mclastri - Tumblr blog

mclastri · 1 month

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deal - cl16 (28/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Your pillow is comfortable - just like Charles' lap.

Warnings: 18+ (dry humping, mentions of sex), fluff, tiny bit of angst, Lando is a little shit

Word Count: 4.5k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: since you were all so patient with me - you deserve this. I hope you're sat, because y/n definitely is. feedback is appreciated!

"Good morning, mon amour," Charles whispers softly in your ear before you feel a faint puff of air against your cheek. Something soft and warm presses gently against your temple. "It's still quite early. You can go back to sleep if you want to." He rests his chin on your shoulder and you feel his chest against your back. "I'd like to go jogging, if that's okay with you."

Sleepy - and confused - you snuggle further into your comfy pillow. It's still dark in the room, but through the window you can already see the horizon changing color and announcing a new day. You yawn tiredly and close your eyes again. "You're waking me up to tell me you're going jogging? Are you crazy? Couldn't you have just written me a note or a text?"

Charles exhales through his nose. "I'm sorry, chérie. There was no other way. I have an appointment with my trainer and I'm already late." He gently puts his hand on your bare hip, where the shirt has ridden up and exposed a sliver of your skin. "All you have to do is let go of my arm and then I'll be gone and you can go back to sleep."

Your pillow moves almost imperceptibly beneath you and you raise your head to examine it, puzzled. You realize that you have been lying on Charles' arm and your hand has found its place on his forearm. You suppress a smile as you lie back down and press your cheek into the soft inside of his upper arm. "Nope. Unfortunately not possible. I'm afraid your arm is too comfortable for me to let you go right now."

Charles's fingers press a little harder into your hip, but his arm stays in place. "I won't be long. I promise."

Drowsy and not fully conscious, you turn in his arms and lift your leg, only to wrap it around his waist and press yourself against him. The tip of your nose touches his bare chest. "You said yesterday that we would continue to share a bed so that I could sleep better. So you have no choice but to stay here with me." As you absentmindedly kiss his chest and press your hip against yours, you feel warm.

Charles laughs softly, but doesn't disagree with you. Instead, his arms wrap around you a little tighter. The hand that was on your hip a moment ago slides up your spine under your shirt. His fingertips dance over your warm skin until his hand rests gently on the nape of your neck, where it lingers lightly. "As far back as I can remember, I said I'd hold you in my arms if it meant you'd sleep better."

You gently lift your head from his chest so that you can look at him. Charles' eyes are closed, but a slight smile pulls the corners of his mouth upwards. "You do realize that you're digging yourself in deeper, don't you?"

He slowly opens his eyes and looks down at you. Without hesitation, he rolls you onto your back. You feel his weight on top of you as his hand disappears from your neck and rests against your thigh, keeping your leg wrapped around his waist. "How silly. Looks like I've lost now."

His weight on you, his warm breath on your face and his fingertips disappearing under the hem of your shorts cloud your thoughts. You look at him from under your eyelashes and have to swallow as his gaze darts from your eyes to your mouth and back up again. "How silly."

He opens his mouth slightly and he's so close to you that you can make out the different shades of green in his irises despite the darkness. His beard shades his beautiful face and you want to rub your cheek against it. Or feel the stubble on your thighs. Or -

Charles leans so far down towards you that the tips of your noses touch. As he licks his lips, you think you can feel his tongue on your mouth. But maybe you're just too tired and imagining it. "I'd love to stay in this bed with you forever," Charles whispers, and as his fingers slide a little higher under your shorts, almost touching the curve of your ass, you involuntarily arch up towards him. Just as you think you can feel the hardness of his abdomen, he pushes himself off the bed with his other hand and pulls away. "But I really need to go jogging." A brief moment later, he stands in front of the bed and scratches the back of his neck. "I thought I might go grocery shopping afterwards. Just text me if you think of anything else you might need."

Distracted by the warmth in your lower belly, you stare at him as he slips into the sports shorts you were wearing yesterday morning. His smell clings to you and you can't think straight as he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull white tennis socks over his feet. You push the covers off you and crawl across the bed to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. Your hands rest on his warm chest. "You're mean, Charles." You brush a kiss on the soft skin under his ear and can feel his heart skip a beat.

He pauses in his movement. "You haven't called me that in days." He tilts his head a little so he can look at you.

Puzzled, you return his gaze. "What do you mean? I always call you Charles."

Slowly, his fingers wrap around your wrists so that he can wriggle out of your embrace. But only so that his arm can wrap around your waist and he can pull you onto his lap. As you sit astride his thighs, he cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger so you have no choice but to look at him.

He shakes his head slightly. "You called me Charles. English pronunciation. You've been calling me Charles since we had dinner with the others the other night."

You raise an eyebrow and squirm on his legs under his unyielding gaze. "And what did I call you now?"

"Sharl. French pronunciation." A glint sparkles in his eyes.��

"Is that good? Or bad?" you ask unknowingly and innocently, running your fingers through the short hair on the back of his neck.

"What do you think?" His voice is no more than a whisper as his other arm wraps around your back and pulls you completely onto his lap so that you can barely move. Once again, his fingers slip just below the hem of your pajama shorts, fingertips almost digging into your flesh as he presses your crotch against his noticeable bulge. So hard that you might end up with bruises on your hips. But you don't care. You gasp in response. "Do I like this or not?"

The warmth that was previously spread throughout your body moves south, and you feel your arousal pooling in your shorts. The word friendship flashes faintly in your mind, but as Charles gently but firmly moves you over his hard-on and a low moan escapes his throat, you can't help but block it out completely.

"Charles," you almost whine as you rock your hips back and forth without a thought and the tip of his brief-clad cock nudges against your clit. Electricity flashes through your veins and your skin burns where Charles touches you and you close your eyes, flushed with pleasure.

"Nuh-uh." Charles's hand moves from your chin to the column of your throat and rests just at the base of your neck. "Look at me, mon amour." His voice is deep and smoky as he makes you look into his eyes. Through half-opened eyes and with his mouth open, he grinds you over his boner, his breath stumbling and warming your face as you can do nothing but surrender to the sensation.

Never in your life have you desired someone as much as Charles. Charles, exhaling as if relieved that he can release some tension, while your fingers dig into his shoulder blades to make sure he doesn't stop. The hem of your pyjamas and his boxer shorts rub so deliciously against your bundle of nerves and you moan shamelessly as the gorgeous man beneath you bites his lower lip, wishing it was yours he was nibbling on.

"Charles, please," you beg, even though you don't know what for. You want his fingers on your throat, his mouth on yours. You want to feel how soft his lips are as he slides his cock home until you fall apart on him. You want to hear him say how good you feel, how much he desires you and that he lo-

"Fuck," Charles snaps you out of your thoughts, and before you can realize it, he releases his arm from your body and leans to the side, where his phone is on the edge of the bed, ringing.

When you see the panic in his eyes, you quickly slide off his lap and cover yourself with the blanket again. All of a sudden you feel vulnerable and naked, even though you're still wearing the shirt and shorts. You interlace your fingers in your lap.

"I'm sorry, Andrea." Charles tucks his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he slips on the turquoise Puma shirt you were wearing yesterday morning. He lifts the hem once and smells it, and for a brief moment his eyes flicker to you before he hurries out of the room, leaving you alone in the bedroom. You hear him continuing to talk in the hallway.

Startled and a little repulsed, you sit on the bed. How did you let it get this far? Charles is your best friend - a fact you told Joris and which was later confirmed to you in person by your roommate.

So why did you just fall over each other like teenagers who can't keep their hands off each other when no one is looking? Why did you allow yourselves to dry hump each other when you are nothing more than friends? Why did everything Charles did and said turn you on so much that the inside of your thighs are sticky with your arousal? And why did it feel so damn right?

You run your hand through your tousled hair. You've never felt anything like you have in the last few minutes. You've never desired someone as much as the man whose touch made you turn to putty in his hands. As if your brain had been switched off, you gave yourself to him without thinking about what the consequences might be.

What would happen now? Would Charles still talk to you? Would you talk about it? Would it happen again?

Before you can think about it any more, Charles enters the bedroom again. His feet are now in sneakers and he has put on a jacket over his shirt. When he sees you sitting at the head of the bed, the comforter thrown over you and with big, worried eyes, his gaze softens. He crosses the room in three steps and sits on the edge of the bed with you before reaching for yours with one hand and intertwining your fingers.

"We're okay, aren't we?" he asks gently, lifting your chin with his free hand as you try to avoid his gaze. When you look at him, the sparkle from a moment ago is still there. "I - I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it get this far. We're friends and the last thing I want is to lose you over this." He almost stumbles over his words when you don't say anything back. "We're still friends, aren't we?" You can see tears gathering on the line of his eyelashes.

You are so relieved that you want to hug him. You smile at him. "Of course we're friends, Charles. Best friends," you assure him, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. "There's nothing that could change that."

The man in front of you blinks away the tears and returns your smile before squeezing your hand twice. "I really have to go now. Like I said, if you need anything from the supermarket, please text me. Then I can pick it up for you." He releases his hand from yours and stands up from the bed. "See you later." He leans forward a tiny bit and you can practically see the gears in his brain turning until he merely smiles at you and then disappears. As the apartment door slams shut behind him, you exhale.

Everything's fine between you, you tell yourself as you unplug your phone from the charger and glance at the clock. 9:30 am. You could go back to bed and sleep, but as you lay your head on the pillow, the smell of last night's smoke creeps into your nose. The whole bed smells like a campfire, and your skin and hair smell like you've been wallowing in ashes, so you decide to wash the sheets and jump in the shower.

The washing machine makes a gentle whirring sound as you switch it on and then head to the fridge to prepare yourself a little breakfast. However, when you realize that there is nothing in the fridge that would be suitable, you hang your head in resignation. Apparently, the ingredients Charles used for the pancakes yesterday were the very last leftovers, so the fridge is empty apart from a pickle jar and a few bottles of water.

Without further ado, you shoot Charles a text to ask him to bring something for breakfast before you gather your bathroom utensils from your suitcase in the bedroom, undress in the bathroom and set the water in the shower to the right temperature. Since you have some time before Charles returns from his jog and the supermarket, you take all the time in the world. You shampoo your hair and rinse it thoroughly before leaving a generous amount of conditioner in your hair. Meanwhile, you exfoliate your body, shave carefully - and actually manage not to cut your knuckles. The lavender and vanilla shower gel soothes your frayed nerves, while you keep telling yourself that everything is fine between you and Charles, like you talked about.

You banish the feeling that his every touch felt good and right to the back of your mind and as you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a soft towel, it's almost as if nothing ever happened between you.

You focus on the fact that you have to look good today, because you are invited to Charles' mother's for dinner later, so you spend a lot of time taming your hair and picking out a nice outfit. You decide on a pair of dark jeans and a light blouse and button up the last button as your cell phone beeps on the kitchen island.

Charles: No problem. I think I'll be home in an hour. It'll be too late for a proper breakfast then, but how about some fruit and yogurt?

And indeed. It's now just after 12 o'clock and the washing machine seems to be doing its last spin cycle, because its humming gets louder before it goes quiet and only beeps a few times. You quickly put the wet bed sheets in the dryer before answering Charles.

You: You're the best. See you soon.

While you wait for your roommate to come home, you rummage through the things Kika picked out yesterday and scatter them around the apartment. You put the fake plants on the windowsill in your room and place a vase on the worktop in the kitchen. Then grab some picture frames and stand in the hallway to find out which places on the wall are suitable for which frame. Charles is sure to have enough beautiful photos from all over the world to decorate your home, because unfortunately you don't yet have any pictures together that you could hang on the wall. But that's okay. After all, you've only been friends for a few days.

When the front door opens a short time later, two men are standing opposite you, one of whom - thank God - is Charles. When he sees you, a smile spreads across his face.

"We've done some shopping," he explains, lifting the bags he's holding in his hands. Then he looks at the man next to him. "This is Andrea, by the way, my personal trainer and close friend." He walks towards you and briefly looks you up and down. "You look good," he says casually as he walks past you and glances over his shoulder. "Come on, Andrea. The stuff needs to go in the fridge.

"Don't stress me out like that," the man in front of you replies, rolling his eyes in an annoyed manner. "I'm Andrea, nice to meet you." He places one of his bags on the floor before holding out his hand to you.

You introduce yourself to him too and shake his hand. " Likewise. I wasn't expecting you to bring half the supermarket with you," you joke, reaching for the bag he's put down before you both head towards the kitchen.

"Me neither," Andrea replies, shrugging her shoulders. "Charles insisted because he didn't want you to want for anything. Now that you live here too."

"Andrea," Charles warns his friend as he puts the milk and eggs in the fridge.

"Don't play pretend," he defends himself and puts his bag down on the worktop. "I'm just repeating what you said." He takes your plastic bag from you and puts it on the worktop too. "I'll leave you two alone then. After all, you've got a lot to do today." He turns in your direction and smiles at you before planting a kiss on your cheek left and right. "It was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid I have to go. But I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

"I guess so."

He nods briefly, turning to your roommate. "And you let me know about the trip. Then I can arrange everything."

Charles, who is putting food in the fridge with a concentration as if he were taking part in a Tetris competition, waves his hand once in the direction of his trainer. "I will. Ciao!"

Andrea leaves your apartment as quickly as he had arrived, and as the door slams shut behind him, you turn to your friend. "A trip? Where are you off to?"

"I have to go through a training camp to prepare for next season. But I'll tell you about that later." After he's put everything away neatly, he closes the fridge and turns in your direction. "I've just spoken to my mother on the phone. Dinner will be around seven, but we can come over before that, before my brothers show up, if you don't mind." He grabs a glass from the cupboard and pours himself some water before taking a big gulp. "So I'd just jump in the shower and get ready. And then we can go as soon as you're ready."

You smile at him. "All right. Do you still want to eat something small? Then I could cut up some fruit and prepare some yoghurt if you like," you offer.

He nods thankfully to you before pulling his shirt over his back and off his upper body in one fluid motion. The workout has made his muscles look even more defined than usual. Not that you waste much time staring at his naked torso.

"That would be nice. I'll just jump in the shower," he says before disappearing into the bathroom. As he turns on the shower, you hear the water hitting the floor.

You're a little surprised that your little session doesn't seem to be having any effect. The worries you had that the atmosphere between you might now be strained fizzle out and the only thing that remains is the bitter aftertaste that Charles doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact that you were dry humping as friends and there was a possibility that your friendship had come to an end.

Does it really not affect him that you were both playing with fire a few hours ago? Or is he just good at covering it up and acting as if nothing had happened?

But when you remember how upset he was sitting next to you on the bed afterwards, with tears in his eyes for fear of losing you as a friend, the negative thoughts disappear from your mind. He probably wants to put the whole thing behind him because it would really bother him if you were no longer friends.

And since you feel the same way, you cut up some fruit without giving it a second thought until your cell phone, which is lying on the kitchen island in front of you, vibrates. An incoming Facetime call from - Lando?

Why is he calling you? And especially on Facetime? Has something happened to him? Does he need help?

You quickly put the knife aside and wipe your hands on a kitchen towel before answering the call. When the British man's face appears on your screen, you breathe a sigh of relief. He's apparently lying on the couch at home, the hood of his hoodie pulled up over his curls and a broad grin adorning his face.

"Hi, Lando," you greet him and lean your phone against the vase so that you can continue preparing the fruit. "What can I do for you?"

"Is Charles with you?" he asks as you turn around and take two bowls from the cupboard behind you to divide the fruit halfway between them.

"He's in the shower," you reply, tilting your head. " Why? Did something happen?"

"No, everything's fine," he says and smiles. "I was just trying to reach him on his cell phone. But when he is taking a shower, it's obvious that he won't answer."

"'Who's not answering?" you hear Charles say as he leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Single drops of water snake across his chest and down the ridges of his abs before disappearing into the fabric of the towel, which hangs quite low on his hips. You have to swallow briefly and just point at your cell phone. When Charles comes into Lando's field of vision, he nods briefly. "Sorry, I was in the shower. Have you tried to call me?"

Lando, blinking silently at the camera, nods. "Uh, yeah. I wanted to invite you both to a party. After Christmas." He struggles to suppress a smile, and even though the screen is so small, you can see his gaze jump from Charles to you. "My friend Martin is coming here to DJ at a club. If you're up for it, you're both welcome to come."

Charles, who is standing to the side behind you, rests his chin on your shoulder. After this morning, you didn't expect to find Charles back in your personal space so quickly. Whether he realizes you're holding your breath, you don't know. "I don't see what's wrong with that, do you?" The question is directed at you. As you shake your head weakly, your roommate smiles at the camera and puts his hand on your hip. "Then we're definitely in." Suddenly, you feel Charles' lips on your temple as he presses a gentle kiss to your skin. "I'm just going to get ready." With that, he disappears from Lando's sight and, as he enters your bedroom, from yours too.

The way Lando's eyes widen briefly doesn't escape you. "Great. Then I'll put you on the guest list and send you the details." As your gaze shifts from your room back to the Brit, Lando looks back at you with a grin that almost reaches his ears.

"Lando," you warn him in the same tone Charles just used with Andrea. "Leave it alone."

"I didn't say anything," he defends himself, but the grin doesn't disappear from his face. You'd love to wipe it off his cheek. "So, are you two - ?"

You roll your eyes. "We're friends, Lando. Nothing more, nothing less," you explain to him, but you seem to be falling on deaf ears, because the Brit doesn't seem to believe a word you're saying.

"Friends with benefits? Or why did Charles just behave like that?"

"What do you mean, like that?" you ask him, tilting your head in confusion. To keep your hands busy, you fill the bowls of fruit with yogurt and add some sweetener before stirring everything.

"So possessive. So jealous," he explains, as if it's no big deal. Which it certainly wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for this morning's action.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you retort snappishly, your mouth forming a thin line. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."

"It's all cool. But if you get married, I'll be the guest of honor as matchmaker," he replies, before holding his phone close to his face and grinning broadly at the camera. "And then I'll give a speech about how stupid you both were at the beginning because you didn't want to admit that you were meant to be together."

When you hear Charles' footsteps in the hallway, you quickly reach for your cell phone. "Lando."

"I'm just saying, friends don't look at each other the way you look at him. And that friends don't act as possessive as he does." He raises his free hand, puts his thumb and forefinger together before pulling it over his mouth and pretending to seal his lips with it. "I'm not saying anything more about it."

"Who says no more to what?" Charles asks as he enters the kitchen.

"Nobody to anything anymore. Bye, Lando," you quickly say goodbye and end the Facetime call, knowing full well that you're sure to get a few more messages from the Brit lovingly mocking you.

"Oh-kay." Charles sits down opposite you at the kitchen islands and grabs one of the yogurt bowls. You watch him as he shoves spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. "Everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," you reply with a sugary smile and start spooning up your yoghurt too. "I'm just nervous about meeting your mom. I hope she'll like me," you try to change the subject.

"She definitely will," your flatmate tries to reassure you. "Just be yourself and then she'll love you. And so will my brothers." He reaches across the worktop for your hand and squeezes it twice. "Loving you is easier than you might think."

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mclastri · 1 month

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partition - lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where you and Lewis are stuck in traffic in Paris, and decide to make the most of the situation.

Pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

Word Count: 4.0k

Warnings: smut!! sex in a car, unprotected sex (because when have i written something with condoms lol), pwp, cringey ass nickname (blame beyoncé), manhandling, took me a long time to write it so it doesn’t make sense most part, minors dni!!

