#CARLOS I AM SHAKING YOU BY YOUR SHOULDERS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jungwnies · 1 month ago

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TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : wiping off their kiss every time they kiss you

୨ৎ : genre : fluff, angsty only if you squint ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3379

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : so proud of charles getting podium, i am a happy girl 🥲 also i finally added george to the featuring >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

the living room was quiet, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light over the couch. you perched on the edge, setting your phone up on the coffee table, angling it perfectly toward where max would sit. the screen reflected your mischievous grin as you hit record.

the sound of the shower shutting off echoed down the hall, followed by max’s footsteps. he walked in, towel over his shoulder, hair damp and messy.

“what are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

you leaned back casually, fighting a smirk. “nothing. just waiting for you.”

max dropped onto the couch beside you, still toweling his damp hair. without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed your cheek softly. as soon as he pulled away, you casually wiped the spot, pretending to fix your hair.

his brows furrowed. “did you just wipe that off?”

you glanced at him, feigning confusion. “wipe what off?”

“my kiss,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“no, i was just fixing my hair,” you replied, your tone so casual it could’ve won an oscar.

he stared at you for a second but shrugged it off. leaning in again, he kissed your temple this time, holding it for a moment longer before pulling back. you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh as you wiped it away, pretending to scratch your face.

“okay, now you’re definitely wiping them off,” he said, his tone sharper.

“max, you’re imagining things,” you said, giving him an innocent look.

“i’m not imagining anything!” he shot back, leaning forward with a slight pout. “why are you doing this? did i do something wrong?”

“you’re overthinking it,” you said, brushing off his concern.

he frowned, leaning in for a third kiss, this time planting it on the corner of your mouth. when you wiped that one off too, his mouth dropped open. “seriously? are you mad at me or something? just say it if you are.”

“i’m not mad!” you said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“then why are you being weird?” he snapped, now visibly salty. “do you not want me to kiss you anymore? should i stop?”

you burst out laughing, grabbing your phone off the table and showing him the recording. “baby, it’s a tik-tok trend! i was messing with you!”

his jaw clenched as he realized, then he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the couch. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“aww, don’t be mad,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he huffed, shaking his head. “you're an asshole,” then, with a smirk, he kissed you again and wrapped his arm around you, "but i guess i love you anyways." keeping you locked in place.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the front door clicked open, and you glanced up from the couch to see lewis stepping inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. his face looked tired, but he still gave you a soft smile, the kind that made your heart melt every time.

“long day?” you asked, setting your book aside.

“you have no idea,” he said with a sigh, dropping the bag by the door. “flights, media, and a race weekend? i’m ready to collapse.”

“sounds like you need some love,” you teased, patting the seat beside you.

lewis chuckled, kicking off his sneakers before walking over. he plopped down, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“missed you,” he murmured.

you smiled but casually brushed your hand over the spot where he’d kissed, pretending to fix your hair. lewis’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaning in to kiss your cheek. when you wiped that off too, his lips parted in disbelief.

“did you just… wipe my kiss off?” he asked, his tone soft but genuinely confused.

“no, i was just adjusting my sweater,” you replied, keeping your face straight.

he tilted his head, watching you carefully now. “right… okay.”

a few moments passed, and lewis leaned in again, this time kissing your jawline. before he could even pull back fully, you wiped it off with a quick swipe of your hand.

“alright, what’s going on?” he asked, sitting up straighter. his voice was still calm, but there was a hint of frustration now. “did i do something wrong?”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“babe, you’re wiping off my kisses!” he said, his brows knitting together. “if you’re mad, just say so.”

“i’m not mad,” you said, trying not to laugh at the utterly baffled look on his face.

lewis leaned back, crossing his arms. “so, what? you don’t like my kisses anymore? should i stop?”

you couldn’t hold it in anymore, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and bursting into laughter. “i was recording the whole thing,” you admit, "it's a tik-tok trend, a hilarious one i must admit, you should've seen your reaction."

he stared at you for a moment, processing, before shaking his head with an exasperated laugh. “you’re unbelievable. you had me thinking i did something wrong!”

“you’re too sweet,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he smirked, pulling you into his lap. “if this is your idea of fun, just wait. payback’s coming, and it’s gonna be good.”

ʚ・george russell

the room was dim, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp lighting the space as you slid into bed next to george. he was already lying on his side, scrolling through his phone, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. the sheets rustled as you snuggled under the covers, your head resting against the pillow.

“finally, you're here,” he said with a soft smile, turning off his phone and setting it on the nightstand. “i thought you’d be up all night organizing stuff again.”

“you know me too well,” you replied, adjusting the blanket and shifting closer to him.

george chuckled, brushing a lock of hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. as soon as he pulled back, you absentmindedly wiped your forehead, pretending to smooth out a strand of hair.

george stopped, his gaze fixed on you, a slight furrow in his brow. “did you just… wipe off my kiss?”

you blinked innocently, tilting your head. “what? no, i didn’t.”

he leaned back, clearly unconvinced, his lips twisting into a half-smirk. “really? that’s how we’re doing this now?”

“doing what?” you asked, trying to keep a straight face.

he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before brushing it off. “never mind,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off you as he repositioned himself to get more comfortable in bed.

a moment later, george leaned in again, this time kissing the top of your nose. before he could fully pull back, you reached up and wiped it away, pretending to rub your eyes.

he sat up slightly, blinking in disbelief. “are you serious? again?”

“serious about what?” you asked, turning toward him with a sweet smile.

he let out a slow exhale, clearly trying to process. “you’re wiping off my kisses like it’s nothing. are you trying to tell me something here?”

you shrugged, still maintaining the innocent act. “it’s not like that, george.”

his voice was a little quieter this time, a mix of confusion and playfulness. “okay, now i’m starting to wonder. do you actually not want my kisses or what?”

you quickly reached for your phone, clicking the screen and showing him the recording. “george, it's a tik-tok”

his eyes widened in realization, and he let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “seriously? you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“yep,” you said, grinning.

he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “you're lucky you're cute."

ʚ・carlos sainz

the kitchen was quiet, sunlight spilling through the windows as you sat at the counter, sipping your coffee. carlos was standing by the stove, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission, but his usual easygoing vibe was still present. he glanced over at you as he set the pan down, a lazy smile forming on his face.

“good morning, cariño,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, though there was a sparkle in his eyes. “how did you sleep?”

“like a log,” you said, taking a long sip of coffee. “thanks to you keeping me up late last night.”

he laughed, his eyes twinkling as he moved to grab the syrup. “so you admit it? i’m just too irresistible.”

you rolled your eyes, setting your mug down. “not quite. you’re more like a human heater, honestly.”

“ah, a heater with a great smile,” he added, leaning in to kiss your forehead. before he could pull away, you quickly wiped the spot, pretending to adjust your hair.

he froze, standing there for a second with a confused look on his face. “eh? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you looked up at him innocently, trying to hide your smile. “what? no, I didn’t.”

“no? okay…” he said, his voice now filled with playful suspicion. he raised an eyebrow. “that’s… interesting.”

he took a step back, eyeing you carefully. “so, you don’t want me to kiss you anymore, is that it? too much affection?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion. “i just didn’t want syrup on my face.”

carlos chuckled, but he leaned in again, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. before he could even fully pull away, you wiped it off again, this time more exaggerated.

he raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back dramatically. “okay, okay, you’re messing with me now, right?”

“no, I’m not,” you said, trying to stifle your laugh. “seriously.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, clearly starting to get annoyed. “are you doing this just to mess with me? i’m here, making pancakes, and you’re wiping off my kisses? do you want to break up or something?”

“what? no!” you exclaimed, trying not to crack a smile. “I swear, I’m not doing anything weird.”

he sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “you’re making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. why are you wiping my kisses away?”

that was when you couldn’t hold it anymore. you grabbed your phone from the counter, showing him the recording of the whole thing. “carlos, it’s a prank!”

his eyes widened as he watched the footage, then he groaned, dramatically slouching against the counter. “you’re unbelievable. seriously, I’m making my famous fluffy pancakes and this is what I get?”

“you know you love me,” you said, laughing.

he shook his head, rolling his eyes. “fine, fine. but just wait, I’m going to get you back for this one.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, reaching for a pancake.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you were curled up on the couch, charles beside you with his arm draped over your shoulders as you both relaxed after a long day. the movie was on, but you weren’t really paying attention. instead, you were watching charles every now and then, his focused expression as he tried to get into the plot. a small, playful thought crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but act on it.

you nudged him lightly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but as soon as you pulled back, you wiped it off with exaggerated care, pretending to smooth a stray strand of hair.

charles paused, the film still playing in the background, but he was no longer paying attention to it. he turned to you, a brow raised and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “did you just wipe my kiss off?” he asked, voice a mix of amusement and genuine confusion.

you blinked, acting innocent. “what? no, i didn’t. you must be seeing things, babe.”

he leaned in closer, his smirk growing. “really? because i definitely saw that,” he said, his voice playfully suspicious. "you sure you’re not hiding something?"

“nope,” you replied quickly, your lips twitching with the effort to keep a straight face. “just... adjusting my hair. i have really messy hair, you know?”

“hmm,” he said, squinting at you. “well, i’ll just have to test that theory again, then.”

charles leaned in for another kiss, but this time, he took his time, making sure to press a little longer against your skin. as he pulled away, he looked at you with a smirk, waiting for your reaction.

without hesitation, you wiped your cheek again, this time a little more dramatically, as though he’d just kissed you with a mouthful of chocolate or something.

charles froze, his mouth parting as he tried to process what just happened. “okay, what the hell?” he laughed, his confusion turning into playful disbelief. “now you’re really wiping it off. i swear, if this is some kind of prank…”

“prank?” you asked, feigning innocence. “no, charles, no prank here. just making sure my skin stays clean.”

he let out a deep sigh, shifting so he was facing you fully, his expression a mixture of frustration and laughter. “you’ve got to be kidding me. you’re wiping off my kisses now? i’m feeling personally attacked, mon amour.”

you couldn’t hold back your grin any longer. “oh, charles,” you said, trying not to laugh, “it’s just a little tik-tok, okay? i swear, i love your kisses... just not on my face right now.”

he blinked at you, processing it for a second before it clicked. “wait a minute...” he said, his voice growing mock-serious. “you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

you nodded, finally letting out a laugh as you grabbed your phone and showed him the video you’d been recording.

charles threw his head back, a laugh escaping as he groaned in exasperation. “you’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “here i was thinking i was doing something wrong, and you’re just messing with me for fun.”

“i’m sorry, babe,” you said, still laughing. “but look at that face you made every time i wiped it off! it was too good.”

he shook his head, trying to hide his grin. “i swear, i’m going to get you back for this. but, just so you know, i don’t think i’ll ever kiss you on the cheek again. i might have to kiss you on your hand next time—keep it classy.”

“that’s fine with me,” you teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek for real this time, savoring the moment. “as long as it’s real this time, i’ll take anything.”

charles wrapped his arm around you again, pressing his lips to the top of your head with a playful sigh. “you’re impossible.”

“i know,” you replied, grinning. “and you love it.”

ʚ・lando norris

you were getting ready to leave the room, heading for the door to grab something. lando, in the middle of streaming, noticed you getting up and paused his game.

“hey, where are you going?” he asked with a playful grin.

“just to grab my jacket,” you replied, already halfway to the door.

he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before you left, but as soon as his lips touched your skin, you wiped your cheek with your hand in one swift motion, acting like it was no big deal.

lando pulled back, his expression frozen for a moment. “wait... what?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, completely innocent. “what? i didn’t wipe anything off.”

