#f1 hurt/comfort | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

logansargeantsbabymom · 25 days

Text

Too Good to Say Goodbye

Logan Sargeant x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cursing, Hurt/Comfort & Implied Smut, MAJOR TW: stillborn

Summary: Y/N is tired of constantly being dissed by Logan and he doesn't seem to care, at least not until it's too late.

part 1 I part 2 I part 3 I part 4 I part 5 I part 6

F1 Masterlist

I clasp my jacket closer to my body as I wait for Logan to open the door of our shared apartment. It's pouring rain and my dumbass forgot the keys, I sigh as I pull my phone out, dialing my lovers number.

one ring

two rings

three rings

four- declined.

*new text from "Logie Bear🐻💙"*

Logie Bear🐻💙: Babe I'm on the sim, give me a few.

Me: I'm out here in the pouring rain and I left my key, You said you'd unlock the door 5 minutes ago.

Logie Bear🐻💙: You fucking made me crash.

Logie Bear🐻💙: I'm coming.

A scoff leaves my lips as I shove my phone into my soak jean pockets that stuck to my skin, a few minutes later I hear the lock click and the door swigs open revealing a less than happy Logan.

"Damn, were you watching our home videos while waiting for me to open the door?" Logan laughed as he took in a soaked me before side stepping so I could walk in.

"I've been outside for 10 fucking minutes in the pouring rain Logan and you're making jokes?" I almost screamed at him

Unbelievable, all I do for him and this is how he treats me?

"Woah babe, take a joke," Logan starts before his phone starts ringing "Yeah? Oh for sure, right now? Uh huh, Okay I'll hop on. Yup yup, just give me 5. I'm grabbing a snack" with that Logan hung up the phone "I'm hoping back on the sim with the boys, so just take a shower and dry the floors, you're ruining the wood."

I wanted to scream, I'm ruining the floors? I wouldn't be ruining the floors if you would've opened the door 10 minutes ago like you fucking said you would.

I made my way into our shared room, grabbing my clothes and speaker before making my way to the bathroom. Once in the bathroom, I connected my phone to the speaker and started playing "Hold Me While You Wait" by Lewis Capaldi on a low volume before stripping out of the soaking wet clothes that stuck to my skin.

My shaking hand turned the tap to hot as the water started spurting out of the shower head, which made me sigh thinking about the shower head I gave Logan every time we showered together. Today makes 3 weeks since we last fucked, and that was also probably why I'm so aggravated at everything he does. All this pent up sexual tension between us is driving me crazy.

Before stepping into the now steamy shower I turned the volume up on the song currently playing. Once in the tub, I let all my problems wash off of me and down the drain as I let the boiling hot water hit my skin. After what felt like 3 minutes of pure bliss, I hear a faint knock at the door before hearing it open. Peaking my head out the shower curtain I'm greeted by Logan just standing by the door.

"Hey Logie, care to join me?" I said in a low & seductive voice, watching as he steps fully into the bathroom and closes the door. A victory smile makes its way on my lips as I pull myself behind the curtain once more, quickly lathering myself in foamy soap.

I can hear Logans footsteps getting closer to the shower, but instead of getting in I hear him pick up my phone, turn the volume down, set my phone back down and as he's leaving he mutters "Not tonight. Boys are on the game and i can’t focus on them because your depressing songs are too loud."

Are you fucking kidding me?

That had been my last straw. In one quick movement I turn off the shower, throw my robe on and march out of the bathroom and into his sim room.

"Are you fucking kidding me Logan?!" I shout as a burst in the room, face red from anger. I can hear a mix of muffled oohs, laughs and you're in trouble. I couldn't bring myself to care about anyone on the sim with him.

"Hey! I'm on the sim! Watch your tone!" Logan shouted back, earning him a glare that said turn your fucking simulator off now.

"We're gonna have a serious talk. Now" I said in a stern voice. That made Logan turn the game off and actually face me

"What the fuck do you want to talk about that you bust into my sim room and interrupt me when I'm on with my friends WHO HAPPEN TO BE A COWORKERS?!" Logan shouted, his beautiful face now a shade of red that no-one liked, his eyes as cold and sharp as ice.

“I WANT TO TALK ABOUT YOU. YOURE BEHAVIOR, THE WAY YOU’VE BEEN ACTING TOWARDS ME, THE WAY YOU DONT FUCKING TOUCH ME ANYMORE, DO YOU EVEN STILL FUCKING LOVE ME?!” I tried to stop, I really did but all the anger built up inside of me over the last few weeks just started pouring out “WHATS BEEN GOING ON WITH YOU LOGAN? YOU’RE NOT YOURSELF AND ITS EFFECTING ME, YOU KEEP SHUTTING ME OUT, AND MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU ANYMORE? HUH!?” the more I screamed at him and the more I cried, I saw not one bit of remorse in his eyes.

“Are you fucking done being dramatic now?” Logan says with a scoff “Nothing is fucking wrong with me. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re the problem? No, you haven’t because you think so highly of yourself. You think that you’re the fucking shit and you’re not!” his words hit me like a punch to the gut.

the tears welling up in my eyes, now falling like heavy rain down my face. “You’re not the Logan I fell in love with,” my breath shaky “I don’t know who you are. I want my Logan back. I want the Logan who came to all my wrestling matches, the Logan who regularly took me out on dates despite his hectic work schedule, I want my Logan who got mad at me when I paid for dinner because ‘it’s a man’s job to pay for his girls meal’, the Logan who always took me to his races and showed me off like I was a rare jewel he found,” the waterfall beneath my eyes couldn’t stop me from staring into his soul while i said this last part “I miss my Logan who stood by me when we had our miscarriage” That seemed to get a reaction out of him.

“You have the fucking nerve to bring up MY baby. Don’t you EVER bring up MY baby like that again. You HAVE NO RIGHT.” Logan said tearing up

“YOURE BABY? HE WAS MINE TOO. IT WASNT JUST YOU THAT LOST A BABY, IT WAS ME TOO. HOW DO YOU THINK I FELT PUSHING OUT OUR BABY KNOWING HE WAS DEAD? I WANTED TO FUCKING KILL MYSELF LOGAN. I FELT LIKE I FUCKING FAILED YOU AND OUR SON.”

“MAYBE YOU FUCKING SHOULD’VE KILLED YOURSELF. HAVE YOU EVER THOUGHT OF THAT?! IF YOU KILLED YOURSELF I’D BE SO MUCH BETTER OFF.” a sob escaped my lips as Logan finishes talking. “You act like I can’t find someone else, like I can’t impregnate another woman. You’re nothing but another piece of ass to me, that couldn’t fucking keep my son alive in you.”

Logan storms out of the room, slamming the door as he goes.

“Well, I’m so glad you told me this now because I’d HATE for our DAUGHTER to be in a house where her dad thinks so lowly of her mother!” I scream while I barge into our shared room, grabbing a suitcase and filling it up with all my shit I can fit in it.

Soft footsteps make their way to the room, stopping just before the door. Slowly I hear the door open and see Logan slowly walking in.

“what did you say?” he asks me in disbelief “did you say ‘Our Daughter’?”

“YEAH IM FUCKING PREGNANT AGAIN BUT SINCE IM JUST ANOTHER PIECE OF ASS TO YOU, IM FUCKING LEAVING AND YOURE NOT GONNA FUCKING SEE HER.” I yell, closing up the suitcase and heading for the door before feeling a tug on my wrist

“no baby, please. I’m sorry, i’m so sorry. let me make it all up to you and be in her life. i’ll change, I’ll be better, I’ll do anything to get you back.” tearing now streaming down Logan face

“I’ll be back in the morning to get the rest of my shit.” I said before tugging my wrist back and slamming the door shut behind me.

pt2 maybe?

thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed !!

@forevercaffeinated-lee

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSesvRpKqBaYY-Ow5IgHoD0gSX6OzJ03qGMXOhHUI6Xg1wfKaA/viewform

363 notes · View notes

maxtermind · 2 months

Text

if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

★ : summary :: when they lose a race ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: hurt/comfort; angst; fluff ★ : word count :: 2.7k

Max Verstappen

Max had never felt so distant from you. He had the win in his bag, he started good and was going to give it his all but was forced to retire due to a sudden engine failure while leading the race.

He was rightfully disheartened. The post-race meeting only added to his frustration as blame was thrown around instead of taking responsibility. It only got worse when he walked out of it with a, ‘This is such a waste of time.’

As he ranted in the car, his anger palpable, you listened silently, and caressed his hand when, had gotten a call from his dad.

“Just let it ring,” you whispered from the passenger seat. Your attempt was futile though before he picked up the call and put it on bluetooth in his ear.

You waited until you reached home before discreetly ending the call, giving Max a moment to compose himself. He didn’t let you hear anything but as he sat in his seat, rubbing his face to get rid of his emotions, you knew the conversation had affected him deeply.

Opening his car door, you pulled him out using his hand before getting home before you both took a shower in silence, allowing Max the space to process. It wasn't until you were tucked under the covers, clean and warm, that he finally spoke.

"I just hate feeling like I let everyone down," Max confessed, his voice heavy with guilt.

"You didn't let anyone down, Max,” you reassured him, kissing the top of his hand. “You gave it your all out there.”

"I still feel like I'm constantly disappointing everyone," Max muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

"You're not a disappointment, Max. You're a phenomenal driver, and sometimes things just don't go our way.”

"It's hard to believe that sometimes," Max admitted, his gaze distant and you realized what exactly he was thinking about right now.

"Your dad's words don't define you, Max. You're so much more than that," you said firmly, refusing to let him internalize the negativity.

"It's just… I've always looked up to him, you know? His opinion matters," Max confessed, his tone tinged with sadness.

"But you're your own person, Max. And you're incredible in your own right," you reminded him, squeezing his hand gently.

"I know, but… it still hurts," Max admitted, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it all.

"I wish I could shield you from all of this," you murmured, feeling a pang of helplessness. Your boyfriend nodded softly, looking so so so small that it was physically hurting you to even keep looking at him, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within.

"Hey, look at me," you said, gently tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. "You are loved, Max. Don't ever forget that." "Thanks, Y/N. I needed to hear that," Max replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Anytime, Max. I'm here for you, through the highs and the lows," you said earnestly, offering him a comforting embrace.

He looked conflicted for a second and you were sure whatever he was about to say was going to officially break your heart into two. Max's voice was barely above a whisper when he admitted it, his expression pained,"It's just… seeing them celebrate my failure, it stings."

"I know it's tough seeing those celebrations, Max, but remember, those people celebrating are just haters who can't accept that someone is doing better than them," you said firmly, trying to inject some perspective into the situation. "Their joy comes from a place of envy, not genuine happiness. Don't let their negativity dampen your spirit."

"I hope you're right," Max said, his voice tinged with doubt. "Thanks for always being there, babe. I don't know what I'd do without you," Max said sincerely, his eyes reflecting gratitude.

"You'll never have to find out, Max. I'll always be by your side.”

Lewis Hamilton

Your heart dropped the moment you saw the tire puncture Lewis’ car in the second last lap of the race. His frustration and curses echoed through the headphones, reaching you with a painful clarity.

“Don’t tell me to calm down! This is all so shit!” Lewis’s distorted voice cried through the radio. “I was so fucking close!”

As much as it hurt you to listen to this, you decided to keep your emotions at bay so you could handle your boyfriend’s better. Silently making your way through the people in the paddock to the back.

The chaos and disappointment from everyone forcing your chest to hurt a little. The only thought in your mind was how Lewis was probably feeling much much worse than you right now.

You heard his car before you saw him, and when you did, the defeat etched on his face made you want to cry. Lewis seemed drained and defeated, devoid of the usual fire.

“Baby?” You called, catching his attention. He nodded at someone before making his way towards you. Pulling you into a less crowded area before wrapping his arms around your shoulder.

"I don’t think I can face the interviews and media circus after this," he confessed, his breath warm against your neck.

"Should I go get the getaway car ready?" You joked, delighted to hear a small huff from his mouth.

“Can’t really leave before that though,” Lewis replied. “I’m beat, just wish it wasn’t this close to winning.”

Realizing he needed encouragement, you took a deep breath and spoke softly.

"Lewis, it's incredibly tough luck to have a tire blowout so close to the finish line, especially when you were leading so strongly," you said, feeling his grip tighten around you. "But these moments, they test your resilience and determination."

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as you continued to rub his back.

"I know it's hard, Lewis, but remember, every setback is just a setup for a comeback," you whispered soothingly.

"I just had my heart set on this win," he murmured, disappointment evident in his voice.

"I know, love, but sometimes things don't go as planned," you replied, offering a comforting squeeze.

"It's like the universe has it out for me today," Lewis said with a bitter chuckle.

"Maybe it's just testing how badly you want it," you suggested optimistically. "Well, it's certainly made its point," he said, a hint of bitterness lingering.

You were about to speak again when he interrupted.

"I just wish it had been enough."

"It will be next time," you said confidently, refusing to let him dwell on the defeat.

"I hope you're right," Lewis said, a hint of determination creeping back into his voice. "Thanks for always believing in me.”

"Always, Lewis. That's what lovers are for," you said, smiling warmly at him, admiring his eyes that had some of their shine back intact.

Carlos Sainz

The relief you felt when Carlos walked out of the safety car before making his way towards you was indescribable. From the moment his car collided with another due to a racing incident until now, with his arms around your shoulders, you hadn't taken a single calm breath.

It was probably less brutal than what was shown on the screen, given that it happened so fast that none of the drivers had even processed what was happening. Still the incident had left you with a knot of dread in your stomach.

Carlos was okay, you repeated to yourself, but it didn't quell the pounding of your heart or the trembling of your hands. You were trying to stay composed but it was really hard while your boyfriend talked to someone from the team, frustrated that he had to retire so soon.

"Hey, at least you're still in one piece," you pointed out, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation but it sounded dry and that was when Carlos took a good look at you, his gaze sharpening as he realized how shaken you were. "Babe, are you alright?" Carlos asked, his concern evident in his voice as he reached out to touch your trembling hand.

"I'm fine, just a bit shaken," you admitted, forcing a shaky smile as you tried really hard to stay in the present and not let your brain run rampant.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that," Carlos said, his eyes filled with regret as he pulled you into a comforting embrace. Knowing that he would’ve been the same if it was the other way around.

"I promise I'll be more careful out there," Carlos vowed, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm just glad you're okay," you whispered, burying your face in his chest as you finally allowed yourself to let go of the tension you had been holding.

