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littlemisspascal · 6 months

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Part 2: Take What Comes

Summary:

Once Javi learns about the hour of free time you have after media training he starts seeking you out every day. Sometimes you both just play on your phones, scrolling through social media, showing each other memes and videos, but mostly you spend the hour talking, chatting about anything that comes to mind, growing more comfortable in each other’s company.

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

Pairing: eventual Javi/Fem!Reader "Oddball" (OFC)*

Word Count: 5000+

Warnings: Formula One AU ft. multiple Pedro Pascal Cinematic Universe characters, Human AU, Canon Divergence, Worldbuilding, Social Media Fic, Headlines inspired by true events but edited for this plot, Slowest of Slow Burn, Language, Food, Holiday party--reader wears reindeer headband, Reader's Mom included

Author Note: Been a year since last update and it's still just as super self-indulgent as ever ✨ Thank you anyone who gives it a read!

Winter Dividers credit here!

A03 Link | Series Masterlist

*see series masterlist for more info

And Javi, he’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met before.

You start collecting facts about him throughout the conversations, little tidbits filed away neatly in a box you’ve labeled Javi in your mind. His mom died when he was young, leaving his father to fill the void while also successfully running his multimillion olive empire. He’s an only child, but his cousin’s a year older and they were practically raised as brothers. (“Butt heads like brothers too,” Javi chuckled, but you didn’t miss how hollow it sounded.) He likes brightly colored shirts, oranges and greens and blues, the kind that only 1% of the world population can actually pull off. Besides racing and swimming, his third passion is life in script writing, but no matter how much you poke and plead at him he refuses to share any of his potential plots, nerves getting the better of him.

He started his career in karting a year before you did. Javi admitted he hadn’t been interested in racing until his father took him to the final Formula 1 race of the 2007 season where he witnessed Pietro Alvarez win his first of three championships. The older Spaniard became his idol, inspiring Javi to follow in his footsteps.

“You have no idea how jealous I was when I heard you were partners at the Ando Overland,” Javi told you, followed by a nudge against your side with his elbow. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, getting to race against him on the grid was…”

He’d trailed off, a soft smile brightening his face. And even without words, you’d understood. The opportunity to race alongside your heroes, some of the best drivers in the world—it’s like something out of a dream, one of those pinch me moments you pray you don’t wake up from.

You briefly entertained the thought of telling Javi he was one of your idols. That he’d been a part of the collage of driver posters adorning your childhood bedroom walls. But your fear and embarrassment of his reaction—whether flattered or weirded out—perished the idea as quick as it came.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great,” you said instead with a matching grin. “A bit of a coffee addict, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Says the lemonade addict,” Javi said, laughing when you kicked at his shin. “What’s that saying about the pot and kettle?”

“Oh, shut up,” you grumbled, but the smile on your face hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it’d stretched even wider.

“Don’t worry.” He squeezed your shoulder in a reassuring manner. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

You learn Javi has a love-hate relationship with social media. Well, maybe not love-hate but rather love-indifferent. Unlike you who likes to tweet or post a photo at least every other day, he’ll go weeks without an update, then either go on a short spree of liking and commenting on stuff or just post a random photo of his food before bailing again for another month. Still, he never makes fun of you when he catches you live streaming or angling your phone for the perfect selfie, simply dodges out of the way until you’re finished.

“Did you suddenly become camera-shy or are you trying to be all mysterious and cool like Bigfoot?” you asked him once and he merely shrugged.

“I appreciate the fans, but it’s nice having this time out of the spotlight,” he’d answered. You were content to leave it at that, but then he smirked and added, “Also, everyone knows the only reason Bigfoot doesn’t show up on camera is because he’s naturally blurry.”

Bantering with Javi is easy. More than that, you enjoy it. You don’t have to worry about him not understanding the obscure film references you make or mistaking your sarcasm for sincerity. He even laughs at your stupidest jokes which spurs you on to make more stupid jokes, the sound of his laughter contagious and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes oddly endearing.

Javi can quote any Nicolas Cage film from memory, line for line, a talent which comes in handy winning bets against Melshi and some of the pit crew boys who underestimate Javi’s skills. He happily shows you some more photos of his memorabilia collection after you mention seeing the ones on his Instagram.

“When we’re in Spain for the race next season, come with me to Majorca and I’ll give you a tour,” Javi says decisively, looking like he’s already planning the trip right then and there. “You can stay at our house. There’s lots of spare bedrooms. I’ll take you to all my favorite places.”

Your head spins a little at that. You haven't even known each other a whole month and here he is inviting you to stay at his family’s home. Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise though. Between the daily hanging out after media training and challenging each other in the simulator, Javi had inserted himself seamlessly into the narrative of your life like he was always meant to be there.

“Okay,” you say, smiling. “Sounds like fun.”

“We’ll have a great time,” Javi agrees, and it sounds like a promise.

From: Barbara Minerva ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]) Subject: Upcoming Interview w/ Speed Beasts

Oddball,

I’ve just finished confirming a future interview for you with Speed Beasts magazine at their head office in January. Their questions should be similar to what you experienced last time, mainly discussing your hopes and goals for the 2023 season, but regardless I’ll help you prepare as the date draws nearer so no need to worry too much.

However, they have expressed interest in potentially including Ben Miller and making it a joint article and cover shoot. Given your close friendship with each other, I don’t imagine you being opposed to the idea but I wouldn’t be a good PR manager if I didn’t check in and listen to your opinion on the matter.

Give it a thought and get back to me once your mind’s made up.

Barb

To: Benny (5:10pm)

I said yes to us doing an interview together

To: Benny (5:10pm)

Don’t make me regret this, young man

From: Benny (5:12pm)

Relax, O. I’ll only say nice things about you ;)

To: Benny (5:13pm)

And there it is. Instant regret

“That new teammate of yours certainly grew up cute, didn’t he?”

It’s only thanks to your quick reflexes that you don’t accidentally cut off a finger.

“ Mom.” Setting down the knife, you glare at the half-finished pile of chopped carrot pieces for your salad. They didn’t do anything wrong, but seeing as your mother is on a whole other continent they’re the unfortunate victim of your irritation.

“I’m just saying I have eyes, dear,” she laughs. “The hair, the muscles, those dimples—he’s quite the package.”

You make a strangled sound not unlike a choking cat, unable to believe her lack of filter sometimes. Your mother lets out another peal of laughter that has your thumb itching to press the hang up button.