“you definitely just wiped off my kiss,” he said, his voice laced with confusion.

you shrugged, still acting nonchalant. “nah, you’re imagining things.”

lando squinted at you, his head tilting in that way he does when he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “seriously? i gave you a kiss, and you wiped it off like... like i’ve got bad breath or something?”

“i didn’t wipe it off,” you said, barely holding in your grin. “you’re being dramatic.”

“no, no,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “i’m pretty sure you just wiped it off. i know i kissed you, and i know it’s gone now.”

you pretended to look at the floor, trying to look innocent. “you must be tired, love. maybe you imagined it?”

he paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it, but after a beat, he shrugged it off and went back to his game. you turned to leave again, and he kissed you once more on the cheek, this time giving you a teasing smile.

before you even gave him a chance to pull away, you wiped the kiss off again—this time with even more dramatic flair, rubbing your hand over your cheek like it was covered in dirt.

“okay, that’s it!” he said, pausing his game once again. “you’re messing with me. why are you wiping off my kisses? what’s going on?”

you couldn’t help it anymore and pulled out your phone to show him the tiktok trend. “you’ve been pranked.”

his eyes went wide for a second, before bursting into laughter. “oh my god, i can’t believe i fell for that!”

you smiled smugly. “what can i say? i’m just that good.”

“next time, i’m getting you back for this one,” he said, still laughing.

meanwhile, his twitch chat was going wild. "lando, how did you not realize this was the tiktok trend?" one viewer typed.

“i swear, i thought i was being tricked by my own girlfriend!” lando chuckled, shaking his head at the screen. "chat's right though, i should've known better."

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were lounging on the couch, the tv flickering quietly in the background, but neither of you were really watching it. the evening had that lazy, easy vibe where you didn’t need to talk much, just enjoying each other's presence.

oscar was scrolling through his phone, chuckling at something he’d seen. you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, but at the last second, he turned his head, and your lips landed right on his.

“wait, what was that?” he grinned, pulling back slightly. “since when did you get so affectionate all of a sudden?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “what can i say, love? just felt like it.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “hmm, you sure you’re not up to something?”

you raised an eyebrow, acting casual. “nope, just a kiss. no hidden agenda.”

“right,” he said, clearly unconvinced, before leaning in for another kiss. but this time, just before his lips met yours, you quickly wiped your cheek with your hand, like you were brushing something off.

oscar froze, staring at you like you’d just sprouted another head. “wait, did you just—? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, trying to look innocent. “huh? no, i didn’t. you’re imagining things.”

“no, i saw it,” he said, sitting up a little straighter, a grin now playing on his face. “you literally wiped it off like i’ve got something on my face.”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “maybe you do. you never know.”

oscar stared at you for a moment, his grin slipping into mock offense. “so, now i’ve got bad kisses, huh?”

“no, no,” you said, trying not to laugh. “just… you know. maybe a little extra today.”

“extra?” he repeated, leaning in with a suspicious look on his face. “alright, this is definitely a prank. i can tell.”

you bit your lip, fighting the smile that was threatening to break out. “who, me? never.”

“don’t lie,” he said, crossing his arms. “this is 100% a prank. i'm being pranked, aren't i?”

before you could answer, oscar leaned in again, and this time, when he kissed you, he pulled away slowly, rubbing his cheek like he was wiping something off, complete with an exaggerated motion. “is that better?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “did i nail it?”

you burst into laughter, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you caught me! it's the stupid tik-tok trend.”

oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “you can’t fool me. but, i’ll be getting you back for this one.”

“you can try." you teased.

“oh, we’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in for another kiss, this time making sure you didn’t wipe it off. “but this one stays, just so you know.”

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cherry-leclerc · 4 months ago

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we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him.

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often."

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?”

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters.

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t.

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones.

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body.

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver.

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower.

He’s just becoming— too real.

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his.

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush.

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble.

The start of the season is always tough.

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn.

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world.

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing.

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention.

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand.

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough.

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles.

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend?

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words.

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing.

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.”

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement.

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry.

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room.

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help.

Woah, are you feeling alright?

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.”

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright.

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you.

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.” Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter.

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek.

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little.

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration.

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you.

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground.

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open.

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver.

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace.

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.”

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.”

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat.

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.”

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose.

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering.

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it.

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers.

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers.

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs.

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess.

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon.

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando.

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.”

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands.

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.”

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.”

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him.

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again.

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan.

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing.

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.”

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief.

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.”

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision.

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk.

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing.

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off.

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop.

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you?

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning.

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other.

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry.

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath.

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer.

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning.

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome.

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando.

You what?

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers.

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream.

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean.

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.”

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts.

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice.

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare he have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to.

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has.

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might.

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, round eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.”

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct.

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now.

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once.

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it.

It was never going to be you.

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues.

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt?

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend.

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing.

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you.

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded.

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you?

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks just as tired as you. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab.

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough.

Only then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.”

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring.

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle.

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.”

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed m—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a shy laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes.

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly.

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes.

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock.

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it will for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place.

“What about me?”

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

Text

The World Can Wait

Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: no matter whether he’s wearing Ferrari red or Williams blue, standing on the top step of podiums or fighting for points, you’ll love Carlos through it all

The podium is eerily quiet now. The lights are dimmed, the bright flashes of cameras long gone, and the chaotic hum of celebration has faded into nothing. The night wraps itself around the circuit like a heavy blanket, but Carlos is still there. Sitting cross-legged on the podium, the silver P2 trophy rests beside him, untouched.

You find him like this after weaving through the empty paddock, the distant sounds of dismantling garages growing fainter as you near him. At first, you’re hesitant. You stop at the base of the podium steps, watching him from the shadows.

His head is tilted back, eyes fixed on the sky, though you doubt he’s really looking at anything. The set of his shoulders is tight, his elbows resting on his knees. He doesn’t notice you.

“Carlos,” you say softly, almost unsure if you should disturb him.

He doesn’t startle. Instead, his gaze drops, and he looks at you. There’s something hollow in his expression, a weariness that no trophy can mask. He doesn’t say anything, just gestures faintly with his hand for you to come up.

You climb the steps slowly, the sound of your shoes against the metal breaking the heavy silence. When you reach him, you hesitate again, standing just a few feet away.

“Are you okay?” You ask, careful, your voice low.

He exhales sharply, almost a laugh but not quite. “Am I okay?” He repeats, shaking his head. He leans forward, running both hands through his hair. “I don’t know, cariño. I don’t think I know how to answer that.”

You lower yourself down beside him, close enough that your knees brush. The chill of the night air seeps into your skin, but you ignore it, your eyes fixed on him. “Talk to me,” you urge gently. “What’s going on in your head?”

He doesn’t respond right away. For a while, the only sound is the distant murmur of the city beyond the circuit. Then he sighs, deep and heavy, as if it’s been trapped inside him all night.

“I’m just ... taking it all in,” he says finally, his voice quiet, almost broken. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stand up here again.”

The weight of his words sinks into your chest. You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm. “Carlos, don’t say that. You don’t know that.”

“But I don’t know that I will, either,” he counters, turning to look at you. His dark eyes are glassy under the dim lights, his jaw tight. “It’s Williams next year. Williams. You know what everyone is saying. You know what they expect.”

“Forget what they expect,” you insist. “This isn’t the end for you. It’s just-”

“-a step back?” He interrupts, his tone bitter. He shakes his head again, lips pressing into a hard line. “That’s what they all say, isn’t it? That it’s a ‘rebuilding year,’ a ‘fresh start.’” His voice drops, softer now but no less anguished. “But what if it’s not? What if this really is the end? What if I’ve peaked, and it’s all downhill from here?”

Your heart twists at the vulnerability in his voice. You don’t know how long he’s been holding this in, how long he’s been carrying this fear. “Carlos-”

“Do you know what I thought, standing on that podium tonight?” He cuts you off, his voice thick. He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “I thought, ‘This is it. This is the last time.’ I smiled, I waved, but inside I was just ... empty.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and he swallows hard, looking away from you. But you can see it — his hands trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You don’t think. You just move. You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him into you. He doesn’t resist. His head drops against your chest, and that’s when it happens. The tears come fast, silent at first, then with a shuddering breath that rips through him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your hand threading through his hair. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

He clings to you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, his arms wrapping around your waist. His tears soak through your shirt, but you don’t care. You press your cheek to the top of his head, rocking him gently. “Even if you never stand on another podium,” you whisper, your voice steady, “it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make you any less. It doesn’t make me love you any less.”

He stiffens slightly at your words, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are red, his face streaked with tears. “You say that now,” he says, his voice cracking. “But what if I can’t give you the life you deserve? What if I can’t be-”

“Stop,” you cut him off firmly, your hands cradling his face. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare say you’re not enough for me. Carlos, you are everything. Do you hear me? Everything.”

His eyes search yours desperately, as if looking for something to hold onto. “Promise me,” he whispers. “Promise me you’ll still feel that way, even if ... even if everything goes wrong.”

“I promise,” you say without hesitation, your voice trembling with the weight of it. “On my life. I promise.”

He closes his eyes, a fresh tear slipping down his cheek. You wipe it away with your thumb, your fingers lingering against his skin. Then, slowly, you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing still uneven but steadier now. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, you do,” you counter, your hands slipping down to rest on his shoulders. “And if you can’t believe that right now, then believe this: I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

He doesn’t respond with words this time. Instead, he pulls you back into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world. And maybe, for now, that’s exactly what you are.

The night stretches on, the podium still and silent around you. But neither of you moves. The world can wait.

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saltylemontears · 3 months ago

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on air || cl16

summary: charles wins in texas, you're a tv presenter, chaos ensues.

warnings: none? mild danica slander lol

a/n: in honor of charles winning in cota! also i might be a lil less active this week, sorry!

be professional, you say to yourself, watching charles drive flawlessly with five laps remaining, carlos right behind.

"norris goes through, overtaking verstappen, but he goes off the track! that's gonna be a penalty for sure," you say into the mic, but your eyes stay fixated on charles's name, silently praying.

your co-presenter puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, sensing your nervousness.

"and we're getting into the last lap of the race, still led by the two ferraris!" he says. "verstappen right behind them, and it's probably gonna stay that way,"

your hands start shaking and you bite your lip, trying not to scream in excitement. no one knows.

"going into the last turn of the race," he states, but it gets ignored by you, because you loudly yell at all the screens.

"charles leclerc wins the us grand prix! what a weekend for him! that drive was incredible!" you scream, excitement going through the roof, and your colleague laughs. "here, you can see some excitment," he says, perfectly calm.

"and, carlos sainz p2, verstappen p3, norris p4 after the penalty, piastri p5," he goes on, but your mic is still turned off, just in case. god, you can't wait to see him.

and you do see him, right after the race, just like you wanted, but to your disappointment, there's a camera in your face.

you finish interviewing george, who had some nasty words to say towards the fia after getting a penalty, but you two exchanged some light-hearted banter.

you spot danica in front of you, who's clearly waiting for you to finish, but you don't really want to talk to her just yet, so turn around and - there he is. your race winner.

you walk up to him coyly. "hello, charles," you greet him with a smile. "third win of the season, how are you feeling?" you ask, grin splitting your face in two.

he smiles back, cheeks lightly tinted pink. "well, i am very happy, of course, i think the team did a great job today, and carlos did very well too, so it's been great." he replies, and you can see how much he's trying to keep it professional.