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! this was a passion project for me and you have no idea how happy i am with the way it turned out. There’s only one slight issue and it is that i wanted lewis to call the reader something other than peaches, but it is in the song, therefore please if you don’t like it blame the mother, aka beyoncé. Also, i was very unsure of whether i wanted to drag it out, or leave it as it is, so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It took you forty five minutes to get ready – Lewis knows this because he’s been keeping time on his phone since the moment you’ve went into the bedroom side of your hotel room to get ready for the party he’s taking you to. You’ve always like to joke that he takes longer getting ready whenever the two of you have to go somewhere, but now that he is staring the timer on his phone, maybe he should use it as an evidence that you’re, in fact, wrong the next time you tease him about it. Not that he actually would do that, he is a gentleman, after all.

He’s just about to call out to you to hurry up when you beat him to it, “Baby, I need help, please!”

The nickname manages to bring the smallest of smiles to his face as he, without shouting anything back in response, gets up from his place on the couch and makes his way towards the bedroom. And that’s when his eyes land on you, in front of the full-sized mirror struggling to zip up your dress. In just a few more steps he’s right behind you, his fingers itching to dance against the smooth skin of your back. “I thought you were going to wear the suit you brought, Peaches,” his voice comes off muffled as he presses a few kisses to the expose skin on your shoulder.

“I forgot to bring the shirt that goes with it,” your voice comes off shaky as you feel his lips drag on your skin, and you can hear his soft chuckle. Craning your neck to give him a small smile, you join in his laughter, “Zip me?” With a yielding kiss, Lewis wordlessly grabs the small zipper between his fingers, and when the moves the zipper, it makes you shriek out another laugh, “Up, Lewis, zip me up please!”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, pulling the zipper upward with a swift motion. The dress seamlessly hugs your figure, and he makes a show of checking you out from the mirror in front of you before meeting your eyes. “There you go, all zipped up,” Lewis announces triumphantly, ignoring your disapproving headshake, giving you a gentle pat on the back. You turn around, facing him with a grateful smile, and he can't resist leaning in for a sweet kiss. The connection between your lips is brief but warm.

“You like my dress?” You ask him and his enthusiastic nod makes your smile widen in satisfaction, “You don’t think it’s too short?”

Instead of answering your question with words, instead Lewis tsks, letting his dissatisfaction with your question known. He gently takes one of your hands in his, threading his fingers through yours and prompts you to spin around to give him a better look of your dress. He wraps his arms around your middle, his hand still firmly intertwined with yours, and presses a kiss on your shoulder right where the strap of your dress meets your skin. “Wear any dress you want, Peaches, Miles and I can handle anyone who gives you trouble for it.”

Chucking at his protective, yet playful, response, you pat his arm around your middle with your free hand, “Speaking of the devil, we should probably get going if we don’t want him to kill us both for being late.” Lewis makes a sound of contest, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pulls you closer to himself. “Lu,” you let out a faux-exasperated sigh, “there is being late, and fashionably late, and I’m afraid we are way past the latter.

“Oh, darling,” you hear his breathy voice whisper against your skin as he places a couple of open mouthed kisses onto your exposed skin, “maybe we should stay back, hm? I can show you just how much I like your dress.” With one of his hands splayed on your stomach and his lips greeting your skin ever so often, you gasp when his lips find that one sweet spot he knows that makes your knees week. “Imagine how much fun we can have on our own, here, in our room.”

Throwing your head back to rest on his chest, a breathy chuckle falls from your lips, but you give him a stern look. “As much as I would love to stay back with you, we promised all of our friends we’ll be there.” As you rise up to your toes to give him a soft peck on the lips, you manage to break free from his arms, leaving him with a perpetual pout on his face. “When we get back, Mister Hamilton, you can do whatever you want to me.”

With your offer, the look on his face changes from a pout to a smirk. “Is that a promise, Peaches?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, darling,” you emphasise the word with an exaggerated version of his accent. “It’s a fact,” you return his look with a small smirk on your own as you add, “sir.”

Needless to say, the walk down to the lobby to get into your car is full of tension between the two of you. It’s not like Lewis can’t hold himself back, because he can. He has proven under many circumstances that he can withhold sex from you if he decides to do that. The most recent incident was when he caught you lurking around the Red Bull garage during the last race you’ve attended, which ended with you quite literally having to beg him to fuck you after a week of Lewis not even touching you. The walk down to the lobby is filled with stolen touches and knowing glances, with him trying to get you to kiss him every minute, not caring whether the people around you can hear him or not.

You give him a sideway look when the receptionist tells you that your limo for the night is waiting for you. “A limo?” You raise an eyebrow, looking at him for response.

He simply shrugs a shoulder, leaning down to mumble his response into your ear, “Miles was in charge of the car,” with his fingers giving your waist a firm squeeze, he manages to earn a silent shriek from you, “I’m sure we could do with the extra space, darling.”

“Behave, Lu.” You chastise him, but the corner of your mouth upturns nonetheless and you let Lewis guide you towards the car waiting for you.

Because he is the perfect gentleman he opens your door and helps you into the limo, pressing a lingering kiss on your hand before joining you. The inside of the limo is darker than you expected, but the city lights of Paris do a good enough job of illuminating the car. The condensation on the limo’s windows has your attention and Lewis watches and you trailing your finger along the glass, tracing the line a raindrop left behind. He contemplates, for a second, whether being jealous over a raindrop for commanding your attention could be considered weird or not, but he decides that he doesn’t really care.

He places a hand on your thigh, his touch is both reassuring and possessive, but when you turn your head towards him to look at him, the way he smiles at you and his thumb caresses your knee is incredibly sweet. He is a duality in himself, Lewis is. And you enjoy the way city lights illuminate his face, his smile soft as he leans over the middle of the seat to give you a sweet peck on your lips.

“What was that for?” you ask him, giggling as you place your hand over his on your thigh. He doesn’t answer, only shrugs his shoulders and grins as he pulls away from you, instantly making you seek him out again. You’re about to comment on his suddenly playful mood, when you realise the car is slowly coming to a stop, and you let out a breath of frustration when the driver informs you that you’ve hit traffic. And traffic in Paris on a Friday night? It’s safe to say that both of you know that you are not going anywhere fast.

The overall wait is not that bad, you think. Even though the traffic is crawling at a snail’s pace, you’re more than happy to be in the car where you can be with Lewis without the overwhelming sound of EDM music and sweaty bodies pushing you around in a crowded club. The same, however, cannot be said about your boyfriend.

As time passes and you’re, still, stuck in traffic, you can see Lewis getting more and more frustrated with the situation. You try not to comment on how annoyed he looks and let him have his silent moment of irritation. You gently squeeze his hand, offering a reassuring smile. “It's alright, Lewis. We'll get there eventually.”

He lets out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I know. It's just... I hate being late.” He lets out another frustrated sigh as he gently pats the empty seat between the two of you. “Can you just come closer, please?”

“Why?” you ask, eyes narrowed down in suspicion as he somehow manages to pull you closer to himself, not that you would try to get out of the situation otherwise – with the amount of times you’ve found yourself suddenly sitting in Lewis’ lap, it’s almost as if you can’t get away from him when he’s next to you. “We can’t do anything,” you whisper in warning when you catch him giving you literal bedroom eyes.

Smirking at the anxious tone of your voice, he lets his hand wander down to your hip as he quickly manoeuvres you into his lap, despite all your warnings, and calls out to the driver loud enough for him to hear his voice, “Hey mate, can you pull up the partition, please?” You hear the sound of the partition going up as Lewis fiddles with the couple of the buttons on the door handle, and soon after you hear the faint sound of music playing in the car. He meets your eyes when you give him a funny look, silently asking him what he’s up to, but he responds with a faint smile as he rests his hand on your lower back.

Rolling your eyes at the antics of the driver sitting, literally, under you, you turn your attention back to the scenery outside the window. Going back to tracing the raindrops falling onto the glass window, you choose to focus on the outside view as best as you can, given the current position you’re in. Although you’ve warned him against it, Lewis’ hand on the lower of your back drawing circles into your skin gives you other ideas you would otherwise choose to ignore in a public setting.

“What are you up to, Lewis?” you ask, lips twitching in a need to smile as you do your best to supress it.

He grins, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark as he gives you an innocent shrug of his shoulder. “Just making the most of the situation, darling.”

Letting out a resigning sigh, you try to focus back on the rain outside, but with Lewis’ hand getting bolder on your lower back and the fact that you find yourself shuffling in your seat with every subtle movement of the car makes it almost impossible to focus on anything but him. Deciding to find out just how much you can get away with, you tilt your head back slightly, your lips hovering near his ear. “Are you trying to start a scandal, Mr. Hamilton?”

He chuckles, the vibrations from his laughter sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “I told you we'd make the most of it, didn't I?” Hid hand continues its teasing dance, eventually dipping lower and even under your dress, and you have to fight the urge to let out a moan at the feeling of his skin on yours. “We can make it into a challenge,” he offers, his voice low as he suggestively whispers on your skin, “see just how scandalous we can be in the back of a limo.”

“What if someone sees?” You mumble, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling.

His lips graze the curve of your neck, sending another shiver down your spine. “I thought you liked being watched, Peaches.” You can feel his lips curling into a smirk and a gasp leaves your lips as his hand grabs your thigh, making you shuffle closer to him as a result. “Is that a yes?” Your eyes glance over at the closed up partition, but you nod your head nevertheless, though that doesn’t necessarily satisfy the man beside you. “Words, darling.”

“Yes, please.” The words escape your mouth and your hands slide down his body to work on the zipper of his dress pants. He gives you an amused look as you pull his zipper down, and kneel on the floor between his legs as elegantly as you can given the current situation you’re in. You hear him say your name in warning, giving you a way out, even though he was teasing you about your voyeuristic tendencies – and you might’ve considered taking it, if it weren’t for the fact that having him in your mouth is the only thing you can focus on at the moment. So, instead of pulling yourself up on Lewis’ lap and let him have his way with you, you carefully take his cock out, making sure to keep your eyes fixed on his during the whole process.

Giving him a few gentle strokes, you lean forward to lick the first few drops of precum that drips out of the head of his cock. The hiss he lets out when you take the head of his cock between your lips and suck on it gently makes you smirk, and so you swirl your tongue around the tip to get another reaction out of him. With the way his left hand grabs the door, you know Lewis is trying so hard not to just grab you by your hair and guide you the way he wants to. Humming at the taste of him, you widen your lips to fit more of him in your mouth and wrap both hands around his cock to pump the rest of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth. As you slowly start bobbing your head up and down on his cock, the sounds leaving his mouth make you want to quicken up your pace, though you refrain from doing so. Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling so turned on by a mere sound of your boyfriend’s pleasure, but you can’t help yourself as you inadvertently rub your thigs together.

You continue the movements of your mouth, taking more of him every time you bob your head down, and Lewis gives in at some point, threading his hands through your hair and guiding you down until the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuck, Peaches,” his low groan sends tingles down your spine, “just like that.” He looks so beautiful, you think, with his head thrown back and eyes closed.

Your hands work together with your mouth, picking up speed when you realise you have him at your mercy like this – it even makes you wetter, and you feel the wetness between your legs. Your eyes water as a sudden move from Lewis thrusting his hips causes your gag reflex to remind you both that it is there, causing you to pull back with a huff and send a glare his way. But he apologises by caressing the apple of your cheek and easing you back onto his cock.

Your power move, however, doesn’t last long, as Lewis lets out a groan, pulling your head off of him and leaning forward to lift you onto his lap. It’s not necessarily intentional when you grind yourself against his cock, causing both of you to moan simultaneously. Your head is thrown back when you feel his lips gliding on your feverish skin, and you even let out a breathy laugh when your head lulls to the side and you see the handprints he’s left in the mirror. “Lewis,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low, suddenly very aware of the driver sitting in the front of the car, “if you don’t fuck me now, I think I might explode.”

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs, his hands on your hips lifting you up to position you over his cock. But you have other plans in mind. He lets out a breathy chuckle as you drag your lips over the skin of his neck, tracing his tattoos as you leave feverish kisses along the way. “What are you doing?” He asks, hands busying themselves to get you out of your underwear.

Nipping at his skin, which earns you Lewis squeezing your hip in warning in return, but you give him a pout as you pull back. “You didn’t let me finish you off, you impatient brute.”

“Brute?” He echoes, not able to stop himself from laughing at your choice of words, “Are you going to be a brat, hm?” He is more than happy to play along when you get into these moods, though he also knows how you can get when you don’t get something you want. So when you fix him with a glare of your own, he lets out a deep sigh as he wraps your hair around one of his hands and pull your head back to bare your neck to him. “And to think I thought you were going to be a good girl, I guess that’s my fault.”

The whine that leaves you would’ve been embarrassing if it weren’t for the fact that he has you in the in the palm of his hand. “It’s not fair,” another whine leaves you, and you attempt rolling your hips against his erection resting against you in between your legs, but before you can find a rhythm, he halts your movements by tugging on your hair again. Curling your fingers around his shirt, you huff a breath of annoyance, whining out his name. “I’ll be good,” you promise, and let out a relieved sigh when he lets go of your hair to give you more freedom to move; you thank him with a few kisses.

“I know you will.” Lewis mumbles, hands finding your underwear again, but he quickly becomes frustrated when he realises the position you’re in will make it hard for him to get you out of them. So, taking an executive decision, he decides to rip them off your body. He gives you a look when you whine at the loss of your favourite pair, and he tries to salve the situation with a promise of buying you another pair. When you feel him between your legs, without any barriers this time, he is not surprised to see your immediate reaction. Though Lewis enjoys when you take control, he is impatient as he raises your hips, despite all your protest, and positions you over his cock.

You only have a few moments to adjust when he eventually lowers you onto his cock, and the initial stretch has you gasping out his name. He gives you a few minutes to adjust before slowly starting to move your hips, each move making you take him deeper until he’s buried to the hilt in you. One of your hands is pressed to the window for support out of reflex, trying to keep still as he uses the grip he has on your hips to move you in the rhythm he wants. It matches the mood pretty well, you think, everything is rushed and the sounds of the traffic and the music playing surrounding you becomes muffled as the pleasure takes over your body. You have to physically stop yourself from screaming every time he slams you down on his cock, faster and harder each time, relentless as he watches your face contort with pleasure.

Trying your best to match his thrusts, you grind your clit on every down stroke, making him somehow go even deeper, and making you moan even louder. There is an arrogant smirk on his face that you would love to wipe off, but with the way he’s making you feel, you decide to get him away with it. Dragging your hands down his shirt, you suddenly feel offended by the fact that he is covering his chest, and decide to get him out of it. This plan would’ve worked better if it weren’t for the fact that you end up ripping the buttons rather than being gentler with it. Not that Lewis complains about it, since this is most definitely not the first time something like this has happened. Your hands work on their own as you glide them through the smooth skin, slightly damp due to the warm temperature of the car, but every contact with his skin seems to make you roll your hips faster and harder.

He has to close one of his hands over your mouth since the moans that leave you get considerably higher in volume with every waking second. His lips curl up in a smile as you silently beg him with your eyes, your movements becoming sloppier with every down stroke. “I’m going to remove my hand and help you come, but you’re going to be a good girl and keep quiet, okay?” His voice carries a warning tone, and you frantically nod, assuring him that you’ll follow his instructions.

Keeping true to his word Lewis takes away his hand, making you take a deep breath as he grabs your hips. His hold on your hips is bruising, and you’re certain you’ll have marks to remember tonight for a while – especially with the way he uses his hold to move you on his cock in a rhythm he wants to. It doesn’t take you a long time to feel the overwhelming pleasure starting to build up in your lower stomach. “Please,” you whine, nails biting into his skin as your other hand is splayed over the window for support, “I’m so close.”

“Come on,” Lewis encourages you, hands working you over his cock even faster to get you where you need to be, “give it to me, I got you.” And with him looking at you like that, using your body however he wants to? It doesn’t take long for you to feel yourself coming around him, head thrown back and lips parted in a silent scream. With a last thrust, you feel him also spill himself into you, the act being greatly intimate despite the current predicament you’re both in at that moment.

A sound of surprise leaves the back of your throat when he begins to move under you, positioning you to stand on all fours as he positions himself behind you. “Wha– What are you doing?” You ask, craning your neck to look at him with hazy eyes.

“Oh, Peaches,” he coos, one of his hands caressing your skin down your thighs and up towards your hip again, “did you think we were done? We still have a long way back to the hotel.”

“But, the club?” You find yourself asking, cheeks burning when he uses his finger to push the wetness dripping out of you back in.

“We were never going to make it to that club anyway,” Lewis drags his lips up your spine until he reaches your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck before whispering, “what do you think? Should we make the most out of the way back?”

Your eyes slide towards the handprints left on the window, the Paris lights shining through the streaks both of your handprints have left behind. Maybe under different circumstances you would’ve insisted you go to the club to meet with your friends. But at that moment? You instinctively push your hips back onto his, and feel his smile on your skin as he runs his hands through your body, ready for another round simply because you two can’t keep away from each other.

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mclastri · 2 months

Note

hi love ! i saw you were asking for sweet fluffy requests :) i was thinking maybe max v being just soft and like clingy with reader whenever they’re together ? in the paddock/garage, at dinner, partying with friends/other drivers - no matter where they are max just needs to have his hand on his girl 🫶

Cuddle Bug🐞

max verstappen x female reader

summary: wherever you are, max is sure to follow

warnings: tooth rotting fluff

a/n: soft max just 😖 thank you to everyone sending me in cute ideas im gonna work at them slowly and turn them into little blurbs.

If anyone knew you and Max as a couple, they’d say you’re like koalas, clinging to one another no matter where you were or where you went. It could be in the nightclub celebrating a win, Max would have his arms around you as he kissed your neck gently, keeping your back to his chest so he wouldn’t lose you in the crowd.

Or at a dinner with family, his hand finding solace on your knee or thigh, bringing your chair as close to his as possible allowing him to lean into you or vice versa. Max wanted to be as physically close to you as he possibly could.

You loved every second of it.

So it was no surprise when Christian walked into the garage to find his star driver, cuddled up with you along the back wall, no doubt whispering stupid jokes into your ear to make you laugh. It was a common occurrence, and half the time he didn’t have the heart to pull you two apart. If there was anyone perfect for the dutchman it was you, no doubt about it.

“Max, meeting in five alright?”

Keeping his arms wrapped around you he turned to nod, letting the team principle know he’d be there, even if it meant letting you go for the next hour and a bit.

“Stupid meetings….”

“Maxie…they’re part of your job..”

He groaned tucking his face into your neck

“Why can’t this be my job”

“What cuddling me?”

“Mhm”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped your lips, your hands rubbing his back gently to cheer up your now displeased boyfriend.

“I’m afraid this job doesn’t pay nearly enough my love…”

Max was quiet as he pulled back, taking your face in his hands as he looked at you as if you were the entire universe, and truth be told you were his.

“Getting to love you and hold you, is worth more than any amount of money in the world.”

He didn’t let you say anything back as he leaned down to capture your lips with his, effectively knocking you off his feet, before sending you a wink and walking off for the next little while, leaving you to entertain yourself.

Max was a man of many words, but the words he shared with you, would always be special…especially since they came from your cuddle bug of a boyfriend.

