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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {9}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It’s the end of the season but there’s no such thing as winding down in F1. Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angst, crash WC: 3.1k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One

Round Twenty One - Brazil 2022 “Aren’t you going to stop that?” George asked Charles with a nervous laugh as he pointed his glass of wine across the room.

Charles followed the direction and found the man of the hour celebrating his birthday at the Brazilian nightclub. Lando was well on his way to being drunk and since he was already an affectionate man the alcohol only increased the need for physical touch. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself, especially not when the dancers had pulled you backstage and convinced you to change into an embellished golden samba costume.

“No, they look like they are having fun,” Charles chuckled as you hooked the matching feather boa over Lando’s head and pulled him closer as you danced along to the samba. “But I might just join them.”

Your arms draped over Lando’s shoulders as the crowd compacted even closer and your lips brushed his ear as his hands settled on your bare waist. “Happy birthday, baby. Did you make a wish?”

Another pair of hands settled on your hips and you felt the warmth of Charles at your back, his hips finding the same rhythm to the music as you swayed.

“It probably won’t come true,” Lando said with a sad smile. “But that’s okay, maybe next year.”

Charles quietly asked you what he meant and you told him, both of you feeling guilty again for the situation you had found yourself in. Though the number of people who knew about the three of you was growing, publicly you were only dating Charles. You were about to apologise again when another pair of arms wrapped around all of you as Pierre joined in with a hiccup.

“My favourite ménage à trois,” he greeted with a loud whisper. “Little bit of advice…you look like you are about to fuck.”

“Okay, but what’s the advice?” you asked as you continued to dance between your boyfriends.

“Uhhh, not here?” he suggested before laughing and waving to your brother. “If looks could kill…”

“Wanna take this party back to the hotel?” Charles asked as he rested his chin on your shoulder while his hands slipped up Lando’s top, but to anyone else it looked like his hands were on your skin.

You missed the heat of their bodies touching yours but the knowledge of something far better coming soon eased the ache.

“Don’t forget breakfast tomorrow,” Pierre reminded as he waved goodbye. “I expect details.”

Lando watched with longing as you climbed into a taxi with Charles and you watched his silhouette fade while he waited for the next one.

“I want to make his wish come true,” you whispered, laying your head on Charles’ shoulder. “I don’t care about the PR fall out, they’ll just have to get over it.”

“I have been thinking about it too, mi amor,” he admitted and you looked up to see the hard line of his jaw tick as resolution set in.

“Scared?” you asked as you caressed his face, drawing him closer to kiss the dimples that appeared.

“Not even a little bit.”

You were giddy with excitement when Lando arrived at your room a few minutes after you, and his clothes soon joined the rest on the floor. His kiss had scorched your skin and he nipped at your shoulder after climbing onto the bed where you waited for him.

His pupils ate away the colour of his eyes at the sight of you both laid out ready for him and he bit his bottom lip as he dragged a palm up your thighs. Your core throbbed as you watched his fist close around Charles’ cock and it was his fingers that gave you reprieve as they curled into your cunt.

“Is this my present?” he asked with a husky tone, referring to the text you sent him in the taxi.

“You can have us like this everyday,” you teased before he stole your breath when his palm pressed to your clit and he dipped his head to taste the bead of pre-cum on Charles. “You’re our boyfriend.”

“And we want everyone to know it,” Charles finished with a shaky breath at the pretty sight.

“What?” Sobriety flooded back in his eyes that widened and his head snapped back and forth between you and Charles as a smile of pure joy parted his lips. “Really?”

“Yes, you muppet. We love you,” you reached for him and tugged him closer, “now let us show you how much.”

You moaned as your bodies united and he stole the sound with his kiss until he gasped at Charles' touch. You had never seen anything hotter than Lando’s eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, and you saw the frenzied hunger in Charles’ eyes as he gripped Lando’s hip and ease forward. He filled Lando with a guttural moan and the thrust pushed Lando deeper inside you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Charles praised as he kissed Lando’s shoulder before trailing his lips over his racing pulse and across his jaw. Your cunt clenched as Lando craned his neck to meet his lips and when their tongue fought for dominance you saw stars.