"yeah, that first lap action was amazing, do you think you could win the title this year?"

he laughs. "i think i have a chance, ba- um, y/n, the team is very supportive and we're trying our best to overtake redbull in the constructor's."

you tense at the nickname almost slipping out, glancing nervously at the cameraman. "we're one race into a triple header, what do you do to stay focused?"

he smirks and your cheeks go bright red. "i train a lot, but i relax as well to not overwork myself, and of course, i spend some time with you,"

oh shit.

your eyes go wide and so do his, realizing his mistake. your heart beats like crazy and you try to laugh it off, but he grabs your waist and kisses you, saying everything he wanted to say.

you're sure the mangers are going insane trying to figure out how to explain it, but you kinda don't care.

a kiss is pressed to his cheek before you cheerfully say goodbye, running to danica to finish your job.

"well, as you can see, we have a lot of love on air..."

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula one #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

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navstuffs · 2 years ago

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How would Leon Kennedy and Carlos Oliveira react to a GN!Reader who gets lazy/tired while on top

author's notes: there is a meme around tumblr that says, "horse pretends to be dead every time it needs to go on a ride." so yeah, this is sorta where this idea came from.

(NSFW +18 UNDER CUT)

Leon Kennedy

Leon knows you will get tired as soon as you offer to be on top. He watches as your hips snap lazily against his, keeping a short set of pace that doesn't make his whole cock disappear inside of you. He is focused on your pleasure expression, eyes semi-open, and wrinkled forehead. You look adorable and irresistible, he thinks. Leon's hands hold lightly in your hips as yours hold into his shoulders for support.

You try to fasten the pace even with your legs complaining, be a good lover, and not get lazy. You got this. You are in total control and enjoying yourself as you ride your boyfriend's dick.

But you both know you need more friction, and Leon has noticed the pout forming on your lips.

"Honey? Can I move now?" Leon asks, and you are almost tempted to say no. But your sex is eager to be touched, and you know you won't be able to keep up much longer.

Poor Leon, you think, as he pleads with his eyes, begging you to allow him to take control.

When you nod, a little embarrassed of your performance, all thoughts vanish from your mind when Leon changes the angle of his legs and starts to hit a spot that makes you see stars. Again. And again.

"Feeling good?" Leon grunts, and you roll your eyes, mumbling a yes.

He doesn't stop, just snaps faster inside you, his thrusts not faltering for one moment. Leon likes to watch you melt in his arms, biting his lips as he continues hitting that delicious spot that makes you moan louder. It is with pride and possessiveness feeling on his heart that Leon knows only he gets you to feel like that. No one else.

His hands grab your asscheeks, and you have to hold tight to his shoulders, his shirt, anything, so you don't lose your mind. He leaves you a blabbering mess, with incoherent thoughts and desperate moans imploring for more, if it is even possible.

"That is it, honey. That is it" Leon whispers satisfied, your body just clay on his hands. You would let him do whatever he wants with you at this point. One of your hands goes instinctively to your sex, rubbing it, desperate to feel your release.

It doesn't take long for you to cum, Leon's whimpers of encouragement being the last straw. Your whole body shakes as you moan his name, and you feel Leon hiding his face into your neck, marking you as his as he cums.

You both remain like this until Leon licks the spot he bit, whispering close to your ear.

"My turn to be on top next."

Carlos Oliveira

Carlos's hands grip tight into your hips as you slowly sit on his cock. Your hands are on his chest, your eyes closed for better focus as you move down, his cock burying deep inside of you. Though lubricated enough, Carlos is still big. That's why he doesn't complain when you take him slowly, your hands using his chest as support. He doesn't mind, and he prefers like that until you get used to his size. The movements keep slow and torturous, and Carlos is confused if you are trying to kill him now.

"What are you doing? Are you okay?" Carlos asks, his voice expressing concern as he scans your face. "I am not hurting, am I?"

"No."

As you continue the slow pace, Carlos tests by moving his hip once, and you bite your lips. He does it again, making you moan.

"Do you want me to move?" Carlos tries because he seriously tries to let you do what you want but needs more. He needs to bury himself deeper inside you.

"Am I not doing a good job?" Your tone sounds hurt, and Carlos tries to explain himself.

"That isn't what I am mean-" That's when he realizes your big naughty grin.

You don't answer, and Carlos wonders if that isn't exactly what you want. He pulls his legs up, bringing your body down into his chest, and thrusts his hips fast inside you, not stopping. Carlos adds more strength in every thrust. You want to move your hands for support, but Carlos uses one hand to grip your arms behind your back, and you can't move.

He keeps ramming into you, the headboard hitting the wall. Carlos likes to watch your eyes roll into your head, your leaking sex rubbing against his pubic hair, bringing him even more over the edge.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

You can't even form a sentence to answer him, so close to your orgasm as you are. When you finally cum, screaming Carlos's name, it doesn't take long for him to follow you. He groans loudly, biting your shoulder and holding you tight in his arms, letting every drop of his seed inside you.

After taking a moment to relax, you flop to his side of the bed, gasping for air. Carlos gives you a side-eye as he wonders, curious.

"What was that?"

"Just trying to tease you," but Carlos knows there is more. He turns to your side, that face of his knowing you are hiding something. You admit, defeated. "Fine. I got lazy."

"You should have told me" Carlos brings you close to his body, kissing the top of your forehead. "I wouldn't have any problem getting on top."

You nod in answer, nuzzling into his chest happy and satisfied.

#leon kennedy x reader #carlos oliveira x reader #leon kennedy x you #carlos oliveira x you #leon kennedy smut #carlos oliveira smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #carlos oliveira #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fanfic #carlos oliveira imagine #carlos oliveira fanfic #the preparation for the ot3 slowly comes #i swear when i put those three together i will destroy them

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rene-spade · 11 months ago

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my man isn’t creepy! i | f1 grid

growing up leclerc au !

fem! leclerc! reader x f1 grid, leclerc family

part i: carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo, oscar piastri, pierre gasly & kika gomes

synopsis. when the youngest leclerc finds her partners’ ‘shrine’ of her, but she’s a leclerc so the red flags aren’t all that red

WARNING(s); i like em crazy y’all, obsessive/possessive behavior, implied stalking/shrines, unhealthy relationship dynamics, sexual implications but no smut

carlos sainz.

“What is it?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you look up at your boyfriend. The Spaniard melted, muttering a curse to himself and running his hands through his thick hair. He felt hot, nervous for what the outcome of this discussion could be.

“Dios mío, ángel, it’s— it is not what you think— nothing bad. I am just embarrassed is all.” He reassured, big hands gripping at your shoulders. But he knew it was a bit bad, even his enabling family members were worried he’d freak you out if you saw. His movements were made to comfort you, but you could tell they were more self-soothing. Arthur had a similar habit whenever you got upset with him, too.

You only frowned, but it fueled Carlos’ panic.

“Mi amor, I will do whatever you ask-! You know this. I will let you in when it’s cleaned, I swear it.” He pulled you into his chest, arms fully embracing you. But you squirmed out of his hold, making him respond with an unhappy attempt to coo you back into comfort.

“You’re hiding something in there, Carlos. This is the first time I’m staying with you in your home since we started dating, let me see.” And at the sight of your big, beautiful, angry eyes, how could he refuse an Angel? With a twitch of his fingers, Carlos unlocked the door without any movement to push it open.

With a short huff, you pushed yourself through the door, only pausing at seeing at the sheer amount of merchandise that covered every surface. It was all you-themed, from posters and cut-outs, down to a body-pillow and even an outfit you’d only worn once for a runway show. There was a glass shelf with your old perfumes, newer ones too, and photos everywhere.

“Carlos….” You began, covering your mouth with your fingers and stepping further in.

“I know—! But I liked you so much before we started seeing each other and I- I am just a passionate man is all, my whole family says so—!” You cut off his red-faced rambling with a beaming grin.

“Ouah! I didn’t know you were a super fan before we met!” You giggled, mumbling to yourself in French about the various things he’d collected. “maybe you are a bit extreme, but it’s kind of cute, no?”

“¿En serio? Sí, mi perla!” He breathed shakily before grinning, “I should have known you’d understand! Mis hermanas se burlaron de mí, ¿sabes? But it was all silly…” (You’re serious? Yes, my pearl! My sisters teased me, you know?)

“What are you saying? Your sisters… something? I’m still learning, mon chéri.” You pout at him, in a much better mood now that you knew what your boyfriend was hiding behind the door he seemed so desperate to keep you away from.

He shook his head, hair messy after having run his fingers through it many times due to stress, “We should have dinner with them tonight while we’re still in Spain, I said. Let’s go back downstairs?”

“Why? Got anything weird?”

“Don’t say things like that, amor!”

♤ ♤ ♤

daniel ricciardo.

“Danny…?��

“Shit-!” He jumped out of surprise, dropping the box he was reaching from the top shelf of the closet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mon soleil!” You squeaked, jumping back as well. You hadn’t meant to scare him, but it wasn’t your fault he was so focused in the dead of night. You were just curious is all. The box he dropped was was rectangular in shape, but easily bigger than a shoebox. You shot him a sleepy grin, “What do you have there?”

He sighed, shaking his head, “Why are you up, sleepy girl? Get back to bed, I’ll be right there. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m up because you’re up.” You wrinkled your nose, inching closer to him with a small blanket in your arms. You tried to get a glimpse of what fell out of the box, but Daniel wrapped himself around you so you couldn’t see. He wrestled the blanket from your fingers, careful not to be rough with long nails, and threw it over your head with smile.

As you wrestled, your boyfriend only laughed and placed kisses on any part of you he could without being hit by your flying limbs, “Pretty things like you should be asleep. Your brothers would kill me if they knew I disturbed your beauty rest.”

“Are you trying to hide something from me?” You pulled the blanket off your head, hair a mess.

Daniel froze, jaw clenching as he tried to hold a toothy smile. But he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. The moment was completely still, before you finally broke eye contact and crept passed him to see the mess on the floor. You could hear Danny gulp as you plucked the first item from the ground; a pretty, navy blue set of lacy underwear. Yours, yes. But from ages ago, you swore you lost them. Then there were a few pieces of jewelry, a lipstick tube, a silk scrunchie, a press-on nail, a red heel, and two pieces of now-hardened chewing gum. All yours from various points of this past year.

“Daniel,” no, not the first name, he begged internally, squeezing his eyes shut, deciding to just wait for the inevitable disgust and rejection. You never called him by his full first name, only sweet ‘danny’s his way, sometimes ‘mon soleil’ or ‘sunshine’.

“You know you can just ask for my things, yes? You don’t have to take.” You were looking right up at him, navy colored panties still in your hand like you didn’t even mind that he took them. His reasoning couldn’t have been pure, you know that.

You hummed, pulling at his fingers so you can shove the underwear into his balled up fist, “lá.”

“Perfect girl.” He muttered, pulling you back into him and dragging you to bed, “give me the pair you have on then, yeah?”

♤ ♤ ♤

max verstappen.

It wasn’t always like this with you— you used to be just Charles “track terror” Leclerc’s pretty little sister, a little girl. But now it was years later and you’ve become something perfect and irresistible— something he can’t live without. He knows he’d resorted to some immoral, if not a little creepy, behaviors, but it’s not like he’s one of those guys that would ever hurt you. No, you’re a deity to him. He told his sister about his feelings at one point (even thought about showing her the shrine), but she told him— “This is all because you watched You!” The Netflix show that follows a stalker.

So he took down the shrine— moving most of it into his bedside drawer and the rest under his bed. But he realized he didn’t think it all the way through when he had you in his room for the first time; all pretty and perfect and curious.

“Good race, Maxie.” You hopped back onto the bed, your hair bouncing as you landed, “You’re so tense and for what, huh?”