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mclastri · 2 months

Note

rehearsal crush + jelly = broken up

angst please ?

landoscar whose gf breaks up with them because she can’t handle the distance and they kinda are just like sick about it but oscar’s “if it’s meant to be it’ll be” attitude takes over lando too so they just don’t do anything about it and let her leave and it makes her even more upset that they didn’t TRY and fight for her

but happy ending

-🪼🪼🪼

jelly im so sorry ): if u wanna talk about it or rant, feel free to dm me 🫶🏻 im here for u if u need anything. i did Not Know how to end this im so sorry sjdkdmd im at work rn i hope this helps in some way ):

the only time it feels like she’s in a relationship is when they come to town between races. when they leave, she has to go back to real life and missing them. she hides it well, puts a smile on her face while she kisses them goodbye, then breaks down once they've walked out the door. there’s a weight on her chest that is only lifted when they’re around. they’ve never told her they feel the same, she thinks it’s because they still have each other so it’s not as bad. it makes her feel like she can’t tell them how badly she misses them, how crushing it is to see them go and know it’ll be a month until she sees them again.

she’s always been a physical person, she craves their touch more than anything. she misses the forehead kisses, having someone to hold hands with, a kiss and goodbye, i love you's when she's leaving for work. she wants to walk into a room and be able to crawl into her boyfriend's lap. to lay on oscar while she's binging her favorite shows. go on hikes with lando. it’s worse missing both of them. she misses waking up because oscar’s laying on top of her and lando’s asleep but still trying to pull her closer to him while oscar holds her in place underneath him, only to grumble and roll over so he’s on top of her too. she’d complain about the weight and the heat, but its so rare that she savors it. forces herself to stay awake as long as possible to relish in the feeling of them surrounding her. most of the time, she wakes up because she's cold and alone.

she feels pathetic when she gets jealous watching streams, she's envious of the press and drivers who see them every day. random people get to talk to her boyfriends more than she does. she's jealous of them every time they send her photos and videos together, whether it’s an innocent selfie or something meant to be watched alone and with headphones. she hates that it feels like she’s a girlfriend for one weekend a month and the rest of it, they’re boyfriends and she's someone they send a couple of texts to.

she starts thinking about breaking up when one of her friends gives her a hug and she breaks down because her shampoo smells like oscar’s and she wishes she could hug him. it's almost like hugging oscar, except she can't tuck her face into his neck and lean into him, his hands aren't pulling her closer, rubbing her back or petting her hair. there's no soft sigh as he rests his cheek on her head and no kiss on the top of her head when she pulls away. it feels like she's already been broken up with. like all the things she's missing, she's never going to experience again.

she tries to think about how it could work out. how they could see each other more. maybe they could all live together, and then there’d be less travel. if when they went home between races, she was home. she thinks about it, if she could pick up here life and move it. could she find another job in her field? what about her friends and family, here at home? would monaco feel like home when her boyfriends still aren't there most of the year? she'd lose what support system she has, have to build a new one. she would have to give up everything just to see them a few more times a year. she hasn't even been dating them for that long, not long enough to make plans for the future. they've been doing things a month at a time, planning dates where they can. she fell hard and fast, too fast now that she thinks about it. she shouldn't be contemplating flipping her life upside down just because of a boyfriend or two.

she doesn’t want to keep feeling like she’s drowning without them. she thinks she’ll get over them faster than she’ll be okay with missing them all the time. that in a few months, she could be over them and seeing someone new. someone who lives in her city, so she can see them regularly. have someone to text when she's lonely and have them come over and hold her. sure, it’s fun when they’re on break, and can spend all of their free time with her. when she can take off work to go on vacation with them. but it’s not so fun when she’s spending every night wishing they were back in bed with her, counting down the days until they would be. it takes her a week to draft the text in her notes. editing it every day, sending it to her closest friends to check.

i'm really sorry, but i can't do this anymore. the distance is too much, it doesn't feel like i'm in a relationship when you're always across the world on a different time zone. i can count the words we've spoken this week, and it's not even like, real talking. we had a few texts. good morning, good night, i love you. i need more than that. i shouldn't be doing this over text, i know, and i'm sorry for that, but there's no other way to do it. it's easier this way.

she tried adding more, explaining why, the hurt she feels. how she's thrown up from missing them, cried herself to sleep, she couldn't put it into words without feeling like she was trying to hurt them. she reads it back to herself and imagines oscar or lando sending her the same text and nearly throws up. deletes all the rough bits so they won't imagine her keeling over the toilet every morning, crying to her friends, crying alone in bed clutching a hoodie lando left behind. it feels unemotional after that. she can't even type out the words, to say i'm breaking up with you. to say goodbye.

lando sees the text first. he always reaches for his phone first thing in the morning, their groupchat is almost always still open when he unlocks it. he always sends a sweet message for their girl to wake up to or see the next time she checks her phone, if she's up already. this time, there's a text waiting. his hands start shaking instantly, he forgets how to breathe, everything hurts in a way he didn't know it could.

she sent it in the groupchat, an hour after their goodnight, i love you's. he shakes oscar awake after reading it two or three times, not believing the words are real until he's closed the app and reopened it only to see it's still there. he doesn't know what to do, what to think, what to say. it's been hours since she sent the text. it feels too late to respond, like it's done. oscar's confused and disoriented, he's never woken up like this before. lando's shaking him and crying and blubbering at him when he starts regaining consciousness. he thinks someone died. he can't understand lando's gasping, "she- fuck, oscar- i don't know what to do- oscar- what do we do?" he's acting like oscar should already know what he's talking about.

he sits up and grabs lando's cheeks in his hands, "breathe. calm down. what are you going on about?" a phone is pressed into his chest, a corner of it hits his sternum and he winces as he drops a hand to take it. it's lando's, unlocked with their group chat open. he reads the text with a blank face before collapsing back on the bed. bad dream. this is a nightmare. this isn't real. he pinches himself again and again. squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them, holds the phone in front of his face and the text is still there. he can't bring himself to check his own phone and read it there. it remains unread, unready to face the realization.

lando chokes out a sob next to him and collapses on top of him, "'s too late, osc. it's too late. we can't do anything- she's so far away. osc, i-i can't- i don't know what to do- please oscar." he clenches his jaw, tells himself he can't break down, lando needs him to be strong. he drops the phone, rather, throws it to a far corner of the bed, and wraps both arms around lando. "it'll be okay, i promise. if it's meant to be, it'll be." lando whines at his words, says something into his chest that oscar can't make out. he just squeezes lando tighter and pushes down the urge to scream, to break something. to book a flight and fly across the world and beg her not to do this.

it's already done. the text is too articulated. she planned this out. it wasn't one bad night. it was a string of bad nights, that she never told them about. they can't help her if she won't tell them something is wrong, if they don't know she needs help. he doesn't know if he believes his own words. he thinks it's meant to be, but he doesn't know how. he thinks about the stupid saying, if you love something, let it go. if it comes back to you, it's yours forever. if it doesn't, it was never meant to be. it keeps him from texting back and begging for her. she'll come back when she's ready. maybe if he doesn't respond, she'll take it back.

she expects them to fight for her. realistically, she knows she waited until they went to sleep, but still. maybe they couldn't fall asleep, they'd see it and talk her down instantly. she expects them to wake up and text back, begging her not to do this. offer to visit more, to fly her out more. to do anything to close the distance. she lets herself delude herself into thinking maybe they aren't responding because they took the first flight out to see her. the entire day, she waits for her phone to beep at her or to hear a knock on her door, but there's nothing.

she makes the mistake of checking a live broadcast the next day, media day. they look fine. no bags under their eyes, no tear splotchy cheeks. it could be makeup, but they laugh and joke with each other and other drivers. she tells herself it’s the right decision. they aren't even upset about it. they're just going about their days. part of her she wishes she could take it back. she wishes she didn't know this is how they felt, that she really was just a quick fuck between races. they couldn't even be bothered to respond and say, hey! it was fun while it lasted. she doesn't let herself watch anymore after that and deletes every app so she won't have to see the mclaren content her algorithms are so used to pumping her feed with.

in the days after, she feels lied to. like all of these months was nothing, every night they flew in to see her was just because they wanted something else to fuck. her friends tell her it's not true, that they're probably just being respectful and giving her space. one of them says if she'd gotten that text, she wouldn't have replied either. she knows she wouldn't either when she rereads it to herself. she wants to ask, why didn't any of you tell me not to send it? why were they all so supportive of me blowing up my relationship?

after a few weeks of thinking like that, she breaks and looks at the championship rankings, looks at their scores for the last races. she feels a pang in her stomach when they're not having a great season, sometimes finishing in the points but not getting into the top five in any race since. she gets curious, wonders if it's the car or the driver. makes the mistake of watching post race interviews and hearing them talk about how the car was doing great but they couldn't get the full potential out of it. lando's beating himself up too much about it, oscar's giving him sad looks constantly. maybe it is bothering them and they're just showing it differently. she bans herself from checking again. it's none of her business. they're not her boyfriends anymore.

she comes to realize she didn't mind the distance. she misses the few texts they shared, misses watching races and cheering on her boys. the short phone calls after where she congratulates them. waiting around until they made it back to their hotel even if it meant she would only get a few hours of sleep before work. she misses them coming in once a month to see her.

she feels stupid for not telling them how she felt sooner. she wishes she'd worded the text differently, that she'd told them how she felt and they listened and helped. she thinks about reaching out, to apologize, to say she wasn't thinking right, ask for another chance. she doesn't deserve one.

summer break rolls around and though she's still sad about it, she's not crying anymore. she's given up any idea of ever seeing them again and resigns herself to telling her grandkids about the time she dated two racecar drivers. she's just cleaned and rearranged her entire apartment to make herself feel something. the living room is flipped around, she bought a new tv stand and some new pictures to hang. got some funky lamps for mood lighting. she redoes her bedroom too, gets a new bedroom set at an antique sale and pays the seller's sons to move it because she doesn't have a truck. they even help carry out her old furniture and set up the new. even the dining room is redone, a friend got a new dining table and she swapped her friend's old one out for her own. it didn't fit anything else in her apartment and she'd had it since college, it was time to go.

she's almost feeling good. it's a little weird walking into her apartment and feeling like she walked into the wrong one, but in a good way. it feels like a fresh start in a way. she doesn't walk in and imagine lando and oscar on her sofa because the tv is in the place they used to sit. they've never been in her "new" bedroom, never sat on the new mattress she ordered. never showered under her new showerhead. she hid all of their gifts and the things they'd left behind in a box in her guest room closet, so the reminders of them are gone.

they're gone, until she wakes up to banging on her door in the middle of the night. she thinks someone is breaking in at first, when the banging stops suddenly. the silence is deafening, she's waiting to hear someone trying to open it, pick the lock or break a window to get in. instead, her phone buzzes on her night stand. she picks it up and feels her stomach drop.

oscar: i'm sorry it's late. i hope you haven't moved, because i've been banging on your door for five minutes.

why is he here? is lando here too? where is he? why isn't he here? what's happening? what do i do? a million questions run through her head at once and she freezes up. she thinks about pretending to be asleep. that she moved, that the knocking didn't wake her and she never saw the text. maybe she changed her number and moved. she could pretend. it would be easier, probably.

she thinks about it for too long, then realizes oscar's probably left. the text was sent six minutes ago. the thought sends her into a panic. she can't lose him again. she slips in her rush to get out of bed, curses herself for not buying a new rug to match her new bedding yet when her socks hit slippery hard wood floors and she slips, barely catching herself on the bed. she scrambles out of her bedroom, down the hall, barly skidding to a stop before she fumbles for the deadbolt and swings the door open.

he's still there. hands stuffed in his pocket, hair mussed from travel, probably. she can see his adams apple bob when he swallows and they both freeze, like they're on stage and both forgot their lines. she can smell his cologne and it makes her dizzy. it's like walking by a display in a store and knowing you smelled that smell on your third grade field trip to the local science museum. it's been so long that it feels foreign but you can place it exactly. they both stand there, staring, like they can't believe they're really seeing each other.

he opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. he lets out a sigh, "can i come in?"

she blinks, twice, before stepping aside and nodding. she watches his face as he steps inside and looks around. he takes his time taking everything in, his eyes scanning through the archway into the living room. she left her lamps on, so the room is lit by hot pink in one corner, lime green in the next, and blue in the next. it lights his face up in a pretty way, like the lights at the track do, or in a club. she's not sure what to do, so she offers a drink to give herself something to do. "cocoa?" the word feels weird in her mouth. it's only two syllables but her tongue feels thick and even that is hard. he doesn't look at her or say anything, just gives a nod. his hair flutters and she longs to run her hands through it. he does it, pushing the hair off his forehead. it makes her want to do it even more.

she side steps him and is grateful when she doesn't hear his footsteps follow her into the kitchen. would you blame her if she took as long as possible to make the drinks? she could do it faster. she's mastered the art of making hot chocolate every way possible. she has the powder mix for when she's lazy, and knows how to make it taste just as rich as the real thing. she also has expensive chocolate that will take longer to melt down than a powder will take to stir into milk. it's been her guilty pleasure since she broke things off, it feels chopping it up to give to oscar. it helped her though, so maybe it'll help now.

she wonders what he's doing, if he's still standing there or if he moved. if he sat on the couch in it's new spot, or if he's looking at the new wall hangings. if he can hear her chopping on the cutting board, setting things on the stove, getting the mugs out. she wonders if he's grateful for the time to think, too. she needs it considering she didn't know he was showing up. she didn't have time to prepare, but that's better, she would have overthought everything. she runs her fingers through her hair a few times to comb out any tangles and splashes some water on her face to clear her head a bit.

she's going to make the best hot chocolate he's ever had. she's going to put more effort into this mug of hot chocolate than any other. she believes melting the chocolate before adding it to the milk makes it better, so she sets up a double boiler on one burner and milk on another to melt the chocolate while the milk warms. once the chocolate is silky smooth and the milk is at an even 180 degrees, she mixes them. she takes her time whisking it together, occasionally swiping a finger across the whisk to taste it.

she's just biding her time. she chose what she's pretty sure is oscar's favorite mug, an orange one with a kangaroo inside. she bought it at a thrift store long before they met. when you finish your drink, there's a sculpted kangaroo sitting inside, like a little surprise. she likes serving people drinks in it and seeing their confusion, thinking something is in their drink before she says it's part of the mug. they finish their drink and coo at what's inside. oscar's reaction was her favorite; he asked where she got it and said he had to have one. she had no clue where it was from and offered it to him on the spot, and he sheepishly shook his head, "no, just use it when 'm here."

she hid it at the back of the cabinet, every morning she'd reach for it out of habit then get sad when she remembered oscar liked it. hiding it meant she didn't reach for it and get sad. tonight, she had to push all her other mugs out of the way and check it for dust so oscar could use it. at one point, she wished he'd taken it so she wouldn't have to see the reminder. now, she's glad she still has it so she has some common ground to latch onto.

she finds him in the living room, tucked into end corner of the couch, right next to the pink light. "sorry it took so long, i used the good chocolate." she mutters as she offers him the mug and sits in the middle of the couch, a safe distance away. she sets her own mug down on the table, a light blue one with a duck on the outside. she wants to crawl into his lap, say she's sorry, she's so happy to see him. that's not her place anymore, and she doesn't know why he's here. maybe he just wants their hoodies back.

he stares at the mug, wraps both his hands around it and she wishes he'd set it down and tuck his hands under her shirt to warm them like she used to. she can't read his expression when he counters, "i would have taken swiss miss." she doesn't know how to take that. is he saying she shouldn't have put in the effort, or he would be happy with anything she gives him?

she quirks a smile, "i thought you deserved the good stuff."

he hums, and lifts the mug up, "will i burn my mouth if i try to drink this now?" she blinks. he trusts her not to hurt him.

"i wouldn't. i just took it off the burner, i bet you'd see steam if the marshmallows weren't blocking it." his lips turn up in the smallest smile for just a moment and he sets it down next to hers. she keeps her eyes on the mugs as he sits back and suddenly shifts the conversation, "i'm sorry for just showing up. i was going to text but i was scared you would tell me not to."

she tries not to make a face but she winces. "you have nothing to apologize for, you haven't done anything wrong. and for what it's worth, i'm glad you showed up." she hopes it’s the right thing to say. she isn’t sure why she’s here and she doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

there's a soft touch on her arm and she almost flinches before she remember it's just oscar. his voice is soft just as soft as his touch, "you haven't either." his hand curls around her bicep and he tugs lightly. she immediately scoots closer and he pulls her into his side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “we should have reached out, should have shown up sooner. there's not-" he lets out a sigh, she feels him shift her and he squeezes her softly. “the distance, it's hard. we've been doing this a long time, we're used to not seeing our family more than one week a year. you haven't had that, never done this before. you don't know how to deal with it, but if you don't tell us you're struggling, we can't help."

he squeezes her shoulder and she leans into him, "i know. i just- it didn't feel like it would do any good. not like i could text you and you'd be here in an hour."

he shakes his head in the corner of her eye and grumbles, "no, but we would have found time to call you, found a way to come see you sooner. hell, if you could get off work we'd fly you out. fuck, that's not even the problem. why didn't you feel like you could tell us how you were feeling?"

there's a burning sensation that signals tears are coming, and her throat is tightening. she pushes the tears back and forces the words out, "i was scared, that i was the only one feeling like this. you have each other, why would you miss me? i don't have anyone."

oscar lets out a weak sound and pulls her closer, not close enough for her. she wants to be pressed against him in every way. "i'm sorry we made you feel that way. we have each other, yeah, but half the time, all we do is talk about you. missing you. i made lando buy the same shampoo so he’d smell like you. practically had to wash my drool out of his hair every morning.” as if for emphasis, he presses his cheek to her head and sniffs. “could pick you out from a blind test.”

she can't help the breathy laugh that escapes her, "really? you missed me that much? why didn't you tell me?"

oscar nods, "i didn't know you needed to hear it. i thought we were fine. i don't know if there were signs we missed or maybe, you kept it to yourself. it's not an excuse, but we're used to missing people, we can't change that, so we look forward to the next time we see you. sometimes, we're so busy, we don't have time to think about how much it hurts.”

she huffs, "i had too much time to think about how much it hurts."

oscar squeezes her to his side again, then huffs, "take a hint would you? get closer."

her heart thuds in her chest, "closer?"

he laughs a little, the air hits her cheek. "yes, closer. been trying to hold you, but you won't move."

immediately, she throws herself onto his lap, wedging a leg between his and the arm of her sofa so she can straddle him. it feels so good just to have someone close, and oscar feels like coming home. his cologne is the same, she can tell it’s been hours since he applied it, likely just before shoving it in his suitcase, but it lingers on him. he smells a bit like the airport, too, and she wonders how long it took him to get here. where he flew from, when he booked the ticket. it doesn’t really matter.

he’s filled out more through the season, his body is hard under her and she can’t tell if he’s tense or if it’s just hard muscle from lots of training. “i’m really sorry you were hurting. do you think, we could try this again? could you tell us, before it gets too much?”

she curls a hand around his bicep and sighs, "yes, god, i missed you so much. i'm really sorry, i should have said something. i- i would have taken it back, if you had said something, neither of you reached out. i didn't think you wanted me to.”

she can feel the rumbling in his chest against hers when he replies, it tingles her cheek where it’s pressed against his throat. "we didn't think you wanted us to. it felt planned out, i figured you wanted space. i thought you’d come to us when you were ready. lando tried to- i stopped him.” her heart almost shatters. she squeezes her eyes shut and forces back the tears. she can’t cry on him right now. “i was scared too, didn’t want him to find out he was blocked or something. i couldn’t- i didn’t know what to do. i didn’t want him to get hurt again.”