“Mom…”

“Alright, alright,” she says, sobering. In the background you can hear the faint sounds of a television show with a laugh track. It makes your heart twinge a bit, recalling days the two of you spent lounging around the house binge marathoning sitcoms with a bowl of popcorn.

“I remember seeing him in those magazines you used to buy,” Mom continues, a soft smile in her voice. “Now you’re going to be right there beside him in the pictures. Funny how life works out sometimes.”

You hum. “Yeah, it is.”

Outside your kitchen window the sky’s a dark wintery gray, promising a dropping temperature as night gradually approaches. Your socked feet shuffle against the tile floor, already dreading the cold walk to your car in the morning.

“Are you getting along with him?” she asks.

“We had lunch together.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s…”

You rack your head for a word that can encompass everything that Javi is. Nice, intelligent, funny as hell and so genuine it’s almost unbelievable someone like him can exist in the world of F1. You don’t know what his personality is like during a real race when the pressure can make tempers ignite, but if he’s anything like the glimpses you’ve seen during shared simulator practices though—competitive and serious, determined to do whatever he can to achieve good results, but also fair, congratulating you on the rare, yet slowly increasing occasions when you do better than him with a smile and pat on the shoulder—then you have hope your partnership will be a positive experience this season.

“He’s Javi,” you end up saying with a tiny shrug. “He’s my teammate.”

“I see,” Mom replies in a tone you can’t quite identify.

Your brow scrunches, mouth opening to ask but before you can get the question out she’s already speaking again, beating you to the punch.

“Is Javi doing anything for the holidays?” The lightness of her tone is just a hair too innocent.

“He’s going home to his family,” you say, bursting her hopeful bubble of inviting him to Sorgan. She’s about as subtle as a bantha. “You’ll just be getting me.”

“The best present of all,” she declares, and the words warm you from the inside out as if she’s hugging you across the distance. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I’m starting to forget what you look like.”

“Same as always,” your mouth turns up at the corners with a teasing smirk, “plus a couple of new tattoos.”

“For your sake I hope you’re kidding.”

“Guess you’ll just have to watch me on the Drive Awards to know for sure.”

She exhales a quiet huff, and you imagine her shaking her head, eyes lifted towards the ceiling. “You say that like there’s any chance I’m gonna miss my one and only daughter appearing at the most prestigious award ceremony for motorsports. Don’t be foolish.”

“Me? Never.” Your stomach growls, reminding you of your interrupted lunch preparations. “I’ll talk to you later, Mom, food is calling me.”

“Be sure to text me as soon as you’ve got your flight home booked.”

“Will do.”

From: Vivian Etten ([email protected]) To: you ([email protected]); Javi Gutierrez ([email protected]); Vulpecula Staff ([email protected]) Subject: Mark Your Calendars Attached: Upcoming Dates to Remember for Vulpecula F1 (pdf)

Hello,

Attached is a list of upcoming important events for the F1 team. January dates are still in the process of being scheduled and a follow up email will be sent in the upcoming weeks once everything’s properly organized and settled.

Please note this year’s Drive Awards will be held in London. Formal attire is a necessity and a gourmet meal will be served prior to the ceremony. If you plan to invite a guest you must register them with me beforehand. Swing by my office or respond to this email ASAP with their name if you plan on bringing someone.

Happy holidays to all!

Vivian Etten

CEO of Vulpecula Racing

You blink sluggishly, trying to stay awake. Stuck in a meeting room listening to Vivian and her top executives sweet talk investors to secure additional funding from them isn’t the most riveting way to spend your morning, but what Vivian wants Vivian usually gets. And this time she wanted you and Javi to be present so the investors could personally meet the new faces of the team.

A glance across the table shows Javi leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping a silent beat against the armrest. You wonder what it means, if it’s a trick to keep him alert or a subconscious tick like the way your leg bounces when you’re nervous. He’s probably attended several meetings just like this in the past. Knows when it’s necessary to listen and when he can get by merely pretending he has an inkling of what's going on.

Dressed in entirely black with a cobalt blue pocket square and tousled curls, Javi looks like a different person compared to the rest of your interactions. Less like a racing driver, more like royalty. You’re certainly not the only one who’s noticed his handsome looks. Of the dozen investors, at least three have eyed Javi with such blatant interest they might as well be waving neon signs.

Javi catches you staring, fingers halting their drumming. There’s a second or two where you simply stare at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away. Then he sticks his tongue out childishly, brown eyes crossing. It’s neither the time nor place for such an expression—you’re pretty sure Vivian’s talking about inflation or something else equally important and serious—and yet you find yourself stifling a giggle into the palm of your hand before your tired brain can summon enough energy to stop it from forming.

“Of course that’s all subject to change depending on the results of the season,” Vivian’s saying at the head of the table, flipping closed her folder. “Any final words you’d like to contribute, Odds?”

Every pair of eyes in the room turns to look at you, and your blood runs cold. You hadn’t spoken throughout the meeting, content to just smile and shake hands at the beginning and then let Vivian take the lead for the rest. You rack your head for a response that doesn’t sound completely stupid.

“Uh, well,” you straighten your spine, projecting as much of an aura of confidence as you can muster, “I’m extremely grateful to have been given the chance to be one of Vupecula’s drivers. I’m also proud to be a part of a team with such a long history, too. And I think I speak for both myself and Javi when I say that we’re determined to win as many points as we can to increase Vulpecula’s ranking.”

“We’ll keep fighting from the beginning to the end,” Javi agrees with a firm nod. “No giving up. No surrendering.”

“Fantastic,” Vivian says, beaming at you both with pride. “I think that about wraps everything up for the time being. Anyone up for some lunch?”

The investors all eagerly agree, neatly filing out of the room to be the first ones in the cafeteria line.

Javi waits for you by the door, walking out into the hallway close enough his arm brushes against yours. “What do you think about leaving headquarters for our lunch break?”

“Works for me,” you say, absently pulling at the sleeve of your sweater. It’s one of your nicest ones you own but it never fails to make your skin feel itchy. “Where were you planning?”

“Somewhere close by,” is his cryptic, grinning reply.

Somewhere close by winds up being Javi’s apartment, a quiet and private spot on the edge of town about fifteen minutes from your own place. The drive is pleasant, if not more than a little confusing for you, sitting in the passenger seat without a clue about the final destination until Javi’s suddenly parking and waving a hand towards an apartment complex as if to say ta-da!