Max had just a little bit of shame about the whole thing, but maybe not too much. I mean, his body definitely felt some kind of physical guilt or something if you’re judging him by the shaking and sweating— but his mind was happy. You were here with him in his home. In fact, the physical reaction might just be from seeing you curled up in his bed. But you’re close to finding out how… intense he was. (As his mother would say.)

“Sorry, lief, I’m just tired and you’re distracting me by being cute.” He smiled down at you as he began to change, “you need a shirt to wear?”

“Yes, s'il te plaît. Hey, can I put my bracelets in here—? oh!” He’d barely turned his back for a second, just long enough to remove his shirt, but that’s all it took for you to pull the drawer open and see the copious amount of photos of you (some edited to have him in them) and unsent love letters.

“It’s not a shrine— I’m not a creep! It’s just some things I made back before we got together—! You weren’t supposed to see them!” He was trying to shove some of the papers back in, but you were already skimming one of the letters.

“Mijn hart,” he winced at seeing the one you had— one of the more unhinged ones. The worst of it was in Dutch, so that worked out for him at least.

“Oh c’mon, Maxie! It’s kind of sweet! You had such a big crush on me! It’s a little hot, even.”

He grew even more red and fidgety at that, “Shit.”

You giggled at the words you could understand before he wrestled the page out of your grip. You grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could stray too far.

“From Max Verstappen-Leclerc, hm?”

♤ ♤ ♤

oscar piastri.

“Can’t I just grab a hoodie, Osc?” You questioned as he held you in place on the counter, from his spot between your legs, still in his race suit.

“You don’t need one, Lovey, it’s hot.” He pressed himself into you so he could feel you breathe better. You’d asked for a jacket the moment you’d entered his freezing trailer just after the race. He saw you go for the closet and quickly redirected you onto the counter.

“Non, you’re hot because you just raced in a little car for hours and now you’re all over me. I am normal temperature.”

“Cold?”

“Yes.”

“Then get closer, I’m hot.”

You huff obnoxiously like the pretty spoiled girl you are and Oscar can feel the rush of serotonin he got just from the sound. He knew this is the part where you’d get cute and pretend to pick a fight, his sweet thing. But bad timing— he’s desperate to hide his secret now.

“I can’t get any closer to you if I trieddd. What? You have a girl hiding in that closet? Hm?” He scoffed into your shoulder, but stiffened, knowing just what was behind that door.

You gasped dramatically, likely playing it up to get what you wanted (a tactic you used with your brothers, Oscar noticed), “You do! Irréelle!”

“I don’t!” His face shot up from your shoulder, brows furrowed, but he didn’t let you go, “You know I don’t like any other girls!”

“Then you need to show me so I can be sure! And I’m still cold.” You crossed your arms and pulled your knees together to get him to back up.

“I can’t.” He choked out. “There’s— it’s just— I have this thing—”

You hopped down and booked it across the trailer before he could reach out and stop you, yanking the door open to see what your new boyfriend was hiding.

You breathed out a dramatic sigh of relief at the sight, “Goodness, Osc.” Rather than finding a person, you instead found some sort of… collection? Collage of yourself and your things? Photos mostly, magazines, and lots of hearts drawn on articles about you.

Oscar grabbed you by the shoulders and quickly spun you around into him, slamming the door, “You saw?”

Looking up at him with big eyes, you nodded, “Yeah, why? You really like me that much?”

“What? Yes— yeah I do. You—? Okay.”

♤ ♤ ♤

pierre gasly. | kika gomes.

“I’m prepared to blame you for this if Charles finds it.” Pierre breathed, looking at the start of his girlfriend’s collection of your things. Kika scoffed, a smile playing at her lips as she re-organizes your makeup. Mostly lip balms, you’d let her borrow some of your things, not knowing she wasn’t going to give any of it back. Kika even managed to get a few skirts from you as well. The small framed photo of you sitting in her vanity was just a personal touch.

Pierre would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed, but he could say he wasn’t surprised. He and Kika were a good couple, a good duo in general, but especially when it came to drawing you in. Because Pierre was such a good friend to Charles, it came pretty easy; Charles was easier on him around you. Unfortunately, that grace didn’t extend to Kika just because they were dating. Charles had something of a sixth sense for when pretty girls liked his pretty sister; so he was on to Kika. Where at the beginning it was nothing to get you alone with them, it was now next to impossible.

“Pierre? Kika? Are you home?” Wow it’s like they could hear your pretty voice— oh wait they gave you a key. To their apartment. In Monaco, where you live and you can really just waltz in and see all of the things they took (—yes they, Pierre is a thief too—)

Like two naughty school children, the couple shot up to cover what they’d done before you could reach their bedroom. This was their fault naturally, none of yours at all, they were the ones who encouraged you to come over whenever physically possible.

“Grab everything and I’ll distract her!” Kika whispered, rushing to slip out of the room.

Before the ‘not fair-’ could slip from his lips, his girlfriend was off to catch you, brushing passed him and leaving the door cracked. He could hear your surprised greeting, a cute squeak escaping you, before Kika saying something like ‘Oh, Pierre is busy now’, then silence. Pulling the handle back just an inch, he peaked outside to see Kika’s lips not even a centimeter from your own, her hands gripping your jacket for dear life.

“Oh, pretty girls, ce n'est tout simplement pas juste.” Slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Your eyes shot to his, but Kika’s remained trained on your face. After just a second, your gaze drifted to Kika’s vanity behind him.

The couple froze, you saw. Pierre pulled the door shut behind him as Kika’s mouth opened to form words.

“Oi! Get your hands off my little sister, huh? Démon impoli et pratique, seriously.” Charles slipped into the living room from the front hallway, having obviously accompanied his little sister in her visit.

“Non, Charlie, Kika helped me when I almost tripped.” You smiled at your brother, quickly covering for them, “I was just coming to see if I could get my jean skirt back?”

You looked up at her so sweet and she thinks you’re blushing—“Oh.” She squeaked, “yes, no problem. Pierre.”

“I’ll get it for her, mate.”

“surveille ta copine. je ne suis pas aveugle, mate.”

♤ ♤ ♤

Your man (s girlfriend) is definitely creepy, girl.

note; I made kika and pierres a lil longer bc they’re two ppl so yeah ft charles

thinking part ii with lando, mick (ft the schumachers), lewis, lance, alex & lily, george and carmen?

- ren

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hs-is-loml · 1 year ago

Text

You Know This. (cl16)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x best friend!Reader

Summary: moments of charles and reader throughout the years that show they are so obviously meant for each other so carlos gives them a small push. (they are basically together but without the title...)

Warnings: mentions of Jules and Hervé so little angst but the majority is fluff! one kiss? lando swears. cute couple moments of two idiots UNEDITED

a/n: almost forgot how to write compared to the social media AUs i've been doing... hope you enjoy :)

all translations of french below

Chérie = darling

masterlist

19 years old

You stared out the window overlooking the streets of Baku until you heard a sigh from across the room.

“I’m so tired. Is it even worth going through this weekend?” Charles admitted as you looked over to him running his hands over his face while he took a seat on the edge of the hotel bed. “I don’t know if I’ll make it through.”

“No one will blame you if you don’t,” you said walking over to stand in front of him.

“That’s what they all expect isn’t it?”

“You’re doing more than enough just being here,” you brought your hands to his face and gently rubbed your thumb along his jaw.

“I miss him, Y/n. How am I supposed to continue without him?” he whispered while he wrapped his arms around your frame and pulled you closer to lean his head against your stomach.

You could tell that he had finally reached a breaking point from holding out on his own emotions as he helped everyone in the family with theirs. You knew that he was staying strong for Pascale and Arthur while Lorenzo was handling everything for Hervé’s funeral. When he asked you to accompany him for this race, you said yes without any doubts crossing your mind.

You soon feel his shoulders shake as he lets out soft sobs. “You continue for him. Just like you have done for Jules, they’re going to watch your legacy grow together. One day you’ll be driving in that red car placing poles and winning races. You will make it through this,” you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as you reassured him.

You were aware that he had told Hervé a few weeks ago that he had signed with Ferrari already. In the past few years, it had always been the goal. Everyone understood how crucial it was for him to make that come true.

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I know, but I believe in you. We all do. It’s only a matter of time.”

“What would I do without you?” he lifted up his head to look at you.

“Well, it’s a good thing I never plan on leaving you,” you leaned down to press a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

"I'll never let you go."

20 years old

You were talking with Andrea and Lorenzo near the Alfa Romeo motorhome while you all waited for Charles to finish with media day. “How do you think he’s doing with the news?” you anxiously looked around in the hope of seeing him heading your way. “The media has gone wild when the contact got out that he signed with Ferrari.”

“Probably basking in the attention,” Lorenzo laughed. “You know how long he’s waited for this.”

“That boy never fails to catch the camera either,” Andrea added while you covered your mouth with your hand trying to stifle your laugh when you realized that Charles was finally done for the day.

Charles came to your side snaking an arm around your waist and teasingly poked you, “What are you three laughing about you?”

“You,” all of you replied, causing him to gasp in fake annoyance.

“I know ma chérie would never do such a thing,” he shook his head at the two men. “Enzo, look how bad of an influence you are.” Which was Andrea’s queue to quietly leave before he was targeted by the young driver too. He took Lorenzo along with him as the older brother gaped at the accusation.

You both started to head to his driver’s room to gather his things before driving back to the hotel. “How was it?” you asked him while you took out his phone from your purse.

“A lot. It feels like it’s never ending and everyone keeps congratulating,” he smiled and reached out for the phone.

“I’ve only heard of all the good things so far,” you tell him and hand the phone back to him.

You had begun to look for your jacket, and it was almost as if he had read your mind, “It’s right here, I’ve got it.”

As you two walked out of the paddock, there were still crowds of fans and photographers lingering around the area hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the drivers. People started to whisper and squeal when they saw Charles place his hat on your head allowing you to shield your face from the now flashing cameras.

“Who is she?”

“Aww, that’s so sweet!”

“They must be dating.”

“Charles! Over here!”

“Can you sign this for me please!”

You listened to all the hollers from the crowd as you got into the car, “Wow.”

“You okay?” Charles softly asked and glanced at you before starting to drive back to the hotel.

“Were they always like that while you were in F2 and I’ve never noticed?” you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“I’m not sure,” he chuckled at your reaction.

21 years old

“He has one more corner!” you held onto Andrea’s arm anxiously looking at the screen.

“MERCEDES THREW EVERYTHING AT HIM TODAY… CHARLES LECLERC HAS COPED BRILLIANTLY!” you heard from the speakers.

“HE’S GOT IT!” one of the crew members screamed when they saw Charles shoot down to the line.

“HE WINS IN SPA, HE WINS IN MONZA! CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE 2019 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!” David Croft announced as Charles crossed the finish line. He had just won in Monza in front of the infamous Tifosi.

You felt yourself get pushed to the front of the barrier as people started rushing to see the winner. The momentous scene couldn’t have been better. He had just ended the nine-year winless streak in Monza and scored his second consecutive race win. All you could hear in the hectic moment was the Ferrari crew chanting out in Italian for Charles. The crowds of fans roared out in cheers and the stands filled with raised Ferrari and Italian flags.

You will never forget the moment he jumped down from on top of his car and made his way over to you. His hands found your sides as you held the sides of his helmet. “You did it,” your smile wide and eyes filled with tears as you focused on him.

“For them,” he told you tenderly.

“For them,” you repeated and placed a kiss right where you thought the corner of his mouth would have been. The crew reached over to congratulate him, and the cameras were pointed directly at him wanting to capture the moment.