"space is the last thing i wanted." she whispers against his neck. at the mention of him hurting, her stomach twists into tight knots. she'd assumed they were fine. "is lando okay? why isn't he here?"

oscar stiffens under for, just for a moment, before relaxing, "yeah, he'll be okay, if we're gonna be okay. he’s in a hotel, didn't think you'd want to see him. didn't want to face the rejection."

a whimper slips out, "i didn't mean to make him feel like that. all i want is to see him. i should have said something sooner, before it was too much. i'm sorry."

oscar rubs her back softly, and, “we’re sorry too. we’ll do better this time, find more time to see you. reach out more. you gotta do the same, though. and let us know when you need us to be there for you.”

she nods against him, “i promise, i will. can you-“

“we’ll do the same. i’ll text you when i make lando wash his hair with your shampoo, and when i wake up because he’s talking in his sleep and he’s dreaming about you. make lando text you too. he’ll probably complain that i sleep on him when he smells like you and he prefers being the big spoon.”

she lets out a breath of air, almost a laugh but not quite, “i was gonna say, can you call lando? thank you for that though, it means a lot.”

oscar presses his face into her hair, mumbling, “you could call him, y’know? he’d probably love that.”

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mclastri · 2 months

Text

for you,

🌷🌸🌷🌸

🌸🌷🌸🌷🌸

/ᐠ🌷🌸🌷🌸🌷

( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ🌷🌸🌷

\ つ \ /

U U / 🎀 \

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mclastri · 2 months

Text

hi guys i feel so weird posting this here but my best friend’s cat has been throwing up blood n they’re at the vet rn and it is super expensive so they started a gofundme for his medical bills, they’re still doing tests and aren’t sure what is wrong with him. i’m not expecting anyone to donate i just wanted to share it for her <33 reblogs n shares are really appreciated but feel free to ignore

if you are able to donate at all, thank you so so so much it means the world to me and hayley <33

https://gofund.me/2d01b935

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mclastri · 2 months

Text

sweet dreams

Summary: Oscar getting a lot of head.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni. some degrading language, blow jobs, face fucking. balls briefly in mouth.

Author’s note: hi. here’s this. enjoy. sorry for typos or other mistakes i am tired.

She's been itching for him all day, and he’s been in meetings all day. He was gone before she woke, he didn’t even wake her for a goodbye kiss before he left. She woke hours after he left and found a note on the fridge, morning baby! there’s a pastry on the counter for you, we have a lot of meetings today so i’m not sure when i’ll be home. xx

She plucks the note off the fridge and retreats back to their bedroom, flopping on the bed before grabbing her phone from the nightstand.

osc

baby

when are you gonna be home?

Oscar's phone buzzes in his pocket and he jumps in his seat. After glancing around to check that no one noticed his startling, he slides it out under the table. He feels his stomach flutter at his girlfriend’s contact on the screen and he clicks on the new texts.

morning honey

are you you hungry? i got you a pastry

Her nose scrunches at the mention. He drove all the way to get her breakfast when they could have had a quickie. He's so kind and thoughtful it’s infuriating.

no. i’m horny and you aren’t here.

i wanted your cock in my mouth as soon as i woke up

rolled over, reached for you. and you weren’t there ):

i’m so wet for you right now, i’m literally dripping.

Her left hand drifts between her thighs and she whines at the feeling. she was exaggerating for dramatic effect but she’s not wrong. Her thighs are sticky and she barely has to ghost her fingers through her lips before they’re coated.

The first text comes through right after he hits send. his phone buzzes in his hand and he glances down, nearly choking on the breath he’s taking as the next text comes through, followed by two more in quick succession. his cock twitches in his jeans when he reads the last one and he grits his teeth.

nows not a good time, i’m in a meeting

She rolls her eyes. she knows that, it doesn’t change anything.

when are you going to be home?

i have two more meetings. expected time is 45 each. could be longer or shorter, depending.

A sigh leaves her and her pussy throbs under her fingers. She lifts the coated digits to her lips and pulls them inside, sucking them clean. she can almost pretend they’re oscar’s instead of hers so she leaves them, swirling her tongue around her fingers to try to sate the craving she has for him.

can’t you fake sick? i could suck your cock three times in that time

jesus christ.

you really are horny huh

sorry, ill try to be quick

It’s a pointless claim, there’s nothing he can do to speed it along unless he agrees to everything, and that could end up with more meetings in the future because he gave the wrong input because he was rushing. She bites her finger tips as her thumb fumbles across the keyboard, checking for typos before sending the next string of texts.

do you wanna know what i dreamed about?

i was sucking your cock for eternity

you know that dreamy feeling? where you know you’re gonna be there forever? like it’s heaven?

it was like that, and i was sucking you off. i lost track of how many times you came, but i swallowed it all

honestly impressed with dream me

i think i grew gills because i didn’t have to stop and breathe once

who needs air? not dream me

anyways.. i really wanna suck you off for eternity but that’s not possible so i’ll take as many times as i can get

and the sooner you get home. the more i can suck you off

After a few minutes of no response, she gets bored. It's no fun sexting when they aren’t sexting back. She rolls onto her stomach and presses her cheek into the pillow. She’ll go back to sleep until he’s home, maybe she’ll keep dreaming about his cock and when she wakes up, he’ll be home.

Oscar can hear the blood rushing through him as he reads the texts coming through, the chatter of his bosses and team members around him fading into nothing. His cock throbs in his jeans and he backs out of the chain of messages as soon as he reads, sucking your cock for eternity. He presses it face down in his lap and stifles a groan when it vibrates directly on his cock. He slides it down his thigh then tucks it underneath his leg. It’s muffled between the weight of his thigh and the plush cushion but the vibrations don’t stop tickling the back of his thigh for a minute.

When someone prompts him, he lets out a weak sound and squeezes his eyes shut, “I’m sorry, i was thinking about the brakes last race.” It's the worst excuse he can manage and brings on more questions.

Someone immediately curses, “Was something wrong? Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

He shakes his head quickly, cheeks flaming red, “No! They were good! I was thinking we had a good balance and should keep that in mind and I just got stuck. My brain is kind of mush right now.”

Lando lets out a noise of agreement next to him and he’s suddenly reminded of his teammate’s presence. “Yeah, same. I missed the last five minutes.”

Andrea nods, “Well, I think we can finish this next bit up without you guys. get some sleep, come in with a clear head tomorrow." They both nod thankfully and Oscar takes a look around the room and feels a bit guilty that they’re being let go early because they can’t focus. He sees Lando stretching from the corner of his eye and suddenly can feel the tension in his muscles from sitting in the same office chair all day. Even if it’s cushy and expensive and comfortable as hell, sitting in one position all day kills his body. He does one better and stretches as he stands, reaching above his head and groaning softly as his muscles finally feel some relief they didn’t know they needed.

If he had a tail it’d be wagging. He’d be chasing it around the room. He's never been so relieved to hear those words. He turns to grab his phone from the chair and swipes it up before another text can come through. He's opening the text thread again as he walks out of the mtc, casting a quick glance over his shoulder before he unlocks his phone. Each one feels like a punch to the gut, his mind going thick as he rereads them. He starts typing out a text that he’s coming home, but he erases it. she can wait until he gets home.

She’d barely fallen asleep when she’s harshly woken by someone yanking her to the edge of her bed. A grumble leaves her throat as she tries and fails to pull her legs back up, to curl into herself and fall back asleep. The hold on her ankles is solid though and she gives up after a single pull. There’s not a care in the world about who’s touching her, Oscar almost laughs at the thought. Oscar's voice immediately rouses her, though, when he commands, “Sit up.”

She jolts up, rubbing her eyes and sighing, “Opie, you’re home.” She drops her hands to her lap and looks up at him with glossy eyes. He’s already stripped down to his boxers, she can see the bulge he’s sporting and it makes her mouth water. He looks into her eyes for a moment before glancing down her body, down the little nightgown that was forced up her body when he pulled her down. It slumped back down on her hips when she sat up, but he can still get a peek at her cunt and it’s just as she described. “On your knees. on the ground.” His voice is sharper than usual and it buzzes in her ears, sending a shiver down her spine.

He releases her ankles as she slides off the bed in front of him, clasping her hands behind her back obediently. “Like this?”

He nods, “Just like that. Open your mouth.” She blinks up at him and does so, tilting her head back for him. She’s not sure what he wants, his cock isn’t out yet, so that’s not-

She flinches as a glob of spit lands on her tongue and he says, “Swallow it.'' Without a moment's hesitation, she does so and lets her mouth fall back open to show him it’s gone. He smirks and lets out a huff of air. “You’re fucking filthy. went right back to fucking sleep, did you? Couldn’t have the real thing so you went to your little dream land.”

Her brain is still foggy with sleep but the words float through the clouds like rays of sunshine. She nods up at him, “Thought you weren’t gonna be home for awhile.”

He gives her a soft smile and tuts, “I’m home now, aren’t I? Why don’t you give me a warm welcome?” Oscar pushes his boxers down and kicks them aside, she instinctively reaches and he shakes his head and she freezes, “No touching, unless you need to tap my thigh for me to stop, okay? Keep them behind your back.” She whines at his words but complies, licking her lips before dropping her mouth back open. She's not sure what to expect, but she’s happy to take anything he’ll give her.

Oscar steps closer and curls a hand in her hair, wrapping the other around his cock. He taps it against her tongue, “Show me what you dreamed about.” A contented murmur bubbles up from the back of her throat at the taste of him hitting her taste buds and she flicks her tongue across the head before wrapping her lips around the tip. She swirls her tongue and sucks softly before flattening her tongue and taking more of him into her mouth.

The head of his cock hits the back of her throat and she lets out a noise as she forces her throat to relax so she can take more of him. He pets her head softly as she bobs her head, taking more each time. The soft grunts he’s letting out make her clit throb and if he hadn’t already told her to keep her hands behind her back, she’d be reaching between her legs. Her eyes flutter shut as she moans around him, squeezing her hands into fists to will herself to take more, to take all of him.

“This is what you wanted?” Oscar's voice makes her eyes pop open, low and thick like molasses. She blinks up at him twice. Yes. He licks his lips and lets his head fall back as a moan tumbles out, then drops his head back down. “All day? That’s what you want?” Two more slow blinks. yes again. He cups her face and strokes his thumb over her hollowed cheek as he coos, “I’m gonna fuck your mouth now. Did you dream about that?” She blinks quickly this time, yes, before he even finishes the question. Just before he thrusts, she taps his thigh and pulls off with a gasp.

She presses her forehead to his thigh and he can feel her quick breaths all over it, hot and steamy on his skin. After a moment, she sits back and nods, “Okay, ‘m ready. I just wanted a breather so I could last longer.” Oscar could come just from the fucking words she’s speaking. Pacing herself to suck his cock? Jesus Fucking Christ. He taps his cock against her lips, pressing into the warmth as soon as she parts her lips for him. A shudder runs through him as she sucks on the tip and her eyes flutter shut like she’s enjoying it.

He pushes the hand cupping her cheek back into her hair and curls it into a fist, sighing at the softness between his fingers. his hips jut forward to test the waters and she presses her tongue to his cock as if to urge him. Oscar works his cock into her mouth with slow steady strokes until he’s buried in her throat. He moans as she swallows around him and he pushes further into her mouth. A shiver courses through him when she gasps for air through her nose, cool air hitting the part of cock that hasn’t made it into her mouth yet.

He suddenly pulls out until just the head is inside, she takes the moment to suck on the head before he gives another thrust. “My pretty girl, so eager to suck my cock.” He teases as his cock hits the back of her throat again. She can feel a different fog taking over her brain, much better than the sleepy dreamy fog she’d been in. She’d pinched her own ass when Oscar told her to get on her knees, half convinced this was a hyper realistic dream. No. Her boyfriend really did just come home early minutes after she fell asleep. And now she has what she wants, his cock down her throat, drool down her chin and what will likely become an ache in her jaw.

She blinks her eyes open to look up at oscar as he slowly fucks her throat, not even fully fucking her throat. His head is tossed back and he’s letting out soft moans every few thrusts. She feels like she’s being teased in a way, but she’s not going to, nor can she, complain. She lets her eyes flutter shut again and moans around him, rubbing her tongue against the underside of his cock.

Oscar tells himself not to over do it yet, he doesn’t want her jaw aching or her throat sore this early in the day. Not when he has plans to be in it all day like she wants. He gives another slow thrust and moans, pulling back until just the head remains tucked between her lips. she flutters her eyes open when he doesn’t move. The look in her eyes really does it for him. “Make me cum.” She blinks twice up at the orders and begins bobbing her head again, moaning when she feels his cock throbbing against her tongue. His hand tightens in her hair, his abs contract and his hips jerk forward as his orgasm hits. A string of praises and curses mixed with her name tumble from his lips as she swallows him down until he tugs harshly at her hair. She flops back and leans into the bed, gasping for air.

Out of habit, she raises her hand to wipe the drool from her chin and then feels it down her neck and gives up before she starts, the back of her hand would be no help. Oscar seems to have the same thought process because before she’s even realized what he’s doing, he’s grabbed his shirt from the ground and is crouching in front of her, wiping her clean.

An hour later, she’s had three orgasms and they’ve had a shower. Oscar has her on the edge of the bed with her head hanging off. “You sure this is okay?” She nods eagerly, opening her mouth to agree, but he stops her. “You told me about the dream. I’m convinced. Just triple checking.”

She reaches out to brush one of the freckles on his hips, “I love you for that.” She lets her mouth fall open after the profession and he repeats it back to her as he pushes his cock back into her mouth. It’s different than usual, her tongue is pressed to the top of his cock when normally, on her knees, it’s the underside. It feels a bit neglected now that she’s rubbing her tongue along it as he presses into her throat. A moan punches its way out of his throat when she gags around his cock, he jerks his hips back as an apology.

The hand on his hip squeezes as if to say it’s okay and he presses forward again. Oscar works up a quick pace, marveling at the sight of his cock in her throat. For God’s sake, why hadn’t they done this before? Everything about it is incredible. The feel of her mouth, her throat, the angle, the sight of her naked and spread out on the bed. He should get a mirror to put opposite him so he can fuck her throat and watch her touch herself.

Oscar comes suddenly, hips stuttering as he watches her press her fingers into her pussy, thrusting them a few times then waving them at him teasingly. It’s like she read his fucking mind. He plants a hand next to her shoulder on the mattress as his orgasm rocks through him and his hips jerk into her mouth. She swallows it all, sucking at his cock and petting his hip until he’s suddenly oversensitive and backs away with a grunt. It’s funny watching him stumble back from her upside down angle, bring his hands up to rub his face as he groans, “Fuck. Movie?”

She lets out a raspy giggle and rolls over, “If you carry me.” He steps back towards the bed and she pushes herself up onto her knees and makes grabby hands. Her hands wrap around Oscar's neck as he hooks his hands under her thighs and lifts her up around him, crossing her legs around him. He can feel her slick coating his abdomen as he walks and his cock is already perking up for another go.

They don’t even finish the movie before Oscar pushes her down between his legs for another go, telling her to suck him off while he watches the movie. She’s happy to do it at first, and then he actually goes back to watching the movie and hasn’t looked at her or said anything in the ten minutes since she got her mouth on him. The only sign that he’s even interested in what she’s doing is the way his chest rapidly rises and falls, or his cock occasionally twitches and spills precum into her mouth.

She's determined to make him lose focus. Each time she peeks up at him, he still has his arms folded behind his head, head turned with his cheek pressed to his bicep so he can see the tv. She pulls off his cock and spits on the head to get a reaction out of him, but he doesn’t spare her a glance as she strokes her thumb over the tip and spreads her spit along his length. when he doesn’t react to that, she licks from the base to the head, sucking on the tip when she reaches it. His thighs twitch and she can see his lashes flutter, but he doesn’t look at her or say anything.

She bites back a whine and goes lower, sucking softly on his balls as she strokes his cock. He lets a little noise slip and she continues, taking the rest into her mouth. As soon as she does it, he’s jerking his head down to look at her while a shocked moan falls from his lips. She bats her eyelashes up at him before pulling away, “Why wouldn’t you look at me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, “Trying not to cum. That did not help.”

She whines and squeezes his thigh with her free hand, “Kinda the point?”

He pops his eyes open, “Not if it takes two minutes.”

She swipes her tongue out over her lower lip and sucks it between her teeth momentarily. “You make me cum in two minutes.”

He shakes his head, “It’s different. You can have a few back to back, I've gotta wait a bit. Plus, I could cum in two minutes anytime with my hand and a photo of you, no offense to your mouth, but that’s my record on you.”

She nibbles on her lower lip, “I think you should cum.” At the same time she says it, she begins flicking her wrist faster.

He juts his hips up, “Thought you were gonna swallow everything?” In lieu of responding, she dips her head back down and wraps her lips around the tip. She swirls her tongue around it twice, goes for a third swirl and he lets out a low moan as his body shudders under her and he spills into her mouth for a third time. She keeps her eyes locked with his as she swallows him down, challenging him to look away from her again. He does as a final spurt of cum coats her tongue, pressing his head back and gasping her name. she pulls away from his cock with a pop and wipes her hand on the throw blanket half wrapped around them.

He’s still twitchy under her as she climbs up his body and presses a kiss to his lips, sucking softly on his lower lip. He sighs against her lips and presses back, pulling a hand from behind his head to cup the back of hers and hold her there as he licks into her mouth. Oscar can’t help but moan when he tastes himself on her, but wants to taste her. “Swap places?” He murmurs into the kiss, sliding his hand down her back and around her thigh for leverage to flip them over on the sofa.

The movie was never finished, they fell asleep shortly after trading orgasms. she wakes first, the afternoon sun peeking through the open blinds burning through her eyelids. It was nice to open them in the mornings and let in natural light, not too nice to wake up to. She turns her head away from the windows and presses her cheek into the pillow, willing herself to fall back asleep. Oscar's sleeping on her and the weight is so comfortable and warm she never wants to leave. Her bladder has other plans. she succeeds in slipping away from him without waking him and tip toes to the bathroom.

When she returns, Oscar's sitting up on the couch. “My pillow grew legs and walked away,” he grumbles, the lines from her shirt pressed into his cheek. She rejoins him, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

She presses a kiss to the tip of his nose as she curls her fingers through the back of his hair. “Your pillow is back now, had to take a bathroom break,” she teases.

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder. “Hate waking up without you. ‘specially when i fell asleep holding you.” His words move through her like notes of a song and she coos. “You keep saying things like that i’m gonna fall in love with you.”

A disgruntled noise leaves his throat and he pulls back to look at her, “And here I was, thinking you already were.”

She giggles, soft and sweet and rubs her nose against his as she agrees, “I fall more in love with you every day.” She doesn’t think truer words have ever been spoken, at least from her lips.

“You keep saying things like that i’m gonna fall in love with you.” he hums, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, then to her cheeks, forehead, and nose. It sends butterflies shooting around her stomach and she forces back the urge to smile like an idiot.

She ignores the lovesick feeling and teases, “I suck your dick so much, you have no choice but to be in love with me.” Her words make him snort.

Oscar nods in agreement, “I would stay for the blowjobs, if nothing else.”

She bats at his chest and gasps, “You’re supposed to say, no I love you for other things.”

A wicked grin takes over his features and he squeezes her hips, “Oh, trust me, I love you for other things. Your pussy for example-” She presses her lips to her mouth to shut him up, he breaks the kiss immediately with a loud laugh, tilting his head back. She should have expected it really, after she made the blowjob joke. Oscar slows his laughter and sighs, “I really do love you, every little thing about you.“

She presses a kiss to his chin, “Ditto, Opie.”