"It's not your fault, Carlos. These things happen in racing-”

"I know, but I hate putting you through this," Carlos said, his voice filled with remorse. "Let's forget about the race for now, okay? We'll focus on us."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, feeling a sense of peace wash over you as you leaned into his warmth, longing to put the ordeal behind you.

"I love you so much," Carlos said earnestly, his eyes filled with love as he looked at you. Hands holding you tight against him, grounding you so you could understand that he was real and wasn’t going anywhere.

"Let's get out of here and grab some dinner, just the two of us," Carlos proposed, eager to shift your focus away from the day's events as he led you towards the exit. Mentally making a list of things he would tell you to take your mind off of what happened today.

Charles Leclerc

You found yourself seething almost as much as Charles after yet another podium slipped away due to a messed up pit stop. It lasted more than a fucking forever at such a pivotal moment in the race.

It really made you wonder whether his team was even working with him or deliberately against him to make sure that neither of them could score more points. He had opted to stay silent, shutting out the media and team meetings, and unfortunately, that meant withdrawing from you too.

“Charles?” You asked after giving him ample time to process the race in the sitting room all alone like he requested.

He simply hummed before taking a sip of whatever his glass held before you carefully took it from his hand and put it on the table. Crawling into his lap to make sure he knew he could lean on you.

"This isn't the solution," you whispered, pointing to yourself. "Talk to me. Mid-life crises are lighter when shared."

“I don’t think I have the brain to make a correct decision ever.”

"Hey, don't say that," you said firmly, looking into his eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "You're one of the most talented drivers out there, Charles. One pit stop mishap doesn't change that," you assured, brushing a stray hair from his face.

"But it keeps happening, Y/N," Charles replied, his voice heavy with frustration. "I know, love, and it's unfair. But you can't let it define you," you said, cupping his cheek in your hand.

"I understand how frustrating it is, Charles," you said, your voice soft but determined. "But dwelling on what went wrong won't change anything."

"What do you suggest, then?" Charles asked, a hint of desperation in his tone. "Let's analyze what happened today. Break it down step by step," you suggested, gently guiding him to a more constructive approach. "Let's start with the pit stop. What went wrong there?" you prompted, encouraging him to identify the specific issues.

"It was a miscommunication between the crew members," Charles recalled, his brow furrowing with concentration.

"Okay, so how can we prevent that from happening in the future?"

"Maybe we need to implement clearer communication protocols," Charles suggested, a spark of hope flickering in his eyes.

"That sounds like a solid plan. Let's discuss it with your team tomorrow," you said, nodding in agreement.

"But what if they don't listen to me?" Charles wondered, his confidence wavering.

"You're their driver, Charles. Your input is invaluable. They'll listen," you assured him, offering a reassuring smile.

"I feel a bit better now," Charles admitted, a hint of relief in his tone. “I was just so lost, I should've talked to you a bit sooner.” Your boyfriend whispered before leaning down and dropping a soft lingering kiss on your lips, conveying what words couldn't. "I'm lucky to have you, Y/N."

"And I'm lucky to have you, Charles. We make a great team," you replied, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Lando Norris

The usual smile was off of Lando’s face. He faced an unavoidable collision with another car in the chaotic start of the race, resulting in damage to his car and an early retirement. Though he tried to maintain a facade of normalcy, the tension in his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze betrayed his true emotions.

Lando typically a laid back playful guy who was always joking around, had retreated into himself on this dismal day, with even the reporters giving him a wide berth. No one has seen him this dejected before and it was killing you.

However, as soon as the race concluded, it was clear why he was keeping up appearances. Lando pecked your cheek and told you to stay put before following the rookie who had collided with his car.

Alarm bells rang in your head and you were right behind him, stopping him using his shoulder.

“Babe, maybe it's best to cool down before confronting him.” You saw him sigh and open his mouth to retort but you were quicker. “Walk with me.”

You understood him obviously, knowing that the incident was beyond his control and shattered his hopes for a strong finish.

"I can't just let it slide, Y/N," Lando said, his voice tight with frustration as he glanced back towards the rookie's garage.

“I understand, Lando, but lashing out won't change anything," you said gently, placing a comforting hand on his arm, relieved when he finally started walking away.

"I just feel so helpless," Lando admitted, his shoulders slumping with defeat.

"You're not helpless, Lando. You're just taking a moment to process everything," you reassured him, placing a gentle kiss against his lips.

"It's just hard to stay positive when everything feels like it's falling apart," Lando confessed, his usual optimism dimmed by disappointment. "I just hate feeling like I'm at the mercy of circumstances.”

"I know, love. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together," you assured him, intertwining your fingers with his. “You, me and the team. He’s going to face penalties anyway.”

"I just wish I could turn back time and avoid that collision," He sighed, letting you drag him to a park nearby for a walk.

"I understand, love. But dwelling on what could have been won't change the present. Let's focus on what we can do now," you suggested, leading him away from the chaos of the race track.

"But what if this affects my standings in the championship?" He wondered aloud, his brow furrowing with worry, a pout evident on his face.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, babe. Right now, let's focus on taking care of you," you said, your voice filled with determination. "Let's just take this walk and clear our heads, okay? If you still want to talk to him later, I’ll support you."

He was extremely grateful that you pulled him away at the time because not even an hour later, the rookie approached Lando and apologized for his mistake.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

1K notes · View notes

lavidavacomoverstappen · 21 days

Note

hey! can you please write a lando × bustamante reader....where the reader is the younger sister of Bianca Bustamante and has a huge crush on lando but Lando finds her irritating for some reasons and one day he shouts at her after a bad race when she tries to console him in front of the McLaren crew.. after that lando felt really bad and he had grovel a lot for forgiveness (btw the reader is only one year younger than bianca)....if you do write this thank you very much 🧡🧡

🎀1,317 words 8561 Characters around 5 pages enjoy 🎀

ooo I’m not the biggest fan of bianca but I do love this trope :)

You knew that life was never meant to be fair to everyone yet you had no idea why life constantly tried to screw with you.

Ever since you were a child, you’d always been compared with your older sister, Bianca. She was always seen as the brave, bold, and beautiful one who dared to achieve her dreams and had high ambitions. Whereas people, heck, even your own family, saw you as the timid, overlooked, and frankly dull sibling. Did it hurt growing up like that? Yes, it did.

Did it hurt when all the boys you had a crush on would only use you to get to your sister? Yes, it did. Did it hurt to see your sister achieve everything you’d ever wanted in life and for you to only be known as her sidekick, or, in other words, her shadow? You really don’t remember the last time you’ve ever set yourself apart from your sister and her needs; it’s almost second nature for you to prioritise her and ignore yourself.

This habit of yours was noticed by the eyes of a young British driver. He’s found that habit of yours annoying ever since.

The day Bianica signed for McLaren under F1 Academy was the best and worst day of your life. You were beyond happy for her but you also felt yourself fading further into her shadow. With more media coverage and attention on your sister, you simply faded away.

You had frankly thought about packing your bags and going back home until the same blue-eyed British driver caught your attention. It was silly to say, but you felt like a little teenager with a huge crush.

You knew it wasn’t right to have a crush on your sister’s coworker, but the way he was made it almost impossible. You liked the way he talked, the way he walked, and the way he still had his accent. You liked the way his nose wrinkled any time you talked about sushi or fish. You liked the way that he was a ball of energy, always so confident and fun to be around. What you liked the most about him was the way he made you feel seen and heard. When you were with him, it was almost like you were just you and not Bianca's little sister.

However, within all the giddy feelings of having a crush on Lando, you could not ignore how badly McLaren was doing. It was almost pitiful how poor their race performance was. Qualifying 18 and 19th and having to come into the pits four times in the race would kill anyone’s mood. Lando was no different; over the course of the season, he grew more and more aggressive and agitated after each race.

Lando and her had formed a little ritual: after each race, he would do his interviews while she would wait in the garage, and he would go into his driver's room, and exactly 5 minutes later, she would show up with any sweet treat she could snuggle in, and they would just talk. Some days it would be him talking and her listening, and other days it would be her lifting his confidence up with encouraging words. It is safe to say she really loved their ritual, only hoping to continue their ritual with better results for him.

As the season went on, she noticed a shift in Lando's behavior. His happygo-llucky attitude towards her started to shift towards a more annoyed and irritated mood. It started when she tired of talking to him before a race; he didn’t take kindly to that and simply ignored her and rolled his eyes. It hurt her; it really did, and she could do nothing about it.

They were not friends; they were just forced to be together due to their situations. She knew he would never like her back, but her infatuation with him made each and every move he made romantic.

It started to affect her more when he started distancing himself from her. Lando never wanted to hurt her; he started getting fond of the girl he once was annoyed with. He didn’t know why he started cutting her off; he was trying to play dumb, but deep down he knew he started having feelings for her.

He messed up in Silverstone both on and off track. Home Grand Prixs always have a special place in drivers hearts. It was no different with Lando; Silverstone was the one place every British driver wanted to win in front of their home crowd on their home soil.

The race was long anticipated; she was in his driver's room prior to the race; they had their normal routine done and dusted; he stared at her for a second longer; and she started at his lips for even longer.

They both knew the tension in the room was inevitable; someone just had to make a move. McLaren was proper shit during qualifying, so all expectations were nullified even before the race started. With Lando starting in P9 and Oscar in P5, it irked Lando how well Oscar was doing in the same car as him. A rookie driver beating the team's star child was never a pretty image.

The race started with Lando’s car being 2 seconds off the pace of K-Mag, which was really nice for him. As the race progressed, Lando almost made up 3 places by the end of the 38th lap.

However, McLaren messed up Lando in the pits, being stationary for almost 18 seconds. His 6th place turned into a plum last, and to make matters worse, he ended up retiring the car simply out of spite. He knew he was mad, and he showed it really well on the cameras, especially towards his team.

She knew it was a risk to go see Lando, especially after seeing how mad and snappy he looked. She knew he was probably beating himself up over the way this race went. It didn’t help that Oscar ended up on the podium. It was horrible, really, but neither of them could do anything.

He saw her enter his room; he didn’t like that. He didn’t want her to see him like this, all beaten and broken down. He didn’t realise when his tone shifted or when he felt the anger rise up within him.

All she had said was, “It’s not your fault; I know you are going to do better.“ That’s all he let her get out before he exploded.

“I honestly don’t remember asking for your opinion. God, you are so pathetic sometimes, always searching for attention from anyone who spares a glance at you. It’s all your fault; you think it’s funny to come into my room and give me glances right before a race. God, why are you so fucking stupid?"

“Maybe this is why your sister will always be better than you; your parents probably saw that, and so does everyone else when they see you and her together. Look at her; she’s a driver, and look at you sneaking into a driver's room, offering yourself to him all for what?? bloody attention?? Get out. I don’t want to see you anymore. All you’ve done is clutter my brain.”

Y/N walked out of his room with hot tears running down her face, her face all red, and a pounding headache. But what was worse than all that pain combined was the pain running through her heart; it genuinely felt like her heart was snapped into two and stepped on by a herd of elephants.

She didn’t know why he snapped at her; all she wanted was to help him. Everything he said made her fall into a spiralling downfall. All the work she’s done to keep her insecurities hidden and healed, Lando’s words ripped them apart and left them burning red and raw.

845 notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 4 months

Note

hi!! I love your work and CONGRATS!!! ❤️ i would do ANYTHING for a combination of “how long has it been since someone hugged you?” and “is this okay?” with Max if you’re willing :)

1k celebration! thank youuuu 💛 always willing to write more soft max

“I heard you need a hug,” Max says.

You stare back at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

He’s standing there, hands in his pockets. He shrugs, nods in the direction of the rest of your friends in the living room. They’re noisy, chattering with each other. You’re in the kitchen where it’s quiet, though warm. You’re checking on the food in the oven, that’s all.

“Someone said you had a bad day,” he explains, “and that you needed a hug. I give good hugs. So.”

You laugh and turn your back to him, peering into the oven. “I’m fine.”

You hear more than see Max take a couple steps towards you. You stand up straight again and turn back towards him, though you don’t meet his eyes. The next three things happen in the blink of an eye- he grabs your elbow, pulls you against his chest, and wraps his arms around you. You let out a squeak and go stiff, and he laughs.

“How long has it been since someone hugged you?” He asks, laughter in his voice. “You are as stiff as a board.”

“Well, it’s been a while since I’ve been attacked with a hug,” you scoff.

He laughs at that and squeezes his arms around you. “Is this okay?”

You sigh and let your shoulders drop, and then you relax against him.

“Yeah,” you say, feeling just a bit of the tension drain from your body.

You put your arms around him, too, and let out a sigh. He tucks his head on top of yours as you curl further into him. He’s warm and comforting, and he smells good, and his arms around you are strong and it feels like he’s squeezing all the bad parts of the day away.

“You needed a hug,” he says, voice soft.

“I needed a hug,” you admit.

431 notes · View notes

elizaleclerc · 16 days

Text

two hearts, one home ☁️

charles leclerc x reader

summary: charles comfort after fem mc comes home from work with a migraine <\3

author's note: first post ever lol hope u like :,) also taking requests for more little blurbs! just message me

song: sweet creature by harry styles

word count: 1k

As you trudged through the threshold of your apartment, every step felt like a heavy burden on your tired feet. The long day at work had left your body drained and weary. On top of that, a sharp migraine had taken root in your head, making the second half of the day a struggle to get through. You could feel the tension radiating from your temples, as if tiny hammers were pounding away at your skull. Each breath was a chore, and you longed for the comfort of your bed, hoping it would alleviate some of the pain and exhaustion that consumed you.

Migraines were a familiar foe, often forcing you to retreat into the safe cocoon of your bed, shutting out the world and all its distractions. But today was different; there was no luxury of seclusion or quiet solitude. A crucial deadline loomed over your head at work, leaving no room for rest or respite. The persistent tapping of keyboards and boisterous conversations bombarded your senses, threatening to tip you over the edge with every passing second. Each sound felt like a sharp jolt to your throbbing head, aching with intensity. Tension coiled tightly in your mind, ready to snap at any moment.

With each step, the sharp click of your heels reverberates through the empty apartment, the sound echoing off the stark white walls. Yet even this noise is quickly engulfed by the incessant pounding in your head, a steady thump that feels like a constant reminder of your stress and anxiety. Your throat is dry and scratchy, evidence of a day filled with tension and worry. The faint taste of coffee still lingers on your tongue from a rushed morning, adding to the overwhelming sensory overload.