The podium ceremony was scintillating. The crew, media, and Tifosi all packed in to see their winner. Andrea knew to keep you close to the front knowing that Charles would want to see you more than anyone else. It wasn’t only you looking up at him in admiration though it seemed like the world stopped for a moment when he blew a kiss back down to you from the podium.

Your cheeks flushed from the action and beamed as you met his eyes, “I love you,” you mouthed to him hoping he could read your lips from the stand.

“I love you,” he replied back.

22 years old

With COVID delaying the F1 season and everyone having to quarantine. You and Charles had decided to move in together into his apartment to keep each other company. It wasn’t hard to fall into a routine for you two.

“Y/n! Can you bring me water please?” you heard a yell from Charles’ gaming room.

You got up from the couch and set aside your book heading into the kitchen. Decided to bring him a small pack of crackers as well along with the water since he had been on stream for a while. You brought the plate to him which he thanked you for and gave your hand three small squeezes.

The simple interaction caused the chat to make tons of new comments flow through regarding you. Over the past few years, you found yourself more comfortable with your life in front of the camera because of his career, and it makes you look back to the times of Charles’ first year in F1. You could now give a small wave to the camera before you planned to head back out to the door.

“That’s not fair,” you heard Lando complain from the screen, causing you to halt in your footsteps to listen closely. “You have Y/n to bring you stuff, and you don’t even need to stop the game.”

“Lando’s just jealous he doesn’t have anybody,” George snickered.

“Damn right, I am,” Lando huffed out. “I want a Y/n.”

Charles noticed you silently laughing and he motioned for you to come back over wanting to tease Lando a bit more. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer to be in the frame, “Too bad there’s only one of her.”

Lando started muttering about how it was not his fault that he was alone during these times all while you shook your head at their antics. Alex and George continued the jokes creating a newfound argument that moved the topic away from you and Charles. “What do you want for dinner?” you questioned him softly not wanting to disrupt the chaotic banter from the others.

“Will you make carbonara?”

“DID YOU HEAR THAT??” Lando pointed to the screen baffled. “SHE EVEN COOKS DINNER FOR HIM! WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN? Y/N, WILL YOU COOK FOR ME NEXT TIME?”

“Sure, Lando. Once quarantine ends we can plan something out,” you replied with a sweet smile towards the camera.

“YES!” he cheered out at your response.

“Once we get back to racing, will you bring your cookies again?” George asked excitedly.

“Or the muffins!” Alex added on.

“I’ll go and bring them if you bring Lily, Alex!” you answered them.

24 years old

You told Charles earlier in the week telling him that you couldn’t make it to the Bahrain Grand Prix due to work. Really you just wanted to surprise him, and you had been in contact with Carlos planning it out.

“I think he is getting suspicious of me,” Carlos told you over the phone as you got your bags together waiting for Carlos’ cousin to come and get you from the airport.

“Well, I’ve only sent him short messages for the past few days and maybe ignored a couple of his calls because I can’t keep lying to him…” you explained which caused the man on the other side of the phone to snicker at your dispense.

“I swear you want him to kill me, Y/n. Once he finds out.”

“Find out what? Who are you talking to all the time, mate?” you listened to Charles continuously question Carlos.

"No one!" Carlos quipped.

"Is that Y/n?" Charles asked him.

"No, it's my sister..."

“Good luck!” you hung up the call quickly and got into the car with Carlos Oñoro.

“Charles found out?” he started heading to the hotel that the Ferrari team was staying at.

“Hopefully not yet, but Carlos was talking about how he’s on to him already.”

A notification went off on your phone and you saw it was a text message from Carlos.

You opened your messages with Charles and came up with something quick to text him about.

at the circuit

“Hermosa! You made it!” Carlos exclaimed when he saw you walking towards the group of the drivers that just got out of the media pen. "I swear he was going to choke me earlier."

You laughed at his remark and went over to his side to whisper to him, “He doesn’t know I’m here yet, right?”

He tugged you a bit closer and kept his hand on your upper back. He spoke into your ear in a hushed tone while carefully looking around, “Not a clue, but you remember what I said over text? You say he’s not your boyfriend yet, so let’s mess with him just a little. It’ll prove something to you.”

“Prove what-”

You were cut off by Lando as he finally took notice of your presence, “Y/n! Tell me you brought them!”

“Yes, Lando,” you smiled, taking a small packaged bag of cookies out of your bag before you could even hand them to him. He had snatched it and already begun opening the bag. “Yours are back at the hotel,” you told Carlos who was trying to take one from Lando.

“GIVE ME ONE!” George yelled at Lando who took his chance and ran off with his cookies.

“NO!” causing George to chase after the Mclaren driver.

Another group of drivers came over as they had just finished with their interviews. You saw Charles talking with Sebastian but he didn’t see you yet. “Sweetheart! A pleasant surprise, Charles was just talking about how you couldn’t make it,” Sebastian said with a smile as he walked past you with Fernando.

“Hello, Sebastian,” you smiled back and felt a breath near your ear.

“How long do you think it will take him to drag you away?” Carlos said in a low voice.

“He wouldn’t,” you mutter back.

“Oh, yes he would. Good luck with him,” Carlos grinned as Charles had stormed over to you two and grabbed a hold of your wrist.

“Charlie!” you yelped as you tried to keep up with his pace towards the Ferrari’s motorhome and into his driver’s room.

He shut the door behind him, “So you can text Carlos but not me?”

"What are you talking about?" you acted confused."

"I know you were on call with Carlos earlier. But you couldn't even answer mine this morning?"

“It was supposed to be a surprise, Charles,” you huffed out.

“What a surprise that you and Carlos are together now?” he scoffed at the mere thought.

You began to laugh aloud which caused him to frustrate even further, “E-ex-cuse me?” you said through your laughter.

“This is not funny, Y/n.”

“Charles, it’s funny you think that I would even do anything with Carlos in the first place,” you pointed out to him while setting your bag down on a chair.

You heard his footsteps come closer to you until you felt him press against your back, “Are you not?”

You turned around to face him and took his face in your hands, “Of course not.”

“Good,” he placed his hands on your waist rubbing up and down your sides.

“And why is that?” you raised your eyebrow at him.

“Y-you kno-o-ow b-b-because you’r-re…” he trailed off a stuttering mess caught off guard by your question.

You stroke his jaw with your thumbs and brought his face closer to yours, “Charles, I’m yours. You know this.”

He leaned down and closed the gap between your lips in a long-awaited kiss. He kissed you gently as if he were testing the waters. You smiled against his lips and moved to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands moved to your hips. You moved forward slightly to lean more into him and he let out a groan against your mouth. He stilled in the kiss, keeping your hips in place from moving further.

“No more surprises, okay?" he said as you separated.

"Okay, but no more jumping to conclusions either."

"You are going to give me gray hairs early, Chérie," he exasperated.

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maxlarens · 7 months ago

Note

i am on my knees Politely Begging You to write a lil something about carlos :( he literally looks like a puppy :( i love him sm :(

yes definitely i can do that :) im not a huge carlos girly but one of my irl friends is a MASSIVE carlos girly so i channeled her for this. but i do agree he's got those 'whatever u say beautiful' brown eyes lol. hope u enjoy! (ALSO this might make it seem like i hate carlos. which is NOT true. leclerc!readers voice overtook me and shes clearly very headstrong lol)

CS: taking what's not yours

pairing(s): carlos sainz jr x leclerc!reader

summary: you hate carlos sainz, plain and simple.

word count: 1.8k+ (read on ao3)

“Sharl, please tell me he isn’t coming tonight.”

Charles looks at you over the top of his phone, pausing his texting to shoot you an expression so dry that you would laugh if you weren’t so concerned about his answer, “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. It’s your birthday.”

Charles splutters in shock, starting his sentence a few times over before finally spitting out, “Of course, he’s coming, it’s my birthday.”

You roll your eyes, “So what.”

“So what!” Charles shakes his head, “He’s my teammate. He’s my friend.”

You tip your head back and groan loudly, childishly, and then you slap a manicured hand down on the kitchen counter in frustration. Charles snorts, then goes back to texting as you make faces at him to assuage your compulsion to scream at him.

“Christ,” Arthur says as he comes into the kitchen, “What are you two fighting about now?”

You shoot your youngest brother a look full of disdain and say, “None of your business.”

While Charles, at the exact same time, groans, “She’s mad that Carlos is coming tonight.”

“Oh my god. Typical.”

You make another face and aim a gesture at both your brothers that your maman wouldn’t be very pleased to see if she were here. Arthur laughs and Charles makes the same gesture back at you.

“You know,” Arthur says, his head stuck halfway inside of Charles’ fridge, “You clearly need to hook up with him and get it over with. We all know you hate him because you—”

The rest of his sentence is cut short by you lobbing the nearest packet of crisps at his head, followed by a wooden spatula that hits him somewhere on his shoulder blade. He whirls around to glare at you, the packet of crisps and the spatula clattering unceremoniously to the ground.

“Shut up!” you shriek, “You little freak. I do not want him.”

His mouth hanging half-open, Arthur aborts an attempt to throw a packet of spinach at you in retaliation and lets out a raucous laugh at your expense, “Sure. You react like that and you expect me to believe that you don’t want him.”

“Yes! I do, Arthur. Because I do not!”

You look at Charles incredulously, hoping for some kind of support from the more reasonable of your brothers, but he only shrugs, “He has a point.”

You shake your head, eyes impossibly wide in your complete disbelief. Some younger brothers these two are— thinking that you have a crush on your mortal enemy. It’s insulting. You’re not some half-baked floozy like the women that man usually dates. How dare they act as if you would ever stoop so low as to let Carlos Sainz Jr touch you.

You hiss, “Traitors. Both of you,” you knock Charles’ phone out of his hand, and it lands face down on the counter, “Who are you even texting?”

You don’t wait for the answer, throwing your hands up and storming out of the room. You don’t actually care who Charles is texting, it’s probably his girlfriend— who you love for the record— you’re just mad at him. And Arthur. And it felt good to throw a veritable tantrum even though you’re pushing thirty. Not that it’s your fault— no, that blame is reserved for Carlos, who makes you feel like lava is about to come out of your fucking eyes whenever he’s around (or is mentioned in conversation, or is within a five-kilometer radius of you). How can you be expected to act normal about him when he’s seemingly made it his life mission to piss you off?

Somewhere between the argument and the beginning of the party, you calm down and apologise to Charles and Arthur for being a heinous bitch. You don’t retract what you’d said, but you admit you could have said it in a nicer, and perhaps less aggressive way. You just hope that there’ll be enough people at the party that you can avoid him, you’d like to get through the afternoon without starting a yelling match. Though, half of that decision is decidedly not up to you.

Slowly, the apartment fills up with Charles’ friends until all of a sudden there are so many people that you’re struggling to find a way through the living room. You’ve got an empty wine glass in your hand and you’re on a mission to fill it up.

You’re waylaid by Lando, who’s been trying to set up the DJ deck he’d brought over for at least twenty minutes now. You stop to watch Max, squatting halfway under the fold-out table, untangle a truly unruly mess of wires, passing them up to Lando one at a time. Max’s girlfriend shoots you an exasperated look as she impatiently holds onto hers, and what you assume is Max’s drink.

You raise an eyebrow, “Need anything?”

“Nah,” Lando answers, leaning over the decks to reach for a few wires from Max, “Tell Charles the music’s almost here.”

You nod, sharing another dubious look with the other girl in your vicinity, “Great, he’s excited.”

“Won’t be long,” Max adds, voice muffled by the table.

Max’s girlfriend shakes her head minutely, then mouths ‘Another twenty, at least.’ You have to stifle a laugh as Max pokes his head out from under the table to glare at her.

“I can see you.”