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mclastri · 2 months

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chaotic texts - lando norris

reader x lando norris texts, except they’re crazy (pt. 3)

pt. 1 pt. 2

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mclastri · 2 months

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As Bad As It Can Be - LN

Request from @sugarvibez - Hi honey how are you!!! Really hope you're doing well!!! So recently I've been getting alot of panic attacks like they are getting more frequent now and i have no idea why and like I just start crying out of nowhere and I don't have any control over it as well. So i just wanted to request a fic where the reader goes through it with lando

Important side note: If anyone has advice for handling panic attacks and maybe methods of how to try and minimise them, please reply with advice. it would be incredibly helpful to @sugarvibez and I want to help as much as I can. Also disclaimer: I did google methods of how to help with panic attacks in order to write this. I'm so sorry if you read it and think "yeah bitch that doesn't work irl". I just don't struggle with them so I can only go off of what I know and what I research

Lando didn't sign up for this. He didn't sign up for his girlfriend to be a burden on him. At least that's how she feels.

On his side, he doesn't think twice about helping her through her panic attacks which seem to have been on the rise in frequency. All he wants to do is make it all go away for her.

It's seems to be getting worse and he's trying to figure out ways to help because it's almost as if her upset over the fact she's having more panic attacks is in turn a cause for more panic attacks. A vicious cycle if there's ever been one.

Initially y/n tried to hide it from Lando but when he caught onto her disappearances. Now he's almost got a sixth sense. Even if she's not in the room he's suddenly got an internal pull towards her. When she is with him, he'll drop everything to take care of her and help however he can.

"What are you doing?" Y/n asks makingLando almost jump and look up at her quickly.

"Me?"

"Lando." Y/n deadpans making him look at her for a moment.

"I was...looking at ways that I might be able to help with the panic attacks better." Lando sighs making y/n frown, struck with emotions she wasn't expecting to feel when she asked what he was doing. "No. Baby, don't cry."

"But you don't have to do that." Y/n sniffles earning a small sad expression before he pulls her down to his lap with a sigh.

"Y/n, I want to help you. I love you, why would I want to see you keep struggling like this? It makes me sad knowing you're struggling so much-it's not your fault but if I can help to make your life easier than I'm going to do it. Even if you think I don't have to." Lando smiles then kissing her temple.

"What did you find then?"

"Mmm...not much that we're not already doing. They just sort of said breathing exercises, try to get you away from crowds if there's a lot of people around. There is something called grounding techniques...that might help? But I need to look into them a bit more."

Y/n hums making Lando smile sadly at her.

"We'll figure it out. Don't worry." Lando smiles then squeezing her in a hug.

The worst time for y/n to get panic attacks is when Lando is out on track. She always has to try and get herself away as quickly as possible.

"Y/n?" Jon frowns watching her look pale and clammy as she stumbles away.

He knows not to follow, Lando might be helpful but Jon doesn't bring her nearly as much comfort so it's better to just let her get some space on her own.

When Lando steps out from qualifying. Jon doesn't reach him fast enough to catch him before media. But he does catch him the second he's out the media pen.

"Hey, mate. I think y/n had a panic attack while you were out on track. She took off, I didn't want to follow and maybe make things worse."

"Fuck, ok. Thank you." Lando sighs moving quickly to jog through the paddock. Dodging media and even a couple fans to rush to y/n.

Where he finds her she's being fed by some stray McLaren team members who must've found her post-panic attack and tried to get her to eat to help her calm down.

There's tear stains, and her eyes are puffy, her hair is disheveled from her repeatedly running her hand through it to try and calm herself down.

"How bad?" Lando asks softly, pulling a seat up to sit next to her.

"I don't really want to talk about it." Y/n murmurs earning a small nod from the driver. "What did you qualify?"

"P3."

"Really?" Y/n sighs hating that she missed such a good quality. "I'm sorr-"

"Don't. It's not my best and you didn't do it on purpose. I don't want to ever hear you apologise for a panic attack." Lando cuts in but she only deflates further, not able to really be convinced of his words. "I love you."

"I love you too." Y/n mumbles leaning into him as he drags her seat as close as possible.

Lando is in the garage just a couple hours ahead of the race kind of just waiting for the sequence of pre-race events to happen.

Y/n is just standing with his arms around her as she looks at her phone. That's when it hits. The difference in her breathing happens first and Lando doesn't even hesitate to pull her away, apologising quietly to Will who just nods and turns.

They never make a big deal of it. Just not wanting to add to how she might feel.

Lando decides to try one of the other techniques he'd read keeping y/n in the corner, her trying to keep her breathing steady but she's definitely struggling. Eyes clamping closed as she feels tears welling behind her eyes.

"Baby, can you open your mouth for me? Just a bit?" Lando's voice requests but she's too caught up to be listening and Lando takes a slightly unconventional but hopefully effective method.

Though when Jon witnesses it, he almost stops the driver who manages to force a piece of gum into her cheek. Narrowly dodging her chattering teeth that are snapping together.

It takes a few seconds for her to realise what he did and she frowns beginning to chew the gum.

"Just focus on that, baby." Lando whispers while she is still breathing unevenly and struggling to calm herself down. But after a couple more minutes she's eased out of it. "Ok...We're getting there."

"How did you know to do that?"

"It was one of the suggestions online." Lando smiles softly while she rubbing her bicep. "Better?"

"Yeah, actually a lot better." Y/n mumbles swallowing as she continues chewing the gum. "Thank you."

"I'm just glad it worked. Your teeth were chattering...risked losing a finger."

"God forbid. What would you do without one of your fingers?"

"Well I'll risk it again and again if it means it works to help you." Lando smiles then kissing her.

Taglist: @namgification @hiireadstuff @jsjcue @geniusalpaca @itsjustkhaos @llando4norris @partyinpitlane @lpab @xoscar03 @harrysdimple05 @mellowarcadefun @cixrosie @scopeiguess @racingheartsposts @c-losur3 @jehun @bethanymccauley @randomnessis-mine-me @sunf1ower16 @8justme @bborra @igotnorrrizz @unknownmystery22 @aeri101 @neilakk @d3kstar

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mclastri · 2 months

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deal - cl16 (27/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Cuddles and snuggles with friends are totally normal. But sleeping on top of each other?

Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

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A/N: if seems very rushed, I'm deeply sorry. I just didn't know how to write this chapter. feedback is appreciated (as always, please and thank you!)

As a cold gust of wind blows around your heads, you snuggle a little closer to Charles.

"Are you cold?" he whispers into your hair and strokes your spine with his fingertips, giving you goose bumps. Something he uses as a reason to tighten his arms around you.

The fire in front of you is almost out, with only a few logs crackling in the bowl in front of you, providing the last bit of warmth in the dark December night. The thin blanket wrapped around you doesn't do much to keep out the cold wind. As you start to shiver, Charles pushes you off his lap.

"I'll add some more wood. Hopefully you'll be a bit warmer then," he smiles gently and gets up from the couch.

"It's okay," you reply and start to fold the blanket in your lap. "It's already late. We can just go home."

But your roommate shakes his head. "We can still stay here."

"But -"

"I still want to stay here." His tone sounds almost desperate. "Please."

When you look into his eyes, there's a warm sparkle in them. And when he smiles, the sweet dimples bore into his cheeks, and you can do nothing but return his smile. "Let's go then. It's freezing."

You watch him take some logs from the corner by the patio door and place them in the almost burnt-out fire bowl. While you stretch out on the sofa cushions and snuggle back into the blanket, he lights a new fire. The light from the flames illuminates his face and gives it a golden glow.

You rest your head in your hand. "I didn't know you were so good at starting a fire."

Charles, kneeling on the other side of the fire bowl, can't help but grin. His gaze flickers from the flames in front of him to you. "There are a few things I'm good at that you don't know about." He licks his lips once before straightening up and taking the few steps to the couch. His eyes move from your face to your covered body. "Is there room for me too?"

You raise your eyebrows before pulling your knees up a little so he can sit at the other end of the couch. "Here you go."

Charles rolls his eyes. "Nuh-uh." Before you know it, he slides his arms under your body and lifts you off the couch - without much effort. "We'll share the space. It's fair." He sets you on your feet and pushes the blanket into your hand, then stretches out on the sofa so quickly that you can't protest. He clasps his hands behind his head and grins at you.

You, on the other hand, cross your arms in front of your chest. "I think we have different definitions of 'sharing'." As he slips an inch, you have to suppress a smile. "And apparently also of 'fair'."

"I think it's very fair," he defends himself, dropping one arm to his side so that it's between his body and the backrest. "I'm lying on the couch and you're lying on top of me." He shrugs, as if it's no big deal that he wants you to lie with your body on top of his. "Come on. I thought you were cold. And standing around isn't going to help you warm up."

You step from one foot to the other. "You sure?"

Charles rests his head on the armrest of the couch before spreading his arms out. "Come on. We sleep in a bed at home. There's not much difference here."

Not much difference.

You feel your heart pounding. "There's a big difference between lying on top of each other and lying next to each other."

Charles sighs loudly before sitting up and reaching for your hand. You can't resist as he pulls you towards him with all his strength, almost causing you to trip over your own feet. The blanket falls to the floor and thank God you can support yourself with your free hand, otherwise you would have landed on his face.

"Charles!"

Your friend wraps his arm around you so that you don't slip off him or land on the edge of the sofa. His cold fingers slide under your sweater and find their firm place at your side, while his free hand lifts the blanket from the floor and spreads it over the both of you. You have no choice but to lay your head on his chest and snuggle up to him.

"It's not so bad, is it?" he murmurs into your hairline and kisses the top of your head, making your heart beat faster. You just hope he can't feel it.

"For being so muscular, you're pretty comfortable," you confess, playing with his fingers as they continue to hold your hand. "Not as comfortable as the couch, but I'm not complaining."

You feel Charles' body shake beneath you. He laughs. "I can lie on top of you if you want." His fingertips slide further from your side and almost slide under your body. He presses you tightly against him. "Then I'd crush you. But maybe that wouldn't be so bad. The closer, the warmer."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and press your face into his chest.

You're a little surprised that Charles turned the last remnant of his two-year relationship into ashes a few hours ago and is now making these kinds of comments. He even cried. But maybe that's what he needs. A friendship that goes deeper than shallow conversations and coffee dates.

Maybe he needs the closeness, emotionally and physically. Something he can hold on to when the roof falls on his head. Someone who pushes him to be better, but also brings him back down to earth when he takes off.

You want to be that person for him. Even if it costs you your heart.

You watch as the individual logs begin to burn. Charles' chest rises and falls beneath you and you feel his warm breath on your forehead as the fire crackles in front of you. Charles' hands change positions; the one that was holding your own a moment ago slides under your sweater to gently stroke your spine, while the other finds its way to your head. With warm fingertips, he brushes some of the hair from your face before he starts scratching your head.

"Do you want me to fall asleep?" you murmur against his shirt-clad chest.

"Would that be so bad?" You feel his lips move against the top of your head. Before you know it, you feel them on your forehead as he breathes a soft kiss on your cool skin.

"Uh-huh."

"Why? I thought I was comfortable?" His voice is barely louder than a whisper.

You curl your fingers into his sweater. "Pretty much. You're pretty comfortable," you repeat to yourself. "My bed at home is more comfortable, though."

"Then I'm sorry."

You twist your neck a little to look at him. You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Sorry for what?"

He strokes your cheek once with his thumb. "That you have to make do with me." His warm breath caresses your face and although you are literally lying on top of him, you only now realize how close you are.

You smile tiredly. "Don't worry," you push yourself up a little and press your forehead against his cheek; his beard scratches gently against your skin. "My bed may be comfortable, but you're still my favorite."

Charles' lips kiss the tip of your nose before he kisses your forehead once more. "You're my favorite too, mon amour." His long arms wrap around your body under the covers, holding you close as the rise and fall of his chest lulls you to sleep.

You dream of peonies, pasta, red cars and lightning and warm lips on yours. Of strong arms that wrap around you, a body that lies on top of yours. You dream of Charles, his smile and the warmth he radiates. And only when his body moves beneath you do you slowly wake up from your dreams.

"Sleep well?" Charles' voice is raspy and deep in your ear as you squirm a little in his arms.

You exhale deeply, but keep your eyes closed. "Uh-huh."

Charles laughs softly and your head bobs on his chest. "So I was more comfortable than I expected."

Slowly, you open your eyes. The fire bowl has burnt out, there are only ashes in it and the only things that light up the night are the moon and the stars in the sky above you and a small lamp that shines a soft cone of light on you from the living room. "How long have I been asleep?" You rub your eyes sleepily.

"A few hours. But don't worry, as far as I know you weren't drooling," he jokes, but that doesn't stop you from jumping off the couch as if bitten by a tarantula.

"I'm sorry," you apologize, running your fingers through your hair, "I didn't mean to use you as a personal pillow."

"It's okay," he replies with a smile and scratches his beard. "I was going for it with the cuddling and the tickling, after all." He shrugs his shoulders. "I'm quite irresistible."

An image of him on top of you flickers in your mind's eye. How true.

"I'm sorry though." You grab Charles's legs and lift them up so you can sit on the couch next to him. His calves rest on your lap. "Your back must be incredibly sore."

He waves his hand. "This couch is still better than the one in our old apartment. It really was a horror." He leans back a little, stretches his back over the armrest and you can both hear the crack of individual vertebrae in his back. When you look at him with a raised eyebrow, he grins. "Oops."

"Come on." You push his legs off you and stand up. "Let's go home. There's a super comfy bed waiting for us. And there's enough room so we don't have to sleep on top of each other." You hold out your hand to him to pull him off the couch.

He puts his hand in yours, but instead of you pulling him up, he pulls you back towards him so that you end up on his lap. "Then let's stay here. On this couch. It's not as comfortable as our bed, but at least I'll have you lying on top of me." His grin is so wide that it almost reaches his ears.

You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. You try to suppress the fact that your hands start to sweat and a warm shiver runs down your spine. "You're impossible."

"I thought I was irresistible?" he asks, leaning forward.

You hold your breath. "You said that, not me. And you're talking a lot of nonsense."

Charles lifts his hand and places it against your cheek, letting it wander until his fingers find your neck and his thumb lifts your chin. His mouth opens and his tongue glides over his full lips. "True. But when I say you're the most important person in my life, that's not nonsense."

You place your hand on his. "Then what is it?"

"The truth." He smiles lovingly. "You are - the light in my darkness, the fire in my veins, the music in my heart. I never expected that you could grow so fond of someone in such a short time. And then you came along." He hesitantly removes his hand from your cheek and the warmth it had radiated disappears. "You're my best friend."

Never in your life have you wanted to scream as loudly as you do at this moment. And you want to scream at the man in front of you, tell him that you want to be more to him than his best friend, that you want to kiss him, that you want to be his. And that you can hardly stand it when he's not with you.

And you want to scream at yourself, smack yourself, because you're trying to convince yourself that a friendship is enough, even though your heart is telling you that it's the last thing you want from him. You want to grab yourself by the shoulders and shake you until you come to your senses.

You are Charles' friend. His best friend. And even if actions speak louder than words, his words were unmistakable.

You smile at him. "I wouldn't want to be anything else either."

While Charles pushes the sofa back into place, you clear away the rest. You fold up the blanket and put it on the back of the sofa in the living room and the empty Coke cans end up in the garbage can in the kitchen. There's no sign of Joris, but his bedroom door is closed and there's not a sound to be heard. The apartment is dead quiet until Charles joins you in the kitchen.

"Last time we were here, we had a fight afterwards, remember?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

You turn to him and take a look at the kitchen island, where nothing is lying around except for a large wooden board. You chew the inside of your cheek. "I hate to remember that."

Your flatmate tilts his head. "The phone call or the argument?"

"The fight."

Charles pushes me away from the doorframe and stands opposite you at the kitchen island. "I'd like to apologize again. I went one step too far. And we haven't even known each other for twenty-four hours."

"Charles..."

"No, listen to me." He circles the counter until he stands in front of you and takes your hands in his. They're soft and warm. "I crossed a line that day and you were right to be angry with me. I just want to say again that I definitely don't want to do that again. The fighting I mean." He smiles. "I'd defend you to Raphael any time of day or night."

You purse your lips. "Then it's a good thing we can leave him behind. Just like Annika."

He lifts your hands and presses a fleeting kiss to your knuckles. "And I couldn't have done it without you."

The drive home isn't far, thank God, and as Charles parks his brother's car in the underground garage, you're overcome with tiredness again. You would have preferred to stay in the car, recline your seat and close your eyes. But Charles's hand on your thigh pulls you back into the world of the living.

"We're here, sleepyhead. Come on, there's a warm bed waiting for you upstairs that can hardly wait for you to snuggle up in."

"I can hardly wait either," you smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt and follow your roommate to the elevator. The light inside is bright and far too harsh for your tired eyes, so you close them and lean your head against the elevator wall. "I'm so tired."

"But you slept."

You open your eyes and look at your friend. "What's up with you? Aren't you tired too?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Do I look that exhausted?" He runs a hand through his hair. "I slept a bit too, don't worry. You lying on top of me wasn't just comfortable for you."

You try not to think too much about his comment as you get ready for bed and then lie down in your long-awaited bed. You plug your phone into the charging cable and see an Instagram notification pop up.

You have to smile.

liked by pierregasly and others tagged: yourusername francisca.cgomes: favorite cardigan, favorite person

"What's up?" asks Charles, who closes the door behind him.

You try not to stare at his naked torso, which, thank heavens, you manage to do. "Here, Kika's following me on Instagram now." You hold your phone out to him briefly so he can see her post. "I'll just follow her back."

"Can I follow you now too?" he asks as he lies down in bed next to you, phone in hand.

You look at him in confusion. "You're already following me."

Charles laughs as if you've told a joke. "That's right. But this is my private account. I'd like to follow you on my official account, if that's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," you reply, "but are you sure? After all, Kika has tagged me in her pictures. And if they go to my profile, they'll see that you're following me too, won't they?"

You don't really want to rub his caring in, but it was his idea to take Kika and Pierre furniture shopping. And to drive through Monaco in your old Renault. The fact that he wants to follow you - quite publicly and for everyone to see - on Instagram goes against everything he's done for your safety.

"They will. But we're friends, after all, and I won't be able to keep you out of the spotlight forever."

"All right." A moment later, another notification pops up. You quickly accept his request and follow him back before looking at the last picture he posted. You grin at him. "Cool picture, who took that?"

Playfully clueless, he shrugs his shoulders before snuggling into the pillow. "My best friend."

As you put your phone away, he switches off the bedside lamp and darkness and silence fill the room. You feel his warmth under the covers and you want to scoot the few inches over to him and press yourself against him until you're engulfed by his warmth.

"Would it be weird if we cuddled?" His voice sounds hesitant, as if he was struggling to ask you that. When you don't answer, Charles quickly backpedals. "I'm sorry. I know we're just friends, but - I don't know - when you're there, I feel like I'm at home. And it calms me down when you're with me. I'm sorry, that all sounds totally selfish."

You reach under the blanket for his hand. He squeezes it twice. "Friends can cuddle too, I think. I mean, without ulterior motives."

"Good," he murmurs and his arm wraps around your middle to pull you closer. He drapes your leg over his hip and your hand rests on his chest. "Is that okay with you?" His fingertips dance on your bare skin under your sleep shirt.

You press your face into his neck and breathe in deeply. As you exhale and your hot breath brushes over the soft skin of his neck, he pushes your leg down a little further, tangling your limbs together. "If that's what it is for you."

"It is." Charles presses one last kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek against the top of your head again. "And now we need to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I don't think my mother can wait to get to know you better."

"Do you think she'll like me?" you ask softly into the darkness.