“You like salmon?” Javi asks you as he unlocks his door, standing to the side to let you enter first. Apparently chivalry isn’t totally dead.

Still, you can’t help the teasing smirk pulling at your mouth. “They’re alright. Not as cute as clown fish though.”

“Well, duh, nobody can take away Nemo’s crown.” Javi rolls his eyes playfully before heading for the kitchen. He opens the fridge, poking his head inside as he calls out, “How about salmon skewers for lunch?”

“Sounds delicious. Do you need help with anything?”

“No, I’ve got it all under control. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Despite only recently moving here, Javi’s created a warm and cozy home with bright pops of colors and personal touches, like the impressive collection of DVDs next to the television and numerous hanging plants in front of the windows. There’s a pair of checkered vans kicked off in the entryway, a dog-eared book about script writing on the coffee table, and a box of fruit loops left on the kitchen bar counter—a cheat meal that has you biting back a snicker, thinking of your own guilty pleasures stashed back home.

Javi hums as he moves around the kitchen, piercing chunks of salmon and onions on bamboo skewers to be grilled on a skillet. His actions are smooth, confident, same as the way he handles the sim’s steering wheel back at headquarters.

When he sets the plates down on the table, your mouth instantly salivates from the delicious smell as you lean in for a sniff. Fuck that’s good. Eggsy might have a rival for being the best cook amongst the drivers.

“Go on, I promise it isn’t poisoned,” Javi says before sinking his teeth into a massive bite of fish.

You snort quietly, taking a bite of your own.

And well, if you have to sink your fingernails into your palm to hold back a moan then that’s between you and your stinging hand.

Still, something must flash across your face because there’s a glint of amusement in Javi’s brown eyes. “You like it, no? Best meal you’ve ever had? C’mon, let me hear it.”

Swallowing, you hum a long note, pretending to think. “Top ten for sure.”

“Top ten? Ugh, you wound me, Odds.” Javi groans, throwing a hand over his heart as if your words had been a dagger. “First guest I cook for in my new place and I barely earned an honorable mention. Unacceptable.”

You laugh. “Just means you’ll have to cook for me more often.”

“Mm.” He nibbles on one of the onions, eyes narrowing. “Challenge accepted. I’m coming for the gold.”

After finishing your meals Javi grabs a couple of pomegranate popsicles out of the freezer for dessert. He stretches out his legs beneath the table, knocking the side of his shoe against your ankle. Smirks when you immediately nudge him back. And to think he’s supposed to be the older, more mature one. Vivian would be rolling her eyes if she saw you two right now.

“I like your place,” you say in-between licks. “You settling in alright?”

“Hmm?” Javi blinks, as if startled out of his thoughts. “Oh, thanks. Yeah, it was a smooth move all things considered. Nothing got lost in transit this time, gracias a Dios.”

Right, this isn’t Javi’s first rodeo when it comes to packing up all his belongings and moving to a whole new place. You’d faced a difficult enough struggle moving from Sorgan to Altair, you can’t imagine doing it again and again. Fingers crossed Vulpecula keeps you around for a long, long time.

“And what about Vulpecula? Good so far?”

“Everyone’s been very welcoming,” he answers, biting off a piece of his popsicle with a slight crunch. He offers a grin once he swallows. “I’m happy to be here. I think it will be a fun time for us. Hard as hell, but fun.”

“One for the history books,” you murmur, imagining the potential of putting Vulpecula back on top again. Where it belongs. “It’d be amazing, wouldn’t it? You and me on the podium.”

Javi laughs. “It would be pretty entertaining pouring my bottle of champagne over your head.”

“Oi!” You swat at his arm, but you’re unable to stifle your own laughter. “Forget it. You’ll be down in the crowd, looking up at me and my trophy in total envy.”

“You got it all wrong, Oddball. I’d be front and center, cheering your name louder than anyone.”

You feel a pulse of warmth bloom in your chest, and you look back to your popsicle, sticking it into your mouth before you say or do something embarrassing.

From: Eggsy (3:05pm)

Hey! My turn to host the holiday party this year so stick around London on the 19th. Better bring a good gift this time >:(

To: Eggsy (3:07pm)

Kk. You make it sound like what I brought last year was terrible tho

From: Eggsy (3:08pm)

You brought an empty tin of cookies and said you’d been swarmed by raccoons

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)

Those trash pandas are vicious beasts

From: Eggsy (3:09pm)

You had chocolate stains all over your face

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

I don’t know what you’re talking about

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

It was a longer driver than I anticipated, alright?

To: Eggsy (3:09pm)(unsent)

You’re one to talk Mr. Hoverboard. At least I didn’t set anyone on fire :P

To: Eggsy (3:13pm)

What time should I come with my great gift?

From: Eggsy (3:14pm)

See you at 7 :D

“A lot of famous faces from the motorsport community are coming to this ceremony tonight. Is there anyone in particular you’re excited about seeing, Javi?” asks the interviewer.

Javi offers a dimpled grin, a hand reaching up to adjust his glasses as a ripple of flashing cameras erupts at the arrival of another guest. “To be honest, if I named everyone I’m excited to see we’d be here all night,” he answers with a chuckle. “There are so many big names appearing on stage. True legends of motorsport I’ve looked up to since I was a kid. And then there’s also so much rising talent too, like rarita here.”

The interviewer, you think her name is Shelley, blonde haired with a beaming smile, turns the microphone to you. Your dress suddenly feels two times too tight, constricting air flow. God, you wish you had even a smidge of Javi’s confidence, charming everyone he talks to, looking like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine in his black suit. Even his glasses manage to come across as elegant rather than boring.

Focus, you tell yourself, remembering your lessons with Barbara. No slouching. No pineapple face. And absolutely no public displays of vomiting regardless of your level of anxiety.

“That’s right. You’ll be a full-time driver in F1 next season. Things can’t get much better for you at the moment Oddball, can they?”

You stand up straighter, imagining your parents watching back home, no doubt having bragged to everybody in the village about their daughter appearing on tv, on a red carpet no less. Thinking of them, of their pride and love, of their support and sacrifices, makes the smile stretching across your face feel a little less forced.

“It’s been an unbelievably great year,” you say, using every bit of self-control to keep your voice level. “I didn’t expect a second-place finish for the season. It was a very competitive bunch, including some of my best friends who I’m thrilled are going to join me on the grid. To finish 2022 with that ranking and gain a seat with Vulpecula is just amazing.”