She shrugs, “I was betting on it.”

You watch them smile fondly at each other, their eyes sparkling with an emotion that you know well but haven’t had the privilege of experiencing in a long while. It makes your heart ache with jealousy, longing. Something like that. You wave goodbye and leave before they put you in too sour of a mood, promising to find them later. You’re not sure if you’ll hold to that, as much as you hadn’t wanted it to, this afternoon is turning into a bit of a bummer for you. Carlos has been lingering at the edges of everything you’ve been doing, every conversation you’ve had. He’s here already— you’d caught a glimpse of him coming in the front door. You’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then you push your way into the near-empty kitchen and it does.

He is in there and he is holding your bottle of wine.

A fire ignites immediately in the pit of your stomach, burning hot and bright at the sight of him and his stupid face. You bite the inside of your lip hard to stop from saying anything unsavoury and grip your wine glass with enough force you’re afraid you’ll smash it to pieces.

“That’s mine,” you say instead, in your calmest voice.

Carlos’ head snaps up, his hair flopping across his forehead. He blinks owlishly at you, mouth hanging halfway open in something like shock. You tear your eyes away from his, looking pointedly at the bottle of wine in his hands. There’s no glass for him to pour it into but you have to suppress a scowl anyway.

“Hello,” he says, making no move to place the wine back where he’d found it.

“Sainz,” you answer.

You stand there, surveying each other in silence for a few moments. The air is thick with the buzzing electricity of whatever tension you two cannot help but generate in the presence of each other. You watch him run his tongue across the row of his perfectly straight, white teeth.

Eventually, you bite, “Are you deaf? Put my wine down.”

Infuriatingly, he just raises his eyebrows, “Your wine?”

“Yes,” you grit your teeth, “My wine.”

Carlos shrugs in a way that makes you want to stomp forward and strangle him to death. He knows full well that he’s pissing you off beyond belief— you can see it in the way his eyes glint, in the way his mouth turns up at the corner. And maybe Arthur was right earlier because right now you’re not sure if you want to shove him out a window or grab his face and kiss him so hard that his mouth bruises.

Fuck.

You’ve been really trying to avoid coming to that conclusion. It’s not that you’re blind. You know objectively, logically, that Carlos Sainz Jr is crazy hot. But you hate him and you never want to be one of the gorgeous model women that he drags around everywhere for his own entertainment. You’re better than that, you’re not destined to be the short-term girlfriend of some man before he decides to throw you away for someone different. You’re a Leclerc. That means something. Being Carlos Sainz’s girlfriend doesn’t— and you don’t appreciate having to fight your own thoughts for control over something like that.

“Eh, well,” he says, “If you didn’t want anyone to touch it you should have put it away.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, “You’re fucking infuriating.”

You stalk across the kitchen without thinking, stopping a few paces away from him. You make a grab for the neck of the bottle and he pulls it quickly away, his arm lifted to keep it up out of your reach. You scowl openly now— what a child.

You jab a finger at him, just shy of poking it right into his firm chest, “Give that back.”

He laughs, a boyish, but vindictive thing that makes your head burn hot, “Say please.”

You spit, “Fuck you,” and you make a grab for it.

For a split second, you’re entirely confident in your ability to reach high enough. You boost yourself with a hand on the counter and almost almost reach the bottle in his grip. Then your hand slips, or your shoe slides on the tile and you’re suddenly face-planting right into Carlos’ body. Sheer anxiety floods your body as you anticipate landing in a mortifying pile of limbs at his feet, but before that can happen his arm winds tight around your waist. His fingers flatten into your side, keeping you in place as you find your footing again.

Both of you are still for a tense moment. The arm that was holding your wine hostage has lowered, the bottle left forgotten on the counter as his hand flattens against your shoulder. Your heart is beating high in your throat, your breath shallow. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt, steady and rhythmic. His breath tickling the shell of your ear, the stubble on his chin brushing against your forehead. You hate the stirring feeling that runs down your spine and into your toes— the shiver that you have to suppress.

You push against the arm around your waist, stumbling back when he releases you like you’re on fire and he’s just been burnt. He is staring at you, expression ragged, mouth hung half open. You tell yourself you don’t know what that look means. You tell yourself that you’re not feeling the same thing.

You lurch forward to snatch the wine off the counter and then skitter out of his reach, pointing a finger at him, “Don’t touch my shit again, Sainz.”

He holds his hands up in surrender, his expression changing back into something you’re comfortable with, something you know what to do with, “You got it, Leclerc.”

⭐ i had so much fun writing charles&arthur&reader like i am very fond of them as siblings. i will have to write them again i think. also did anyone spot the max x photographer!reader cameo???

mandatory song inspo:

fill out this form to be added to my taglist: @clowngirlsstuff

#carlos sainz #f1 #formula 1 #carlos sainz x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #asks #requests #fics #oneshot:cs55

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driverlando · 8 months ago

Text

✧.* A REWARD FOR THE CHAMP

synopsis- you give Charles the perfect end to an unforgettable night (Charles leclerc x f!reader)

before you read- 18+ only, contains smut (oral, f receiving and m receiving and p in v) If you enjoy, pls reblog and follow! I'm a new writer and appreciate your support. :)

The sun was setting over the picturesque streets of Monaco, casting a golden hue over the harbour and the cheering crowds. Charles Leclerc had just achieved a lifelong dream and had broke the curse: winning the Monaco Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd and the national anthem still echoed in his ears as he made his way through the paddock, a broad grin never leaving his face.

In the team’s hospitality suite, his friends and fellow drivers gathered around, the celebratory mood infectious. Carlos Sainz, his teammate, was the first to embrace him, a proud grin on his face.

“You did it, mate! you’re a legend,” Carlos said, slapping Charles on the back.

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Max Verstappen, always competitive but genuinely happy for his friend, raised his glass in a toast. “To Charles, for making us all look slow on his home turf.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Charles clinked glasses with his friends, basking in the moment. “Merci, les gars. Tonight, we celebrate!” (Thank you, guys)

As the evening wore on, the drivers slowly began to disperse, some heading back to their hotels, others to after-parties. Charles stayed a bit longer, enjoying the camaraderie, but his thoughts were already drifting to you. He knew you were waiting for him, and the thought of seeing you made his heart race faster than the last lap of the race.

“Heading home, champ?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Charles nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I have someone special waiting for me.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, definitely don’t keep her waiting. Enjoy your night, Charles.”

With a final wave to his friends, Charles made his way out of the suite, the thrill of victory still coursing through his veins. The drive home was a blur, the familiar streets of Monaco rushing past until he finally pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment.

He opened the door quietly, stepping inside to find you waiting in the living room, a smile lighting up your face as soon as you saw him. You stood, crossing the room to wrap your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Félicitations, mon amour,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with pride.

Charles held you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Merci, chérie. I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “I have a special celebration planned for you.”

His eyebrows rose in curiosity, but he followed without question. You gently pushed him to sit on the couch, your fingers working deftly to unbutton his shirt. He watched you, his breath hitching as you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles beneath.

“You’ve worked so hard for this,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his chest. “Tonight, let me take care of you.”

Charles’ eyes darkened with desire as he leaned back, watching you. “Je suis tout à toi,” (I’m all yours) he whispered, his voice husky. “Always so good to me”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as you knelt before him, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his pants. He watched you, anticipation clear in his gaze.

“Let me show you how proud I am,” you whispered, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You freed him from the confines of his boxers, his erection springing free. He was already hard, his desire for you evident. His tip already leaking with pre cum.

Charles groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, teasing strokes. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smiled, your tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the salty essence of him. “Good,” you murmured, before taking him into your mouth.

His hips jerked involuntarily as you sucked him in deeper, your tongue swirling around him. You set a slow, torturous pace, wanting to savour every moment, every sound he made. Charles’ hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided your movements. His chest was already flushed, sweat pooling around his muscles. He looked like a dream.

“Mon Dieu,” (my God) he breathed, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re amazing.”

His praise spurred you on, and you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder. His hips bucked, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse softly in French.

“Do you like that, Charles? Do you like how I make you feel?” you asked, pulling back slightly to stroke him with your hand.

“Oui, je t’adore,” (yes, I love it) he murmured. “I love it, I love you.”

You took him back into your mouth, increasing the pace. Charles’ breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he guided your movements. You felt him start to tense, his muscles coiling in anticipation of release.

“Mon amour, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained with need.

You didn’t slow down, wanting to bring him the same intense pleasure he’d given you. His hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came undone, spilling into your mouth with a guttural moan. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste of him as he shuddered beneath you.

When he finally caught his breath, he pulled you up into a searing kiss, tasting himself on your lips. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands caressing your back.

You smiled against his lips, your heart swelling with love. “Anything for you, Charles.”

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body, as if memorising every curve, every inch of you. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” you whispered after a few minutes of kissing, once you knew he was undoubtedly getting hard for you again.

You wasted no time stripping off your clothes, the heat between you both too intense to ignore. You pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his hips, sinking down onto him with a gasp. The sensation of him filling you completely made your head spin, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Charles’ hands found your waist, steadying you as you began to move, rocking your hips against him. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze filled with raw desire and adoration.

“C’est ça… tu te sens bien, n’est-ce pas?” (That's it... you feel good, don't you?) he murmured, his voice low and encouraging.

“Oui, Charles,” you gasped, your movements growing more frantic as you chased your release. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, his grip tightening on your hips. “Is this your gift to me, yeah?”

“Oui, it’s all for you,” you whimpered, your hands resting on his flushed chest for support.

His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to move faster. “That’s right… use me… get yourself off.”

The intensity of his gaze, the feel of his hands on your skin, it all combined to drive you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge. With a final, desperate moan, you came undone, your body shuddering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Charles held you through it, his own release following closely as he watched you fall apart on top of him. His groan of satisfaction was music to your ears, and you collapsed against him, your body spent and trembling.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a gleam in his eye, Charles rolled you over gently, positioning you beneath him on the couch. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his expression tender yet filled with desire.

“I want to see you fall apart for me again,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me make you feel even better. Let me have a taste”

Your breath hitched as he moved down your body, his lips trailing hot kisses over your skin. He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he kissed a path between your breasts, down to your stomach. Every touch, every kiss was electric, setting your nerves on fire.

“Charles, please,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to the apex of your thighs.

He grinned, his fingers parting your folds as his tongue flicked out, teasing your sensitive clit. The sensation was almost too much, your back arching off the couch as he lavished attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink once more.

Your moans filled the room, your hands clutching at the cushions as he pushed you higher and higher. He looked up, his eyes locking with yours as he murmured against your skin, “Come for me, mon amour. I want to feel you again.”

His words, combined with the relentless pleasure he was giving you, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

When you finally came down, he crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of just how intimately he knew your body.

“I love watching you fall apart,” he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pulled him closer, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. “I love you, Charles.”

He smiled, brushing his lips against yours. “I love you too, more than anything.”He wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, mon amour. The night was perfect.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “You deserve it, Charles. I’m so proud of you.”

He stroked your hair, his touch tender and loving. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my good luck charm.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re my champion.”

Charles chuckled, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. “Here’s to many more victories, both on and off the track.”

You nodded, feeling content and loved in his arms. “To many more, Charles.”

Exhausted but blissfully content, you cuddled together on the couch, not bothering to go upstairs. The warmth of each other’s bodies, the rhythm of your breaths, and the unspoken bond of love and victory lulled you both into a peaceful sleep, a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 scenario #formula one smut

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only-luce-the-goose · 8 months ago

Text

Tinge of Jealousy

A/N: Helloooo again! This is a separate part of a previous request. I'm thinking of writing for other drivers, like Ollie, Kimi, Paul, the Papaya boys, maybe the Ferrari boys. I've only written for Arthur (Ive got one for Ollie) and i was thinking of doing others, obviously after I've finished the ones I'm currently writing. lmk if anyone has any ideas!