You languidly laid your purse on the counter and flicked your heels off your worn feet. It was a sluggish and melodious movement, as if your body was being pulled along by a slow-moving river and your actions carried the weight of the world.

Charles, clad in comfortable sweats, practically flew towards you with open arms. His embrace was warm and enveloping, his vanilla-scented skin bringing back memories of lazy Sundays spent in bed together. But today, that scent sent a sharp pain shooting behind your eyes. You mustered up all your energy to hug him back, but he immediately noticed something was off. He pulled back, his emerald eyes searching your face for answers.

“What’s wrong?” His voice, like a soothing balm, caressed your ears with its gentle murmur. It was as if he could sense the fragility of your body and mind in that moment, his tone soft and compassionate. His words were like a warm embrace, enveloping you in comfort and understanding.

Your eyes fluttered tiredly, “Migraine.” It was all you could manage to say, each word feeling like a heavy weight on your exhausted shoulders. Every uttered syllable and slight movement caused your already weak body to grow weaker.

Charles’s entire demeanor shifted as he tenderly placed his hands on either side of your face, his touch as gentle as a feather. “Oh mon chéri, I’m so sorry.” You managed a small smile for him before he took your hand and led you to the bathroom. “Let’s get you feeling better,” he said softly, his concern evident in every word and action.

As his fingers delicately traced the lines of your face, Charles used a soft cotton pad to remove each layer of makeup with gentle and precise movements. In between, he would pause to press light kisses against your lips, as if trying to revive you from a deep slumber. The pain in your head remained, but his tender affection brought some relief. Once finished, he slowly ran a brush through your tangled locks, his eyes focused on every move to ensure your comfort. You watched him through the mirror, admiring the love and care he showed towards you in such simple actions.

Each delicate touch was like a precious gift, cherished and savored amidst the throbbing pain in your head. With Charles by your side, it seemed as though all pain in the world faded away. His love was like a fragile, golden thread weaving its way through every moment spent together. As you sat there, exhausted from work and burdened by headaches, he presented you with your favorite silk pajama set and helped you change out of your stiff clothes. His skilled hands moved up to your shoulders, kneading away the tension as you closed your eyes in relief. Soft kisses trailed along your neck as he continued the massage, his warmth and presence alone enough to soothe your entire being. As the minutes passed, you couldn't help but feel better under his loving care and attention.

Your final destination, a luxurious white comforter and perfectly plush memory foam pillows beckoning you. As you settled into the soft embrace of Charles's arm, your mind finally began to let go of all its worries. Lying in bed, with your head still nestled against his chest, you couldn't help but marvel at the peacefulness that had come to you. Charles's heart beat steadily like a metronome, guiding you into a deep state of relaxation. With each rise and fall of his chest, you felt yourself sinking deeper into tranquility. In this moment, wrapped in his warm and protective embrace, the chaos of the world slipped away and all that existed was this safe haven of peace and love.

Your ultimate goal was not to drift off into sleep, but rather to simply ease the strain on your overworked mind by resting your heavy eyelids. Migraines often robbed you of the ability to sleep, making relief seem like a distant dream. Charles grabbed a book from his nightstand, propping it up to read on his lap. As he silently lost himself in the pages, the predictable sound of flipping paper lulled you into a peaceful daze. He would pause to place tender kisses on your temples, while his other hand held you protectively at the waist. Despite the struggles and hardships of migraines, you were grateful for moments like these when Charles's love enveloped you like a warm blanket, soothing both body and mind.

#formula one fanfic #charles leclerc #formula 1 #formula one #fanfiction #fanfic #f1 x reader #scuderia ferrari #x reader #hurt/comfort #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader

319 notes · View notes

k0juki · 3 months

Text

It's just a vase

Kimi Räikkönen x fem!reader

gn is alright too!

Warnings: blood, sad reader, maybe slight panic attack, mentions of y/n BUT soft Kimi that loves y/n so mutch. And one Google translate

Hurt/Comfort angst and bit of fluff I guess? It's longer than I wanted it to be, but 💁‍♀️

summary: Kimi calmly reassure reader when she drop a glass, gently checking her hands for any injury.

Words: 680

---

It wasn't her fault, it really wasn't. That stupid vase just slipped out of her hands.

That's what she told herself.

And y/n being y/n, clumsy as always didn't mean to destroy it, even if it was by an accident, she still feels horrible. It's just a stupid glass, nothing that you can repair, but still, she feels horrible.

She doesn't want him to know that she broke his favorite one, the one that she gave him on his birthday, as a present from her.

And what she doesn't want him to know, is that she had accidentally cut herself when she started to clean up the shards.

Y/n told herself that she's gonna clean it up before Kimi comes back. But her hand hurts and is still bleeding. At first it didn't hurt at all and the bleeding wasn't that bad, but the more she tried to help, the more it bled and hurt.

She couldn't do anything more than sit there, lean back against the couch and cry. She felt pathetic, "why i wasn't more careful?" now, fully crying, she didn't heard that Kimi came back from his training.

When he opened the door, he knew something wasn't right, maybe it's because he didn't got his "hey Kimi, you're finally home, I made your favorite" or "we can now watch that new movie you were talking about", no, the only think he heard was soft cries from the next room.

Without a second thought, Kimi storm to the living room of your shared apartment, to find you sitting on the floor crying with bloody hand and about millions of shards next to you. The bood now staining the new carpet she bought last week and how happy she was when they bought it, to their home.

"Hey, hey it's alright, y/n you hear me? It's alright ". Kimi said, calmly reassuring, kneeling in front of her. "Let me see your hand okay? It's alright I promise". He took her hand and examined it, upon seeing the large but not deep cut he knew it wasn't anything serious, but was still careful and conscious of the pain she must be feeling in the moment.

Carefully, he helped y/n stand up and go around the shards. "I'm sorry " was all she was able to say. "It's all right love, there's nothing to be sorry for". He got her shaking form to the bathroom and gently picked her up, to make her sit on the counter. "What happened Lumihiutale?". Kimi said as he started wrapping bandage around her hand, after he disinfected it.

Y/n looked at him, when her cries died after while, but was still shaking and had lump in her throat. "Well I-I was cleaning" she started speaking, voice weak and wobbly "a-and I accidentally dropped the vase and then it s-shattered and tried to clean it, but I had cut myself and it hurt a-and I..." she almost started to cry again, but Kimi had stopped it before she could.

"Hey, hey, look at me, it's alright, it's just a vase, yeah? A vase." He softly said to her. Putting his hands on each side of her head, looking straight to her eyes, his piercing blues looking into hers, kissing her slowly.

"Don't apologize, okay? I'm just glad that you are alright now" he said after he pulled away. Helping her down and making sure she was fine he said "c'mon i will clean it up and then we'll watch some movie, how about that, hm?"

Now when y/n wasn't crying anymore, she turned to him, carefully wrapping both of her hands around his torso and resting her head on his shoulder. Finally feeling better after the mess she accidentally made.

"Thank you Kimi" she whispered as she felt his arms wrapping around her, his left hand holding the back of her head, gently massaging her scalp and his other wrapping around her waist, kissing the top of her head.

"There's nothing to be thanking for Lumihiutale, I love you, alright?"

"Love you too Kimi".

---

Lumihiutale = snow flake

DO NOT COPY OR TRANSLATE MY WORK!

I promised nsfw, but I felt angsty...so tomorrow or maybe later today will be nsfw 🙏 bear with me

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors!

The picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

291 notes · View notes

adventuringblind · 10 months

Note

Hi!

can you do a fic w/ Oscar where the reader is a PhD student so they can’t really go to any of the races so fans online are DRAGGING her by saying she’s a bad gf, Oscar should cheat on her, and she doesn’t deserve him etc. Maybe she has like an identity crisis at a race and is questioning everything so Oscar is there to comfort and reassure her?

I’m sorry this is very long!

also I love your writing :)

The Psychology of Fans

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst if you squint

Request: omg I love this idea, specifically because I am a student. Also send me ideas plz 🙏. I don't think y'all understand the excitement it brings me to make something that you enjoy :)

Summary: it's a busy time in readers life working on her PhD in psychology. She wants to support Oscar as much as possible but is struggling to find the time. The fans take notice of her lack of presence and start tearing her down because of it.

Warnings: Toxic fans, panic attacks

Notes: written in third person. This one was challenging, but fun to write!

Masterlist

Everything had been going amazing for the couple. She was starting her PhD in psychology, and Oscar had signed with McLaren for a seat. They were ecstatic for eachother.

They had their own dynamic that worked for them. Spending time together when they could but being patient with the other if things didn't go to plan.

When they started dating, she had requested that her socials and information remain private. She didn't care if people knew they were dating. She just didn't want to deal with the fans and media while she was deep in her studies.

Things between them were great. Oscar tried to keep things as private as he could. It was simple during his formula 2 career when they started dating. There weren’t as many people watching his every step.

His fan base grew exponentially as soon as he signed with McLaren. All the sudden people were everywhere asking for pictures and autographs. All the while, people were asking about his dating life. They were asking questions about her.

When the Australian Grand Prix came around, she made sure she was there to see it. She wanted to support Oscar and his first formula 1 race. It was an exciting moment for him and you wanted to share it together.

The cameras and fans were relentless and ridiculous, in her opinion. Their was never a moment of peace since they wanted to know everything about Oscar and his guest.

After everything was said and done, the fans took nicely to her and Oscar. It was relieving for both of you. It gave the press team less to worry about. Not that either would have cared, but it was nice knowing he wouldn’t had to hear about it in meetings.

School had started picking up the pace. McLaren was struggling this season. It left both of them stressed and longing for each other. She wanted to support him more then what she was but her schedule didn’t allow for it.

Sometimes she would travel with Oscar but didn’t go to the track. It was a small gesture that he appreciated. He didn’t care where she was as long as she was cheering for him.

The fans had taken notice of her lack of attendance. Coming up with their own assumptions about why she wasn’t there. Calling her names that were untrue and hurtful

“Oscar deserves better.”

“Bet she just wants a top driver.”

“Maybe she has other guys when he’s gone.”

It was driving her insane. She knew it shouldn’t get under her skin, but it did. Oscar did deserve someone who could support him full time. Who cheered him on at every race. It was causing her more stress then she could manage.

She decided not to tell Oscar. The idea of burdening him anymore made her feel sick.

It was now the British Grand Prix and she had decided to go and support Oscar despite the work that was piling up on her plate. He had gotten new upgrades on his car and she was saying prayers that they worked.

She practically fell over when he finished fourth. Screaming in joy for the Australian who had been working so hard.

It was on their way out that everything seemed to fall apart.

Fans wanted pictures and the cameras were still in his face. He tried to shied the girl beside him from it, pulling into his side while he walked. It was then he heard what they were saying. Heat rising to his face.

“If you’re not going to say something nice then let us through please.” Oscar pushed past everyone and forced his way to their car.

He held her close that night and reassured her that they were spewing lies. This if they were acting like that then they weren’t real fans.

Oscar was shocked when she came to the Hungarian Grand Prix. He knew she was stressed about school. He saw the dark circles under her eyes. But she is absolutely determined.

Peoples criticism was getting worse by the day. Oscar had started to catch on since his PR team was now bringing it up but he didn’t want to push her.

It was the end of qualifying. Another success from Oscar. A success she didn’t get to see despite all her best efforts.

The thought of what everyone was saying ran wild in her head. An interaction with a few fans left her devastated. They were saying she was only here now because Oscar is doing well. How she should support him through it all. How he could do better then her. How he deserved more.

She was sobbing now. Her mind screaming insecurities. Her breath uneven and her hands clutching her head as she tried to block out the voices.

Oscar had been looking for her after the press conference. He wanted nothing more then to hold her in his arms and celebrate his achievement. He’d been looking for ten minutes with no sign of her.

He tried calling and texting, but had yet to receive an answer. Worry started to settle in his chest. His efforts now expedited only to run right into Lando.

“Have you seen y/n anywhere?” Oscar asks the Brit.

Lando, however, was out of breath. He had run around trying to find Oscar for a few minutes. “I heard her in your driver room. She sounds awful mate.”

Oscar didn’t waste a second moving in that direction. He felt a bit stupid for not having checked there first.

It didn’t take him long until he was swinging open the door to reveal her curled up on the floor. Her hands over her ears and body shaking.

He crouches down next to her. Slowly so he doesn’t scare her.

Sue didn't notice his presence. She couldn't even see her surroundings. Everything was going dark and she knew she needed to breathe or she would lose consciousness.

She heard faint yelling. "Lando!"

It was Oscar's voice. The sound almost drew her back to reality. But the dark confines of her mind had too much of a grip.

Oscar was ready to go into his own panicked state, but he needed to remain calm. He hears Lando slide into the doorway. His face dropping immediately now that he can actually see her.

Oscar takes her into his arms. Her curled up body was now placed between his legs. Her back against his chest.

She was completely absent. She wanted to protest and understand what was happening, but the fear of letting the voices in made her refrain from doing so.

It was difficult for Oscar to stay calm. He'd never seen her like this. He ran his fingers gently up and down her back. He uses his leg to push hers closer to the ground. Her body is trying to fight his, but the lack of air in her lungs makes it difficult.

Oscar wraps his arms around her now, pulling her further into him. Still trying every tech he knows to soothe her.

Lando came back with water and made his best attempt at coaching him through this.

She still was struggling to breathe, which concerned them both. Her hands gripped her head so hard he could see little spots of crimson in crescent shapes.

"Talk to her, mate. It might help her get out of her head."

Oscar nodded his head at Lando's suggestion. The Brit then ran off again to investigate what happened.

Instead of holding her around her middle, Oscar switched his tactics. Moving his hands to slip underneath hers. The little specks of blood now decorate his fingers.

Her mind was trying to grasp onto anything to bring her back. The thoughts are doing their best to pull her back under. She knows Oscar is there. She tries to ground herself with his touch.

He's repeating his words - a prayer falling from his lips willing her back to him. "I've got you. I'm here. Breathe. You're safe."

She tries to slow her erratic heart. Her body has been dry heaving and coughing from the sheer amount of static.

She finds the feeling in her arms and legs come back, using it to push herself further into Oscar. Then, finally, she can feel the thick cloud that has taken hold of her mind to start to filter through. The end of the tunnel in sight.