Shelley nods, then proceeds to make an exaggerated show of looking you over head to toe. “Well, I’d bet all the money in my wallet that if you turned up to the paddock looking as stunning as you do right now you’d win the race by a landslide.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refraining from grimacing. She’s the third interviewer tonight to make a comment about your appearance, meanwhile Javi and the other male drivers have been asked questions about racing and their preparation for the upcoming season.

“I don’t think the FIA would approve of these heels,” you reply, adding a chuckle even though it sounds hollow to your own ears. You feel Javi’s hand on your lower back, a grounding touch. A silent message of reassurance that he’s on your side. An ally in this sea of fancy clothes and flashbulbs.

Stay together, Gabriella had said before you and Javi got in the limo to the event, a command echoed by an equally-stern looking Barbara. You’re not just teammates at headquarters and during grand prix weekends. As long as you race for Vulpecula, you’re partners through thick and thin. Even if one of you makes a mistake, no matter what, stay together.

“You want me to cough or something next time?” Javi murmurs in your ear as you scoot along the red carpet a couple more steps.

“What?” you ask distractedly, barely avoiding stepping on the extravagant train of Lauren Van Chance’s dress. The mauve fabric probably costs more than the budget of the whole award show. No way you would have left here alive if you’d torn a hole in it.

“If another interviewer makes an objectifying comment, I could have a coughing fit. Or try to trip them. Or stare down the camera like we’re on The Office —”

“As hilarious as that would be,” you say through a snort of laughter, genuine this time, “nah, that’s alright.”

“You sure?” Javi checks.

“I’m sure. Thanks, curls.”

Busy Bee Blog (BBB) - Style Post #37 Sunday December 18 2022

Summary: See the best dressed at the most prestigious award event for the motorsport industry.

FOURTEEN BIGGEST MOMENTS AT THE 2022 DRIVE AWARDS

By Pippa Vitalis, Bubblefeed Updated 19 December 2022

Ricky Hauk wins Rookie of the Year Award

Robert McCall’s selfie with Eggsy Unwin, Oddball, and Ben Miller

Marcus Moreno dedicates his Racing Driver of the Year Award to his mother, Anita Moreno

Pero Tovar’s priceless facial expressions the whole night long

Javi Gutierrez calls his teammate Oddball “Rarita” on the red carpet

The night after the Drive Awards, you arrive at Eggsy’s place right on time wearing a reindeer antler headband and a present tucked under your arm. Eggsy immediately steals the gift away when you enter, shaking it for suspicious noises as he takes it to the small pile in the corner. Ben flicks one of the plush antlers because every party needs an asshole, and Ricky brings you a glass of his famous sparkling punch with a happy grin.

You’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow taking you back home with Sorgan. This is the last night you’ll spend with your friends for a long while, too busy and too spread out in the upcoming weeks to see each other. You hope you’ll see at least one of them at the start of the new year before the pre-season testing begins in February, but you also remember how virtually impossible it was for Ricky to carve out a spare day in his schedule before his rookie debut. For as hectic and rushed as things already seem, it’s only going to get worse for all of you.

“Benny brought his brother. You remember Will, yeah?” Eggsy says, gesturing with a nod of his chin to the blond chuckling at a wildly gesticulating Ben recounting a story. “He’s gonna be Benny’s new trainer, got a degree for it ‘n everything.”

William Miller. Of course you remember him. Can’t ever forget the boy who was your first crush once upon a time, heart beating a little faster whenever you saw him and his bright blue eyes at the karting races—not that you let anyone else know about your pining. Oh no, you had rather run over your own foot with your go-kart than let it slip you thought your friend’s older brother was cute.

And he’s only become cuter since you last saw him several years ago, growing up into a tall, ruggedly handsome man with a scruffy beard and arm muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of his snowflake-patterned sweater when he crosses them over his chest.

Cheerful notes of a Christmas song blast out from the speakers on Eggsy’s stereo system, adding to the festive atmosphere as more drinks are poured and conversations continue to flow. JB the pug darts about the room, body wiggling madly with every friendly scritch to his ears he receives, dressed for the holiday in a collar adorned with a little green-and-red plaid bowtie. Spoiled, critics might say, those who don’t know the story of how and when JB came into Eggsy’s life. Cherished, you say instead, because you do know.

Ben tells you what a great teammate Frankie’s been so far, taking him to The Chill Zone for the first time. The local snow cone stand in Altair has closed for the winter season, but you make a mental promise to take Javi to it as soon as the temperature warms up. You’d invited your teammate to come along to the party, certain none of your friends would mind, but he’d had an early morning flight back to Spain. Hopefully the trip soothes some of his homesickness.

“Just do yourself a favor and avoid lavender bubblegum at all costs.” Ben sticks his tongue out, face scrunching with disgust. “Frankie’s got a shit sense of taste.”

You congratulate Ricky again on his Rookie of the Year Award, surprised when he confesses how nervous he was standing up on stage in front of the crowd because he looked so professional in his suit and tie, thanking a long list of people who helped him on his journey. Will smoothly cuts into the conversation to offer some tips to improve self-confidence, saying he worked as a motivational speaker in order to pay for his classes. And you can picture it, him easily capturing an audience’s attention with his honeyed voice.

Ricky makes a hasty exit to fight Eggsy over the last sugar cookie, claiming he already called dibs, leaving you and Will alone in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, but there’s a noticeable weight to it, neither one of you knowing what to say to alleviate the tension.

“You look like you’re enjoying the holiday spirit,” Will says finally with a crooked smile, glancing up at your antlers with amusement.

“I love it,” you answer with a wide grin, bells on your headband jingling lightly. “Are you looking forward to next season? I heard you’re gonna be Benny’s trainer. Good luck with that.”

“Thanks, I’ll definitely need it,” he chuckles and then shrugs his shoulders. “It’s going to be interesting—working with family always has its own unique challenges. But there’s no one else I’d like to help accomplish their dream more than my brother.”

You blink, watching as his eyebrows climb up his forehead, abruptly looking like a deer paralyzed by headlights.

“Not that I wouldn’t be excited for you if you became champion—or Eggsy or Ricky either!” He’s full-on babbling now, cheeks going pink. “We’re on opposite teams, but that doesn’t mean we’re archenemies, right? Right. I mean, I could-I could still take you out to dinner to, uh, catch up. Or a cup of coffee at least? Maybe?”