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Warnings: little jealousy/possessiveness but not a disgusting amount, creepy men at a bar

Based off this part of a previous request:

“Or maybe something about him being a little jealous and possessive not in a grotesque sense like I had to defend her from someone in a bar or something, like her being too nice by not wanting to walk away so as not to hurt the other person even if it's bothering her (that happens to me often haha😅)”

Arthur had an amazing race weekend, consistently holding podium positions the whole time and to celebrate you both decided to go to the club. You rolled up in Arthur's car, him jogging around to the other side of the car to open the door for you and help you out. He was wearing a light button-up shirt, which accentuated his biceps nicely, with dark pants. You were wearing a dark red dress which showed off all the right places, dipping into your cleavage. You walked into the club, hand in hand.

You found the rest of the drivers and some of their friends and partners. You left Arthur with them as you went to buy drinks. You wander up to the bar, aware of the numerous sets of eyes on you as you walk. You take a seat and tell the bartender your drinks. You've just pulled out your phone to respond to a text from your parents when a figure sits next to you. Initially, you ignore him until he presses the off button on the side of your phone. You look up at him, pissed that he would touch your property. "That's better" the creepy man grumbles.

He had to have been about 6'2, maybe in his mid to late thirties. He had an unkempt, ginger beard and you could tell he was already balding. He was big, with broad shoulders, lumberjack-looking, and scary. His eyes told you things you didn't want to know. "What's a pretty young thing like you doing in a place like this? he murmured in your ear. "I'm here with friends, actually. Just, uhm, waiting for our drinks". Your hands became clammy and started shaking, you were taking shallow breaths, trying your hardest not to freak out. You have never hoped for someone else to be watching you.

"Arthur, mate. I think your girl needs saving. She looks really uncomfortable" Lando spoke to Arthur over the loud music. Arthur looked over at the bar to see you trying your hardest not to panic, however he couldn't see the man who was creeping you out. He made his way over to rescue you when he saw the size of the man. He turned around and walked back to the group. "Hey, umm, guys?" he stammered "I need your help getting Y/N away from this guy". Charles, Lando, Oscar, Carlos, Max, Esteban, Pierre, Logan, Alex, Ollie, Kimi, and Paul all looked at Arthur concerned. "What do you mean, mate?" Kimi asked.

He motioned the group over to where they could all see the man who was trying to harass you, who now had his hand on your thigh and was whispering in your ear. "As much as I was to go punch that guy in the face, I would not win" Arthur said they all gaped at the sheer size of him. Arthur started walking, the 12 drivers hot on his tail. Arthur wrapped his hands around your waist and kissed your temple, silently telling you that it was him. "That's my girlfriend you're touching, mate, and you are way too close" Arthur declared, the other drivers staying just out of sight for now. The pervert looked Arthur right in the eyes as he said "I don't see a ring, so as far as I care she is free to do whatever anyone else wants". Arthur felt you shrink into him at the man's ideals. "That is not what it means at all. I am taking my girlfriend and we are leaving"

Arthur moved to pull you up and into him, only to be stopped by the man grabbing your wrist and yanking you into him. "And how are you doing to that when I can easily bash the shit out of you" you shuddered hearing the way the creep was speaking to your boyfriend. Arthur looked the man in the eyes and said "Because I brought friends". You looked over Arthur's shoulder, noticing a dozen drivers all with their arms crossed and fire in their eyes.

The man followed your line of sight, his eyebrows raised as he backed off "fucking weirdos" he grumbled. You turned around and enveloped Arthur in a hug "holy shit that was scary, thank you so much" Arthur pecked your lips "You're welcome mon amour. You have to learn how to say no, though" he chuckled. You turned around and walked over to the still grumpy racers. "Thank you, boys, I had no idea how i was going to get out of that one" there was a range of responses consisting of "you're welcome" "anytime" and "of course" Ollie piped up saying "anything for our Y/N" which cause the other drivers to agree.

Arthur leaned down to whisper in your ear "They're wrong". You looked up at him confused, "You're my Y/N". His confession caused you to let out a laugh, "exactly baby, all yours. Let's go home now, yeah?' Arthur nodded, entwining your hands and leading you to his car.

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader #f2 #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 grid x reader

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f1fnatic · 1 year ago

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LIAR ⤿ c. sainz 55

→ ( in which. . . ) you and carlos have been dating for three years. carlos started to grow distant. after charles shows you a picture of his infidelity, you catch him in the act after a day at work.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) cheater!carlos sainz x longtime!girlfriend!reader

→ (content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) mentions of sex, language, yelling, cheating, alcohol consumption, angst

→ ( author's note. . . ) this was my first time writing angst/cheating. it was fun experimenting with this type of writing. i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

"you fucking liar!" echoed through the otherwise quiet apartment. hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, another pair following the first close behind. was this what everything came to? walking out on your supposed soulmate after years together? how did you get here? and what did you do to deserve this?

one week prior ↴

you had noticed the distance growing. carlos was becoming closed off and almost secretive. he didn't confide in you as much as he used to. you didn't think twice about it and assumed it was something to do with work. ferrari had been going through a rough patch, both him and charles struggling to start or finish a race for the past three weeks.

you understood how stressful being a driver was. you had been around formula 1 for a while now, because of him. you and carlos met when he drove for redbull, in 2015. the two of you started dating shortly after in 2017.

you were always there for him, through thick and thin. through the blood, sweat, and tears. after every win, podium, loss, dnf, dns, etc. you understood how hard it was for him to perform well but not get the results wanted.

so, when you received a picture of carlos with another woman, a blond, on his lap, hands on his shoulders and lips touching, you were livid. charles had sent it to you, with a simple caption that read "i am sorry." it was the after-party of a not-so-successful qatar grand prix.

rage, confusion, sadness, and disgust coursed through your veins. the thought of him finding comfort in a woman who wasn't you made you sick. your hands shook, eyes blurred, and breath quickened.

you could not believe that carlos would ever cheat, especially on you. you had given him everything. love, attention, comfort, and compassion. and this is what he gave you in return? you had sacrificed so much to make him happy. you felt useless. had you thrown away six years of your life just to get cheated on? did he feel guilty? did he regret his choice to kiss a random girl? thoughts sped through your mind.

what did you do until he got home? your apartment no longer felt like a home. it felt gross and unnatural to be in there. to think that the person you shared it with was sharing a different room across the world. did he share your bed with someone else as well? the pictures of the two of you that hung on the wall seemed to mock you.

every passing minute became more and more painful. could you act like everything was fine when he eventually did get home? or would you lose it immediately the second he walked in through the front door?

unfortunately, you knew that only time would tell.

present day ↴

today was the day that carlos got home. you were at work, trying to distract yourself from the inevitable conflict about to occur. you reached the front door of your shared apartment. shaking hands held the key and you placed it in the lock and turned it. pushing open the door, the apartment was quiet, suspiciously quiet.

you noticed that the kitchen was a mess. plates and cooking utensils were in the sink, dirty and waiting to be washed. two wine glasses left discarded on the quartz bar. a bottle of red cabernet left opened and almost empty. one of the glasses had lipstick stains littered around the rim.

your heartbeat quickened. adrenaline began to pump through your body. you quickly toed off your shoes, and your feet ached after a long day. you also discarded your purse and jacket, making your way to your and carlos' bedroom.

as you got closer, you heard moaning. your heart dropped to your stomach. you opened the door as soon as you reached it. low and behold, it was carlos and the same blond from the picture that charles sent you. the blond was on top of carlos, head back and mouth open in euphoria. carlos had the same expression as her on his face.

tears immediately welled in your eyes and quickly fell. you felt defeated. it was one thing to see a picture of your boyfriend kissing another girl, but to catch him with that same girl in the bed that you shared, in the same bed that he fucked you in, was different.

finally, carlos opened his eyes and noticed you in the doorway. his hands found the blond's hips to stop her from moving. his eyes widened with guilt and surprise; mouth wide open in shock.

"y-y/n?!" he shouted. the blond turned to look at you and god, she was pretty. you partially understood why he did it. she covered herself with one of the loose sheets and unstrattled carlos, allowing him to get up.

"y/n, i can explain-" he starts.

"explain what, carlos?!" you shout, cutting him off. "how on earth can you explain me walking in on you fucking another girl in our bed?!"

"it was a simple mistake, mi amor, that's all." he tried to reason, smiling meekly. the nickname that once held so much love now held nothing. the name that made butterflies flutter in your stomach now made them sink.

"you fucking liar!" you screamed. "this was on purpose!" it echoed through the now quiet apartment. you turned your back on the pair and walked away. your hurried footsteps sounded from the hallway, carlos' pair following yours closely behind.

"y/n, stop!" he yelled, grabbing your wrist and turning you around to face him.

"do not fucking touch me!" you say, yanking your wrist from his grip. the complete and utter audacity he had to try to attempt to explain why he cheated. "was i not enough for you? did i do something wrong? did i not fuck you the right way? did i not get you off fast enough? huh, carlos? what made you decide to throw away six years together huh? six fucking years!"

carlos stares at you, his brown eyes that you thought were breathtaking were now filling you with disdain. "tell me carlos!"

"i-i don't know why," he stutters, turning his gaze to the floor, taking a sudden interest in the hardwood paneling. "you were enough, you still are enough. please y/n, we can move past this. i was drunk and stupid, my judgement was clouded." he tries to reason, reaching to grab both of your hands.

"no, stop it. no amount of time can get me to forgive you for this. i will never forgive you, carlos." you said his name with such disgust that he flinched. "charles showed me a picture of you kissing her in qatar in a bar during an after-party. i have known for a week. but to think that you would take her into our home and fuck her?"

"wait, wait, wait. charles texted you?" carlos questioned. there was anger present in his voice. "why the fuck did he text you?" it seemed that he was upset at the fact that charles told you he cheated.

i scoff, crossing my arms. "unbelievable, you are unbelievable. you cheated on me and you are caught up on the fact that your teammate texted me proof? how much of an egotistical cunt do you have to be?"

"me? i'm the unbelievable one? you're the one walking out on me because of a stupid, drunken mistake." he says nonchalantly, glossing over the insult. it's almost like he didn't care that your relationship was ending.

"fuck you, carlos. i am done. we are done. do not call me, do not try to find me to convince me to come back to you." the tears were flowing vigorously down your cheeks. you knew your makeup was running, but you didn't care. "i am fucking done. thanks for nothing. i hope have fun fucking that slut and that you are happy with the choice you made." you finish, walking away through the home that once brought you so much joy to be in.

you gathered your things. purse, shoes, phone, coat, and keys. you would get everything else later. you opened the door and then slammed it once stepping outside. it was then when every emotion hit you at once. violent sobs wracked your body making you shake. you slid down the door hugging yourself. you could not believe it. you don't know if you ever would.

after eventually calming down, you decide to call the one person who made you aware of this whole situation. you clicked on his contact's name and then the call button. you placed your phone on your ear to hear two rings before he picked up.

"hello? y/n? why are you calling." asked the voice.

