hordes of sweaty club goers around you.
You can feel his hand on your arm, even amidst heartbreak, you know his touch hidden among a thousand others. You shake yourself free, ignoring the echo of your name as the music comes back into your ears. Allowing yourself to slip away to the mess of limbs and tightly held drinks.
You’ve never been so happy to have booked separate hotel rooms. Mason had assumed you would stay with him, another step in his plan to confess, knowing deep down that you inevitably felt the same, and a second room would only be a waste of money. But you had insisted, claiming he’d need his space before games and would want to be alone after being crowded for hours on end.
He had rolled his eyes and through a smile threw out a world imploding “I’ll never need space from you.”
Some truth that had been.
-
Mason had almost collapsed. Reaching out to you as if you were his lifeline only to watch you shake him off. Pulling away in a way that Mason knew that he had beyond well and truly messed up.
He left the girl at the bar, Kate, he thinks her name was. She was lovely, looking for a way to make her boy situation jealous hence the fingers woven into his shirt while they complained about the hot weather and possibly unrequited love. He hoped that maybe this one time it would be different, having played the attempted jealousy game before, never once thinking how it would come across to you because in his mind as if he could ever look at anyone other than you, so it was obviously an attention thing, right?
Losing him in the crowd was undoubtedly your intention, so he headed directly for Declan, clinging onto his best mate in a way that he immediately knew something was wrong.
“Dec, I’ve messed up.” He can see Declan’s attention shift from his one sided conversation, “Well and truly fucked up. She’s never gonna talk to me again, never even going to look at me. Fuck, Dec, I want to marry this woman and she’s never going to see me again.”
He has never seen Declan leave a club so quickly, granted he was listening to Jack ramble whilst texting Lauren, probably reacting to the latest baby photo she sent through and mutually complaining about the distance.
The whiplash from strobe lights to the darkness outside and then the harsh sterile environment of their hotel causes Mason to remain in his panicked state, only shaking out of it when Delcan pushes him into the room.
He knows he’s babbled out the random phrases throughout the trip but doesn’t remember much other than the way his best mates room is far cleaner than his or the condensation on the cold bottle of water in his hands.
“I told her I loved her.”
He can see Declan’s face move through the seven stages of grief, the confusion to the anger to the denial before settling back to the confusion. “You what?”
“I told her I loved her,” He takes a swig of the water and focuses on trying to breathe “well kind of?”
The deadpan look on Declan’s face tells him to explain so he caps the bottle and throws himself down onto the neatly made bed.
“There was this girl, Kate - I think.” He actively chooses to ignore the loud sigh. “And she wanted to make her boyfriend jealous, well he wasn’t actually her boyfriend but they’re been talking for ages and she wanted him to make a move and-”
“Mate. Irrelevant.”
Mason is very aware that he is dancing around the truth, when it comes to you he’s quite good at it. “Whatever, she asked me about Y/N and I told her that I loved her, and then I turned around and boom! She runs away from me. I’d say that’s a pretty solid rejection”
“So you said, in a very crowded and noisy room that you love her, straight up ‘I love Y/N’?” Declan pushes the smaller man’s sprawled body into a better position before flopping down next to him, both boys staring up at the crisp white ceiling.
“Well no.” The hysterics and panic went from Mason’s voice, a sulking tone setting in, “She asked if we were together and I said something like ‘God no. She just kinda follows me around the world while I try to tell her I love her.’ which I’d say is pretty much the same thing.
He had flown you out to Qatar with his family, not a shock to anybody, which in itself should have been a sign. He wasn’t flying any of his other friends out, no matter how much they would have loved to come and support him. It seemed quite obvious to everybody else that it was probably not a friend thing.
But the two of you had played this game of denial for too long to cave in now. The years of almost’s and maybe’s so crushing, but you were both so used to the weight that you barely noticed anymore.
And he finally said something, while admittedly not to you, or constructed in the way he had always planned it to be, you had heard it nevertheless. And now here he was, hanging around awkwardly as the other boys talked to their families and girlfriends, his parents and sister having already left to find their seats.