And suddenly you’re hit with the realization of what's happening. Will is asking you out. Your childhood crush is asking you out on a date. Wow. That’s—that’s hard to process. You feel as if your entire brain has forgotten words.

“Huh?” you say, more of a strangled noise than anything intelligible.

“Sorry, I’m not usually like this. I must sound like an idiot.” Will’s expression turns sheepish. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other, in person at least. You probably have a boyfriend or—”

“No, no! No boyfriends for me,” you quickly interject, then internally cringe because now look who sounds like an idiot. You avert your gaze to the snowflake pattern, unable to meet his blue eyes. “Dinner sounds great. I’d like that. When were you thinking?”

Will chuckles again, a little shaky and relieved sound that has some of the tension draining from your shoulders. It gives you the courage to look up and see the gentle smile playing on his lips. “Ben said you two are doing an interview together for Speed Beasts in January. I could tag along, bet you and me could find something we both like.”

You smile, heartbeat fluttering as you raise your cup in a mock-toast. “I bet we could.”

#javi gutierrez #javi g x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x you #javi gutierrez x ofc #pedrostories #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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shaarlslec · 2 years

Text

friends

part 2 & part 3 here lovelies;

pairing: charles leclerc x reader (ft. pierre gasly x reader);

summary: Charles sees paparazzi pictures taken with you and a very drunk Pierre and that does not do him good although the three of you have claimed to be just friends.

words: 5000 ish

warnings: mentions of alcohol

masterlist

The three of you grew up together loving racing. You, loving to build the cars as your father’s apprentice and them loving to try the cars that you and your dad were designing.

When Charles got the spot for Ferrari, he took you and your father with him as two of his most trusted engineers, and quite drifted you apart from the young driver at Toro Rosso as you spend most of your time in the Ferrari garage. Since you got the job and Charles the seat, your friendship trio had its lows more than highs, but you still managed to keep being friends with both at and outside the circuits at parties, events, and secret getaways far away from the media.

It has always been Y/N, Charles and Pierre and you could not paint a picture of the future when that was not the case.

Your friendship with the two young hot boiled driven studs was challenging at times, especially when they fought over silly things or needed girl advice.

You loved every single piece of it.

When you were younger it felt like you had two brothers to protect you from all of the bad in the world, and sometimes two children to take care of for the rest of your life. You have been loving it since the day you met at the karting circuit and later when you witnessed their greatness through all phases of getting into Formula 1.

However, your favourite phase of them all must have been your teenager years when the dream of winning the world championship was further down the line for both.

You dearly loved the times where you three were young, unexperienced, and anxious about everything and all at once and that was because you seemed to be the most grounded one out of the pack, and the boys managed to hold on into that since then and never questioned your pieces of advice.

They often called you the mom of the group and you took your job very seriously without realising the amount of pressure you were putting on yourself to always take care of the two boys and solve their problems, even their girl problems. As it has always been said, boys mature later than girls and you three represented the living example of the saying.

“Yes, you are right, we need to follow the three days rule.” Pierre spoke, anxiously tapping his foot underneath the table and watching his best friend across it after stealing a glare from you who was seated in between the two boys, “You are a genius, Charles.”

You let out a soft laugh as you followed Pierre’s glare, you knew exactly why they were anxious about this time. They met two of their fans at the end of the race and the girls managed to slip their numbers into one of their hands, leaving the boys with the chance to text them. They both took the chance, and now that the exchange of messages between them and the two girls were successful, they needed a plan to invite the girls to hang out. You were even more unexperienced as them, having only the two boys standing in front of you to text or call at the sweet age of sixteen. And yet, somehow, they were both searching for answers on your face with their confused glares.

“Exactly! We need to keep them waiting for three days and then they will for sure want to go on dates with us.” Charles happily nodded, taking a quick look at you as well, “Right?” He then pleaded towards you with those puppy eyes of his, craving for you to approve him and his three-day rule.

You listened carefully before rolling your eyes and taking a deep breath in, “The three days rule means that you will not reply to any of your girls for three days straight and then expect them to say yes to you inviting them out?” You questioned, taking both of their phones from the table, and demanding them to unlock them with a sharp look.

“You dumb boys.” You spoke, searching first for Charles’ messages and then Pierre’s, “No girl likes to be left on read for three whole days, you are trying to play the hard-to-get card?” You questioned, already replying to the girls you knew they liked but were too afraid to ask out.

“You are both handsome drivers, and within five years you will both be in Formula 1, use that to pick up girls if you think that your own individual charms are not enough.” You spoke, pressing send to both messages, “You are charming enough to not need stupid rules.” You assured them, placing the phones back facing the table and lifting your glare to meet their scared ones, “Trust me boys, you will do just great.” You spoke, grabbing both of their arms across the table for a soft stroke, “It is their loss if they say no to you.”

“You are right.” Pierre nodded and took the phone with the other hand from the table to wait for his girl’s answer to your reply.

“You are always right.” Charles affirmed, placing his other hand on yours, “Thank you.”

That is when the phase “Y/N is always right” started and was carried on through the years, and after they successfully went on dates with the said girls you became the one to dictate their love life as well, always, always, always asking for your advice. You enjoyed it for a bit, you liked to be in control and yet things went downhill once you noticed that them asking for your advice when it came to girls begun to bother you even so slightly and especially when Charles required them from you.

Being the mom of the group meant that you had to treat them the same as if they were your actual children, always having to love them in the same way and always having to cheer for them with the same energy. It was rough for you to do so, especially when they raced against each other. For most of your friendship you managed to keep a balance between the three of you although you stroked Leclerc’s hand a little bit tighter, laughed at his jokes a little bit more, screamed his name in the paddock a little bit louder and loved him a little bit different.

You could not remember when all of that started, maybe it was when for the first time Charles cried in your arms when he got his heart broken by his first girlfriend or maybe it was for the first time when you noticed that he looks with a type of tenderness that it was not shown to anyone else – not even when he looked at Pierre. Whenever it was, Charles Leclerc’s friendship with you was alternated by feelings that you were not able to understand fully at the age of sixteen, while yours and Pierre’s reminded the same.

You felt guilty when it came to Pierre, but somehow you knew that he was aware of you adoration towards Leclerc whereas Charles was as dull as a man can be when crushed on by a girl that follows him everywhere. Pierre noticed the way you looked at his best friend, the way your hand went around his shoulders at parties and the way you shily reciprocated Charles smiles.