Her body practically goes limp. Oscar holds her up and leans her head on his chest. Trying to soothe the female in his lap.

Everything in her body hurts, but her lungs are finally getting some reprieve. She takes in the situation around her. Oscar's comforting touch keeps her present.

Her body stops trembling. Only little hiccups now escape as the tears slow. It hurts Oscar to see her like this. She looks broken and he dosen't know how he didn't catch it sooner.

"I'm sorry" falls from her lips. He just shushs her and continues to stroke her arm. "You deserve better than me."

Oscar is taken aback by her admission. He was too stunned to stop her before she continued on. "Other girls can be there to support you. They aren't as busy with school. They are prettier and can travel with you, and you wouldn't have to worry about them cheating -"

Oscar shifts them around until he can see her face. Her puffy teary eyes shattering him. He holds her face in his hands. “Other girls aren’t you.”

She can’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes again. A flurry of emotions tries to take hold once again.

“Who gave you that idea?”

She shakes her head. Willing him to ask anything else. Panic again rising into her throat as caught wrack her body. She tried to pull away from him. Her body starting to close in on itself again at the memories.

Oscar doesn’t let it happen. Holding her in place firmly yes every one of his touches are gentle and loving. He silently wills Lando to come back faster. His teammate has dealt with anxiety and would know better then him what to do.

“It’s okay, Love. We don’t have to talk about it.” He soothes and reassures her until her body goes lax agains his once again. Put exhaustion takes over and she can’t will herself to stay coherent and conscious any longer.

Oscar is relieved when she falls asleep on him. Her breathing becomes even and her body now relaxes.

Lando reappeared in the doorway ten minutes later; Out of breath and drenched in sweat. “Mate, you’re not gonna like this.”

The two boys moved the girl to the small couch and draped her against it gently.

Oscar was trying to hold in his rage. He wanted to storm out of the motor home and unleash his anger on everyone who ever said a word against his girl. The girl he loves. The one he chose and trusts and is ridiculously proud of. Her accomplishments deserve to be praised, not torn down by those who call themselves fans.

Lando had warned him against it. It would be a PR mess and might actually cause her more anxiety. So he bit his tongue and put on the Oscar everyone was used to seeing.

He practically sped through all his media duties. Wanting nothing more then to see that he got her back to the hotel room. Back to a safe environment where she could open up to him.

Oscar was done quickly and back in his room and changed within an hour. The woman asleep on the couch still breathing evenly.

He knew he didn’t need to, but he waited for Lando. The Brit had offered to help him get her back safely and fend off any media who tried to talk to them.

He welcomed the fact that they were distracted. Not caring much as passerby’s gave him weird looks.

She woke up in a foreign place. She distinctly remembers being at the track. Regardless, she couldn’t help but sink into the comfort.

Oscar her her shifting around. Gently seating himself next to her on the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” She rasped. Her throat both sore and dry from her earlier wailing.

“Please don’t panic-“ he places a hand over hers. “- Lando told me what happened. We’ve both made statements about it and the PR team is doing the rest. Everyone agrees it isn’t right.”

A weight felt like it was being lifted of her chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job to make sure things like this don’t happen. I love you so much and I hated seeing you like this. I don’t car in anyone else sees it. I see it and I see you. And you want to know what I see?”

She shoot him a quizzical look, curious as to where he’s going with this.

He smiles. The smiles that makes her feel warm. The smile that make heat rise to her face.

“The greatest thing I could have ever asked for.l

782 notes · View notes

verstawppen · 3 days

Text

hold me close (cl16)

BLURB (1.2k words)

verstawppen writes: something short and sweet for yall. enjoy!

summary: you comfort Charles after a bad Quali warnings: none. fem!reader, F1 journalist!reader, fluff, comfort, established relationship, secret relationship.

The day was going by at an excruciatingly slow pace, every time you checked your lock screen it seemed only a minute had passed. You sighed in exasperation as the press conference stretched on well past the scheduled timings. You could see the exhaustion on Yuk and Daniel’s faces even from your position at the back and you knew they were dying to get back to their hotel rooms for a day of rest. But here they were, stuck in the media pen answering pointed questions about their Qualifying. And you were stuck too. You’d already done your duties and compiled all the responses from your interviews with the drivers for your tabloid. You were itching to get back to your hotel room. To get back to Charles. He’d had a bad Qualifying, just as he began his fastest lap of Quali, his gearbox began malfunctioning and Ferrari had to retire the car. He was visibly frustrated when he came back to the Ferrari garage. He just wanted to have a good race for once this season without facing any issues with his car and you felt that he deserved that, being one of the best drivers on the grid. Ever since you’d seen him leaving the garage, running his hands through his damp hair, something he only did when he was being consumed with anxiety, you’d wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and soothe his uneased mind. You were his girlfriend, you should have been there for him. But it wasn’t that easy, you knew the implications it would have on both your careers, more on his than yours, to be seen together. An F1 journalist and Ferrari’s golden boy. The media would have a field day, you would know. A brief buzz from the pocket of your trousers brought you out of your thoughts-

Charles <3 When are you coming back?? I miss you :( You I’m so sorry Cha the conference is running past the schedule. I’m stuck here Charles <3 Want me to come rescue you, cherie? You No it’s alright, love. Try to rest until I come back, you’ve had a long day. When Charles didn’t respond after 15 minutes, you presumed he’d taken your advice and had gone to sleep. You felt guilt churn in your stomach. Charles was always there to take care of you after a long day despite his own exhausting profession. He was an absolute sweetheart, showering you with kisses as soon as you came back to him in his motorhome or his hotel room, sitting you down on his bed before taking off your heels for you, nimble fingers massaging your sore, tender feet.

‘Fuck this’ you thought to yourself. “Hey I think I’m gonna leave early”, you informed your colleague sitting beside you. You were friends and you’d told her about you and Charles. She nodded in understanding, “Go, I’ll cover for you.” You got up from your seat, shooting her a grateful smile as you gathered your things and left the media pen. You called yourself a cab to the hotel where Charles and you were staying. The ride felt longer than when you’d arrived at the paddock in the morning, excited to see Charles race. You rubbed your temple, your concern for Charles growing by the minute.

You practically fell out of the cab when you opened the door in a hurry even before the car had fully stopped. You quickly paid the driver and ran up the steps of the hotel entrance. The cool air of the hotel lobby cooled your skin which had gathered a thin layer of sweat from your rushed movements and increasing stress. You impatiently waited for the elevator and immediately pressed your floor number once you were inside.

The elevator opened with a ding and soon you were standing in front of Charles’s hotel room fishing around with one hand for the keycard he’d given you while your other hand held your suit jacket and your bag. You scanned the card and opened the door. You tried to be as quiet as possible and closed the door behind you with a soft click. You removed your heels, set them down on the shoe rack and deposited your stuff onto a countertop near the room’s entrance. But maybe your movements weren’t as discreet as you thought because as soon as the bed came into view, you saw Charles had woken up, sleepily rubbing his eyes. He let out a silent yawn but as soon as his eyes fell on you, his face lit up. He sat upright, a wide grin on his face which you mirrored. You quickly made your way over to his side of the bed and sat down in front of him, feeling his hands wrap themselves around your frame. He was wearing a black hoodie, his favourite one which you liked to steal sometimes. You buried your in his neck, he smelled of aftershave and his characteristic slightly musky cologne. You held him close, your fingers clutching onto his hoodie. His chin rested atop your head, his left hand tracing abstract circles on your back. It was everything you both needed. You pulled away and looked up into his sparkling green orbs. “Hi, love” “Hi, cherie” Even though he’d been calling you ‘cherie’ for more than 2 years now, the nickname never failed to awaken the butterflies in your stomach. Your hands reached to cup his face, thumb lightly stroking his cheekbone. “How are you?”, you asked. From this proximity, you could see the dark circles forming under his mesmerising eyes, a detail that the cameras thankfully never seemed to capture. And it was good, you knew Charles would hate for the world to think that he wasn’t able to take the heat. But at the end of the day, he was only human. He smiled before replying to you, his voice slightly raspy from having just woken up,” I’m good now that you’re here, mon amour.” Your hands moved from his face into his curled locks and he relished the feeling of your fingers lightly massaging his scalp, making waves of comfort and relief wash all over his tired body as his head found its resting place on your collarbone, lightly taking in the scent of your sweet floral perfume. He unconsciously smiled against your neck. Carding your fingers through his hair just the way you knew he liked, you spoke to him in a low, comforting sort of voice, “You did so well today, Charles. You almost had the fastest lap of the Quali despite having to work with such a difficult car. You got the best you could out of that car and that’s enough for now. Things will get better, Ferrari is working on the issue, right? You’ll soon have a car worthy of your talent and you’ll be back on the podium in no time, love.” He hummed in acknowledgement of your encouraging words. It meant a lot to him, more than you’d ever know. He pressed a small kiss to your collarbone in appreciation. “Thank you, ma cherie” You smiled, your eyes closing to relish the warmth of his presence in your embrace. “Anytime, Cha”

163 notes · View notes

theweasleytwinsownmyjuicyass · 7 months

Text

Love of my life | D.R.

Daniel Ricciardo x younger!reader

Summary: What happens when you confess your profound love to the person whose heart you broke? How fragile is the hope of reconciliation?

Warnings: comforting angst??? (idk even im in my feels)

Word count: ~1.2K

“Hiding from me?” the velvety voice behind you felt more familiar than you’d like it to.

“Should I?” you turned your eyes away from the dark ocean before you and met his eyes. Gosh he looked handsome and you could feel your body react to him, still the same as it was, gentle shock waves weaving through your fingertips.

“God I hope not…” he sat down beside you on the straw beach furniture. You were trying to keep your gaze on the horizon of the ocean where water seemed to bleed into the dark night sky and become one.

You could hear him take a deep breath, it was shaky and an uncomfortable feeling settled in your gut as if foreseeing that his following words would remind you of something you had been trying to keep buried for the last 5 months.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here tonight…” he spoke out softly, his eyes on your silhouette, encaged by the silver glory of the full moon you looked untouchable. And he knew that you were untouchable to him, no matter how much his palms seemed to have thoughts of their own and wished to just reach out to you, and relish in the touch of your silky skin just like he’d done months ago.

“Why not? You know I didn’t attend all those parties just because of you,” you held your stare stoic, letting yourself get lost in the starry night sky, counting the stars only so you’d hold yourself back from latching on the man sitting beside you.

Nothing could have you forget the day you’d met him. Ironically it was a party that you had only attended because you were dying to catch a glimpse of the charming man that he was. Luckily, at least that’s what you thought at that very moment, you had caught his eye and soon enough you were carrying his heart in your hands and he was carrying yours. Although now after everything, you believe you might have been wrong about the later…

“Y/n… I just want to say-”

“Please don’t say it, don’t apologize again,” you turned to him almost instantly which left him speechless, your eyes sparkling in the moonlight reminiscent of the various jewels he used to clasp around your neck and the supple kisses he’d leave there throughout the day, but the jewels that adorned your eyes now weren’t a consequence of a blissful time together, “I will not hear it again… I do not need to be reminded of that… time”, you lowered your head trying to catch your breath and the lonely tears from falling.

“Baby,” he kept his hands secured in tight fists, too easy to lose control now that he could see tears escaping out of your eyes and cascading down your cheeks. He still remembers the salty streaks from the last time he’d been this close to you. How could he ever forget when the pain he’s been carrying in his chest for so long never denied itself. You had given his heart back to him, but you sure took a piece of it for yourself before that, though how could he blame you when he had done the same… to have the smallest part of you and suffer rather than have no memory of you was and would always be Daniel’s first and only choice.

“Daniel,” your eyes traveled back to his warm eyes, the same one’s that had made you all the promises of a perfect tomorrow. One that never came. One that you still let yourself dream about whenever the air smelled like the cologne you’d gifted him, the one he was still wearing now…

Looking at him you wished you could hate him, you wished to be physically repulsed by the man in front of you, maybe that would help you walk away now and continue living as you once had. Striving for the brightest most delightful future, without looking back at the old dark days, but he has possessed your mind, you can no longer make a step without seeing him there, what if’s about the past clouding your future. How could he sit there and give you those eyes… those gorgeous sad eyes. You bit back your lip. You could no longer kiss his sad eyes and see them light back up after.

“Y/n… you were the love of my life,” he accepts the torture that is to come his way, he knows he deserves it for the crime he just committed. Tears were fully running down your cheeks now, large droplets falling into the sand beneath your feet and disappearing right away, like they were never there…

“Why are you doing this to me, Daniel?” you instinctively covered your face with your palms as sobs made your shoulders tremble, hiding the tears from him even if he’s seen them already. You hated nothing more than for him to see you cry.

“I just… I felt that you had to know, because I never told you how much I actually loved you. I treated you so wrong for a very long time and I am to blame for that… I was the shitty older guy who took advantage of someone who didn’t know what she was doing…”

“That was the problem, Daniel. You always viewed me as a child…I am young, but I am not a kid and I can make decisions for myself. You might regret me, but I know the choices I made and I have no remorse over them,” your heart ached. How unfortunate is it to meet the love of your life and understand that they never truly saw you as their equal.

“The only thing I regret is not doing more to get to know you and… leaving you behind… I was in the wrong, so please do not cry darling…” his voice sounded so different, he was breaking from the inside out seeing you this way. He leaned closer to you, his warm palms encompassing your wrists to reveal your face to him.

Two pairs of teary eyes stared into one another.

The both of you took in a shaky breath in, which finally broke the suffocating tension and helped your lips ease into a simple smile. Daniel wiped at your cheeks, his touch ghostly light, removing the salty puddles, before gracing your forehead with an effortless kiss.

“I’m sorry too, Daniel,” you leaned back just so you could once again let yourself go and drown in his warm eyes, completely forgetting your morals and bringing back the buried feelings you couldn’t not tell him, “You were also the love of my life…”

Now it was Daniel’s turn to let the tears flow. And he did. He wished he had you, all of you, he wished to cry on your shoulder whenever a race went wrong, he wished to have your attentive hands run through his curls and soothe him when the air seemed to get too heavy. Most importantly he wished he had said it sooner, the short ‘L’ word, because if he had, you’d be home, tangled in bed together with big tranquil smiles on your faces.

