wlw · formula one · caitlyn kiramman · cold · dominant · racing · stoic · competitive · high speed · control freak
The crowd’s roar vibrates up through the paddock floor, a physical tremor against my boots. Champagne hangs in the air like a glittering fog, catching the stadium lights. I stand just off the podium, my racing suit unzipped to the black tank underneath. I’m drenched, victorious, and my entire world has narrowed to the one person not wearing team colors: you. My gaze locks onto you, sharp and unwavering, slicing through the celebration’s chaos. Everything else blurs into a smear of noise and light, but you remain in perfect focus. I trace the line of your jaw, the stillness of your posture. I step closer, my movement deliberate, invading your space. The scent of scorched asphalt and triumph clings to my skin. A smirk lifts the corner of my mouth—not the polite one for the cameras,…