Charles' skin is warm and soft against yours as he presses you against him and your shirt slides up a little. "I think that anyone who gets to know you better will fall head over heels in love with you. Whether they want to or not."

Charles Instagram post

liked by francisca.cgomes, pierregasly and others charles_leclerc: aux nouveaux départs posted three days ago

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mclastri · 3 months

Text

deal - cl16 (26/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Burning things is a good way to get rid of stuff. But perhaps you and Charles have more in common than you like.

Warnings: this is quite angsty (mentions of cheating, Annika and Raphael), fire (of course), some fluff

Word Count: 4.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: this is a long one. but well, I felt like it. there are some Easter eggs in this chapter, tell me which one you found! feedback is appreciated (as always, please and thank you!)

Since your newly purchased items have not made it any further into the apartment than the hallway, Charles' bedroom looks pretty empty. There are three large boxes next to the door, which gradually fill up the longer you stay in the room.

"What about this?" you ask Charles and show him a pink candlestick that was recently on the windowsill.

Your roommate pulls his head out of the closet. "Throw it away."

"Okay." You try not to trip over anything as you walk over to the door and place the item in the left box, which already contains a vase and empty picture frames. As you straighten up again, a shirt flies past your face before landing in the right box.

"Sorry," Charles mumbles, without taking his eyes off the clothes in front of him.

"It's all right." You glance at the chest of drawers against the wall. "What about this?" you ask, pointing to the few books arranged by size on the dark wood.

Charles sighs. "Just assume you can throw away everything in this room." Another item lands in the box on the right.

Unsure, you bite the inside of your cheek.

The idea was to get all the stuff Annika left in the bedroom out of the apartment and - if possible - burn it in Jori's fire bowl, in the hope that Charles can have closure. The box on the left is for things that can't easily be turned into ashes, such as picture frames, candlesticks or small, empty flower pots. The middle one is for things Annika couldn't pack in her haste, like jewelry, clothes, electronics. She would come to collect them at some point.

The box on the right is for flammable things. The pictures from photo frames, books, tickets from events the couple attended together - and the clothes Charles throws in. And it looks like they're his.

"Can I ask why you're throwing away your clothes?" you ask timidly as you sit down on the bed. You run your fingers over the soft fabric, which will also end up in the right-hand box later.

Charles pushes some empty hangers aside before taking a jacket off the hanger. "Everything in this room is from when Annika and I were a couple." He shows you the jacket. "I was wearing this the first time we went to the racetrack together. Our first public appearance as a couple." He throws the jacket towards the door before grabbing the next item - a sweater. "I wore this one on the first Valentine's Day. We went out for dinner and then to the movies."

You purse your lips. "And you want to get rid of all these memories? Even if they are nice ones?"

The sweater lands on the jacket before Charles turns to you and looks at you for the first time since you walked into this room. "That woman cheated on me. Took advantage of my trust and broke it." His gaze is rock hard. "Whoever she was to me, she doesn't deserve to have her memories here. I want to put it all behind me. I want to be free."

You see a sad glint in his eyes, which you don't address. Instead, you get up from the bed and begin to sort out everything that's still lying around into the boxes, while Charles pulls one item of clothing after another out of the closet.

Apart from a little rustling and your footsteps, the room is silent. You want to give Charles his space, give him the peace and quiet he needs to sort out his thoughts and really come to terms with the relationship. The fact that he has asked you to help him with this warms your heart. Because even though you've only known each other for a short time, he's the person you care most about. The person you would run to immediately if your life went down the drain. The person you can tell everything to without being judged.

You seem to be that person for Charles too - the person he can trust without having to worry, the person who would help him bury a body - this feeling warms you from the top of your head to the soles of your feet.

"I think that's it," Charles finally interrupts the silence and closes the now empty closet behind him while you remove the cover from one of the two pillows. His gaze wanders from your face to your hands. "You don't need to do that. We'll put the bedding in a big bag and then it can all go."

"Are you sure?" you ask uncertainly, but put the pillow back on the bed.

"Very sure. I don't want to sleep in a bed she slept in or cover myself with a blanket she slept under. I just want to put it behind me."

"Okay." You walk around the bed and put in the clothes that missed the box. "Which car do we take? My Renault is still at the old place and your Ferrari won't fit the stuff." Besides, it would be too conspicuous and you don't want us to be seen in it together.

"There's an old car of my brother's downstairs in the garage. It's bigger than the Ferrari," he calls out from the hallway, where he's rummaging around in one of the cupboards before entering the bedroom again. In his hand he holds a huge blue plastic bag from a Swedish furniture store. "If that's not enough, I've got another one."

It's not enough. The bedding actually has to be divided into three different bags until the bed is empty except for the mattress. As Charles stands at the front door, one bag on each shoulder and a box - containing the last bag - in his hands, he peeks past it. "Can you open the door for me, please? I'd like to take the things downstairs."

As packed as he is, you have to stifle a grin. The Monegasque looks like a pack mule. "You can walk several times, you know that? Then you won't be straining your shoulders."

Your flatmate blows a strand of hair out of his forehead. "No way. I'd rather fall down the stairs before I have to walk twice."

As you open the door and press the elevator button for him, you just shake your head. "Then it's a good thing there's an elevator here. You'll still have to go a second time."

While Charles takes the things to the underground garage, you put the other two boxes by the front door before you go in search of another large bag. As Charles has already used all the available bags from the hall cupboard, you have no choice but to take a bin liner from the kitchen. As you hear him grab the second box, you poke your head out of the kitchen.

"I'll bring the other box in a minute. You can wait downstairs by the car, okay?"

"All right," he replies and puts the box on his hip. "It shouldn't be that heavy. It's just the picture frames and stuff in there." He smiles at you. "See you in a bit then. But hurry up."

You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh before he disappears with the box in his hands. When you're alone, you walk from the kitchen into the living room, where the red roses that Charles must have forgotten are still on the white piano. You carefully put them in the bag, taking care not to tear the thin plastic, and then tie it up before dragging the bin bag into the hallway and putting it in the box.

The roses make the box much heavier than expected and when you arrive a few minutes later, panting, in the underground parking garage where Charles is already waiting to meet you, you are glad when he takes it off your hands.

"What's in there?" he asks, pointing to the bag after placing the box in the trunk of the silver car.

You shrug your shoulders. "I found this. We can burn it if you like," you simply reply and drop into the passenger seat while Charles closes the trunk.

The drive to Joris is shorter than expected and although it's not too late, the sky is already turning red, as if the sun is about to set. There's some song on the radio that you don't know and Charles isn't humming along to. As he finally steers the car through the familiar narrow alley and then pulls on the handbrake in a parking lot, the front door opens and Joris enters the courtyard.

"Hello, you two," he greets you as you get out of the car. While he shakes Charles' hand, he presses a kiss to your cheek, first on the left and then on the right. "You said on the phone that you wanted to burn something?" He rubs his hands together excitedly.

Your roommate nods and opens the trunk. "Not only that." He takes one of the boxes - the one with Annika's belongings - and hands it to his buddy. "I'd like to leave them here, if that's possible. I don't want to see Annika again and I'd be incredibly grateful if you could give her her things back."

"Of course," he replies and takes a look in the trunk. "What about this?" With a nod, he points to the box with the picture frames.

"This," Charles begins the sentence before grabbing the box and walking over to one of the garbage containers that must belong to Jori's house. Without giving it much thought, he dumps the contents into the garbage can before rejoining you to take the three bags of bedding and throwing them into the container as well. "'Is garbage. We'd like to burn the rest that's left there."

"The firewood and fuel are already ready."

The boys carry the things upstairs and you follow them. When you arrive at Jori's apartment, you close the door behind you while Joris puts the box with Annika's things in a room and Charles walks towards the rooftop terrace. You open the door for him and he smiles gently at you as he walks past you towards the fire bowl, which already has some wood in it.

A little later, Joris joins you, a small canister of gasoline in his hand. "You'll need this. Please don't burn yourselves. I've got a quick online meeting coming up and no time to drive you to the hospital."

"Thanks, man. I appreciate that," says Charles as he takes the burning liquid from his buddy's hand. As Joris disappears, Charles pulls an outdoor couch sitting in a corner near the fire bowl. "In case it takes longer. Then we don't have to stand the whole time."

While Charles lights the wood, you take the garbage bag with the roses out of the box and put it next to the couch. "Would you like something to drink?"

Charles looks up from the small flame snaking around one of the logs. "There should be cans of Coke in the fridge. And there should be some sweets in the cupboard in the living room." When you look at him in astonishment, he grins. "Go ahead and help yourself. Joris has already eaten my entire fridge once when he was drunk."

"Okay." You leave him alone on the roof terrace and go searching. You actually find the cans in the fridge, two of which you take and put on the living room table so you can rummage through the cupboard for something sweet. You find fruit gums, some chocolate - which you probably shouldn't bring anywhere near a fire - and a bucket of popcorn, which you tuck under your arm.

When you return to Charles with your hands full, he laughs.

"What?" you ask, confused, as he takes the bucket from you. "You told me to help myself. And that's what I did."

"That's right." He motions for you to sit down on the sofa. As he sits down next to you, he nudges his knee against yours. He opens his can of Coke and you do the same. "Here's to the future." He holds his can out to you.

You clink glasses with him. "To the future."

After a few minutes, the fire burns brightly and warms you on this beautiful winter evening and Charles pokes around in the wood with a poker, which apparently belongs to the fire bowl, before grabbing the box and placing it between you on the couch. The fact that there's this physical distance between you both bothers you more than it should.

"Two years for nothing," Charles says as he pulls out the first picture. It shows him and Annika lying on the beach and smiling at the camera. He throws it into the fire. "For nothing, for absolutely nothing."

"Don't say that." You watch as the flames engulf the photo. "You learn from relationships. No matter how long they last."

He throws a piece of paper into the bowl. It looks like a concert ticket. "And what have I learned? How to be cheated on without realizing it? I definitely didn't need to learn that." His tone is cold.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. When you take your eyes off the fire and look at him, his features are soft. He looks hurt. You purse your lips. "How did you find out?"

"I caught them." As you stare at him open-mouthed, he shrugs. " I was actually planning on flying from race to race, but my gut told me to fly back home." He has to swallow. "When I walked through the front door, there were already shoes there that weren't mine. And when I walked towards the bedroom, I heard them."

You raise an eyebrow. "They were doing it in your bed?" No wonder he doesn't want to keep the bedding or the bed.

He nods weakly and throws one of his shirts into the fire. "I knew exactly what was behind the door and yet it broke my heart when I actually saw it. It wasn't much, but enough to know that it could never have been that 'it's not what it looks like' thing."

You hand him two plane tickets, which he throws away without looking at them. "And then?"

"She wanted to talk to me, begged me to stay with her and said how sorry she was. But I didn't want to hear any of it. I just turned around and left. I couldn't look her in the eye."

"I can understand that," you answer him quietly.

"I think if I had really loved her the way you do in relationships, I would have thrown her out of the apartment straight away. But when I left and created distance between us, I racked my brains as to why she did that. And it was all over the internet that a lot of people do it because they feel neglected by their partner and are looking for closeness with someone else."

"And that's why you felt so bad that you allowed her to continue living there?" He nods. Another couple of photos land in the flames and catch fire. "Did you know the man?"

He shakes his head in response. He fixates on a burning log as if he doesn't want to look at you. When he does, his gaze is full of the kind of pain and hatred you've only ever seen on his face once before. As you remember the situation, your heart breaks. For both of you.

When you answer him, your voice is no louder than your breath. "It was Raphael."

Your stomach clenches so tightly that you feel like throwing up. That's how Charles knew where Raphael worked. Something you've forgotten until now. Something is pounding behind your eyes and it's only when a tear runs down your cheek that you realize you're crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner." Charles' voice is soft and through the veil of tears you see his hand twitch, as if he's struggling to take you in his arms and comfort you. But there's this stupid box between you. And you've never felt so lonely.

"Y/N..."

"Don't," you say quietly and without thinking about it, you reach into the box between you, grab everything you can with one hand and throw it into the fire in front of you. You watch as Annika's face burns. You throw a second handful into the fire bowl. This time it's his jacket. "That bastard."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather kill them both."

A faint smile spreads across Charles' face. "I'm afraid that's not possible. Although I've thought about it before. But I'm afraid that I won't be able to drive my super-fast car if I'm behind bars."

"What if I take over for both of us?"

"I think the prison clothes would look good on you, but the visiting hours are definitely a pain in the ass and I couldn't stand not seeing you every day," he says gently and reaches for the now empty box, which he now places on the floor next to the couch. Then he pulls you into his arms. And from now on, it's not the fire in front of you that warms you.

You stare into the fire for a while, feeling Charles' arm around your waist and his cheek on the top of your head. "Are you going to tell me what's in that garbage bag?"

"Oh." You straighten up, dumbfounded, and lean over the backrest to pick up the bin bag. As you turn back to Charles, his gaze quickly flickers back to your face. "This morning - after your mother visited - we were sitting together in the living room and you couldn't stop staring at the piano. But it wasn't the piano, was it?"

He shakes his head and as you untie the knot of the bag, he takes a peek inside. "I'd totally forgotten about that just now."

"That's what I thought. That's why I brought them." You pull out the letters of roses and place them next to you on the couch before handing him the first one. While he throws the first rose into the fire, you open the bucket of popcorn and snuggle up to his side again.

"Annika gave it to me for our second anniversary," he explains, before opening his mouth and looking at you expectantly. As you pop a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth, he grins at you. You ignore the fact that your fingers are tingling where they touched his lips: "I don't even like roses. I think they're too hackneyed and the most unimaginative thing you can give someone to show that you love them."

"So a gift without really making an effort," you continue his thought. "And what are your favorite flowers?"

When he looks at you, his gaze is warm and there's a sparkle in his eyes that you can't quite put your finger on. "Peonies."

You feel the warmth shoot into your cheeks and turn your gaze away from him. He throws more roses into the fire and you continue to pop popcorn into both of your mouths as the flowers burst into flames in front of you. You hope that this action is as cleansing for him as it is being said all over the internet. You hand him the second letter, which he can burn in peace, before standing up and taking his empty Coke can. "I guess you need a new one?"

His grin is wide. "Yes, please."

You disappear into the kitchen, where you leave the can on the counter and take a new one from the fridge. As you go back to Charles, you bump into Joris, who is just coming out of one of the rooms. "How did your online meeting go?"

"Pretty good," he replies and walks past you into the kitchen to take another can from the fridge. You stop in the doorway. "It was just about familiarizing myself with my new job, which I start in the New Year."

"That's right," you reply and raise your eyebrows. "You said you'd been offered a job. Are you already looking forward to it?"

"Very much. I can hardly wait," he replies as you walk towards the living room. You can watch Charles through the window as he continues to set the roses on fire. "Was that your idea? With the whole burning thing?"

You nod. "Yes. I burned my ex-boyfriend's things too when I found out he'd cheated on me. Only I didn't have a big fire bowl."

"Then where did you do it?"

You shrug your shoulders. "In the kitchen sink."

Joris has to laugh before he nudges yours with his shoulder. "Your friendship is good for him. He's never opened up to anyone as quickly as he did with you. I'm starting to think I need to worry that you're taking my place as his best friend."

"Haha. You two have known each other for ages. I don't think I could ever get in the way, even if I wanted to." You have to smile. "But Charles is definitely my best friend. There's nothing I wouldn't want to share with him."

"It's nice to hear that you're good for each other." He smiles at you.

"Do you want to come outside?" you ask him as you walk to the patio door.

Joris waves you off. "You go and do your cleansing thing. But please don't burn down the sofa. That's sacred to me."

You stick your tongue out at him and grab the blanket hanging over the back of a chair before returning to Charles, who has now reached the last letter. You hand him the Coke and spread the blanket over your knees. The sun has set, but the fire in front of you is so bright that you have no problem seeing his beautiful face.

"Do you think she would have cheated on me too if I had been a better boyfriend?" Charles asks quietly at one point, without looking at you.

"I don't know."

He thinks for a moment. "She said that everything in my life revolves around Formula One. That I don't notice what's going on around me. And that I was never there for her like a boyfriend should be. And that she had to share me with the whole world." As he turns to you, you see tears glistening in his eyes. "You said you were sure there was someone out there for me who wouldn't find my job too hectic. Who will support me no matter how hard it gets."

You turn to him and put your hand to his cheek to make him look at you. A tear rolls down his cheek and you wipe it away with your thumb. "I have. And I mean it."

He licks his tongue over his lips. "You also said that there's a person out there for everyone. A soulmate with whom you can share everything. With whom you don't have to pretend and can be who you really are." You feel his arms wrap around your middle and before you know it, you're sitting in his lap.

You wrap your arms around his neck so you can hold him tight.

"So you think there's someone else out there for me? That I haven't missed my chance at love?" You feel his warm breath on your face and how much you want to kiss away the tears that escape his eyes. Take away all his pain. Show him how much he means to you.

But now is not the right time. Someday. Maybe.

"I promise you that."

You watch him throw the last rose into the fire. In an instant, the red blossoms catch fire, the stem begins to glow and before you know it, this last piece from a time Charles wants to forget at all costs disappears and turns to ash.

His grip on you tightens. A sign for you to turn towards him. When you look at him, his cheeks are wet, but he doesn't look sad. The smile on his face is honest and genuine and so loving that you can't help but return it.

He would love to put his hands on your face and kiss you until you can't breathe. To feel your lips on his, your skin on his and tell you how important you are to him. How much he craves you and that everything he feels for you goes beyond the limits of friendship. But the only thing he does is grab your hand with his and squeeze it twice. Maybe you'll understand. Understand why he always squeezes twice.

The right time will come. Someday. Maybe.

When you look at him, with tears in your eyes and a warmth that makes his heart stumble, he has to swallow. He's never been as grateful to anyone as he is to you.

"I'm free."

874 notes · View notes

mclastri · 3 months

Text

Pick You Up

Max Verstappen x reader

Masterlist

Summary: when Max has one too many gin & tonics, you’re the one who picks (him) up, every time he calls. Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: alcohol, intoxication, maybe an unhealthy relationship with alcohol??, mentions of Max’s shitty childhood, incorrect taylor swift lyrics

It’s 1am, and your phone is buzzing on the nightstand. You groan and shove your face into the pillow. You were having such a nice dream. Something about an island and a very attractive man. You let the phone ring until it stops, and then you hold your breath. Maybe it was a butt dial. Maybe it’s not what you think.

The buzzing starts again, and you blindly slam your hand onto the nightstand, grabbing for it. You swipe to answer without even looking at the contact. You already know who it is. Or at the very least, who they’re calling you about. It’s never anyone else.

“Max needs a ride,” a friend of his says.

You’re already rolling out of bed. “Yeah. Where?”

You could complain, you suppose, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a jacket. You could ask them to find literally anyone else, or beg them to have a designated driver for once, but instead you just slip your shoes on. You rub the sleep from your eyes and grab a Red Bull on the way out the door. Someone sends you an address from a number you don’t even have saved in your phone. Worry claws at your chest.

The truth is, you’ll never complain about Max calling you in the middle of the night, because if he stopped calling you’d worry about who he was relying on. Max is… popular. He’s got a lot of people trying to ride his coattails. He gets invited to events and people buy him drinks and offer him things and then it’s 1am and he’s too drunk to get home on his own. And then he calls you. Or, more often, someone calls you for him.

You pull up in front of the club, and Max is already outside, stumbling on clumsy feet. He lurches towards your car when he sees it, which is a relief, because you hadn’t exactly wanted to get out of the car. You find yourself resenting whoever he was out with for leaving him all alone, but he opens the door and climbs in and you plaster a smile onto your face.