Instead you two were crying on a beach together, reminiscing on what would have been if it could have been. But it was enough for Daniel, even if he was crying, at the very least he was crying with you… the love of his life…

A.N. loving older men is not a hobby, it's a lifestyle<3

335 notes · View notes

agendabymooner · 4 months

Text

about names: the show and tell || cl16 scenario (3)

dad!charles leclerc x mom!ofc (hearth sister!ofc)

EXTENSION OF OF LONG LINES AND NAMES AND THE LECLERC DAYCARE

Summary: The Leclerc boys and their names go hand in hand. OR times when Charles and his wife Aimee had to explain that their children’s names are meaningful.

Scenario summary: PJ Leclerc’s kindergarten class calls for a family name show and tell — and who would make better presenters than his Uncle Pierre? OR the middle Leclerc child learns more about his namesakes as he and his parents continue to develop his school project.

Content warning: Uncle Pierre Gasly, storyteller!Pierre, a very cooperative child (?), kids being kids, wholesome content, using a no-no word once, PJ Leclerc (OC) centred, appearances of Alain and Anthoine Leclerc (OC), brief appeaarance of Toto Wolff and Tilly Wolff (OFC), dad!Charles 🔛🔝

Note: I'm sorry I dipped y'all 😩 it's been hard- I've been trying to write but for some reason everything's going bad. In the meantime, enjoy this scenario xx

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

With his nose scrunched up in concentration, his hand gripped the jumbo-sized pencil and traced over the dotted letters shakily. Close. He was so close.

He squinted slightly before pausing, looking around for a moment before he continued to pursue his goal— get this over with. And with a dot, he grinned at himself before turning to see Mademoiselle Julie approaching his table. His peers continued to work on their take-home handbooks, while he was the first to finish his writing.

Mademoiselle Julie, the young homeroom teacher of his kindergarten class, wordlessly peered at his handiwork— shaky writing traced over the dotted lines — and beamed at him proudly as she complimented, “Bonne écriture, PJ!” Good writing, PJ!

“Merci, Mademoiselle Julie!” PJ Leclerc continued to show his set of teeth, proud of himself for being complimented by his teacher.

Mademoiselle Julie spread out the sheets of stickers that she held, showing the various kinds of colourful stickers as she asked, “What would you like for your handbook today?”

The boy hummed quietly, his hazel eyes skimming through the sheets on her hands as they gleamed in joy. “McQueen, please!”

“Oh? Cars?” Mademoiselle Julie chuckled before peeling the glossy sticker off its sheet, sticking it on the reminder writing that he wrote down today. “Your papa will like that, don’t you think so?”

It was no surprise that everyone knew who PJ’s father was. Charles Leclerc continued to be a household name— one that was born and raised in the principality of Monaco that later on became Monaco’s pride. You weren’t from Monaco if you didn’t know who he is— and you were a disgrace if you didn’t understand his legacy and you live in Monaco. So for Mademoiselle Julie to mention PJ’s father wasn’t anything new.

They treated the Leclerc children as generational royalties but respected them as kids in the same community as others. Charles got himself as involved as he could with his children’s education even if there was an ongoing season he needed to attend and participate.

Normalcy was what he lacked in other parts of the world, being a Formula One driver and all, whereas he was nothing but a son of his mother, a father of five kids and a husband of his children’s mother in the principality.

His career was often mentioned in conversations, but that was only because his children were some of the proudest kids to have existed. They’d tell others that their father would take them driving and that their father was a driver — and they had every right to say so. It was a discussion that was welcomed but never encouraged to rub in the faces of the children.

“No!” PJ giggled. “Da loves Lotso!”

“I thought you liked Lotso?” Mademoiselle Julie brought up.

“Yeah, but Da loves Lotso too! Me and Da loves Lotso!”

“Well, maybe you can get him and your Maman to love McQueen too, PJ. Tell them you got a Cars sticker. It’s red like your Da’s car, no?”

“Mon amour,” Charles called from the children’s study room, his face showing curiosity while he carried his youngest son, little Alain, in his arm while the other held an opened handbook. “Aimee?”

One of their eldest kids, Jules, tugged on Aimee’s trousers lightly, “Maman. Da is calling you,” he announced quietly, turning back to his homework as Aimee looked up from the screen of her laptop. The Leclerc matriarch smiled gratefully at Jules before standing on her feet, departing from the family room across the hall to meet Charles halfway through.

“Charles? What’s happening?” She asked, only for the aforementioned man to raise the handbook slightly. “That’s PJ’s handbook.”

“Yeah, and it says that there’s an email being sent today about an event,” Charles furrowed his brow. “Did you receive anything?”

“I did, actually— I was going to mention it after dinner but it must’ve slipped off my mind,” Aimee watched her words carefully — not wanting Alain to hear her words, “fuc— silly Lando.”

“Siwy Wando!” Alain mimicked.

“Exactly, darling. Silly Uncle Lando,” the parents laughed.

“Work again?” Charles chuckled as Aimee rolled her eyes at the comment.

“Try working behind the scenes and have drivers that refuse to be trained in the media,” Aimee responded with a huff, “not that you’d understand— you’re just as dense as Lando and Oscar at times.”

Charles only laughed and shook his head. “Seriously, you were saying something about the email?”

“Right,” Aimee nodded. “Julie sent an email today to the guardians about a presentation project for PJ’s class. It’s a show and tell.”

“Oh,” Charles uttered, “that should be easy. We did that with Hervé and Jules before.”

“It’s not even just that,” Aimee added, “Julie’s a new teacher and Herb and J’s teacher did a show and tell about careers right? She wants a presentation about family.”

“Huh,” Charles said quietly. What did that even mean?

“She said it could be anything,” Aimee continued, “I tried asking PJ if he had anything in mind— but what does a child know about complex factors of families?”

“Amour,” Charles laughed. “He’s five. Did you maybe ask if he wants to talk about his uncles or aunts? Or even his grandparents?”

They both stood there, silence comfortably setting the atmosphere between the two of them before Aimee came up with something.

“What if—“ Aimee paused and pursed her lips, “both Jules and H asked about their names before. What if we talk about PJ’s name?”

Charles looked at his wife in confusion, little Alain stared at his father before he babbled. Charles glanced at his son for a moment before looking at Aimee once more.

“It only makes sense,” Aimee shrugged. “Since either of us are presenting to his peers and their other guardians— why don’t we talk about his names?”

The Ferrari driver thought about it for a moment. His sons and their names meant a lot for the couple, with them being named after people that meant so much — people that both Charles and Aimee looked up to.

Sacha ‘PJ’ Leclerc, much like his brothers, was named after the people that gave meaning to Charles and Aimee’s relationship and their lives way before the kids came along. It only makes sense that the couple answer the questions of who were the kids named after.

Especially when PJ’s teacher, Julie, grew curious about the boy’s nickname. His name was Sacha yet the adults called him PJ— why?

“Okay,” Charles nodded, “we can do that.”

“One condition,” Charles continued, making Aimee nod.

His slight scowl was mimicked by little Alain as Charles spoke, “I’m not messing with the glitter glues.”

“No gwue!” Alain exclaimed as if he struggled with the glittery sticky material before.

“Whaaat~” Aimee giggled before rolling her eyes playfully. “So dramatic, you two are. And I thought you'd be like your Maman, Alan.”

“Maman just called us dramatic, Alain,” Charles gasped playfully. “Silly Maman. We’re no drama queens! We just don’t like glitter glues!”

“Bleh!” Alain stuck his tongue out.

“Nuh uh, we don’t stick our tongue out to Maman, Alan bebe! Just say no glue, hm?”

“No gwue, Maman.”

The very first step of the project was to get PJ to cooperate and help his parents build the presentation. After all, it was his class’ show and tell— it was his project.

The five-year-old was fast to agree. He was a saint of some sort, that little man. In comparison to his older brothers, Charles and Aimee never struggled to get him to listen and his calm demeanour was what made him distinct from the Leclerc boys.

They always said that the middle children were the menaces to society. PJ’s cousin Tia Wolff was evidence of that. His aunt, Aimee’s sister Sylvie, was also a prime example of a middle-child menace. But PJ was nothing of the sort. He behaved whenever he was asked to behave. He did everything he was asked.

So getting him to cooperate wasn’t all bad. He did need to stop making fun of his father for disliking the glitter glues though.

Charles still remembered how he came to his driver's briefing a few races ago after making crafts with his kids at his motorhome. He also remembered how everyone laughed at the never-ending shimmering effect on his skin as he kept rubbing on them. Glitters were something that Charles swore he’d never touch ever again.

Anyway.

As the deadline and the day of the presentation approached, everyone seemed to be invested in helping out with the project as well. Pascale and her other sons Arthur and Lorenzo visited almost every day and whenever they could, they’d drop some feedback.

Arthur was a useless piece of shit, as always. Charles wanted to be the best role model for his kids but if his younger brother kept saying that PJ’s first name Sacha came from Sriracha he wouldn’t be able to help himself and eventually set Arthur straight.

When Charles returned from his meeting in Maranello, though, he was more than surprised to see his niece and nephews in his family room as they helped PJ set up the pictures on the trifold board.

“Da!” Jules said, making the kids look up from the entryway as their eyes glimmered.

“Oncle Shal!” His youngest nephew from Toto, Adelmo, exclaimed as he waved the glitter glue around.

“Oh hi, Elmo and Tia,” Charles shot Jules a confused look as if to ask ‘Shouldn’t these kids be in England?’, only for the boy to shrug.

“Maman est dans la cuisine avec l'oncle Toto et la tante Tilly,” Maman is in the kitchen with Uncle Toto and Aunt Tilly. Jules told his father as Charles smiled gratefully.

“And your brothers? Herb and the younger ones?” Charles asked.

PJ, still looking down at the board with his cousins Tia and Adelmo, replied aloud, “Hervé est en train de lire un livre. Alain et Anthoine sont avec Maman dans la cuisine. « Snacking », c'est ce que maman a dit.” Hervé is reading a book. Alain and Anthoine are with Maman in the kitchen. “Snacking” is what I think Maman said.

“Ah, oui, merci Sacha,” Charles told his middle child before ruffling Jules’ curly hair before he walked off to find the adults in the kitchen.

Charles then found his wife with her sister, Tilly, and her brother-in-law, Toto by the kitchen island. There on the counters sat Anthoine and Alain, munching on some crackers as they tried to keep up with the conversation they knew nothing of.

Anthoine saw Charles immediately and exclaimed, “Maman! ‘s Da!”

“Da!” Alain grinned.

“Hallo, bébés,” Charles grinned before he reached out to peck them in the cheeks. He then kissed Aimee on the forehead, turning to look at his in-laws in the process as he nodded, “Tilly, Toto— I didn’t expect you guys to head to Monaco this early.”

Tilly chuckled, “Early vacation for all of us. We’re staying in the holiday home for a month, at least.”

“Ah! C'est très agréable,” that’s very nice. Charles nodded with a smile. “Are the kids okay with that?”

Toto snorted, “They have to be.”

“Tia’s next races are taking place in France,” Tilly added. “Nice, actually. So it’s quite near if we just stayed here in the principality for the next few weekends.”

“I honestly did not expect to have a full workshop in the family room,” Charles joked. “I was expecting to maybe have PJ working on his project but they just doubled in the room— none of them were even my twins.”

“We came over when Aimee mentioned the project,” Toto laughed. “I’m surprised you went ahead with the idea.”

“You know how much it means for us to talk about the kids’ names,” Charles shrugged.

“Well, pray tell,” Tilly gave them a puzzled look, “who’s going to present it? I assume you two would want to do it but—“

“Oh no, not us,” Charles and Aimee shook their heads as the Monegasque continued, “We have someone do it for us.”

Toto’s brows furrowed, “I don’t recall you guys asking me.”

Aimee chuckled, “Not you. Silly Toto.”

“Siwwy Toto!” The adults turned at the twin toddlers as Alain and Anthoine synchronously mimicked Aimee.

But the Leclerc parents were right, they wanted the presentation to be perfect and they had the right man for the audience.

After all, the Alpine driver had always bragged about being the reason why Charles’ middle child got the nickname ‘PJ’.

“Hello, hello! Dear friends of PJ Leclerc and the parents of the friends of PJ Leclerc!”

Charles and Aimee sighed, hiding their faces in embarrassment as they stood at the back of the classroom with the rest of the parents and the homeroom teacher, Mademoiselle Julie.

Charles and Aimee looked at each other, unsure if they should laugh or pity themselves as Pierre Gasly sat on the tiny chair at the front.

The kids were sitting on the floor, facing the Alpine driver as the finished product — the trifold board — was displayed next to him to show the kids.

Pierre introduced himself, “I am Pierre Gasly. I am this boy’s,” he gestured to PJ who sat on the floor right in front of him, “godfather. And today—“

“But Monsieur,” a little girl piped up, raising her hand politely as Pierre paused and nodded for her to continue, “I thought you were a driver?”

“He is, Claudia!” PJ exclaimed with a wide grin, making the parents at the back laugh. PJ then continued, “He drives for Alpine!”

“Alright, little P, let’s calm down,” Pierre giggled quietly. Then he answered the girl, Claudia as PJ called her, with, “Yes I am a driver like PJ’s dad, but right now I am here for PJ as his godfather.”

“Now, who here knows PJ as Sacha?” Most people, hell even the adults at the back, raised their hands as Pierre nodded, “Okay. Well, you see— PJ’s Maman and Papa gave him a reallyyyy reallyyyy long name that the hospital can’t even fit the whole thing in.”

Charles, who stood amongst the giggling parents, leaned over to his wife and whispered in her ear, “I told you that having Pierre do this is a poor idea, Ami.”

“Shh,” Aimee laughed quietly, nudging Charles a little.

“But! They gave those names to PJ because they mean a lot,” Pierre pointed at the full name displayed as a header. “Now, Sacha- it means defender. PJ’s Papa said that PJ, when he was in his Maman’s little tummy, was quiet and a good boy. But he kicks hard like he could play football.”

The kids giggled, PJ laughing along.

“So, his Papa and Maman said that he is a gentle one, but he can be fierce- like a defending warrior!” Pierre told the class and showed emotions for the dramatic effect. The kids looked up at him in awe. “So they said that his name will be Sacha!”

“But wait…” Pierre paused dramatically and looked around, “There is another name.”

“Niki,” Pierre pointed at the middle name. “Who here has watched Formula One?” Everyone raised their hands. “Of course you have- this is Monaco! Anyway, Niki Lauda was a very good driver. He was one of the greatest Formula One drivers— PJ’s Maman and Papa looked up to Niki as he drove for both Scuderia Ferrari and McLaren.”

