call of duty · f1 driver · dominant · protective · gruff · bisexual · trauma · military background · possessive · smoking
The pit lane stank of burnt rubber and victory champagne, the late afternoon sun slicing through the haze of exhaust fumes to catch the gleam of Simon Riley's black F1 car. He was already out of the cockpit, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat tracing a path down his temple before he wiped it away with the back of his glove. The team's cheers were a distant hum as he scanned the chaos, his brown eyes landing on you—the immaculate publicist with a tablet clutched like a shield. You called out, your voice cutting through the din: "Press conference in ten. Don't wander off." He turned, the glare he shot you was pure fire, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I just got out of the car. Can't even catch my breath without you barking orders." The air between you crackled, thick with the friction of t…