He caught his reflection in one of the ridiculous floor to ceiling glass panes. He had never felt so out of place in his kit, like an other body experience, looking at the England colours, but feeling nothing compared to the exhilaration of everyone around him.
He’s so caught up in himself that he doesn’t notice everyone clear from the room, until he does, and oh my god you came.
“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing rushing out of his mouth as he stumbles over himself to get you. “I shouldn’t have said anything and I messed it all up and I’m really truly sorry and I never meant to make you feel awkward or uncomfortable and-” and you’re smiling? That’s actually a bit rude coming from someone who just broke his heart into a million pieces. You’re smiling and shaking your head and stepping towards him and kissing him, oh my god you’re kissing him.
His lips soften to you immediately, his hands ceasing their frantic motions and settling on your waist and yours cradle his face. He all but melts into you. Lips moving together as if kissing, holding each other like this, had been the centrepiece of your masterful twenty year relationship. He moves his hands to pull you into him, crushing whatever space had been between you, tightening his hold, causing the material in his grasp to bunch up and expose the slightest sliver of your waist to his touch and he gasps into your mouth as he feels your skin, backing up until he hits the wall and almost collapses because thank god he no longer has to focus so much on standing. Your hands make their way from the sides of his face down to hold his jaw and run through his hair. It feels like eternity before you have to fully pull away, having been making do with the tiniest gasps of air before falling back into each other.
He keeps you held against him as you both pant, open mouthed, heads resting on each other with closed eyes.
You go to pull away to catch your breath properly but Mason’s hands don’t budge. Curled tightly around your back before one moved upwards to shakily run the back of his hand down the curve of your face, eyes fluttering open.
Mason’s gaze is the epitome of lovestruck. Lips kiss swollen and slick, eyes widen like a doe’s and wholly obsessed with taking you in.
“Declan called.” You break the silence as the swallow and pretend you’re not sharing the same breath of air as the man you’ve spent your whole life loving.
Mason refuses to break out of his trace as he takes in your feature from his new perspective. He’s not an artist himself but he knows no one has ever created anything as beautiful as you. He remembers to respond, “Oh?”
Nodding your head gently in his hand you force yourself to not get sucked into the same space he is because one of you needs to finally put an end to this game and god forbid it continues because his freckles look breath taking up close and you want nothing more than to kiss them all. He’d let you to, you know that now.
“Yeah,” You’re still breathless, “Cleared a few things up.”
This seems to break him out of his headspace. “Oh, right, yeah?”
It’s cute how with one kiss you’ve managed to reduce him completely to head nods and single syllable words.
“He said that you told me you loved me last night.” Another nod from Mason, his face losing a touch of its awestruck look and moving closer to a solemn listening. “I thought you said that I just followed you around.” This breaks him out of it completely.
“What?” He adjusts himself against the wall, realising this is probably not a conversation to be having while slumped in the team room with you as close to in his lap as humanly possible.
“The girl, she asked you if we were together,” you step back, allowing him to put some distance between you (a few centimetres at most), “and you said, and I quote because it has been on a loop in my head all night Mase ‘God no. She just kinda follows me around the world’.”
Mason is shaking his head before you can even finish, “‘While I try to tell her I love her’.” He finishes his sentence from the previous night.
“What?” You got a rough explanation from Declan, but only that you’d misheard him or something of the sorts. A grin splits across Mason’s face before he brings his hands to your jaw, bringing his forehead to lean on yours once more, he would laugh, but you were already so all-consuming there was nothing left in his lungs.
“God no, we’re not together, but you follow me around the world while I try to pull myself together and tell you that I am so unbelievably in love with you.”
And he kisses you again, this time leading the kiss with passion and the knowledge that, after years of pining and broken hearts you are finally on the same page. Wait, he pulls away quickly, eyes frantic, question on his tongue as he realises you never said it back.
Anticipating his realisation you laugh lightly, “I love you too, you idiot.” Your heart swells as his face lights up, “I always have. I thought it was quite obvious, actually.” He leans in but before he can kiss you again there’s a loud knock on the door that you had closed when you came in.