“Do you wanna know something?” Pierre leaned over as if he was going to whisper a secret, “PJ’s Maman is the goddaughter of Niki Lauda.”

Meanwhile, at the back, Aimee was laughing quietly at Pierre’s dramatic presentation.

Charles gave her a puzzled look as Aimee looked up and murmured, “He can be a good preschool teacher if he has the patience for kids.”

Charles snickered, “Good luck with that.”

“So of course… Sacha Niki… Oh, what’s that?” Pierre pointed at his own name. “Pierre.”

“That’s your name!” The boy next to PJ gasped and turned to look at the aforementioned boy, “PJ, your name is like his!”

PJ eagerly nodded but didn’t say anymore as Pierre continued. “I have been his Papa’s very best friend since we were kids! That’s why I am PJ’s godfather and that is why they named him Pierre.”

“That’s so cool, PJ,” the other kids told the child, who blushed slightly at the attention given to him.

Pierre chuckled at this before he moved the children’s attention towards the last name. “Philippe,” he said, now watching the kids pay attention.

“PJ’s Maman had a grandfather that she loved the most,” Pierre explained to the kids. “PJ’s aunts and Maman love him so much and his name is Philip Hearth.” He pointed at the picture at the bottom of the ‘Philippe’ header.

There, a photo of a baby Aimee being held by her grandfather was displayed. At the bottom of it showed a portrait photo of Philip and his time at the F1 tracks and other factories of his company.

“Philip owned Ferrari and McLaren,” Pierre nodded, “he was good friends with Enzo Ferrari and many famous drivers- in fact, he made some drivers’ careers possible by putting money into the teams and providing resources. He made dreams come true!”

“PJ’s Maman loved her grandfather so much that she named PJ after him,” Pierre grinned. The way Pierre’s storytelling was heartwarming for both Charles and Aimee, as he had been enthusiastic about this whole ordeal— it showed them that their children meant a lot to Pierre.

“And that’s it,” Pierre concluded. “That’s the story of the name of Sacha Niki Pierre Philippe. Now— who has some questions?”

The question portion started there. And the Alpine driver was ready to conclude the presentation when Claudia raised her hand as Pierre nodded at her.

“If his name is Sacha…” Pierre nodded, encouraging the little girl to nod, “Then why is he called PJ?”

Everyone seemed curious too. But Aimee and Charles both knew why he was called PJ rather than Sacha.

It was at Pierre’s insistence that Sacha Leclerc was destined to be Pierre Junior. He had established this as soon as Aimee and Charles arrived from the hospital the day after Sacha was born.

But Pierre’s answer was partially different from what had happened, “His Maman and Papa said that he is Pierre Junior! Like me!”

Pierre grinned at Aimee and Charles’ baffled looks.

“The audacity,” Aimee scoffed.

Charles chuckled, “Oh, Mon Dieu.”

They’d have to talk to Pierre about changing certain narratives. It was okay to lie to be a wingman for your best friend, but lying to the kids about what happened with PJ’s nickname?

Yeah, he needed some talking to.

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @hiireadstuff @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @scorpiomindfuck

165 notes · View notes

xdacted · 7 months

Text

The art of sibling hood

Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,815

Status: Complete

***Request made by reader***

Summer break offers us a sliver of peace.

No teams are calling, no coaches screaming, no clients to take care of - there is nothing but family. For a few weeks out of the year, all we have is each other. I can’t ask for anything better.

We all gather at our mother’s house, hiding away there with her. It’s nice, to all be under the same roof again, we haven’t been since Lorenzo first moved out. It only worsened when I decided to take my training to France. 16 years of living under one roof was gone in an instant. We had lived together our entire lives until that point.

It was like losing a piece of myself.

But then, after the sadness rolled away, I was filled with so much joy. To know that both Charles and Arthur were chasing their dream, to see them every weekend battling it out on the track. Though my mother refused to watch, I always did.

But there is always more I want to know, more I want to see. I can’t help myself from asking questions. The countries they see, the people they meet - it’s a world I’ll never know. I almost got involved, my father put me in karting as a child, but it was never my passion. Not the way it was with Arthur and Charles. I found my calling in school.

At six, I was sitting among my classmates in the gymnasium, watching as our instructor introduced the sport of fencing. He was trying to start a club, with a school as small as ours, it wasn’t very likely to happen.

He brandished the swords, explaining the rules. My friend, Anies, had fallen asleep on my shoulder, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I was transfixed, hooked. That day, I ran home, with the club papers in my hand and begged my parents.

At first, Papa was hesitant, telling me that this sport was a fighting spot - I wasn’t a ‘fighting girl’. But I pleaded, hooking my arms around his neck and staring up at him. This was my dream. Fencing was racing to me. Fencing was everything.

What I didn’t understand was that fencing was also incredibly expensive. With two children karting and one in fencing, I remember the night I caught Mum and Papa talking it over, they couldn’t afford it.

I was lucky enough to be given a scholarship by a fencing club, I would have the funding to chase my dream. Arthur, however, was not so lucky. I remember how he cried, screaming and howling into his pillow. He mourned the loss of his sport, but he was never angry. Just sad.

I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name.

“What?”

He looks at me, staring at me from his seat on the floor, arms holding his knees close to him. He and Arthur are playing some card game they explained more than once - but I have never cared to learn. Arthur glares at the cards below him, flipping them over in his hand.

He laughs, “I asked how training was going?”

“Good,” I burrow further into the couch, pulling a blanket across my shoulders, “When I go back, I have a tournament in Italy.”

“Well,” Arthur huffs, still fixed on the game, “You’re already a World Champion - Ugh! Charles, you’re cheating! This is why I hate playing with you!”

Charles throws his hands up, turning to Arthur with an indignant expression, “I am not a cheater. I am a man of honor, you just suck.”

With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down.

He stands, “You’re a cheat and you know it.”

“You just don’t know how to lose.”

Arthur throws himself beside me, moving the pillows so he can lean against them, crossing his arms in front of him. I don’t have to hide my laughter, I let it slip from me. The laughter is easy, the tension from yesterday gone. Charles had still been insistent on apologizing, even when I told him to just drop it.

My brother is one of the kindest people in the world.

“What about you?” I dare to ask, offering Arthur some of my blanket, “How’s Ferrari treating you?”

I don’t need to ask because I already know. Even from across the world, every Sunday, I watch him. Every Sunday, I watch my brother get into that car and put his life on the line. And every Sunday I watch Ferrari screw him over. My teammates were getting far too tired of my outbursts.

Charles clears his throat, looking down at the cards scattered across the floor. He sweeps them together, shuffling them, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

I’m stepping on thin ice. My brothers like to assume that when it came to racing they knew everything, but I had grown up around this. My father was a racer and now my brothers were racers - it was in my blood. I had just chosen not to pursue it.

“Yes, fine.” He pushes himself up, standing and walking to the edge of the couch.

“If you say so, brother,” Charles opens his mouth to speak, but the sound of the doorbell cuts him off.

He practically leaps over the couches, nearly tripping over the carpet, to throw the door open. My mother hardly has time to scold him as she steps inside her room because cheery voices are ringing out through the house.

“Hello!”

Lorenzo comes bounding from upstairs and Arthur rolls off the couch, kicking the blanket away from him. The three women who step inside the house bring the light of the shining sun with them.

“Girls!” I cry, it has been so long since I’ve last seen them.

Carla sees me first, throwing her hands in the air. She pushes past Arthur to sweep me into a hug. The position is awkward, as her body curves over the couch and I attempt to reach up to her, but I can feel her laughter vibrate within her chest.

“Did you get in today?” Her eyes are shining and the glasses perched atop her head threaten to fall, “Why didn’t you text me?”

“I wanted to surprise you, of course!” When we pull away, Charlotte and Alexandria are right beside us.

“We need to get breakfast while you’re here,” Charlotte says, pressing her hands together. It isn’t so much a request as it is a plan in motion.

I just nod along. I look around, my brother’s waiting behind them with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased expression.

“What?”

“They’re supposed to be here to see us.”

“No,” Charlotte says, wrapping her arms around me, “We’re here for her and of course - Pascale.”

“Hello, dear,” Mum says, Carla placing welcoming kisses on her cheeks.

I turn to my left, Alex having taken a seat in the open space that Arthur left.

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close.

“Hi,” She whispers back.

There’s something different. I can tell when she hugs me, pressing a kiss on my cheek. When we pull away, there’s a glow to her skin and a twinkle in her eyes.

“Is there -?”

Charles is draped across her in a second, gentle hands on her shoulders, “She is my girlfriend. Please, do not be selfish.”

Alex only rolls her eyes and I can’t help but follow.

What a drama queen.

__________

I watch Charles and Alex as Mum bustles around the kitchen. It’s little, but something is different. I can feel it. Something about the way Charles has an arm curled around her waist or the way she clings to his arm. They keep eyeing the rest of us, Alex turning around to whisper in his ear.

Hm. How strange.

Alex was quite shy, this much became evident when I first met her, but she was by no means afraid of the family. Just a few weeks earlier she had come to visit me in France, we spent the day together and had been texting each other constantly.

What could it be?

I met her eyes and she sharply turned away from me.

A secret then.

Papa liked to say that I inherited Mum’s gift for reading people, especially my brothers. Even when we’re separated by seas, I know when something’s bothering them. I know when something is wrong.

But this - this was different.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

But, my mind can help but wonder, what if - no. Could it be?

“Arthur.”

He hardly looks up from his phone, “Hm?”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“What kind of bet?” He asks, still scrolling.

I lean in closer, “I think Alex is pregnant.”

Arthur nearly drops his phone. He whips his head over to look at me, mouth agape, “What?!”

“Sh!” I smack his arm, he is going to give us away, “You’re so loud…”

“Why do you think she’s pregnant?” He whisper-shouts, “That’s crazy. Charles would’ve told us.”

“Maybe he’s going to tell us tonight,” I shrug, pulling away from him.

“Are you in or out?” I crossed my legs, my gut feelings were always strong. I’d guessed many things over the years and felt a change within the people around me before they told me. I’d known Charles got signed to Ferrari before he told us, or that Arthur was going to be moved to F2, or that Lorenzo had met someone new - all of these things, I’d felt. All of these things I guessed.

Maybe I was a bit psychic.

“You’re on,” He stuck his hand out, “€10?”

I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”

“You could be wrong.”

“I could be right,” I looked down at his waiting hand.

“€50?”

I slapped my hand in his, “€50 it is!”

“You’re going down,” He whispered, squeezing my hand. I kick at his shin.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, dumbass.”

“LANGUAGE!”

__________

Dinner is an easy affair. The time ticks by slowly, but none of us mind. Warm and laughter fill the house, everyone staying at the table after the food has long been eaten. Stories are tossed around and jokes float about, it's peaceful.

A peace that’s so very addicting.

Here, I can forget that I have to leave in only a few days. I can tell that the boys forget too, throwing themselves over Mum and the table. Arthur laughs so hard that he snorts and Lorenzo’s jokes have Charles reduced to tears - it’s all so nostalgic.

As we eat, I can see Charles and Alex glance at each other, watching as he scoops her hand in his. She whispers something in his ear and he nods.

Before I know it, they are both standing.

“I,” He clears his throat, “I have something to say - well, we do, actually...”

“Well,” Alex begins, a bright smile pulling over her face, “Charles and I are expecting a - a child.”

The table erupts into cheers and exclamations. Mum drops her head into her hands, and before we can rush over, she looks up with tears in her eyes and a dazzling smile on her lips. We stand to offer them hugs and kisses, pats, and words of encouragement.

“I told you!” I cry.

Arthur lets out a loud groan, pushing his face into his hands, “Why?”

Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh

I hold out a waiting hand.

With another groan and a roll of his eyes, he shoves his hand into his pockets, pulling out the €50 I’m owed. The bill is crunched and he drops it into my palm with little fanfare.

“This is so unfair,” Arthur throws his arms around my shoulders, “How could you have possibly known?”

“I just do,” I shrug, looking up at him with a smile, “I’m just that good.”

“I knew it,” Carla giggles, “You are a psychic.”

I lock eyes with Mum over the table, she flashes me a smile.

“Of course,” I say, “I learned from the very best.”

__________

The ocean calls our name, the lull of the tides and the crashing of the waves. Such a beautiful song and we can do nothing but dance to it. With the sun shining down on our backs, we pile into Charles’s boat, clinging to the railing as we push away from the dock. The salt of the air tangles in my hair, and gentle winds give us a beautiful day. The weather was perfect, the sea was calm. What more could we ever ask for?

We spend the day lounging about the boat, pushing and shoving each other in the water. I manage to convince Charles to let me take the smaller boat out for a spin, with Carla clinging to the seats, and Charolette cheering us on from the deck above. I can’t help but dissolve into laughter at his face, twisted with worry.

The water is cool against our heated skin, it invites us in for more. The longer we stay, the more we forget about the world that surrounds us. It is nearly enough to make me forget about my flight in only a few days. I will have to leave and this will all become a memory.

But what a beautiful memory it will be.

I can’t dwell on my thoughts, because Charlotte demands that we all jump. There is little fanfare for Charles and Lorenzo as they practically wrestle to the sea below. Arthur grips my hand as we jump, throwing ourselves into the Moncao air, caught by the arms of the sea.

It is perfect. It is home.

When the sun begins to dip in the sky, my mother draws herself up from the couch and claims that dinner will not ready itself. The others agree and begin to shuffle off but Carla and I are the last to get back from the boat. Though Charles has always held the title of ‘captain’, I have always maintained that the sea is but a little requirement for boating. We stayed behind to just lounge about in the sun, only coming back to the house when she got a frantic call from Arthur, telling her to come back.

“What’s…” The words die in our throats when we see Alex huddled in the corner, sobbing into her hands. Charlotte stands over her, rubbing a reassuring hand over her back, whispering something into her ear.

Before we can say another word, Arthur and Lorenzo interrupt us. He pulls us into a corner of the house, wiping his hands on his shorts. His eyes dart around the room, lip caught between his teeth.

“What happened?” Carla demands.

“It - it was the press,” Arthur manages, “They got pictures from earlier, on the boat.”

I need to hear little else. I dig my phone from my bag.

Finding the photo doesn’t take much work. It’s there as soon as I open Twitter, Alexandria and Charles standing on the balcony of the boat. Her hands on her stomach, nothing there to show - not yet - but the implication is enough for the media to run with.