It was oddly weird for him at first, but as years went by and Leclerc played the dumb card while you were crushing all over him, Pierre found himself really excited about the idea of his two best friends getting together. And yet, none of you made a move towards the goal. You never confessed to Leclerc, you always considered that there was still enough time.

As mentioned, you were young and unexperienced when it came to more than friendship with boys. You stood quiet and silent next to him waiting for the right time to confess with Pierre watching you closely falling every time. The first time when you figured out that Pierre was aware of the situation was when he popped up that question towards you.

“Don’t you think that now is an appropriate time to tell Charles that you are in love with him?” Pierre asked after Charles’ won the GP3 Series championship when you were both nineteen.

Your eyes widened at the hearing of Pierre’s words. You tried to deny, but your mumbling gave you away, “I just do—d” You stumbled, and Pierre stopped you by softly pressing one of his fingers on your lips.

“Leclerc might be foolish, but I am not.” Pierre spoke, watching his best friend lifting the trophy in the air on the podium above your heads, “Just be sure to tell him, he will not figure it out on his own.”

You gulped once Pierre’s finger was off your mouth, “You are not mad?” You asked him, looking up at the Frenchman whose eyes went down on you and your trembling lip still exhausted by the boy’s touch.

Pierre’s head tilted towards you, “Why would I be mad?” He then asked, “Do you want me to want you to pick me?” He then asked, and you could swear that the entire crowd celebrating Charles went silent once the words were out of your friend’s mouth.

Sultry.

That was Pierre’s tone whenever he leaned towards somebody’s ear to whisper sweet nothings, and you knew pretty much all his manoeuvres. You taught him half of them, and the other half were practiced on you before other girls to perfection them.

You were in love with Charles, but you could not deny the urge to jump at Pierre’s neck every single time when he would use that flirty tone of his. You witnessed Pierre going from that shy sixteen-year-old boy that had no clue how to flirt to this mastermind of a pick-up artist. You got used to the way in which Pierre would accidentally slip one of the lines used with other girls with you, and every single time you would convince yourself that he was just joking with you.

You chuckled then at Pierre’s words, watching the man’s blue eyes staring back at you and that sharp jawline inches from yours.

“You are doing it again, aren’t you?” You spoke, battling your eyelashes at Pierre as a return of the flirt, “Practicing on me.”

You locked eyes for a while, Pierre not being sure what to answer and you not being sure how to continue. It was one of your inside jokes that Charles was unaware about. You two learning how to flirt from the other. It was fun when you were kids, not knowing nor understanding exactly what physical attraction between two people meant, but as you grew older, and you passed the age of eighteen it became even more dangerous to play with fire when Charles was not looking.

But at that time, Charles was looking from above. The man searched for his best friends’ faces in the crowd and did nothing but to display a huge ass smile once he caught you two next to each other. Pierre took a step back in the crowd and nodded as he started to clap his hands even harder for his best friend once their glares met, throwing you an “If you say so, then yes.”

Pierre kept asking you the same thing years in a row: when Leclerc won the Formula 2 Championship, when he got his seat in F1, when he got transferred at Ferrari, every time a milestone was achieved. Your answers were the same, but the flirt that you thought to be innocent between you and the Frenchmen only got more intense as years went by and as you denied your feelings for the Monegasque.

In your defence, you never told Pierre that he was right.

You never confessed to him that you were into Charles, you were only mumbling and bumbling your answers, Pierre figure it out on his own and used every chance he had to tease you about it. You knew that you were not able to hold all inside your aching chest forever but what you did not know is that you were about to pour out all your feelings towards Charles in front of Pierre during that night at the Monaco party.

You went to the famous Monaco party after the disaster that was the grand prix for Charles ending up in P4. You went to one of Charles’ most frequented clubs with most of the people from the Ferrari team that were there to celebrate the podium of Carlos Sainz. You celebrated with them as well, and Charles gave his all to be joyful and supportive of his team-mate as he always is. You caught the man’s glare staring at the floor lost in the intricate thoughts running into his mind. You knew Charles, you knew that face and you also somehow knew that it was your duty to take Charles’ mind out of the events during the day. You wanted nothing more than to know him happy, that man deserved all the happiness in the world.

“Come on now,” You spoke as you made your way through the crowd until you reached his torso, grabbing your friend by his shoulders with one of your arms, “Dance with me Percival.” You spoke, facing him now as you turned on your heel to glimpse at him from above.

Charles smiled when laid eyes on you as if the worries inside the man’s mind vanished once your voice reached his ears, “Oh no, not this again.” He then spoke, placing one of his palms on your back to accommodate you in the man’s personal space and to protect you from getting touched by others passing by your back, “Can you stop calling me Percival?” The man spoke, leaning towards your ear to make his words harshly heard as he dropped an octave in his tone, “When will all this teasing stop?” He then asked, somehow snuggling you at his chest even tighter in the process.

Your excuse for being so close in a public place was the loud music bombing your ears, you could not have a normal talk standing one in front of the other at a decent distance with the music resounding that loud in the club. You enjoyed the closeness, and so did Charles. You returned the smile and reached the man’s back of the neck with one hand while the other rested on the edges of his unbuttoned white shirt, “Never, I enjoy Percival more than Charles.”

Charles’ head shook a little in a mocking disappointment as he knew exactly what you were referring about. You called him Percival only when he got drunk and somehow gained this unknown confidence on the dancefloor, “You and I both know that I suck at dancing.” Percival laughed, clumsily swirling you in a tiny pirouette just for his hands to lay on the curves of your hips when you faced him again, “Pierre texted that he will be soon here too, you will have the change to dance with someone on your calibre.”

“You and I both know that I suck at dancing too.” You spoke, inches away from the man’s face, “Pierre outdances us by far.”

Charles denied with that little smile still sprung on his face that made your insides shiver as well as your spine underneath the man’s touch on the fabric covering your skin, “That is just not true.” He then replied, slowly guiding your body on the song’s rhythm as his fingers jabbed more in the white silk of the dress you were wearing, “See? You are doing great.” Your friend spoke as he took his time to look at you from head to toes, doing a rapid scan of your body in that dress without even realizing that his lips were dry and chest heavy as it rose in a sight, “I need a drink, do you want something?” He swiftly spoke, searching for your eyes again after they seemed for an eternity locked on your body.