“I’m coming in!” Mason lets his head fall to bury in your neck as you feel his laughter shake against you, “I’m serious!” Declan’s voice continues to pierce through the room, “You both better be decent!”
You join Mason in laughter as you turn to see Declan slowly open the door with a hand clasp tightly over his eyes.
He peaks through his fingers to see you both holding each other close, laughter breaking through wide smiles and he lets his hand drop to his heart. “Finally! Took you both long enough.” He turns his head to look back at the hallway that he came from, “But seriously, that took you ages, we’ve got to go.”
You look back to the man holding you tightly in his arms, seeing his grin, brown eyes gazing into yours.
“You’ve gotta go, Mase.” You know he’s going to object before he does, closing his eyes and kissing his way across your face, letting his message of I don’t want to get lost in his attack on your jaw.
You gently push him away, ignoring the tug on your heart at the pout on his face.
“Turn around Mase,” You laugh softly now at his objection, holding your hand against his tense shoulder to keep his back to you. You lean down, leaving a kiss in the middle of his back across his shoulder blade before leaving a kiss on each number across his back, feeling the tension leave his body with your action.
You nudge him towards his waiting teammate, knowing he wouldn’t walk there on his own.
Declan watches on with a smile, seeing his best mate look more like himself than he had at any point in the last twenty four hours.
“Come on loverboy,” he lets the tease leave his lips as Mason throws an arm around Declan’s neck pulling him down into his best attempt at a head lock.
He turns around to you, smile wide, mouthing I love you.
-
I don’t love this, but feedback is always appreciated 🥰
All my of my work is purely fictional. I do not know these celebrities and I just do this for fun and as a source of escapism for those that read it.
If you think Daniel will be able to perform miracles in that shit car you're also wrong, btw. It's sad for Nyck and it's sad for Daniel. And they'll have higher expectations because he's not a rookie. Nobody's gonna get anything out of this. Not even RB. As someone said on twitter, they're making business and sporting decisions based on media hype and popularity. It's stupid af. There's no rational reason to fire a driver in the middle of the season.
Charles demanding to be left alone in the kitchen like an overworked single mom and insisting everyone always eats well in his house only to then feed them all pasta that's 1) stolen from Ferrari hospitality and 2) still crunchy is the most Charles-coded thing I've ever seen in my life
i have been reading your lestappen + guest fics religiously at the moment and i wanted to let you know that i’m OBSESSED. your writing style? incredible. characterisation? show stopping. plot? my jaw is on the floor. smut? BREATHTAKING. literally everything you write is flawless but this? i will literally never recover and will re-read them until the day i die 🫡
GODDDDDD WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME CRYYYYYY.
Thank you so fucking much 😭😭😭 you're so sweet, and I love you and thank you for your kind words. You put a smile on my face!!!
Charles as a concept is so funny to me cause his whole existence is like:
going fast going fast going FAST 💨 his car breaks 💀 GOING FAST the race is done he disappears for a few days and reappears in another country 🧍🏻♀️looks hot in candid pics with fan whoop suddenly back in monaco 🇲🇨 race weekend again going fast going fast — pause for a fruity moment with his teammate/his rival/any other available man at hand 👹 going fast. little break to be an actual model for a hot second 🕺🏻 likes the most out of pocket tweets whoop there he is at Maranello — pops up on italian tv, drives his ferrari around GOES FAST plays piano 🎹 GOES FAST takes the prettiest selfies known to man and wears bracelets fans give him 🥰 chases after armed thieves who stole his watch in his very recognizable car 🚘 GOING FAAAAAAAST posts cute vlog 📷 shows up in his red quali pants without a care in the world 😈 The man’s whole vibe is main protagonist completing side quests
Arthur Leclerc going all the way to Abu Dhabi, forgetting his boots, trying to borrow Jak Crawford's Red Bull Junior boots and then Marcus Armstrong's old Ferrari boots before then realising he can just use Charles' is honestly so on brand.
