pocheccos

[pocheccos]

soft spot.

You shake your head while looking up at Checo, “Been traveling all week, I think it’s catching up to me. I would like to stay somewhere for longer than a couple days.”

sergio perez x gender neutral!reader // word count: 1098 // no major content warnings. mentions of airsickness but nothing happens. just being soft. no use of y/n

rambling. hi, hello! it’s been a hot minute (years maybe a decade, in fact) since i’ve posted any writing onto this site. i wrote this before the news today but this is me coping i guess!! anyways hope u enjoy and hugs to my fellow checo lovers. we are free from the hell that is red bull racing. if my spanish seems off, thats on me. i only speak fluently, but never formally learned how to write/read (im at a first grader level probably). ty ty. how the hell do u format on this thing

You’re nervous on the flight heading to Las Vegas. From the initial take off, your stomach felt uneasy. Thankfully, the Red Bull team had the idea to fly out from Los Angeles, so the flight would be short. Your whole life you’ve never been one to fall prone to airsickness. That would not change today.

You kept your eyes trained to the scenery outside. Your eyes traced mountains and their ridges as a distraction. You mentally ran through your personal schedule for the week. Even as a guest for the team, you were required to complete media duties. A few video shoots with Red Bull and some with your own personal sponsors. Today would be one of your free days; you’d have the chance to adjust to the time zone and settle into your home for the week. You’re so focused on not feeling sick, you don’t even register when someone takes the seat next to you. You only become aware of Checo when he takes your hand into his.

You exhale a deep breath and offer the driver a smile. He drops your hand in exchange for raising the arm rest that separates him from you. Without question, he presses himself against you while wrapping his arm around your shoulders. On instinct, you lean against him while keeping your eyes trained on the window. Your free hand comes up to grip the hand that's draped over your shoulder.

“Since we took off,” Checo begins as he leans to press a kiss to your hair, “has tenido una cara. What’s wrong?”

You don’t answer immediately, choosing to look away from the window and give the man your attention. You shake your head while looking up at Checo, “Been traveling all week, I think it’s catching up to me. I would like to stay somewhere for longer than a couple days.”

Your offered reason wasn’t a complete lie, you were tired. You felt as if you were being pulled in a different direction at every turn. Even if you were in a beautiful city for an event, you had to adhere to a schedule.

Coupled with the stress of watching your partner struggle in his sport, you felt drained. Checo, even Max, had expressed their frustrations to you after races. Complaining that their cars were not responding to them or that the team refused to acknowledge that their beloved car wasn’t the fastest anymore. You were waking up at odd hours during race weekends only to see both Red Bull drivers struggle to get points.

The media had managed to get under your skin, unfortunately. You had grown accustomed to being on the end of good and bad press with your own career. But seeing your partner casually slandered each week was different. It was easy when the boys performed well. Though a bad performance meant the press could lob every doubt and criticism with little remorse. It felt as if you were the one being stabbed with each word.

Unconvinced brown eyes stare into yours, waiting for you to admit the real reason. Checo doesn’t press the subject further, but you see how his eyes beg for you to confide in him. Perhaps in a more private setting, you would. You could discuss it in his native tongue for an extra sense of privacy, but you didn’t want to feel vulnerable on a plane.

Perhaps you were being dramatic. You had no real reason to be this distraught over his race results. You weren’t a part of the Checo’s garage. You weren’t there to change his tires, to fix his car after receiving damage, and you weren’t strategizing on his behalf. You were just the significant other. The Red Bull affiliated athlete that happened to be dating a Formula One driver. Others would tell you to focus on your own sport.

Still, the anxiety chose to manifest.

“Mi vida,” Checo says and it pulls you out of your mental spiral. You see the concern taking over his face, and it makes you feel guilty. You didn’t want to be on his list of worries for the weekend. Checo would argue against that thought, give you a kiss and remind you that he wanted to support you as you did him.

”You’re under a lot of pressure this weekend.” You begin, “I’m hoping that this weekend treats the team well. Don’t let my bad mood add to your stress.” It's a loose attempt at describing how you feel, but you see the frown on Checo’s face.

You choose to give Checo a quick kiss to dissolve the growing frown. He chases you as you pull back for another kiss. This one is far more intense than your peck, so much so that it blinds you to the sensation of his hand on your thigh. His fingers skirt towards your inner thigh just close enough to replace the nausea in your stomach with butterflies.

You dig your nails into his other hand as a warning, “Pórtate bien, Sergio.” You say in a hiss. You shoot the man a glare. Your relationship with Checo wasn’t a secret, but you would rather jump off the plane with no parachute than join a certain club.

All the man does is chuckle at your reaction, but he moves the offending hand closer to rest by your knee. He lowers his face to find the space between your neck and shoulder. The pair of you sit in comfortable silence, your gaze returning to stare out the plane window.

“When the season is over, I’ll take you somewhere we’ve never been.” He mummers against your skin. In a tamer fashion, he peppers soft kisses along the area, “No schedules, just us and whatever we’d like to do. Three races and then we’ll disappear. Only if you promise me something.”

You can’t help but hum softly at his words, knowing you’re falling victim to his favorite way of getting you to open up. You already know what his request will be.

“Lo que tu quieres, mi cielo.” You tell him anyway.

”Tell me what’s bothering you,” Checo says, lifting his head from your neck. “Whatever feelings you have, they won’t scare me. Feeling you pull away is what scares me. Only when you’re ready.” You shiver at the air hitting the empty space. You don’t turn to face him, but you squeeze the hand that you were still holding and turn your head to grace it with a kiss.

I will. You wordlessly tell him.

I love you. Checo reminds you when he intertwines your fingers together.

[pocheccos]

crazy how i spent my formative years on this site and i couldnt figure out how to make a side blog