I can hardly breathe.

Anger coils tight within me.

Fucking vultures.

Carla gasps from beside me, pressing a hand to her mouth. The headlines make my stomach turn. Far too atrocious to look at, I shove my phone back into my bag. Carla is quick to slip from beside me, rushing over to the couch, and dropping to her knees beside Alex.

Haven’t they gone through enough? Have people not thrown Alex into the fire already? Had they not already ripped her apart? I remember the articles and the tweets when their relationship went public, the look of sadness on her face. People hated her simply because she loved Charles. How they got together and why they got together was no one’s business but their own.

“Where -” I cut myself off, dropping my voice lower, “Where’s Charles?”

For a moment, Lorenzo doesn’t answer me, phone in hand. I can’t tell who’s calling, but the grave look on his face is all I need to know. He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair.

“He’s outside,” He whispers, sparing a look over at Alex, “He stormed out and won’t come back in.”

“Of course! He’s upset!” I hiss, this was private. This was personal. The media has taken that away from him.

Lorenzo holds his hands up, “I’m not saying he shouldn’t be - I’m not saying that I’m not,” He sighs, “But this is more - this is more than just…”

He looks away, rubbing a hand over his face, “He can’t run from this now.”

I turn away from Lorenzo and the tears begin to gather in my eyes before I can gather the courage to force them back. I wrap my arms around myself, afraid that I might throw something across the room.

This wasn’t right.

Summer is our time.

There is never any anger, never any sadness. That’s the world that waits beyond the walls of our home, that is the world we leave behind. We shut it all out because summer break is just us. I don’t realize that I’ve begun to dig my fingers into the flesh of my arm until Arthur yanks my hands away.

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezing my hands in his. I can’t look at him, but I feel his gaze on me. When he releases me, my hands drop back down to my sides. I suck in a large gulp of air, trying to calm the pounding of my heartbeat.

Before I can make my way to Alex, Charlotte stops me. She holds her hand up, a sad smile on her face.

‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’

Her eyes flicker to the terrace, doors closed tightly. I can see, in the shadows of the darkness, Charles.

“I’ll be back,” I whisper, reaching out to squeeze Arthur’s shoulder before I walk towards the doors.

I gently push them open, waiting for Charles to scream out that he wasn’t privacy, that he needs space, but he never does

I step through.

Charles stands out on the balcony, hands clutching onto the terrace railing. He stares into the swaying trees of our backyard, the melting sun casting a glow around the shadow of the house. Though the wind blows, there is no twinkle of windchimes. There is no echo of laughter or memory of youth, there is nothing. The light from the entry room spills across his back, but he doesn’t turn.

The silence is thick, sitting heavily atop the both of us. With his back turned to me, I can’t see his face. There’s a selfish part of me that never wants to. I never want to see the pain and anger on my brother’s face. I never want to watch his heart fall apart before me. He is my family, an extension of myself.

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

His voice is hardly above a whisper, nearly consumed by the distant sounds of the city, but I hear. It cuts through the silence, piercing it with ease. There is sadness in his voice and I can feel the tears burn once more. His shoulders slump forward, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. For a movement, I fear that he might collapse.

I take a tentative step forward.

My brother is many things. Charles is competitive and rash, he is hard-working and self-deprecating. But he is also kind and forgiving, with a smile like the sun and a laugh like the sea. He is good. Our Papa used to say that Lorenzo and I got all the anger and bite, as it never seemed that Charles could hate, to be spiteful.

Always the first to take the blame, always the first to vouch, always the first to arrive, always the last to go.

My brother is good.

And the world is cruel.

“Charles,” I whisper, he doesn’t turn.

I reach for him, my fingertips barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, “Charles.”

He finally turns, biting his lip, tears in his eyes. The words die in my throat. There is nothing I can say to fix his pain, nothing I can do to take his unhappiness away. It kills me. They may be my older brothers, but I have always been fiercely protective of them. To hurt them was to hurt me - and to hurt them was unforgivable.

And Charles.

Charles, who flew through the night to catch my competitions. Charles, who cheered me on, even if he knew nothing about fencing. Charles, who always had an extra Paddock Pass for me. Charles, who always let me have his last cookie or pastry. Charles, who held me when I wailed for weeks after Papa’s passing. Charles put the money he earned in Formula 1 into getting Arthur back into carting. Charles, who always called to scream ‘Happy Birthday’ in my ear.

That Charles.

My brother Charles, would forgive. He will see it as a mistake, he will blame himself. In only a few hours, he will make a statement and tell the truth - because that’s just who he is.

I throw my arms open and catch him as he falls into them.

He doesn’t cry, not at first, just clinging onto me. But then, the moment that Alex’s cries drift onto the open terrace, he begins to weep. He sobbed into my shoulder, pressing his wet face into the fabric of my shirt. He clutches my hand, and I can do nothing but hold him.

I hold him and let him fall apart.

From over Charle’s shoulder, I see Arthur peeking out at us. He wrings his hands, twisting his fingers around. He can’t sit still, pacing around the room, brushing Carla away when she tries to calm him.

I gesture for him to come and he does.

Before I can say a word, he’s wrapping his arms around Charles, burying his face into his back.

“We’ll fix this,” He mumbles, “I - I don’t know how, but we will.”

Charles doesn’t speak, he just searches for Arthur’s hand blindly in the pile of libs and holds on. It’s all we can do. I feel like I am 15 years old, losing our father again. It feels just as it did then, unbearable. But we do just what we did then, we hold each other. Clinging onto the only people that we have known since before we knew them, the only people that will love us even when no one else does.

The only person -

Lorenzo is there, strong arms trying to tuck us all into him. I can feel his warmth against my back and push my face into his chest.

“We’ve got you, Charlie,” He says, “We’ve got you.”

We do.

We always will.

_________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

203 notes · View notes

logansargeantsbabymom · 22 days

Text

Earned It

Logan Sargeant x Curly Hair!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Smut, Breeding Kink, Cockwarming, Choking, Degrading, Praising, Overstimulation, (light) Slapping

(it’s not proofread and it won’t be until the AM bc i’m so tired rn😭😭🎀🎀)

F1 Masterlist

"Where the fuck do you think you're going in that dress?" Logan said as I walk out the bathroom, my hands scrunching the product evenly into my curly hair as I look in the mirror trying to depict what was wrong with it

"What? I thought you liked this y/f/c dress?" I said grabbing a face towel to wipe my hands free of the hair product currently staining them before straightening out my dress and grabbing my heels to put them on.

"I do love the dress," Logan bites his lip looking me up and down while he walks over to me, putting his hands on my waist before continuing "I in fact love it so much that we can reschedule this event" Logan starts to kiss the crook of my neck on that spot he knows I love oh so much, one hand traveling dangerously close to the hem of dress while the other rises to the base of my neck, lightly wrapping around the flesh causing me to let out a small but faint moan. Only, it wasn't so faint.

"Lo, we can't reschedule your birthday party," I let out a pant before continuing "Everyone's already at the venue," my voice comes out barely above a whisper and I can feel Logan smirk against my neck as he continues kissing it, he knows what he's doing and he's enjoying every bit of it.

I can feel every swipe of his tongue, every nibble from his teeth, his hot breath, I can feel his grip on my neck tighten ever so slightly while his other hand hoists up my dress, and is now dipping just under my lacy underwear, grazing my clit, I can feel his smirk grow more when I part my legs more and move my head to the side giving him more access to the rest of me. Logan knows he has me wrapped around his finger (pun intended), and he has ever since we first got together, so he knows what gets me jumping on his bones whenever he wants to have freaky sex.

He rarely ever pulls this card but tonight was different and he decides that he wants to let that freaky side of him out that he usually keeps at bay, "You look so beautiful right now but you'd look even more beautiful all full with my baby in you. Imagine it, a big round tummy, your tits full of milk, I could just fuck a baby into you right now. Isn't that what you want- hmm? would you want me to fuck you so full until you're swollen with my baby?" Logan whispers in my ear as he dips two fingers into my aching cunt causing me to buck your hips, needing more friction.

"Oh look at you, bucking your hips into my hand. You're just desperate for me to fill you up, aren't you? Aren't you, my little slut?" Logan said kissing that spot behind my ear.

"Please, please Logan. I need it. I need you, I need your cum. I want it all. Make me a momma please"

That. That last sentence that slipped past my lips is what sent Logan over the edge. In one swoop Logan had spun me around to face him, he flattens my f/c dress before he started giving me instructions. “Strip. Now. I need to feel your tight cunt around my aching cock. You feel that?” Logan says as he guides my hand to his painfully hard erection "This is what you do to me hunny," he briefly pauses "Now I'm gonna tell you what I'm going to do to you tonight, okay princess?" he whispers to me, his lips getting dangerously close to mine as we lock eyes.

"Yes please" I whisper right back, leaning forward trying to press our lips together in a steamy kiss. Logan must've sensed that I was desperate for some kind of touch from him because his hand quickly found its place on the base of my throat holding me in place.

"Needy, are we? Princess, I haven't even gotten to the fun part. First, I'm gonna take these panties off, slow at first. I'll kiss every part of your legs while I do so," he starts, his one hand still has a firm grip on my neck while his other travels down between the valley of my breasts, down my stomach, all the way down to the edge of my dress, hoisting it up before stopping at the band of my panties just continuing "Then, I'm gonna finish pulling them off of you with my teeth." I shiver under his touch.

"When I finally pull them off of you, I'm going to drag my tongue from your calf to your aching, pulsing, tight, wet, sweet little cunt. I'm going to absolutely devour your pussy until I've pulled so many orgasms from you that you're a shaking, crying mess. Then and only then will I stop eating you out, only to line my aching cock up to your entrance before making eye contact with you as I push my cock into you, slowly, inch by inch until I bottom out. After I'm balls deep in you, I will thrust at such a hard and fast pace that you're tapping out, but honey, I'm doing this for my pleasure, not yours. The pace is going to be brutal on your tight cunt but we'll maintain eye contact throughout the whole thing. After a few hard thrusts, I'm gonna pull out of you, leaving you a whimpering mess for more. Don't worry darling because I've only gone two steps away to grab your vibrator, I'll then walk back, thrust right back into you at a harsh paste and turn the vibrator on the highest setting and place it on your clit while absolutely tearing your cunt apart. Once I've pulled yet another orgasm from you, I'll pick you up, placing you at the top of the bed and handcuff you to the headboard," Logan was then cut off by his mom calling, using one hand to answer the phone while the other was still knuckle deep in my pussy.

"Hey mom," a smirked plastered itself on his face as he continues thrusting his fingers in me as I bite down on my hand to avoid moaning as much as possible.

“Yeah, we’re on our way right now. My meeting with Williams ran long, yeah, yeah sorry. Okay. Love you too. bye.” The second I heard the phone click off and it land somewhere on the bed just a few feet away from us, I let out a loud and guttural moan that sounded more like a scream.

“My mom thinks we’re gonna be there in 15 minutes so how ‘bout you cum quick for me so we can leave and come back early and I can properly fuck you 7 ways to sunday? That sound good?” The pace Logan set was unreal, the amount of pleasure I have building up lets me know that this is an orgasm for the history books.

One of Logan’s hands finds its way to my jaw, gripping it firmly making me look in the mirror as his other hand goes to town on me. “Look at how pathetic you look for me,” he whispers in my ear before nibbling on it “you’re such a dirty slut for me. Letting me finger you before a family event?”

Logan knows how much I love to be degraded during sex, so talking to me the way he’s talking to me is bringing my release closer and he knows which prompts him to rub my clit with his thumb while with that same hand thrusting fingers into me while his other hand flys up to the base of my neck squeezing around the flesh of my throat.

Something about the way we both looked in this mirror is so hot and the throat grab is what sent me over the edge, my thighs shaking as I came all over Logan’s hand.

My body pulsing as Logan’s one hand works me through my orgasm, while the other still has a firm grip on my throat not enough to harm but enough to cause a little pain with a whole bunch of pleasure. Pulling his hand out of my core, Logan shoves his fingers inside his mouth lapping all of my juices whim the hand that once rested on my neck moved to straighten out my dress.

“fix your hair and touch up your make up, you look like we just fucked.” Logan whispered as he kissed the spot right under my ear “don’t doll up too much because I’m gonna fuck you in the bathrooms over there”

———————————————————————

I definitely wanna write more but i’m so sleepy rn !! 🎀😭

Tag List

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999

#charles leclerc #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #lewis hamilton #logan sargeant hurt #logan sargent fluff #logan sargeant angst #logan sergeant imagines #logan sargent x reader #logan sargeant #f1 hurt/comfort #lando norris smut

235 notes · View notes

unformula1 · 19 days

Text

make it right (LS2 x OP81)

oscar and logan late night chat about problems. w/c: 552 day 39 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!!!!!!! a/n: short one yall!!

Oscar hears a knock on his door. Weird. He gets off his bed and walks toward the door, taking a look through the peephole.

Logan?

What would Logan be doing here… at this hour?

Oscar opens his door and standing in front of him is Logan, but something is off.

His body is tense and his face is darkened, like something miserable just happened.

“Hi.” Logan manages, although he chokes on his own words.

“Hi Logan.” Oscar says, having to tilt his head slightly up.

“Can I crash?” Logan says, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets and his feet shuffling.

Oscar raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry?”

“I wanna stay in your room…” Logan mutters, “Just for tonight.”

“I mean, yea.” Oscar smiles, “Sure.”

Logan’s body relaxes a little.

“Something up?” Oscar says while closing the door as Logan sits on his bed.

Logan takes a moment to breathe before flopping onto the bed.

“Yea.” Logan says.

“Wanna talk?”

“How long you got?”

“The whole night.”

Oscar can see Logan’s lips curl up, he’s smiling. He’s smiling just a little.

“Alright.” Logan says, swinging his legs onto the bed.

Oscar positions himself next to Logan, before lying down as well.

“Do you think we aren’t as close anymore?” Logan whispers, but loud enough for Oscar to hear.

Oscar hesitates for a second.

“Yea.”

Logan sighs.

“Sorry.” Oscar says.

“Don’t be.” Logan replies, “It’s natural. The cutthroat nature of this sport.”

“Still isn’t good enough of a reason to drift from you.” Oscar says, “I mean, you’ve been such a great person. I feel bad that you’re alone.”