"charles," you pause. the question of 'was this a good idea?' ran through your head. but, at this point you didn't care. carlos and what he thought was the least of your worries. "i need you to pick me up."

low key happy with this one, wrote it last night and like where it went. i think i might turn it into a charles x reader :P let me know in the comments if you want that :) thank you for reading! as usual, feedback and requests are welcome; make sure to leave a comment and kudos! (only if you want :P)

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cherry-leclerc · 10 months ago

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needy ☆ cl16

genre: humor, fluff, jealous/possessive!charles, smut, established relationship

word count: 2.3k

A certain dislike bubbles deep inside of the Monegasque when you attend your first race and continue praising his teammate.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, doggy position, m!receiving, blowjob, elevator sexxxx, choking

req!...aghhh i wish men existedddd

You’re smiling wide, face flustered with genuine happiness as you beam up at the podium from afar. The lights, fireworks, music, and environment fill you with pure adrenaline, and suddenly, you get it. Why a lot of people enjoy the sport, you mean. It was an exciting thing to witness.

But from the garage, where your boyfriend is getting weighed after a tiring race, Charles glares at you and then at Carlos who he can’t quite see but can hear the applause for as they announce his name. He can see the way you clap, the way your eyes crinkle up at his teammate.

It should’ve been him.

“You were amazing, baby!” you cheer as you skip towards him, arms flying over his broad shoulders. He grimaces. I’m sweaty, he protests as he lightly nudges you away. “Oh.” You take a wary step back at his odd behavior that had never taken place before. “I- um…Carlos and Rebecca invited us out for dinner to celebrate. Do you want to go?”

He could tell you wanted to and he hates how much it bothered him. The way it tugged at his heart like a painful needle. “I’m sweaty,” he simply states again.

“You can shower first, I’m sure they won’t mind if we’re a bit late-”

“Or you can go without me.”

You frown, shoulders drooping. “But I don’t want to go without you…”

He blinks. Just as he’s able to speak again, Carlos proudly makes his way over with a shiteating grin. “Charles! Great race, man, I’ve missed driving like that.” They share a fierce hug before the Monegasque sheepishly smiles.

“Yeah, I did too.” A beat. “We’ll probably be a bit late to your dinner.”

The Spaniard waves him off. “That’s alright, as long as you make it. I want to celebrate something like this with my team. Especially since this is our last season together.”

Charles can feel a wave of annoyance towards himself for envying the 29 year old. He did enjoy the race, he was extremely happy for his friend, but it didn’t quite click why it nicked him how you wore a bright smile. He nods, a lazy arm pulling you in towards him. Your brows pinch with confusion. “We’ll be there.”

“I’m glad I was able to make it,” you ponder as you reapply with a fresh coat of lipstick. Charles dries his brown locks with a white towel as he stands close by. Me too. You hum, eyes trained on your reflection. “It didn’t seem like it.”

His stomach churns at your sad tone. “I swear I am. Why would you say that?”

A tint of red colors your cheeks as you purse your lips. “For starters, you wouldn’t even let me get close to you. You pushed me away, remember?” He winces at the reminder.

“I d-didn’t want to cover you with my gross sweat,” he tries as you shake your head.

“Like that’s ever been an issue. You’ve played soccer and kissed me. You’ve had a round of basketball and hugged me after an hour of attempting to make a hoop. Or when you played golf under the blazing sun and kept me close no matter what.” You grab your purse as you make your way towards the door. “Don’t make up some stupid excuse, Charles.”

Guilt slithers all around the green eyed boy as he watches you converse with the Scottish model. He feels like an old grump around the most colorful flower, and he’s ruining it. He was determined to make it up to you. “I’m glad you were here to witness my first podium of the season considering it’s your first time attending a race. That way you remember me as your boyfriend's best teammate,” Carlos gloats as you laugh.

“Oh, for sure.”

Jealousy pangs Charles once again as you continue. “I don’t know how you did it…it was a close one. But definitely a great race, you live up to your last name,” you salute as he winks as a thank you. Rebecca agrees besides her boyfriend. “You got me though because - no offense - I thought Charles had it in the bag.”

You’re getting back at him now. He can hear it in your voice as his eye slightly twitches. The Spaniard chuckles. I thought so too. Placing a warm hand over the Monegasque, you swiftly kiss his stubble. “But you were great nonetheless, Cha. My favorite driver without a doubt. My number one…Ooops. Four.”

“Ah, shit,” Lando hisses from down the table as he nibbles on a piece of cake.

Charles fumes. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing, amour? Thank you, thank you very much.”

You giggle. “No problem.”

Coughing awkwardly, Carlos diverts the conversation from the sudden tension as a new topic comes up. You simply jump in with ease as the Monegasque keeps to himself.

He could’ve gotten a podium if it weren’t for his front brake locking. He could’ve been the one celebrating right now with all his friends. He was simply better.

“I’m really going to miss this,” a deep voice rips him away from his thoughts. Carlos sighs. “It’s a struggle, but I will miss it when I’m gone. Especially you,” he says as he points to his teammate. “A sore loser, but you gotta love him.”

Charles scoffs. “I am not a sore loser.”

“He’s right,” you muse. “But trust me, it's incurable. For God's sake, he pouted when I beat his time on the stimulator.”

Pierre gapes. “She beat you? As in her?” Kika laughs, pulling him back by his linen shirt. “That’s actually pretty impressive.”

The Monegasque blushes. “It happened one time. It was probably broken that day.”

“Ahh,” Daniel says as he clicks his tongue. “I totally see it.”

“Would you stop it?” Charles deadpans as the table laughs at his defensive behavior. “I’m honestly happy for Carlos. I am.”

The Spaniard wiggles his dark brows in a teasing manner. “You hate me a little bit though, no?”

He squints his eyes before aiming a napkin at the brown haired driver. “In the very moment, yeah. Maybe a little.” Carlos raises his hands up before smiling. As the night grows older, the more you lean into your boyfriend's touch, eyes fluttering tiredly. “Wanna leave?”

“Not yet,” you murmur against his chest. “One more round of drinks.”

He snickers. “I think you’ve had enough. Here.” He hands you a glass of water. “Drink it all.” Rolling your eyes, you oblige before it actually sobers you up enough to call it a night.

“Congrats again, Carlos!” you chirp as your boyfriend drags you away, swinging Charles’ hand like a glass of champagne. “Here’s to more podiums!”

“More podiums, my ass,” he growls as tugs you out. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Only with you,” you hum as you sloppily kiss his lips. “You look so pretty, Cha, you know? Your eyes, your lips, your hair.” You lean in closer to his ear, whispering. “Your cock.”

“Pretty?” he retorts, trying his best to hide his hard on. You giggle. You’re also so fucking hot when you get territorial. It’s sickening, but I love it. His breath hitches.

“Oh, that was fast,” you cutely muse when his car rolls in by the valet. “Ready?”

“Y-yeah.”

As soon as you step foot inside the wide room, you jump onto him, lips clinging onto his neck, hands rushing through his hair frantically. I’m sorry for all I said. I love you, you’re my favorite driver, my number one. You’re-

“Oh,” you sigh as he kneels down in front of you, kissing your legs all the way from bottom to top, worshiping you until his head is beneath your dress, nose brushing against your panties. You shudder. He nips as you leap up in surprise. His teeth wrap around the thin material before sliding down and looking up at you like a dog.

“Go to the bed. On all fours. Your favorite number, isn’t that right?”

It’s a lame joke, but it still strikes you with shock as you carefully make your way over, following his clear instruction. And you think he’s going to fuck you, the way you were waiting for, but instead unzips his jeans and takes his boxers off, and stands in front of you. Open. “I thought we were-”

“Well you thought wrong, now open,” he grunts, hands grabbing your chin as he forces your mouth wide. Following along, you stick your tongue out eagerly. Like a dog. You should be ashamed, but can’t find the strength when he slips down your throat. You gag as he groans. “That's it, baby. Work your jaw f’me.”

Deepthroating him, you hum around his length as you take him all. He growls when your teeth graze his skin for a second, harshly pushing you back. “And you’re still being mean to me?” He tsks. “What did I do to you today for you to ignore me?”

Your brows arch. “I wasn’t ignoring you. You were ignoring me.” Fixing your dress, you climb off the bed, but not before he grabs your hand, dark eyes staring back at you. Where are you going? “Far away from you.” He fixes himself before marching after you. Just as the elevator is about to close, he manages to slip in. “I’m not talking to you,” you promise, arms crossed.

“Great.” The elevator comes to a halt. “Because this doesn’t require talking.”

Pushing you against the glass, he kisses you hungrily, greedy hands squeezing your ass as you squeal, attempting to push him off. This only makes him take a step back, rubbing his jaw. Seriously? You debate with yourself for a while before biting down on your lip and pulling him back towards you.

There’s no sound other than moans and groans as he fucks your against the elevator. The angle causes his tip to hit your g-spot at a mindblowing pace as your head rolls back with pleasure. He’s the first to break the silence as he places a hand next to your head and the other secure around your waist as he pounds into you, loopy eyes admiring the way your breasts bounce.

“I want you to know that despite my attitude, I’m happy for him, I am.” You don’t need to ask to know who he’s referring to as you hastily nod. I know, Charles. Leaning down to kiss him, you pout when he turns his head, leaving you to peck his jawline. “But you’re mine, all mine.” He sucks on your breasts that spill out in front of him as you whimper. “Repeat it back to me.”

“I’m all y-yours, you doofus,” you grin, tangled hair flying into your mouth as you squirm. “I didn’t even think I’d have to say it.” Squealing in shock, you hurry to grab the metal bar as he places you down and spins you around, leaving you mushed up against the tinted glass. “Oh shit.”

“Pretty view, no?” he quietly questions behind you, lustful eyes laser focused on the way you take him like no other. He grunts, head rolling back, messy hair following along. There’s no room to worry about the possibility that there could be a camera in the tiny space, or that help may be on the way despite the red button being pushed on purpose. And then he wraps his large hand around your throat and your breath hitches, tiny hole enveloping around him even harder. “S-so good, chérie.” He kisses you shoulder sloppily, mouth hanging a tad bit open as he tries to push back his fierce sense to come inside of you.

I think it’s stuck, a familiar voice clarifies from outside.

It is, you dimwit, another retorts as a group of mumbles follow with agreement.

“Oh shit,” Charles whispers as he rapidly pulls out of you, fixing you dress and hair to the best of his ability before focusing on his equally fucked out appearance. A soft wail escapes your lips at the sensitivity that remains in between your legs as Charles apologetically pecks your temple and the door finally slides open.

“Charles?” Pierre squeaks as soon as he spots his friend. “Holy shit, are you guys okay?”

“Completely fine!”

“It was so scary,” you add, shivering with theatrical fear to emphasize your words. “Thank God they were able to help us,” you say as you signal to the hotel staff members who stand by with a skeptical smile. “I don’t know what we would have done.”

“I have a theory,” Lando whispers to Carlos as they snicker, taking in your sweaty state. The way your zipper isn’t all the way up, showing off a bit of humid skin. The way the Mongasque keeps his hands adamantly in front of his hard on. It’d be stupid not to know what had been taking place prior seconds.

“Well thank God you guys are okay,” Pierre breathes, already making his way to hug you and the 26 year old. Kika grimaces while you two cringe at the fact that the Frenchman was getting a good look and feel of the forbidden afterglow. Patting his shoulder away awkwardly, Charles hums enthusiastically.

“It’s been quite an eventful day... Charles?”

Dark brows fly up before nodding hastily. “Yeah! We should go to sleep…Take care guys! Au revoir!”

Pierre smiles happily as he watches you two scurry away, Charles almost tripping as you grab onto his shoulder to level him up. “That’s actually really scary, I think I would cry if I were in their situation,” he admits, wide eyes blinking towards his friend group.

“Oh, honey,” Kika sighs, leaning up to pat her boyfriend's chest with empathy for his naiveness. What? Wouldn’t you?

Lando can’t help but let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands with amusement.

“Open up your eyes, Pierre. Those two totally fucked.”

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