“No more hiding,” Charles promised. His hand slipped between your legs so he could press his thumb to your clit and your back arched, hips rolling to meet the rhythm he set. You felt Lando’s cock swell and your walls began to flutter as the pleasure mounted.

Lando collapsed on you with a heaving chest and a heady moan as his cock twitched with aftershocks from his release and you brushed his curls softly as you came down from your own high. “You’re ours.”

landonorris

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“No going back now,” you giggled as you set Do Not Disturb on until morning and joined Lando in using Charles’ chest as a pillow.

“I wouldn’t want to,” he said as he stroked Lando’s curls and kissed his forehead. “Happy birthday, mon cher.”

He rewarded you with a smile that lit up his face and pulled the blankets up as he snuggled in closer with a yawn. “Best one yet.”

You echoed his yawn and soon Charles’ followed too as the late night came to a close. It only felt like a few minutes had passed since you fell asleep but since there was a buzzing sound coming from the nightstand you knew it had to be after 8am.

“It’s yours,” Lando said with a yawn, passing the phone over before burying himself back under the blankets.

You stared at the message and reread it three times before you could process what it said, your stomach dropping as the world fell quiet except for the ringing in your ears. “My contract renewal has been cancelled.”

Round Twenty Two - Abu Dhabi 2022 It was the last race of the season, and possibly your last ever race in Formula One. You had laid low for the last week, letting your PR team work with Lando’s and Charles’ to handle the fallout while you tried to save your career. The only concilation was that they didn’t seem to have the same issue with their teams, rather they had become the poster children for inclusivity in F1.

“You’re leading the fucking Championship, they can’t just rip up your contract,” Max growled as he angrily paced your driver’s room.

“You’re only two points behind me, it's not like they are desperate for the points. Shit, you could still win the Constructor Championship with Latifi on your team,” you sighed as you pushed yourself out of the chair knowing you needed to get ready for the race.

“I’ll quit then.”

“I’m pretty sure Jos would have me offed if you did that. I’m already such a disappointment.” You rolled your eyes and swiped your helmet and balaclava off the table. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way, I always do.”

The engineers were busy having a final strategic meeting when you entered the empty garage, or almost empty. “Give me a fucking break,” you muttered as you saw Jos admiring your car. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to hand it to you, you are a clever girl,” he chuckled. “You have single handedly gridlocked the front two rows. You already had Max wrapped around your little finger, then Charles and now Lando too.”

You scoffed and continued on your way to the fridge to grab your water. “I’m not some evil mastermind like you, using others to get what you want, abusing whoever when you don’t get your way. So, if that’s all you came to say you can fuck off now, this is still my garage for the next two hours.”

“Congratulations,” he said as he walked towards the pit exit. “You just ruined any chances of another female getting to the same level. I always said women are too messy for this sport, too emotional.”

A loud bang rattled him as a wrench slammed into the wall beside his head and he turned around with a nasty grin. “That’s it, prove me right, daughter.”

“Don’t call me that,” you growled.

“I’m your father, what am I meant to call you?” he taunted, knowing he was waving a red flag at a raging bull.

“You are not my father, you’re just a mistake my mother made.”

He chuckled as he picked up the wrench and placed it on the table before walking out. “You were the mistake, daughter.”

“Where’s my water?” you asked as you hit the button but nothing came through the straw in your helmet.

“The pump doesn’t appear to be working,” Nicholas replied. “Negative on the water, Spitfire.”

“What the fuck? It’s like 45 fucking degrees in here! Did no one check if my water was working?” It was so hot your sweat was beginning to steam the inside of your visor and you shook your head so it ran down in streaks like you were driving in the rain.

There was no way you could pit for the water to be fixed and still keep the lead, the best you could hope for was a red flag. Unfortunately that flag didn’t come, but on the flip side it was fortunate no one crashed. You managed the best you could, dropping your pace a little so that you weren’t pushing your body so hard, but your mouth was drier than the desert.

“How are the brakes? They feel sticky.”

The headset was quiet for a minute before Nicholas replied, “Data looks fine, they aren’t overheating. Tire degradation is not excessive either.”