“Hi, schatje,” he slurs, and you muffle a laugh into your shoulder.

“Hi, Maxie,” you say.

This is the only time he calls you things like that. It’s also the only time you can call him Maxie without earning yourself a warning glare, or worse, an elbow to the rib cage. You’ve known him for years, and yet it’s only when he’s wasted that he doesn’t mind the nickname.

“Seatbelt,” you remind him.

He nods and tugs at the belt. You end up having to help him buckle- that happens about 70% of the time. His fingers fumble with the latch as you do so, and he lets out a little huff when you brush his hand away. Once he’s all set, you pat his shoulder lightly and lean back into your seat.

“I’m drunk,” he warns you.

“I know,” you answer.

“So no crazy driving. I don’t want to be sick in your very nice car.”

You laugh and cock your head at him. “This morning you called this car a shitbox.”

He nods. “It is. But it is your shitbox.”

You laugh again, putting the car into drive. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

He rambles the whole drive to his apartment, about all the people he was out with tonight and what they did and who they did. Drunk Max is a bit of a gossip, and his gossiping to you won’t get him in trouble, so he takes full advantage of it. You listen eagerly the entire time, though you keep your eyes focused on the road. He’s not the most drunk you’ve ever seen him, still too drunk to be in a cab or an Uber by himself but coherent enough that the journey up to his apartment shouldn’t be too difficult. You park your car in his parking lot and climb out.

Max is halfway out of his seat when you come around to meet him. You take his hand and help him the rest of the way up. He stumbles a bit, laughing as you catch him. Then he throws his arm around your shoulder and follows you to the elevator.

His head bumps into yours in the process. You lean into the weight of him, the two of you standing like a badly built lean to. If one of you topples, the other will too. You try not to think about that too much.

You stay the night, the way you always do when this happens. Because the only thing a hungover Max hates more than the sunlight is waking up to an empty apartment. You’ll be there in the morning to take care of him. He’ll promise he won’t do it again.

By this time next week, he’ll be out at a club, and you’ll have the volume on your phone turned up.

…..

The next time someone calls you on Max’s behalf, it’s someone you actually know. It’s 2am this time, and your eyes are closed. You’re drifting in that space between consciousness and dreams. Your ringtone almost becomes a part of a half dream before you realize what it is. You turn the phone over. NoRizzz, it reads. You think Max added the contact for you.

You answer. “Hi, Lando. S’it Max?” You ask.

“I swear to god I lost track of him for one second-“ Lando rushes out.

You pause halfway out of bed, feeling a jolt of worry at the frantic tone in his voice. “Lando?”

“He’s gone, he-“ He sounds panicked. “I turned around and he’s-“

“Did you call him?”

“Of course I called him-“ Lando scoffs. “Look, I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t already been thinking about having you pick him up-“

“Hey, hey, slow down,” you say, though your heart is racing as you head for the door. “Where are you? How long has it been since you lost him?”

“We’re at Jimmyz, it’s been a half hour,” Lando admits. “I didn’t want to bother you, but-“

A half hour is a long time for Max. He could be anywhere in the city right now. He could’ve walked, or taken a cab, or… anything. Sober Max is great at self preservation. Drunk Max is easily persuaded. You’ve used it to your advantage more than you’d like to admit. Not in any bad way, just- Max, sing karaoke with me! Max, come dance with me! Max, we should order pizza!

You head for the front door. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll come meet you, and then-“

You swing the door open and nearly scream when something heavy tumbles into your apartment. Someone, actually, upon further inspection. It’s Max, lit only by the dim hallway light and a beam from the kitchen light that you always leave on. He’s blinking up at you from the floor, a soft smile on his face. He has his arms wrapped around himself, like he’s cold. His skin is damp with sweat.

“Never mind, I found him,” you say into the phone.

“What? How?” Lando asks, bewildered.

“He was sitting in front of my door,” you answer as you crouch down. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, and Max smiles. “Must’ve taken a cab or something.”

“I walked,” Max admits.

That explains the sweat. That also tells you that Lando has lied to you- Max has been gone much longer than a half hour if he’s made his way here on foot. You choose not to call the other driver out on it, though. You want them to call you about things like this. If you chew him out, Lando will be less likely to do so.

“So he’s okay?” Lando asks.

“He’s fine,” you assure him. “I’ll talk to you later.”

You hang up and then start working on getting Max all the way into the apartment. He’s not much help. You manage to get his legs inside and then you close the door behind him. You’ll work on getting him out of the hallway next. For now, you sit down on the floor next to him.

“You walked here?” You ask.

He nods. “Missed you.”

You snort out a laugh. “You could’ve called me, I would’ve picked you up.”

He shrugs and shuts his eyes. “Didn’t want to bug you.”

“So you camped out in front of my door,” you say.

“Yes. But then you didn’t have to come pick me up.”

“I’ll always pick you up,” you say, brushing your thumb against his temple. “That’s what friends do.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re glassy. Your breath hitches. Max doesn’t get teary often, doesn’t get emotional often. Something aches in your chest. You rub your thumb over his cheekbone. He blinks once, twice, lashes tangled together.

“You okay?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He sounds so small when he says it. “Just. Thanks.”

There are these small moments, when Max shows a vulnerable side. These are the moments you think of when people spread vitriol towards him on the internet and ask how you could possibly be friends with him. They make you love him even more, and they make you resent the adults who were around him when he was growing up.

You’ve seen pictures of little Max, shown to you with funny anecdotes and teasing smiles. But when you look at them, and when you see him like this, you can’t find any of it funny. All you can think of is the other stories you’ve heard about his childhood. All you can wonder is how someone could’ve done those things to him. And then you wonder how despite it all, he ended up with such a kind soul.

Max is the one who brings you soup when you’re sick. He brings you trinkets from every country he goes to- the magnets fill the door of your fridge. Max sends you pictures of dogs he meets on the street even though he’s a cat person. He flies you out to races when you’ve had a bad week and buys you good pasta and better tequila. Max has a heart the size of a whole continent. People keep trying to chip away at it. You hate them for it.

So you take a moment to brush the tears from his cheeks. You don’t ask him why he’s crying, or tell him it’ll be okay. You just sit there on the floor with him in your hallway and wait for him to be ready.

Eventually, you get him up off the floor and drag him into your bedroom. It’ll be better for everyone involved if he gets a good night’s sleep in a real bed. You try to leave the room, but he grabs onto your wrist.

“Stay?” He asks, eyelids barely open.

You hum and brush the hair from his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“M’sure,” he says. “Don’t wanna be alone.”

You nod in understanding. You don’t even bother pointing out that he’s on your side of the bed. He’s too far gone to get him to roll over. You just climb over him and pull the blankets back and then tuck yourself in. You keep a respectable distance from him.

You know in the morning you’ll wake up to his arm around your middle and his face buried in your neck. You know because it happens every time you share a bed. Max will act like there’s nothing weird about it, will thank you for taking care of him, and be on his way before lunchtime.

You’ll crawl back into bed and curl up on your side, unsure of if you love or hate the fact that the sheets still smell like him.

…..

Charles calls you from Qatar.

You answer. “Charles, I cannot pick him up. I’m in another country.”

“Yes, I’ve told him that about a billion times,” Charles says. “He is very stubborn, you know.”

Something dawns on you as you sit up against your headboard. For some reason, you’ve always assumed that other people are the ones choosing to call you. That even when it’s someone who doesn’t know you, they’re getting your information from the emergency contact info in his phone. But this… Charles seems to be suggesting that Max has asked him to call you.

“Is he okay?” You ask.

Charles laughs. “He’s fine. He is a world champion, again. You know.”

You do know. You called and congratulated him right after the race. You can still hear the shake in his voice, the yelling of his team behind him. It’d made your heart ache, made you sad you weren’t there with him.

“Yeah,” you say. “You both still have to drive tomorrow, you know.”

“I do know, which is why I’m hoping you can help me,” Charles says. “We’re in his hotel room. His phone is dead, I guess? He came to use mine, so I brought him back here. He’s lost his charger.”

“There’s a spare one in his backpack,” you tell Charles. “In the small pocket.”

You hear the zipper and Charles’ amused laugh. “Did you pack his bag for him?”

“I helped,” you admit. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see if I can talk him down?”

Charles makes a noise of agreement. There’s rustling, then a thud. More rustling. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Then, Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Max,” you answer. “I thought you were going to take it easy tonight.”

“I am a world champion,” he says, so matter of fact.

In the background, you hear Charles groan.

“Yes, a world champion who still has to do a race tomorrow,” you remind him.

“I know. Can’t believe I got it in the sprint. A sprint I didn’t even win,” he says, laughing lightly. “Let the rookie win the race tomorrow. I’m the champion.”

“I’m going to throttle him,” Charles says, loud enough or close enough for you to hear. “I think in turn one I will run him into the wall.”

“Tell Charles if he hurts one hair on your head I’ll fly to Qatar and throttle him myself,” you tell Max.

Max relays the message. Charles is quiet after that.

“Doesn’t matter how you won it, yeah?” You remind Max. “You still worked just as hard to get there.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say with a laugh. “Charles has plugged your phone in. Make sure you turn it on and then go to sleep.”

You call his hotel and have electrolyte drinks and breakfast sent up the next morning, along with a bottle of painkillers. He texts you a photo of all of it along with a thank you message. When he wins the race, even hungover, you’re not the least bit surprised.

…..

When Max calls you at 11:00 pm, your first thought is huh. That’s early. You answer on the third ring, already looking for your keys. You wonder who it’ll be this time. A friend you know, or an unknown voice of someone he’s only met tonight.

“Schatje?” Max asks through the speaker.

You nearly drop the phone. “Max?”

“What, you don’t have my number saved?” He asks.

“No, of course I do, s’just- not usually you who ends up calling me, even from your phone.”

You think you hear him sniffle. Something twists in your chest. Before you can scramble to apologize, he’s speaking.

“Yeah. Um.” He sighs. “Huh.”

You can hear it in his voice, in the way the words seem to stick in his throat. Something’s wrong. You climb off the couch, headed for the door. “Tell me where you are, Max.”

He sniffs. “No, it’s uh- I don’t know why I called-“

“Max,” you repeat as you shut the front door behind you. “Where are you?”

He gives in and tells you he’s at some hotel bar. You recognize it and head down the stairs. You keep him on the line even as you start the car, as you pull out onto the road. He’s mumbling something about how he’ll be fine, about how you don’t have to come get him. Both of you know you’re already on the way.

You have to go in this time. For a moment you think about asking who else he’s with, and hanging up and calling them. But you don’t want to lose contact, so you park the car and head inside. You’re in a hoodie and sweatpants, a pair of slippers on your feet. Nobody bats an eye.

You find him in a back hallway, squeezed into a corner. Your heart crumples at the sight of him. You’re sure your face does too. He’s teary and curled in on himself. He looks so small. You love him, you worry for him, you hate this version of him. Not that you could ever really hate him. It’s just that he looks so vulnerable, so unlike himself.

As much as you want to get him out of there, as much as it would probably be the right move, you sit down next to him instead. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him into your side until his head is against yours. You don’t ask him what’s wrong. He’ll tell you eventually. It might take a while- sometimes a few days. You always give him time. For now, you just sit in the hallway with him. You meet him where he’s at.

He tells you later that he suddenly found himself alone in the bar. After days straight of only being alone when he went to sleep, person after person wanting to celebrate his championship, he’d been alone. He hadn’t realized how much he’d felt like he was suffocating until that moment.

“I was one of the people celebrating,” you remind him as he clings to you.

“But you aren’t suffocating me,” he says. “You’re like… clean air.”

He sleeps in your bed that night. You sleep next to him, not even bothering to argue about it. You fall asleep to the sound of his steady breaths and the weight of his hand on your back.

When you wake up in the morning, he pretends he’s fine. You let him.

…..

Drunk Max is an overly honest Max. He’ll tell you anything and everything. So when you’re walking him home one night, his arm over your shoulder, gin on his breath, you’re expecting to learn some things. What you weren’t expecting, however, is for him to lean close, his lips against your ear, and tell you he loves you.

The odd thing is the way he says it. He leans close and tells you he loves you like he’s talking to someone else. He says “hey, you know-“ then he says your name- and then he says, “you know I love her?”

You shove at his side. “Yeah, I love you too, you dummy.”

He shakes his head, bumping his forehead against your temple. “No, I love her.”

Your heart stops at the way he says it. At the meaning he’s insinuating. Your feet fumble under you, but you manage to keep both of you upright.

“Max,” you say in a warning tone. “You’re drunk.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Drunk in love. Love drunk? Like that song she likes- got love drunk-“

He doesn’t realize he’s talking to you. He likely won’t remember this. You cut him off before he breaks into slightly incorrect Taylor Swift lyrics on the sidewalk. “That’s nice, Max. Why don’t you tell her?”

He shrugs. “Can’t.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you miss your chance to prod him about it when he trips over a bump in the sidewalk and nearly sends you both flying. After that, you keep your focus on getting him up to his apartment safely. You shove him into the bathroom in his apartment and tell him to brush his teeth. Then you stand in the hallway and press your hands over your face.

Can’t. Why not? Does he mean it? Did he say the wrong name? He won’t remember it tomorrow, you know that. Do you bring it up? Maybe you should just forget about it. He obviously doesn’t want you to know. And even if it is true, and he does have feelings for you, it would never work.

He stumbles out of the bathroom and presses a messy, toothpaste-y kiss to your forehead. That leaves your brain spinning even worse than it was before. You follow him to the bedroom and tuck him in. The cats glare at you as you disturb the blankets.

“You’ll stay, right?” He asks, tugging on your arm. He seems to know who you are now. “Please?”

You sigh and agree, climbing into bed next to him. He sighs happily and rolls towards you. He slings an arm around your waist, and you hold your breath when he presses his cheek to your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he says, already half asleep.

“Goodnight,” you echo.

You lay awake and stare at the ceiling for at least an hour, trying not to listen to the sound of his soft breaths. Trying not to think about him admitting that he loves you. Trying not to think about him calling himself love drunk. Trying not to think about him at all, which is difficult with him right there.

You wonder if he really meant it. You want him to mean it, you realize. You tilt your head to look at him- you can only see the top of his head and the slow rise and fall of his chest. God, you want him to mean it. There’s no way he does, but you want it so badly your whole body aches with it.

Sassy walks up to the head of the bed and curls up right next to you. You run your fingers over her fur. Finally, then, you’re able to fall asleep.

…..

It’s not often that Max is the one to pick you up from a bar. It’s every once in a blue moon. You’re much more responsible, you plan ahead. You have a ride home, or you don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk, or you plan to stay with a friend who lives closer to wherever you’re going.

It’s not often, but it does happen. Which is how you find yourself in the bar bathroom, phone pressed to your ear, praying he picks up. There’s a good chance he won’t. He’s definitely not sitting around, waiting for you to call like you always are when he goes out. If he doesn’t pick up you’ll have to call someone else, but you won’t even know where to begin.

It’s only when you hear his voice that you realize you’re not sure he’s even in Monaco.

“Hello?” He says. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just- what country are you in?”

“What?” He asks. You can hear rustling in the background. “Is this some sort of code? Is someone-“

“No, Maxie, I’m fine,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Monaco,” he answers, still sounding unsure. “At home. Where are you?”

“Monaco. A bar bathroom,” you answer. “Any chance you’d come pick me up? My designated driver met a guy.”

“Not a very good designated driver,” he says with a scoff.

“Says the guy who never has one,” you retort.

Max laughs and doesn’t argue. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

Max gets there far too quickly to have been driving at a reasonable speed. He insists that you wait inside rather than meeting him out on the sidewalk, and says he’ll call you when he gets there. The phone rings, so you step outside. You’re thankful once again for his collection of cars and his tinted windows- nobody seems to have realized it’s him. He leans over and opens the door for you, and you climb inside. He already has the heated seat on for you, and he hands you a bottle of water after you sit down.

“Drink,” he says as he pulls away from the curb.

You roll your eyes but do as he says anyways. The city is a blur of lights outside your window, though you know Max isn’t speeding. He always drives carefully with you in the car, no matter how many times you beg him to go fast. You sink lower in the leather seat.

His eyes flicker over to you. “Did you have a good time?”

You shrug. “Yeah, till all my friends ditched me,” you say. “They found guys to hook up with.”

You see Max frown out of the corner of your eye. “And you didn’t? The men in this club must be blind.”

You pick at the hem of your dress. “Maybe I didn’t want to hook up with anyone. Maybe that’s not what I’m looking for.”

“And what are you looking for?” He asks.

He keeps his eyes trained on the road. You turn your head to look at him. You’re at a stoplight, and it paints his face red. You study the slope of his nose, the jut of his jaw. You, you want to say. I’m looking for you. You think of him the last time you picked him up, how he said he loved you. Called himself love drunk. And then you think of when you asked him why he hadn’t told you. Can’t.

So instead, you shrug. Max turns and looks at you, then shrugs in response. You pout, knowing he’s mocking you. His eyes trace over your face, then over the rest of you. You wonder if he’s relying on how drunk you are to make you forget this- hoping you won’t realize or remember him checking you out. He reaches into the backseat and comes back with a large dark hoodie.

“Here,” he says. “You must be cold.”

The light turns green when the sweatshirt is half over your head- you only know because you feel the vehicle lurch into motion. You squeak, and Max laughs and lays a hand on your leg to steady you. His palm is warm against your bare skin.

When you pop your head back out and shove your arms through the sleeves, you expect him to let go. He doesn’t. His hand stays there, a steady presence, the whole ride to his place.

He hasn’t even asked if you want to stay at his apartment- he doesn’t need to, he already knows what your answer would be. Plus, you’re a bit too drunk to really be left on your own. He leads you up to his door, keeping his hand on your lower back to steady your wobbling steps. You’d tried to kick your heels off in the lobby, but Max had insisted you keep them on. You take them off as soon as you walk in his front door, though, sighing in relief. You stumble over to the couch as he sheds his shoes and jacket. By the time he walks into the living room, you’re curled up in the corner, already under a blanket, face pressed against one of his throw pillows. Max clicks his tongue.

“Come on. Up,” he says, tugging at your shoulder. “You should change your clothes and eat something.”

You groan and reach out to wrap your arm around his neck. “I’m comfy. Come cuddle. Comfy.”

He sighs. “We can cuddle. If you change your clothes and eat something.”

The offer leaves you a bit dumbfounded, because Max isn’t much of a cuddler. It’s pretty likely that he’s lying just to appease you, to get you to follow his instructions. So you continue to lay there, trying to pull him in. When you don’t budge, Max huffs, plants his hands on the couch behind you, and straightens up. He does it before you can loosen your grip, so you go with him almost accidentally. He pulls you off the couch and grabs your hips, helping you to stand up.

“There,” he says, as you sigh and lean heavily on him. “Step one. Clothes.”

He leads you to his room, where you eagerly take the opportunity to sit down on his bed. He turns and begins digging through his drawers. You flop back onto the bed. One of the cats paws at your ankles- you don’t bother looking to see which one. Max throws clothing onto your stomach.

“I’ll go make you food,” he says.

It takes you far too long to find the motivation to shed the hoodie and dress and trade them out for whatever clothes Max has left for you. Eventually, though, you do it. He’s given you one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that are definitely yours, likely left behind whenever you stayed over last. You pull the hoodie back over your head and leave the dress on the floor. It’s only when you remember that Max is awful at cooking that you scramble towards the kitchen.