Logan nods, “Do you think the grid doesn’t like me?”

Oscar finds himself thinking hard for a reply.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Then what?”

“They aren’t close to you.”

Logan nods subtly again.

“No one wants to be close to me.” Logan chuckles. It’s not a happy chuckle.

“I want to.” Oscar clears his throat.

Logan smiles slightly.

“I’m just the friendly American at the back of the line.” Logan says, his voice almost cracking.

“They’ll only talk to me if they have to.” Logan continues.

Oscar lowers his head, looking at Logan in the eyes.

He’s right.

“They don’t matter.” Oscar says.

Logan hums softly.

“I’ll be your friend… well- I already am.” Oscar says, “I’ll be… a better friend.”

Logan looks away.

“I mean it. They don’t need to matter, only I do.” Oscar says, his voice laced with concern.

“Sure?” Logan says, his voice is soft and weak.

“Yes.” Oscar confidently says back, “Yes I’m sure. You’re not the back of the line for me.”

Logan turns back.

“Thanks Oscar.”

Oscar clears his throat before shifting closer to Logan.

Logan’s right in so many ways and Oscar hates it. He’s right about just being “an American” to everyone else and a last resort for conversations. He knows it. Logan knows it. Everyone knows it.

It’s been forever since Oscar’s seen Logan initiate conversation with someone because Logan knows no one wants to talk to him anyway. They aren’t making it subtle either, they’re making it look like they’re a 5 year old child being asked to tidy his room.

Oscar hates it. His heart shatters a little more every time Logan forces a smile out.

He’ll make this right.

He has to.

66 notes · View notes

scuderiahoney · 4 months

Note

hi hiii!! congrats for 1k 💐💐💐 can i ask for a little blurb for max verstappen with “your emotions are valid, never apologize for feeling this way” or “hug?” with the reader being the one comforting him, maybe? thank you in advance and once again, congrats!

1k celebration! hi bestie thank you for the flowers and the request! just now realized this said or. I wrote both.

Max has had an awful weekend. You know it, he knows it, the team knows it, and because Max has no filter, the whole world knows it. You’re dreading having to go bother him, knowing you’re the last person he wants to see on a day like today. You take a deep breath and steel yourself before you knock on his driver room door and call out his name.

“S’open,” he calls back.

You close your eyes for just a moment. You’d honestly been hoping he would’ve just sent you away. No such luck. You put on the handle and open the door. He’s sitting with his back to you, eyes on his computer screen, already looking at the data.

“They want you for interviews in ten minutes,” you tell him, keeping your voice low and soft, non threatening. “I can maybe delay them for 20 with an engineer, if you need it.

He nods and scrubs his hand over the scruff on his jaw. “Can you close the door?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “I’ll go. I can brief you on the way to the-“

“Don’t go,” he says, soft but urgent. “That’s not- you can stay, if you want. Please. Just-“

You step fully into the room and close the door. Suddenly your heart is racing. His shoulders drop at the click of the latch, and then he finally turns to look at you. His eyes are red rimmed and glassy, and your chest aches at the sight.

“Sorry,” he says, like it's a reflex. Like maybe he’s spent his whole life apologizing for this.

You blink and lean back against the door. “Don’t be sorry.”

He closes his eyes and runs his hand over his jaw again, like he’s trying to soothe some deep ache. Like maybe he’s been clenching it too tightly all day. All weekend, probably.

“Your emotions are valid,” you say, hating how cookie cutter it sounds but hoping he understands. “You never have to apologize to me for feeling this way.”

He nods sharply. You don’t know what to do except stand there. He lets out a slow breath, one that sounds like it pains him.

“I can get you more time, if you need,” you suggest. “Shit, I’ll go do an interview if I have to. Or- I don’t know, d’you need water, or food, or-“

“Hug?” He says, so quiet you can barely hear it. You think you’ve imagined it for a moment. Then he opens his eyes, blinks up at you, and says, “could I have a hug?”

You nod, dumbfounded. “Yeah, of course.”

He stands up and stumbles his way over to where you wait with open arms. You wrap him up tightly against you as he rests his head on your shoulder and sighs. He’s always larger than life, big and bright, but suddenly you’re reminded he’s just a human.

When he pulls away, you nod, and he nods back.

“Fifteen minutes.” he says.

“No problem. I can go,” you suggest.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Stay?”

274 notes · View notes

aduckinpain · 7 months

Text

I know.

Tags: Landoscar, Twinklaren, Oscar going through it, especially with that Brazil GP 2023, Hurt/Comfort, Character Analysis, Lando and Oscar end up together, in depth look into the quiet child experience, I know it personally.

Word Count: 1.5k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

It’s always running, sprinting. It keeps on falling, tripping. It stumbles, gets back up, looks around, it moves. It never stops moving.

For all of his 22 years on this Earth, Oscar’s mind has never been quiet. Not like he is.

He’s heard the remarks, even agreed with some of them.

Since he was a child, he remembers his mother being continuously praised on what a quiet, calm kid she had. He remembers his father being teased for how his son was not rowdy or mischievous. He remembers his sisters’ friends describing him as mysterious and cool, unassuming.

Now with his life on full display at McLaren, he reads on how unemotional, unenthusiastic he seems. He reads and he stays quiet.

He observes, he reflects. Eyes unblinking and the air still around him. Like it always seems to be.

I know.

From an outsider’s point of view, he can understand. He can see why people's opinions of him are what they are. Putting himself in people’s shoes has always come as second nature to Oscar. It was getting out of those shoes that seemed to be the problem.

Sympathizing, empathizing, understanding he can do. Observation has been his strongest skill and it has sharpened over the years.

Yet, it seems, other people can never do it for him. They can never get it right. It doesn’t seem like they’ll start getting it now or any time soon. Sometimes it feels like they won’t ever get it, even in the far future.

Do I know?

Little footsteps echoed in his mother’s shadow around the place. It’s the loudest he’s been. Oscar looks around, wide-eyed, intrigued, curious. Always taking things in. But they never seem to be able to get out.

I learn.

Sleep.

Sleep is a favorite activity of his. It had his mother concerned when he was but a young boy, come up to him about it. Ask him. Ponder. Assume.

Oscar doesn’t think he will ever get over his mothers face looking confused, conflicted when he told her.

His brain jumps, it flies. If it couldn’t catch something, it would find another thing. His brain ran itself thin, it crouched, it needed sleep.

‘That’s not normal.’ his mom had said.

Recommended taking a break. Recommended letting himself breathe. Recommended to stop.

‘It’s not healthy.’ She’d pressed.

I know.

When his hands touched the karting wheel, time didn’t stop. To be fair, it actually only seemed to go slower. He hadn’t done this before. Things he hasn't done or tried yet, aren't perfected. He shouldn’t expect results. Keep your expectations low, so they're either met or pleasantly surpassed.

That’s why it was unexpected, uncalculated. He pressed the pedal, he gripped the wheel, he didn't blink, he passed the first kid. Then the next one. Then the next, and the next and it just kept on going. He felt the wind, he saw the turns, he heard the noise.

He felt. He felt and it stopped. He felt and didn’t bolt from it. Didn’t run it dry, didn’t analyze. Didn’t think.

His heart beat loudly, resounding through his body. Echoing in his ears.

Yet.

It was quiet.

He won, and he kept on winning and he didn’t seem to be able to stop.

Satisfaction thrummed through his veins and entered his head. Lingering, altering.

I know now.

After a while the inevitable happened. He grew, things became more important. They required thinking. They required analyzing, observing, seeing. It was a trained response, Oscar knew what to do. He moved on autopilot. He slept.

But he craved. Craved the silence. It seemed to slip away the higher he went.

He can make sacrifices, he understands.

I know.

Do I?

Alpine was loud. Alpine was deafening and emotional. Alpine made Oscar feel, but not in the way he wanted to.

He felt but his mind raced faster. He felt but it didn’t feel exhilarating. He felt but he didn’t overtake, he didn’t take off.

He froze.

He felt and he couldn’t stop thinking.

The sacrifice would have been in vain. The silence lost, for nothing. What was the point of doing this, if at the very least his hard-earned success didn’t get him where he wanted? If his freshly departed sacrifice, felt like a freshly opened wound?

His F2 Championship was everything he wanted. But what about everything he wished?

I don’t know, not anymore.

Oscar figured out pretty soon that the root of his problem was his yearning. He yearned the quiet, he yearned the success. And for two years now, he longed for revenge. But he didn’t do things blaringly, not like Alpine.

He does them unexpectedly, or so it seems to others anyway.

For the first time in a long time. Oscar Piastri overtakes.

@OscarPiastri

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

8:00 PM · Aug 2, 2022

44.2K Reposts 50.7K Quotes 386K Likes 4,282 Bookmarks

I know again.

That being said, when your constant variable is overanalyzing, new environments don’t add well to the equation. New environments mean new people, new people mean new expectations.

New expectations mean a higher probability for error.

But he could do this. He worked for it, he fought for it. He sacrificed for it.

He itched for it.

I know.

When you let your mind wander, it creates new pathways, new possibilities. Wandering allows for running and running in a forest means getting lost.

His newest forest, seems to be going by the name of a Lando Norris.

I found out.

Lando was noise. Lando was the unachievable. More years of experience meant more years of achievements. Lando was his closest teammate and his hardest rival.

But, as days passed, comfort became Lando.

Security transformed into Lando.

Silence translated to Lando. Not in Lando himself, no, of course not. To him. To Oscar.

Lando spoke and Oscar listened.

Lando asked and Oscar answered.

Lando touched and Oscar leaned.

Lando moved and Oscar followed.

Lando stopped and Oscar stopped.

I always knew.

The year had started slow, but by God did it pick up the pace. It just needed some time to warm up those soft compound tyres. Just like Lando, who helped Oscar get more comfortable. With the car. With the team. With the new upgrades, the suddenly incessant meetings. With his ability to put in his input and have it be taken into consideration.

With Lando.

The better they got, the more media work they did. While in the past, Oscar may have dreaded it, he’s grown to like it.

The more media work they did, whether they noticed it or not, the closer they got. Bonded.

At the time Oscar hadn't noticed—something that doesn't just happen, that for the first time ever, he was the one being analyzed, looked into. Someone was getting in his shoes, and they seemed dead set on not leaving.

Without realizing it, Lando had become fresh air, first podiums, bright days, calm nights, quiet thoughts, content. Oscar felt content. His brain didn’t run, it walked, it discovered. It felt but it was ok.

I stumbled upon the discovery.

The heat was unbearable, yes, exhausting. But it didn’t matter, because he had done it. He has proved it. He met the expectations, in fact he can confidently say he has surpassed them.

He spilled the water on his head, felt it go through each individual strand of hair, down his back, onto his hands. He felt exhilarated.

Was it the water or the newly discovered heaviness of a gaze?

I know who it was.

He spilled the champagne at Lando on that podium, let it flow down the ridges of his back, the smile on his face, the hands clutching the bottle, the curls shining under the night lights. Grinned at it, laughed with it. Enjoyed it.

Did he say champagne?

He meant his own eyes.

Trailing. Following.

I knew.

The first brush of lips was soft. It was a question, a request for permission.

Just like in his newly rediscovered passion for racing, winning, Oscar didn’t think. He felt. He acted. He nodded.

The first press of lips was gradual, tentative, exploring.

He sighed. He melted. He pulled.

Safety feels warm. Comfort feels free. Being understood feels like losing control, but you’re still holding the reins.

He’d always wanted a weighted blanket. Guess there was no need for that anymore when you have a lap full of Lando.

They laid down. With hands combing through his locks and lips brushing on his forehead, Oscar allowed himself to let go.

His eyes dropped. He felt warmth on the top of his head, around his body, encasing his heart. He felt and it was ok.

Nothing was sacrificed. It was planted, watered over the years. Waited for the seasons to change.

Until it bloomed, blossomed.

And this time Oscar slept and woke up feeling rested.

The view certainly helped.

I’ll know.

-End-

Notes:

I'll analyze all of the 'I know' and their versions:

1) I know, Oscar is well aware of how he seems to people and their opinions of him. He can't do much to change them, cause he can't do much to change himself. This is who he is. Besides they are wrong. He feels so much, it tends to get overwhelming.

2) Do I know?, Being highly empathetic with people allows you to see every aspect and reason for their actions or reactions, however most people don't do this. Their main focus is themselves, other people come second and so on. It feels like putting in the effort but never having any effort being put in you.

3) I learn, children are curious and their minds act like sponges. No matter how small they are they will understand and remember everything.

4) I know, Oscar is self-aware enough to know that thinking so much it physically makes you tired is not the usual. He can't just stop though, it's how he functions. This is directly taken from a personal experience with this same conversation.

5) I know now, he knew right then and there that racing would be his freedom, his life.

6) I know.

Do I?, Is he ready to make these sacrifices? Is he willing to put in the work? Is it worth it? Is racing what he wants for his future? These are all insinuated questions he asks himself.

7) I don't know, not anymore, Alpine was even more doubt and wait. Waiting made the doubt linger and never leave. The future seemed bleaker. The sacrifices worthless.

8) I know again, Oscar found a purpose, a reason to continue.

9) I know, there's no more time for waiting or hesitance. He figured out how these things work now. You push forward. There is no time for second guessing.

10) I found out, something new, unexpected. Lando himself.

11) I always knew, was it actually new and unexpected or was it exactly what he was waiting for?

12) I stumbled upon the discovery, Oscar's whole thing is the need for quiet, for his brain to just stop for a second. It used to be racing that gave him that feeling and while it is slowly returning, it seems to not be the only thing that has that affect on him. There seems to be something, or someone else too.

13) I know who it was, it was Lando's gaze spilling down his back. Mapping Oscar on that podium.

14) I knew, it was his own gaze, spilling down Lando's. Gazing.

15) I'll know, he doesn't have to think, to analyze. Let the future be unknown. If he wants to, he can make it happen. With Lando there, it is assured, safe

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Oscar himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

I wrote this after my own personal experience. I find Oscar incredibly familiar and relatable. It doesn't help that I look enough like him that the merge filter on TikTok refuses to merge me with him specifically.

Thank you so much for the dividers to @cafekitsune and @saradika ! They are so pretty!

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some comments or reposts!

I have another story with Lestappen (Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen), called 'Stop, but not forever, that I posted some days ago. If you like this please go and support that as well! It can be found on my Masterlist, at the Formula 1 one.

139 notes · View notes