You were approaching the penultimate lap but at turn one you nearly lost the rear as you pushed the brake pedal down but it took an extra 2/10th of a second to slow down.

“Check the data again, they’re not fucking working,” you growled as you slowed your pace even more so you weren’t too reliant on the brakes. You couldn’t slow any further as you saw Max in your rearview and Charles right behind him. If Max passed you then it was over, he would be world champion for a second time and your bargaining chip would be lost. Like Jos said, second place was just first loser.

Your wrists ached from fighting the steering wheel and there was a cramp starting in your calf as dehydration set it but you were on the final turn. Max’s rear wing opened and he was closing in quick but you had burned your fuel so you were at the lightest possible weight and managed to keep a tire length ahead as you passed the chequered flag.

“Well done, World Champ,” Nicholas congratulated, sounding like he was on the verge of crying. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

“Yeah, you too, Nick,” you said as you swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed the brake to slow down. “Oh shit. No brakes, no brakes.”

You had pushed too fast down the home straight to win and as you slammed your foot down over and over but there was no response in the brakes. You were barrelling straight towards turn one while Max fell back as he slowed for the warm down lap. You tried to take the corner but with worn tires and exhausted muscles there was no hope to maintain control.

You felt the rear wheels slide out but there was no correcting the oversteer when they hit the gravel and you relinquished control, letting go of the wheel as you grasped your harness and braced for impact.

Your ears were ringing as you slammed into the barriers and if you weren’t so dehydrated you probably could have climbed out yourself instead of sitting there dazed in the dust. It was Max’s helmet that popped up first over the halo, quickly followed by Charles and then Lando - all reaching you before the marshals.

“Are you hurt, mi amor?” “Baby, you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said tiredly as they unbuckled you. You pointed up to Max and tapped your helmet. “We need to swap, you’ve got my number, Verstappen.”

He laughed and pulled it from his head, resting it on the broken tire beside him. “You know, little girl, you could’ve said ‘fuck you’ to Christian, you didn’t have to total his car.”

“Trust me,” you groaned as you took Charles and Lando’s hands so they could help pull you out of the car, “I didn’t do this on purpose, the whole thing was malfunctioning. No water, no brakes, someone must have made a mistake…”

“What?” Lando asked as you trailed off but you shook your head at the thought that had filtered in.

“Nothing,” you lied. “I just must have hit my head harder than I thought. Think one of you can give me a lift to the podium?”

“You started the race in a Red Bull, might as well finish in one,” Max said as he draped an arm over your shoulder.

“Go on, love,” Lando said with a smile as you looked back at them. “We’ll be right behind you.”

All the other teams had reached the pits by the time Max rolled in with you sitting side-saddle on his halo, waving to the cheering crowds. It was strange to see the centre space empty when Max parked in front of the number two and Charles pulled into the third place, securing his spot as third in the drivers championship with it.

You only just managed to find the energy to climb down from the halo and you ignored the Red Bull team going crazy along the edge of the barriers. You were focused on the space in front of the number one marker, the space where your car should have been. You could hardly believe the season was over, how this moment was going to be your legacy when you were gone. Laying down on the parc ferme, you let the heat of the tarmac penetrate your race suit and stared up at the cloudless sky while you absorbed the moment.

“They want to interview you, mi amor,” Charles said as he knelt beside you, having brought your water bottle and towel over with him.

“I’m not moving.”

“How are you planning on getting your trophy then?” he teased.

You poured the bottle of water over your face to wash away the sweat before wiping it dry and grinning. “I’m world champion, they can come to me.”

You did eventually accept Charles’ hand to pull you to your feet and leaned into his side for support as you headed to the red carpet where Max was finishing his interview.

“So, World Champion, a massive congratulations,” Naomi greeted you with a grin. “I’m glad you’re okay after that incident at the end.”

“Me too, those last few laps were all a bit precarious.”

“Yes, we heard on the team radio you were having difficulties with the brakes. Any idea what caused it?”

“I have a theory, but I’m sure it will be looked into by the team when they retrieve the car from the gravel.” You shrugged. “Or maybe not, it’s not like it needs to be saved. 2023 will bring a new season, new car, new driver.”