You nodded; you were in need for a drink as well. Leclerc’s eyes on you always left your neck dry and your heart throbbing. You danced with him as well as with the other people in the Ferrari team for the next hour or so after he bought you the promised drink that turned in more than just one glass. You and Charles made a pact when you got hired at Ferrari to not let people in your relationship and not to accuse him of favours when it came to your family position in the team. Therefore, few people knew that you and Charles were close friends and you had to keep it that way although it was hard for both of you to keep hands off the other especially after shots went down to your necks as if the liquids inside the glasses were merely water.

Once you joined the group on the dance floor, Leclerc loosen up a little. He danced more, he laughed more, he drank more and shouted the songs’ lyrics louder. You enjoyed seeing him having fun and not think about what happened on the track, but you also took the responsibility to take care of him as you always do. Thus, at every two other questionable shots, you forced him to drink actual water. Leclerc listened; Charles always listened of you.

“Good boy.” You spoke, handing him yet another bottle of water, “What about seating down for a while?” You spoke, titling your head to the booth few steps away from the dance floor as you grabbed the man hands into yours, “My feet are killing me!”

Charles’ fingers tingled as you touched them, and he decided that it was for the best to cup your fingers in between his. Leclerc wanted to be in control with at least that, with the way he held your hand in a crowded room where no one noticed that you were that close. You smiled and stroked Charles’ fingers with yours as his grip got tighter around your fingers, “I am not going anywhere, Charles.” You assured him as you looked over your shoulder, “Just the booth.”

Your voice resounded not only to Charles’ ears but also to a couple of your co-workers who were also in need for a break. Through the noise they could only understand the word “booth” and took it as an invite to follow you and Charles. You sighed once seated down next to him, watching the people from the team cramming over the table as well. You exchanged few glances with Charles, foolish of you to believe that you were going to be left alone in a crowded club in Monaco where everyone knew who he was. Soon enough not only the people from your team joined you two but also people who recognised the driver and who noticed him getting away from the dance floor to a quieter place where they could ask him questions and take pictures with him.

With all the fuss going around the table, with all the glances exchanged between the team members, topics loudly discussed around the GP, and drinks heavily being passed around, your hand was still in Charles’ underneath the table resting on one of the man’s thighs and no one seemed to notice. You would be lying not to admit that you were enjoying Charles attention on you when everyone at the table tried to get his.

“Are you okay?” Charles leaned to whisper after he noticed your cheeks turning red underneath the purple hues of the club.

You nodded, “Yes, too many shots.” You lied, touching your burning face that you caught him staring at with the back of your hand.

“Do you want to go and get some air?” Charles spoke, fully facing you now and focusing all his attention on you and only you. Oh crap, he was beautiful. With his hair all ruffled from the heat and his sleepy drunken eyes watching yours, with that white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal part of his chest and those soft looking trembling lips waiting for you to say yes, always waiting for you to say yes to his pleadings.

“Sure we ca—”

Your sentence was cut short as you were startled by two arms that were not Leclerc’s embracing you from the back. You quickly turned and spotted Pierre in all his drunkenness reaching for the seat next to you.

“Oh my sweet, sweet friends, I have been looking for you on the dance floor!” He confessed, tightly squeezing you in, “Hello mate.” He then spoke, reaching for Charles’ hand to shake.

Leclerc’s hand slipped from yours into Pierre’s but then failed to return into yours which was now left empty on the man’s tight still. You gulped and removed your hand from the man’s body, childishly clasping both of your hands in your lap and switching your glare from Charles to Pierre, then back to Charles only to be stolen away by Pierre taking your face in both of your hands.

“You look beautiful.” Pierre almost shouted after a few moments of simply staring at your face, “You grew up so fast, I cannot believe my eyes.” The Frenchman then spoke, and you could sense that he already had reached his limit of how-many-shots-are-too-many-shoots, “Isn’t she beautiful Charles?!” Pierre asked, still cupping your face into his giant hands, “Did he tell you that you look amazing tonight, or do I have to fight him for not complimenting you again?” Pierre spoke, but now leaning towards you for only your ears to hear the question.

“Ok, ok.” You spoke as you shook your head, touching the wrists of Pierre with both of your hands to release yourself from the trap, “Thank you Pierre, but I cannot feel my face.”

The truth was that you could feel your face and your face was burning. First, because you stood right in between the most handsome men you knew and second, because Pierre was drunk enough to already tease you about Charles and you were pretty much aware of the fact that if you kept the two together for yet another hour or so, Pierre would spill the beans on your little crush on his best friend. Pierre almost told Charles twice when they were drunk that he figured out your feelings for Leclerc, and you were still not ready to tell Charles.

“She indeed is.” Charles replied once your glance went away from Pierre and back to Charles, “Sorry for not saying anything by now.” He then apologised, signalling that Pierre was not exactly quiet when he asked you the before question, “You are stunning, you always are stunning.” Leclerc muttered without taking his eyes out of you not even for a split of a second while complimenting you.

You shily smiled, mimicking a short “thank you” towards Charles, your neck being too dry now for your mouth to utter the words in loud voice.

“Y/N is always right, Y/N is always stunning.” Pierre yelled in the space between you and Charles, basically getting on top of you in the process of reaching Charles’ ears to catch his best friend’s attention, “That is the best you can do, mate? Agreeing with me?” He then huffed, “You know that she deserves more than that, right?” Pierre added, his tone switching from that funny type of a drunk voice to a raspier demanding one, “You need to step up your game, my friend.” He then spoke, patting Charles’ chest with one of his palms.

You rolled your eyes and pushed Pierre out of you by placing both of your hands on the man’s fully bare chest now noticing that Pierre shirt was fully unbuttoned from up to down, “Thank you again Pierre.” You gently spoke, seating Pierre back next to you, “You look like you had more than enough to drink.” You spoke, fully facing the Frenchman now, “Let’s get out to get some air friend.”

Pierre stubbornly pouted, “You are changing the subject, switch places with me I need to talk with Charles.”

Your eyebrow twitched towards Pierre, “No Pierre, we are going out.” You spoke, roughly grabbing the man’s wrist and shortly looking over your shoulder to a confused Charles Leclerc watching the banter between the two of you while still processing Pierre’s last words, “I will take him out for a bit, you will be alright by yourself?” You asked, catching Charles’ look on you.

“I—” Charles shuttered, “I do not want to play games with you.” He then replied, “I never played games with you.” Charles continued still being confused by what Pierre was trying to say and why was he so aggressive towards him when it came to a mere compliment which was not even about him to begin with.

