#r4cing

this is the guy they tell you to not worry about @r4cing (his head is bigger than his helmet)

perhaps we’re not so different, you and i. “landon,” and although it’s a rocks glass she’s pressed into his hand, the whiskey’s been served neat. “are you familiar with moore’s law?”

Riff has had a tremendously shitty day. He’d qualified tenth, somehow, and no matter how much he bitches to Tony about it, Tony refuses to get mad at him. He just keeps making sympathetic noises and saying “yeah, that’s rough, buddy” in a way that doesn’t even sound sarcastic. Riff hates it. He doesn’t hate Tony—he could never hate Tony—but he wants someone to tell him to fuck off. Landon will do nicely. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Riff can even goad him into a fight. “I ain’t outta practice,” he snaps. He’s practically snarling at Landon. “Shut the fuck up, you dickwad. I ain’t outta practice. It’s a shitty fuckin’ car is what it is. Can’t even qualify in the fuckin’ top five.” He pauses to take a breath, and continues on ranting. “Fuck you, McQueen. Ain’t you got better things to do than antagonize a rookie?”

thank you for your concern, but i legit do not care

Riff had never really claimed to be very good at sportsmanship. He’d been told over and over again that he wasn’t allowed to antagonize anyone in the cool down room. For the most part, he listened, if only because there was no one in the cool down room worth antagonizing. Today, however, that was not the case. Landon was in the cool down room. And Riff could always count on Landon to be annoyed at something. He grinned at the McQueen driver. “So,” he said, settling into his seat. “P2 again. That’s got to feel like shit.” He’d be hearing about this from at least three people during the debrief, but right now he didn’t care. “I mean, it ain’t bad. But it ain’t great, either.” He clapped Landon on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, maybe.”

bruce tugs landon’s head up so that he may look him in the eyes, head cocked to the side and a smug smile masked behind protective glass. he raises his free hand, still gloved, and points to his swollen growth then points at landon with a jabbing motion.

bare  feet  trailed  through  the  silent  hotel  room,  reaching  the  private  small  kitchen  while  softly  humming  a  tune  that  was  stuck  in  her  head  for  a  while  now.  {...}  in  about  fifteen  minutes,  she  had  a  couple  of  toasts  ready  alongside  a  large  cup  of  tea.  something  to  send  her  off  to  bed  again  in  record  time,  at  least  that  was  her  plan.  when  his  voice  rose  behind  her,  however,  she  startled  for  a  couple  of  seconds,  releasing  her  breath  once  meeting  sleepy  azure  eyes,  down  a  very  slightly  messy  hair  curls,  staring  at  her  figure  from  afar.  ❛❛  Don't  do  that  again,  please.  ❜❜  placing  a  toast  back  down  the  white  plate,  her  breathing  settled.  ❛❛  Uh,  yes?  It  was  the  closest  thing  I  could  find  in  the  dark  without  turning  on  the  lights.  Didn't  want  to  wake  you.  ❜❜

Hands intertwined into his hair, she feels his dick in her, grinding into his lap. It feels good and freeing to give into the hatred. For a moment, everything that made him annoying escapes her mind. He was just Landon McQueen, the legend so many people believed him to be. Yet, in this moment, he was pleasing her and he was a legend in a different way than what people thought. Not one on the streets, but one that knew how to fuck her. The person that Mia found insufferable and agitating was fucking her good and she couldn't help but be appreciative in this moment. Bouncing up and down, her head was thrown back as she moans, " Fuck, Landon. " She's sure the only thing hiding their moans is the sound of racing cars but Mia didn't care. All that mattered was his dick in her. " You feel so fucking good in me. "