“New driver?” she asked, glancing at the camera and the Red Bull team beyond. “You and Max have multi-year contracts.”

“He does, I, apparently, do not. Not after my relationship status changed anyway.” The crowd fell silent as the news echoed over the speakers. “But what a way to go out, as world champion,” you said with a laugh.

“I’m sure there will be teams tripping over themselves to have a driver with your capabilities in their car.”

“Well, my calendar is free and they have my number.” You saw Jos in the corner by the barrier, his face red and his fists closed, and you smirked his way. “Maybe I’ll come back and win in a Williams.”

You were swiftly moved on to the driver room before you could taunt anyone else and Max chuckled to himself as he watched the reply of the interview. “You have balls.”

“I can probably blame a concussion.”

“You really should see the medics,” Charles said as he entered the room after finishing his interview and grabbed his Ferrari cap from the table before taking the seat next to you, lacing your hands together.

“After,” you promised. “I am not missing what is potentially my last time on a podium.”

Tears started to burn your eyes as your anthem played and you swallowed the lump in your throat as it ended and you grabbed the bottle of champagne. Leaping off the podium, you smashed the butt of the bottle on the ground and the crowd screamed at the fountain of wine that sprayed high in the air, cascading over you as you threw your hands up.

Confetti stuck to you and the sweet scent of champagne filled your senses as you took a seat at the edge of the podium. Below the crowd was still going wild but their noise was muted as your brother took a seat beside you.

“I knew you would cry,” you choked as you stared at your reflection in the trophy before looking at your brother beside you. “Beaten by a girl, huh. Just like old times.”

“I’m not crying because you beat me,” Max sniffled and pulled you into his arms. “I’m crying because I’m proud of you, zusje.”

Click here for chapter one of Part Three: A New World

#Charles Leclerc x reader x lando norris #charles leclerc fanfic #lando norris fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris imagine #charles leclerc x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x you #lando norris x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula one imagine #f1 rpf #formula one fanfiction

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xandertheundead · 3 months ago

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Everybody Samba! Happy Birthday, José!

Dancing wasn’t something Panchito ever really thought about too much.

Maybe it was because he had grown up with it all around him.

His mother teaching all her children from an early age on how to go with the rhythm when music was played, from holding them as small chicks on her hip as she moved about to actual lessons as they grew older. The parties that his brothers took him to once he was old enough and he watched how they pulled the girls close to them and moved so well to the beat that he couldn’t help but be impressed even if they were his annoying older brothers. Sometimes watching amazingly dressed dancers perform the Concheros dance when his dad would let him come to Mexico City with him to help with work needing done there.

Moving his feet and hips were something that just happened and luckily he was good at it, especially once he started to take music seriously.

Learning to move well while holding his guitar and holding a note had taken some practice, his brothers laughing at him and his sisters offering all of their annoying opinions. Eventually he was able to move his hips without missing a single cord or becoming too breathless to sing at his full potential, which he could not help but gloat when the girls started to pay more attention to him than the other boys around.

Dancing was something second nature. Something that he found fun to do especially with other people, but it had never been something that he loved or needed, music filled that area of his heart. So when he met Donald and José he wasn’t quite sure how to react to how much they loved to move, almost more than they did creating music.

He knew that Donald and José had known each other for a while before he had come around, sometimes feeling a little unsure as to where he stood when they would laugh at inside jokes or were off talking in their own world. It was never more apparent that they were more in sync than he was when they started to dance. The strangest thing to Panchito was that they didn’t even need music to dance, José would just start tapping a beat against a table or start whistling a tune and soon Donald and him were moving about the room with their hands clasped. The first few times it had happened, Panchito had felt awkward, something he rarely felt, not understanding and not wanting to intrude on their moment so he would go somewhere else to work on a new song or something for them.

It was around the fourth time that as he got up to go, a hand grabbed his arm and he looked over to see Donald grinning at him. “Where you going, pal?”

He looked across the room when he heard José laugh. “If you want to leave, meu amigo, you have to pay the tax.”