You nodded, “I know darling, I know it very well.” You assured him, “Don’t mind Pierre, you know how he is when drunk.” You then tried to clarify as you rose from your seat, “We will be back in a moment.” You said as you carefully placed your other palm on Charles shoulder for support as with the other you were dragging Pierre out from the booth, “Drink water!” You shouted as you leave towards Charles direction, “And you,” You emphasised watching a wombling Pierre following you, “What am I going to do with you?”

“What the actual fuck was that?” You spoke once getting out of the club and letting go of the man’s wrist, “Why were you giving him an attitude for?”

Pierre’s eyes widened in surprise, “I thought you would be happy that you got complimented by him.”

You rolled your eyes again at him and stopped your steps where the lights faded and not many people passed to adopt a defensive pose in front of your barely functioning friend, “I don’t need your help to get compliments from men Pierre.”

“Not just any men, but Charles.” He replied to you, taking a few steps towards you in the darkness, “Drop the act, Y/N.” Pierre demanded while stretching the back of his neck, “I know that random compliments from random ass men do not mean shit to you, but you are delighted when Charles does it.”

You crossed your arms at your chest, sustaining your weight on only one of your feet, “I did not ask for your help, Pierre.” You spoke as your arms felt around your body, you knew that you could not get mad at Pierre or return the attitude, you knew that he would use one of his charms and you will be laughing about this argument tomorrow, you knew that his intentions were nothing but good when it came to you and Charles.

“I am sorry.” You apologised first, “I am getting all worked up for nothing.”

Pierre let out a sigh and leaned on the wall behind him, “Tell him what you feel before it is too late or try to get over it, there is no easy way out if you keep it for yourself for eternity.”

You watched your now very much hurt feet as you listened to Pierre, “Easier said than done.” You spoke, taking a full breath of fresh air inside your lungs before daring to look up at him and take two steps towards the Frenchmen.

“You will get a cold.” You spoke as you faced a leaned on the wall Pierre and started to button up your friend’s shirt, “Do I even want to know why you came to the party barely naked and already drunk?” You inquired, slowly yet surely wanting to change the focus of attention from you to him.

Pierre chuckled as he clenched your hands on the shirt with both of his, “Mom, I will not get a cold and it is basically summer in Monaco!” The child spoke, almost yelling the last three words.

“Oh shut up, you will wake the entire town.” You sarcastically replied, getting your hands from underneath his and stubbornly continuing to button him up, “There you go, better right?” You spoke, smoothing the shirt with both of your palms as you were happily smiling, “You look handsome too.” You spoke, throwing a cheeky wink into Pierre’s direction, “You grew up so fast, I cannot believe my eyes!” You added with mockery into your tone.

Your friend’s eyes did not go from you the entire time you were arranging the man’s shirt fact that helped him reach to a conclusion, “You do really behave like a mom, and somehow like a child at the same time.” Pierre spoke, leaning down the wall until his bottom reached the ground concrete floor.

“Oh my god child, get up.” You spoke, “We can go over there to se-”

Then, again for the tenth time that evening, Pierre cut you off from talking as the man reached for your wrist and pulled you down with him. You rolled your eyes as you leaned your back on the wall, squatting down in your heels as you used Pierre arm as a pillar cupping it into both of yours.

“You will be a great mom.” Pierre spoke, glaring back at you who was now struggling in finding a comfortable position to seat in against the wall but being unsuccessful to do so just because Pierre was too stubborn to get up.

You sighed, “Do you think so?”

“I know so.” Pierre assured you, leaning his head on your already unstable shabby shoulder to find comfort in the closeness of your bodies, “Charles knows it too.”

“Knows what?”

“That you will be a great mom, Charles told me the last time when we met only the two of us.” He then explained, catching your reaction with only one of his eyes opened.

You gasped, “You are meeting behind my back?” You sarcastically inquired, gently pinching the man’s cheeks as a form of little punishment, “He did?” You then asked, watching Pierre carefully to catch if he was lying or not – you always figured out when he was not telling you the truth.

Pierre nodded, “Yes, we often talk about how you take care of us and yet never let us take care of you.”

“That is because you screw up more often than me.”

“You know that you can let us take care of you once in a while, right?”

You chuckled, “I know, and I will let you know when that will be the case.” You hardly managed to speak as you lost your balance because your feet were unable to sustain you in the squatted position.

Pierre huffed and then stretched his legs forward, “Such a liar!” He then spoke, covering your waist from the back with one arm, “You are not even letting me know now.” He argued, fully opening his eyes to see the excruciating pain on your face due to the hurting of your feet, “Sit down.” Pierre demanded, signalling you straight to his lap as his grip went even tighter around you ready to slam you down on him.

“On your lap? Now? Here?” You anxiously asked as you shook your head, “No way.”

“Oh come on now Y/N.” Pierre pleaded, “It is dark, no one is watching us, you are clearly in pain and I need five more minutes here before going in again.” Your friend argued, “I will not say a word to Charles.”

You were not ready to cave in but Pierre used your hesitation to get an answer from you and used both of his arms to seat you down on his lap, and when the pain from your legs went away as you were not using them anymore you were glad that Pierre offered to do it.

“I think you might be right.” You confessed to Pierre while getting more comfortable into your new seat, “I should tell Charles how I feel or get over it before it is too late.”

Pierre spoke nothing but agreed with a nod. You stood there in silence for a while seated in your friend’s lap. You thought of Charles, and weirdly enough Pierre did that too. And yet, your thoughts about Charles Leclerc in that moment were far from being the same. You were thinking about how to and if you should confess to him, while Pierre was thinking about how Charles was screwing everything up without even knowing and how you were right there seated on his lap but no move from him would make you even consider him instead of his best friend. It was frustrating for Pierre for so many years, cheering for you two while never joking in his flirts with you.

And just like that, as you both were lost in your own thoughts regarding Charles Leclerc, no one of you was even aware of the camera that has been taking pictures with you two drunkenly arguing, laughing and seating down outside the party from across the street since the very first step you took out of the club when the man holding the camera chanceful spotted the Alpha Tauri driver Pierre Gasly getting out from the club with a beautiful new women he has not been spotted yet.

You were fully unaware of what a scandal those pictures will rise the next couple of days not just in the F1 press but also in your group of the little three happy friends.

Neither of you would have anticipated Charles’ reactions to them.

#f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 one shot #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly x you #pierre gasly x y/n #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #fic: friends

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