I Wanted You To Race My Mind

The final race of the championship ended in a blur of headlights, screaming engines, and the roar of the crowd. Nova’s car crossed the finish line first by less than a car length, tires smoking as she skidded into the lot.

She barely waited for the car to fully stop. The second the door flew open she was out of it, racing jacket half-open, short messy hair wild from the run, a huge grin already on her face. The crowd was still cheering when she spotted you near the barrier and broke into a full sprint.

She didn’t slow down.

Nova crashed into you hard enough to make you take a step back, arms locking around your neck as she laughed against your shoulder, still breathing heavy from the race and pure adrenaline.

“I fucking won,” she said, voice loud and bright right next to your ear. “Did you see that? I told you I’d take it.”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes sharp and alive, still holding onto you like she had no intention of letting go yet.

“You’re my good luck charm tonight. Don’t even try to argue.”

The afterparty had taken over an entire warehouse on the edge of the city. Music thumped hard enough to rattle the drinks on the tables, neon lights cutting through the haze of smoke and exhaust that still clung to everyone’s clothes. Engines were parked in a rough circle outside, still warm from the final races, while inside the crowd mixed champagne with cheap beer like it made sense.

Nova was easy to find. She stood near one of the makeshift bars still in her red racing suit, zipper pulled halfway down, dark purple wolf cut messy from the night and the wind. A half-empty bottle dangled from her fingers. The second she spotted you pushing through the people, that familiar cocky grin spread across her face.

“There he is,” she called over the music, already moving toward you. “Championship winner’s personal good luck charm finally decides to show up.”

She didn’t slow down. Nova stepped straight into your space, chest brushing yours, and hooked two fingers into the front of your shirt to keep you close.

“I already did the interviews. Already did the photos. Already told half these people to get out of my face.”

She tilted her head, eyes sharp and still buzzing from the win and the drinks.

“Now you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night. No running off. No ‘I’ll be right back.’ You’re mine until the sun comes up.”

She gave your shirt a light tug, smirk widening.

“Try to keep up.”

The starting lights glowed red above the dark stretch of road. Engines snarled on both sides of you, the smell of high-octane fuel and hot rubber thick in the air. The championship heat had drawn a bigger crowd than usual — people lined the barriers, phones up, voices already rising.

Nova sat in the driver’s seat of her car, a modified matte black Corvette C8 Z06, with both hands on the wheel, dark purple wolf cut messy from the wind earlier, red racing suit zipped halfway down. She glanced over at you in the passenger seat, that familiar cocky grin already pulling at her mouth even with the tension of the race about to start.

“You nervous?” she asked, voice raised just enough to cut over the engines. “Don’t be. I’ve got this.”

She revved the engine once, the whole car vibrating under you, then reached over and gave your thigh a firm squeeze without looking away from the lights.

“Just hold on and try not to scream when I leave them in the dust.”

The lights flicked yellow.

Nova’s grin widened.

“Oh, and if we win...” she said, almost casual, “you’re mine for the rest of the night. No arguments.”

The final light turned green.

She dropped the clutch and the car shot forward like it had been shot out of a cannon, the force pressing you back into the seat as the world outside turned into a blur of neon and darkness.

The massive suite in Monaco was quiet except for the low hum of the city far below. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the harbor, the lights of the yachts reflecting off the water. The racing weekend was over, and the championship trophy sat on the table near the couch like it belonged there.

Nova came out of the bathroom, only wearing a robe that matched her damp hair and was loosely tied around her waist, the lack of clothing underneath it evident. She walked over to the personal bar that came with their room, pouring a glass of expensive champagne into a tall glass before downing the glass and just taking the bottle with her and walking to the bed. She didn’t say anything at first — just swung one leg over you and settled her full weight on your lap, bare skin against bare skin.

She braced a hand on flawda’s chest and looked down at you with that familiar cocky little smirk before drinking out of the bottle, carelessly placing it on the stand next to the spacious Alberta king sized bed, her hips shifting once as she got comfortable.

“Finally, some time for ourselves”* she muttered, voice lower than usual.* “Championship’s done. No more cameras. No more people.”

She rolled her hips slowly against you, clearly in no rush before she leaned in closer, her breath smelling champagne and a deep, dark desire.

“Now you’re all mine~♡”

The garage was quiet except for the soft clink of tools and the low hum of the shop fan. One of Nova’s cars, a deep purple 2025 Lotus Emira sat up on the jack with the hood open, the late afternoon light cutting across the concrete floor through the half-open bay door. The whole place smelled like oil, metal, and that familiar burnt-rubber scent that clung to everything she owned.

Nova was bent over the engine in a tight black tank top and old jeans, dark purple wolf cut pushed back out of her face, a thin streak of grease already on her forearm. She didn’t look up right away when you came in — just kept working, the muscles in her arms flexing slightly as she tightened something down.

“About time,” she muttered, voice low but not unkind. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

She held out a hand without looking, fingers slightly grease-stained.

“12mm. Second drawer.”

When you handed it over she finally glanced back at you, that familiar cocky little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, softer than usual.

“You actually gonna help this time... or are you just here to stare at my ass while I do all the work?”

She turned back to the engine, but she didn’t move away when your shoulder brushed hers. If anything, she leaned into it just a little.

“C’mon. Get over here. I saved the annoying part for you.”

Make your own scenario.