Panchito frowned in confusion. “Tax?”

José picked up two hotel pens and started to beat them against the notebook Panchito wrote their music in, the beat becoming louder as he drummed. “Yes! The dance tax! If you wish to leave you must dance with us, at least for a little bit!”

Being pulled around by Donald that first time had been strange but fun, Panchito unable to stop his laughter as Donald tried to twirl him but his height made it a bit difficult.

After that first time, even if he didn’t join in, Panchito never felt like an outsider anymore. From then on if he saw Donald shift a certain way or José start to rock his shoulders and they had no music he would make it for them. He would grab his guitar and strum a lively turn, the two of them yelling in excitement as they started to dance with everything they had. José had even let Panchito try his hands at the parrot’s magical umbrella, the Brazilian bird chuckling as he tried to get it to make sound when it had no strings or mouth pieces. José promised lessons if Panchito ever wanted to really learn and then played an amazing trumpet solo on it like it was nothing.

However, on the days he wished to join, he would use his voice to give them something to dance to. Spinning, swaying and shimmying with his friends as he sang loudly to any song he thought they might enjoy.

He was truly impressed with their moves.

When he had joined the group he had assumed that Donald would have no rhythm or moves, the duck’s flat feet and lack of Latin flare didn’t seem promising. He admits freely that it had been wrong of him to think that way, his friend able to move easily to any beat he played. Donald was also able to watch any complicated move that Panchito or José did and after only a few tries was able to pull it off with no real issues.

Panchito always felt a source of pride when strangers who judged Donald the way he had in the beginning were shocked and surprised when the duck started to dance. Panchito would always let out the loudest wolf whistle when Donald started to shake his hips, the stereotypical duck waddle turning into something tantalizing instead of awkward and he loved how red his friend would get at the attention.

He had also learned that he loved to watch Donald dance because of how happy it made his friend. The duck was usually so filled with anxiety and rage that when Panchito saw all of that fall away he wanted to give the loudest grito ever out of happiness. His dearest friend deserved to be happy all of the time.

Then there was José.

The Brazilian parrot was on a whole other level when it came to moving to the music. Having the skills and rhythm to move to the beat was essential when it came to being a good dancer, but the way José moved? It was more than that.

When José danced, everyone took notice, heads turned immediately as soon as José took those first steps.

The samba.

Panchito could still remembered the strange embarrassed feeling he had the first time he had heard José say that word. His accent curling around the letters when he said them, wistful and slow, as if he were speaking of a lover he could never forget and it made Panchito blush. He had thought the parrot was being dramatic, after all it wasn’t unusual for men like José and himself to have a love of the theatrics every now and then, so he had just pushed past the warmth in his gut, laughed and they moved on.

He had been a fool to laugh at that.

The samba was not just a dance to José he came to learn, it was so much more.

It was his art, the way he would twist, turn, shift and thrust was done with the same amount of love Panchito poured into his singing and playing.

It was his life, the way he could never truly be completely still, except for when intoxicated but even then he would dance best he could until he passed out.

It was in his blood. Generations of culture and love of his country pulsing through José’s veins as he moved, Portuguese coming out of his mouth fast as he moved so perfectly to the beat. Sometimes it struck Panchito dumb just watching how this frustrating and breathtaking friend of his could give himself so fully into something when in other areas José kept quiet.

The closer Panchito got to José, the more he could see that the parrot’s laidback and easygoing attitude was not truly who José was. He could be insecure, melancholy, angry, irrational, excited, petty, mean and sweet. It took years before the veil of José Carioca was pulled completely off and Panchito was allowed to meet Zé.

However, before José allowed him to see these feelings on his face, Panchito realized he expressed them through dance. The way he would stamp his feet roughly, movements become sharp and precise when he was angry or a softer sort of dance with small steps and his hips rolling slower when he was sad. After that, he learned that José was just like him, but instead of using his voice he used his body and it was truly beautiful.

#Happy Birthday José Carioca!#josé carioca #zé carioca #panchito pistoles #donald duck #the three caballeros #three gay caballeros #three caballeros #my writing #my drabbles #panjosé #kinda

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