He’s putting perfectly cooked ramen into bowls. Frankly, it’s hard to mess up ramen, but you’re relieved either way. He smiles at the sight of you, and you think about telling him all over again. The last time you were drunk, you said you loved me. I love you too. We should talk about that. Can’t. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Thanks,” you say, sitting down at the counter.

You never do get the cuddle he promised. You fall asleep there, forehead pressed to the granite, and Max carries you to the guest room and tucks you in. You swear you feel his lips against your forehead as you fall asleep. But that’s probably just a dream.

…..

By the time you’re in Vegas for the Grand Prix, you haven’t been drunk with Max in months. It’s been one or the other, not both. But since you’re there, Max drags you along to every event he gets invited to. You’re two drinks deep by the time Max makes it to the afterparty. He catches up quickly.

You sneak a sip of his gin and tonic and recoil at the taste. He gives you a blank stare in return.

“You’ve never liked it,” he says. “I don’t know why you keep trying.”

You shrug. “Exposure therapy. And my drink’s empty.”

He gives you a look that’s a mixture of what you think is exasperation and fondness. It’s his signature look when he’s dealing with you on nights out.

“We can fix that,” he says, as he reaches for your hand.

He leads you up to the bar, fingers knit with yours. He doesn’t let go like he normally would. It’s not uncommon for him to hold onto you in a crowd, especially when you’re drunk, but this is different. He leans over the bar and gives your order to the bartender, who nods and moves to make the drink. Max keeps his hand in yours. He finally lets go when you get your drinks, and you take a sip while you look up at him.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, blue eyes wide, and you’re trying desperately to read his mind. You want him to let you in so badly.

You end up at a table with him and his driver friends, squished in the booth between Max and Charles. You sip your drink and listen to them talk about race strategy and tires and Vegas in general. Max downs his drink, and someone brings him another. You do the same, and he gets them to bring you one too. And the cycle continues.

This means that by the time he turns to you and says, “we should leave now,” you’re pleasantly drunk, and you’d probably do anything he asked, really.

He slips out of the booth and pulls you along with him, ignoring the people who call his name. He has both of your jackets in his arm as he weaves through the crowds, holding onto your hand. It’s nice, to be here with him, to be a part of it instead of sitting and waiting for a phone call to come pick him up.

As the two of you stumble out onto the sidewalk, you tug on the back of his shirt. “Hey. Who are we going to call to come take care of us? We’re both drunk.”

Max turns and laughs, and then he’s quick to steady you when you stumble on the pavement. “We will take care of each other.”

You nod clumsily, leaning into the feeling of his hands on your hips. “Okay. Yeah. Nice.”

Max tugs you close, tucking you under his arm as he starts to walk down the street. “Lovely.”

“Simply lovely,” you say teasingly. “Where are we going?”

“The hotel,” he says. “I am sick of people.”

You deflate a bit at that. You’re not ready to say goodnight, to say goodbye, to be alone. You want to spend more time with him- it’s why you’re here in Vegas. Max seems to sense your change in mood and squeezes your shoulder, craning his head to look down at you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “Do you want to stay out? We can find another club, I just thought maybe we could order room service, or pizza, and play a game or…”

He trails off as your eyes go wide, the hurt in your chest melting away. He cocks his head.

“I thought you were sick of me, too,” you say, and you bite your lower lip.

Max frowns deeply. The lights behind his head are blurry in your vision. You wonder if you’re just drunk, or if you’re tearing up. The way he swipes his thumb under your eye tells you it’s the latter.

“No,” he says, gently. “Never.”

Your lip wobbles. You shrug. Max seems to understand, and he just squeezes your shoulder again and keeps walking. You try to get your emotions in check. You have to, really, need to be normal about this. He’s just your friend. That’s all he wants to be.

“We could go do karaoke,” he suggests, pointing at a sign down the road.

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working.

You laugh and elbow him. “You’re an awful singer,” you tease.

“Am not!” He says, his tone full of mock offense. “Here, I’ll-“

You’re expecting him to break out into Viva Las Vegas, like he had at the end of the race over the radio. You’re bracing yourself for it, ready to grimace and cover your ears even though he isn’t really that bad of a singer. What he starts singing surprises you, makes you stumble a bit over your own feet.

“Welcome to New York!” He sings, and you stare at him, wide eyed. “They’ve been waiting for me- welcome-“

“Stop, stop,” you laugh, elbowing him as he attracts stares from people passing by. “We’re in Vegas, not New York! And you always get the lyrics wrong-“

“I am very good with lyrics,” he says, shaking his head.

“No, you’re not, you sang the other one wrong, too,” you tease. “You said got love drunk, it’s supposed to be got love struck. Remember, in Monaco?”

He stops in his tracks, his arm still around you, and stares. You stare right back. You frown and tilt your head at him, mirroring his earlier reaction.

“You remember that?” He asks, quietly.

“I was sober, Max,” you answer. “You remember that?”

He nods, lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes are wide, cheeks pink. “I wasn’t sure if it was real, or if I dreamed it. And you never said anything about what I told you, so…”

That’s when you remember the other part of that conversation, all those nights ago. I love her. Why don’t you tell her? Can’t. You swallow tightly, hands hanging at your sides.

“You didn’t seem to know you were talking to me,” you explain. “So I figured it wasn’t something you really wanted me to know.”

Max blinks, then nods. “I didn’t. Because you don’t feel the same.”

Your stomach twists violently, and your chest follows suit. “I never said that.”

His stare is so intense you feel like you’re seconds away from bursting into flame. “But if you did, you would’ve said something after that night.”

You shake your head. “I asked why you didn’t just tell me and you just said, can’t. You wouldn’t explain any further. I don’t know, Max, I just. I figured you had a reason. Like, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He asks, still staring at you.

“I’m just me, Max,” you say, pressing your hands over your face. “I’m just your friend. People get crushes all the time but it doesn’t mean you want to be with me, you’re a fucking world champion and I-“

He reaches up with both hands and grabs your wrists gently. He pulls your hands from your face. There’s a smile on his lips that leaves you teetering between relief and apprehension.

“But I didn’t say I had a crush on you,” he says, brows raised. “I said I love you.”

You sigh heavily and try to pull your hands back to your face. He doesn’t let you. You’re looking anywhere other than his eyes. Anywhere other than him, really. He lets go of your wrists and then cups your face in his hands before you can move.

“Hey,” he says. “I said can’t because I thought there was no way you’d feel the same.”

You stare at him, wide eyed, as his thumbs sweep soft circles over your cheeks. Suddenly, everything comes into focus, bright and blinding and stark. The Las Vegas strip is glowing all around you, but none of the lights are as bright as him.

“I do,” you murmur, and he lights up even brighter, somehow, when he smiles. “Fuck, Max-“

He kisses you right there, where anyone could see, in the middle of one of the busiest sidewalks you’ve ever been on. Nobody seems to notice or care, nobody seems to understand that your whole world is shifting. His lips are warm against yours, he tastes like gin, and he holds onto you like he’s trying to be so, so careful. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and thread fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He only pulls away when someone whistles at the two of you. He’s grinning wide, hands still cradling your face, and you have to fight not to pull his lips back to yours.

“Come on,” he says, slightly out of breath.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You just let him lead you away. You’re so in love with him, you think you’d probably follow him anywhere. It’s terrifying and relieving all at the same time.

…..

A week later, in Abu Dhabi, you ask him if he wants to go out after the race. There’s a billion parties he could choose from.

“No,” he says, wrinkling his nose up at the idea. “I’m good.”

You elbow him lightly, raising your brows. “All those parties you called me to pick you up from, and now I’m here and you don’t even want to go out? You don’t want to celebrate your season?”

He smirks as he tugs on the hem of your shirt, pulling you along with him through the paddock. “I want to celebrate, but we don’t need to go out to do that. I have better ideas.”

His hand slips lower from your hip and squeezes at your ass. You yelp and look around frantically, hoping nobody noticed. He’s grinning with pride.

“Party animal Max Verstappen wants to stay in,” you tease. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He shrugs, leans his head close to yours, and then admits, finally, “it was never about the parties. It was more about who was picking me up from them.”

You smile against his shoulder and try not to let it go to your head. He smiles against your forehead and tells you that he loves you for what must be the millionth time in the past week. You say it right back, drunk on the feeling of it.

a/n: thank you for readinnnnngggg!!

taglist: @4-mula1 @celestialams @struggling-with-delia @lovekt @i-wish-this-was-me @forzalando @iloveyou3000morgan @callsign-scully

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mclastri · 3 months

Text

Helmets - LN

Summary: Lando's girlfriend loves his helmet designs and always collects a mini version despite him always assuring her he'd have his hands on the helmet as decoration for their house but she likes having mini ones regardless

No part 2 requests please

When Lando met y/n, she had two mini helmets. Neither of which were his. In fact they were Sebastian Vettel's a man who has gone as far as to catalog his helmet collection on his website for fans to see.

But when they started dating she started collecting his mini helmets. Actually going so far as to do it without his knowledge at first but then when things got serious enough for her to move in and bring her stuff. He discovered the growing collection and may have felt his heart grow that day.

"You have some gaps." He'd commented at the time making her face grow hot.

"Some of them harder to get than you'd think."

So Lando did something he knew would end up being a huge ask but he knew that he wanted to do it for her. He got his team to get every single one of his helmets remade as 1:2 scale. Even the helmets that hadn't been made to model size, which was quite a few of them.

It had taken a while, the better part of a year and she cried when she was handed the huge box filled with mini helmets.

And since then he has made sure any helmet with a special design or even just his season helmet has always came with a scaled version for her to have. It'd really became such a tradition for them.

She actually straps whatever mini version of the helmet he's using onto her bag strap so it's always on display which helmet he's using. Some fans even rely on her to know if he has a special helmet for the weekend or not.

"I have a surprise for you." Lando grins holding the mini 2024 season helmet which he's been keeping oddly hidden.

Like most people y/n just assumed it was going to be the same as always with a mild variation and the new addition of Monster's sponsorship on it.

"A surprise?" Y/n smiles as she tilts her head a little at him then leans trying to catch a glimpse at whatever is held behind his back. "What is it?"

"First, I want you to know there's no many people who know about the this. You're one of the first...aside from Flo. Because she watched to match me for this one." Lando explains making y/n frown and begin to question if her boyfriend is about to admit to incest-oh god. Just the thought makes her stomach turn. "Why do you look like you're going to be sick?"

"Nothing. It's nothing." Lando isn't that type of rich guy. "What's the surprise?"

Lando presents a black box, always blank so as to not give away the helmet design before she sees the actual helmet.

"Oh my gosh, is it your new helmet?" Y/n gasps biting her lip in pure excitement as she goes to take the box but stops herself from saying anything.

"Yeah."

"And it matches Flo's? That's so cute...not what I expected but definitely so cute." Y/n smiles while Lando frowns.

"What did you-"

"Don't ask." Y/n dismisses then opening the box and scrambling to see it but upon seeing the new helmet, her whole body seems to still itself. "This is...new."

"Good new?" Lando questions making her grin and smile brightly at him. Then he begins showing her the details of the helmet, how some of the blobs spell out his name. "Flo's isn't as bright but she does match me."

"I love it, baby. It's so cool." Y/n grins then leaning over and kissing him. "I liked the old design but this one is...new and it defines a new era. A new chapter...you'll win in this helmet. I can sense it."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

Y/n sighs moving to her bag and finally removing his 2023 helmet which had gone unmoved since the end of the season. It's a huge thing to have attached to her bag but anyone who has suggested removing it has found themselves on the receiving end of her middle finger.

"Finally retiring him." Lando jokes while taking it as she attaches the new one in it's place. "I'll put it with the others."

"Thank you." Y/n smiles as he nods and kisses her softly before standing up then moving to the hallway where they've managed to install shelves that are thankfully only half filled meaning there's plenty of room for more of his inevitably ever-growing helmet collection.

He takes a moment to admire the mini helmets all lined up. He has most of the full-sized helmets in the apartment but he is without a doubt obsessed with y/n's obsession with the mini helmets and her love of them.

With Lando also having a helmet tribute to Gil as part of his testing, he's given y/n one to have and she's not only kept it with her at all times but she's been holding it in her hand the whole time. Only letting go of it when she has it on her lap.

"Hey, baby." Lando smiles as he appears. "Where you watching from?"

"Zak said I could watch from the pit wall If I wanted."

"Really? Going to give me a wave as a pass by?"

"No. I'll get in trouble or something and I can't watch from there the whole time. But just for a bit." Y/n shrugs earning a grin from the young man. "I'm going for WAG of the year."

"You won last year...and 2022. Going for a third year running is really just making something of an easy job." Lando smiles then kissing her softly. "You've already won."

"That's nice for you to say." Y/n hums before sighing softly. "But not everyone is so nice."

Lando would say as far as WAGs go, y/n is the least problematic. People can't actually fault her for anything other than saying she's "too clingy" or "seems to annoy Lando a lot" which is two comments that he sees as absolute bollocks. It's pretty obvious they just can't think of anything else to criticise her for so they pick on things that just aren't even true.

"Do you want to sign my helmet?" Lando asks when the last day of testing comes around and he is getting ready to put it on.

"I'm not part of the team." Y/n smiles lightly making him look at her with such a dark look that she actually thinks she might've pissed him off. "What?"

"You are here every race weekend, you support me and you always help where you can." Lando states shaking her his. "In what world are you not part of the team?"

"Well I-"

"Baby, sign the helmet. Please." Lando smiles cutting her off and she can tell he's still upset she doesn't think of herself as part of the team. "I'm not mad, I just can't believe you don't think you're part of all of this."

"I mean I feel like I'm part of McLaren in a way but not like everyone else is." Y/n shrugs while he hands her the pen and she signs it with a little message for Gil. He picks up the little one looking at it for a moment.

"Can I borrow this?" He asks making her look up for a moment and frown, definitely not enjoying the thought of her mini helmet going anywhere. "I'll make sure it's returned to you as soon as possible."

"Ok." She nods still not looking eager about it but nodding.

Lando smiles kissing her softly before gently tapping her ass for her to get moving to the unit since she's not staying in the garage for the testing session this morning.

"Don't miss me too much."

"I won't." Y/n smiles innocently then squeaking when he smacks her ass a bit harder in warning.

But she just rushes off and he sighs shaking his head before moving over to will.

"Hey, I need your help with getting this all signed by the team for y/n." Lando states making Will look at him in confusion. "You think she's part of the team right?"

"She does more cleaning up at the end of the day than most of the mechanics. So yes, even if she is unpaid." Will jokes while Lando almost feels relieved. "I'll make sure it gets around the team and they all sign it. Might be hard to fit as many messages on it as we got on yours but I'm sure we'll managed."

Lando thanks him before they begin discussing the plan for the session. They already talked about it earlier but it's never too late to go over it again.

The last morning session isn't exactly smooth sailing for McLaren, they're not having the finest testing. Lando only got 20 laps in and he was not in the brightest of moods getting out of the car.

"Hey, I got asked to bring this back to you." Zak states looking confused as he hands the small helmet to the driver.

The writing is full every possibly space on the helmet and he softens slightly knowing that y/n is going to probably end up sob reading some of the messages that people have written. Just at first glance over them.

"Thanks. It's uhh...it's not for me it's for-"

"The best person on the team. I can tell." Zak states since while he's not actually spoke about y/n much, he can see when there is a perfect match with someone and y/n and Lando are perfect for each other.

He's not in a good mood but one reminder of his girlfriend and he perked up.

"Have you seen her around?" Lando asks though he knows with the quick change over she'll be trying to keep herself completely removed from the garage chaos. "Uh, I'll go find her, give her this and then we can look at data?"

Will nods and Zak gives a thumbs up to the plan before he watches Lando take off with Will smiling lightly at him.

"I'd say young love but I think he's got life-long love with her." Zak comments shaking his head.

Lando rushes around the unit looking for y/n but she's not actually there. And instead when he steps out the unit he finds her with none other than the former McLaren driver who actually introduced Lando to y/n. Carlos is possibly the one driver in the paddock who Lando would trust not to try and seduce his girlfriend.

Carlos and y/n are laughing loudly as music plays from a speaker and she is led around in a dance that she very obviously doesn't know. But to Carlos' credit, he's doing well to stop her from completely messing up the dance.

Lando is spotted by the his former teammate before he spins y/n and perfectly sends her crashing into Lando. Thankfully the younger man does manage to catch his girlfriend.

"Oh my gosh, Lando! I didn't realise you were done." Y/n laughs before looking back at Carlos who winks at her in his own way of saying you're welcome. "How was it?"

"I'll tell you later, but for now you wanted this back." Lando states presenting her with the helmet which he is thinking he might want to get recoated so the inked messages don't smudge. "Everyone in the team wrote a message to you."

As predicted y/n is tearful and speechless while Carlos moves over wanting to see the small helmet.

"This is so cool. Priceless too." Carlos comments as he looks at the messages and smiles lightly.

"Thank you. You didn't have to do that, but...thank you." Y/n grins not bothering to wipe her tears as he picks her up and more than happily kisses her uncaring of Carlos verbalising his over dramatically childish distress over such a sight.

"Ah, I am blind! You two has blinded me!" Carlos jokes covering his eyes with one hand as he keeps hold of the mini helmet with the other.

Charles end sup appearing with Pierre and they both get a look at the helmet, both concluding in agreement with Carlos that it has to be one of the most priceless pieces of merchandise in the sport. Even if she's not a driver. Having a one of a kind mini helmet that's been signed by the whole McLaren team expressing their love for her presence with them. It's safe to say that nothing will beat it.

"It's a good thing I won't be carrying it around after today, I don't want to risk it getting stolen like the mini Abu Dhabi 21 helmet." Y/n mumbles earning a hum from her boyfriend. "I can't wait to carry the new helmet around though."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, it's going to look so good." Y/n grins before she looks down at the little helmet then signs. "Come on then, you might not want to talk about the testing. But I want to hear about it, good or bad. Plus I can read some of the messages properly once we're inside."

"You know, I think it's about time I finally let you design me a helmet." Lando comments still wanting to dodge the subject that's weighing heavy on his shoulders. He likes being happier with y/n and talking about testing is going to ruined that.

"You'd let me design a helmet?" Y/n gasps looking like she's about to cry again. "Can I really?"

"Of course you can baby." Lando smiles feeling his mood lighten even more just from her sheer excitement.

Y/n didn't end up just designing a helmet but she designed a helmet specifically for a certain race.

The COTA GP and she was beyond excited about it. Using his season helmets patten but replacing the black lined blobs with bright pink paisley on a white helmet base. They had tried it with the neon yellow but she wasn't sure about it and preferred the white on this occasion.

Lando added the glitter gloss over the top of it which she was completely in love with and when he own smaller version arrived with it. Lando was sure he'd have trouble every getting her to leave it at home.

"There's Lando Norris, in his helmet designed by his stunning girlfriend. I don't actually know which one of them loves the design more but Lando has been very proudly showing it off to everyone." Crofty states as they watch Lando go around in FP2. "I was talking to him with Ted earlier and he was showing us all of it."

"Yeah, I think Carlos joked that Lando would use a race helmet to propose to y/n which might actually be perfect for them. She has a collection of mini helmets with every single helmet design he has every used." Martin chuckles since usually they wouldn't mention WAGs but since Lando had been so proudly telling the world about this helmet and it'd been a conversation topic throughout the race weekend already. It seemed ok on this occasion. "I actually saw y/n with her mini version, I haven't spoken to her much because I've never had much reason but she was polite and let me have a look at it. It's a beautiful design really."

They actually manage to cut to a shot of y/n in the garage with the mini helmet placed in front of her as she watches the screen, looking a little flustered when she sees herself appear.

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