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xdacted · 1 year ago

Text

twenty seconds or twenty years?

Pairing: Reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: fluff, Regency! Au, period-typical sexism

Word Count: 4,359

Status: Completed

Max was never one for balls or parties.

The entirety of the social season felt bothersome, a chore. His mother, however, found his resistance to society a mere ‘bout’, a passing stinge, thinking he simply had yet to stumble across the right debutante. As such, she insisted upon his attendance at any and all gatherings, responding to invitations on his behalf.

He was expected at nearly every event until June.

Max was previously able to busy himself with the workings of business affairs, often called to distant corners of the nation just as the season neared, but his mother had enough of his excuses. When she stomped into his office, an invitation in hand, slamming it upon his desk, he was unable to escape.

“You will attend,” She seethed, “If you are to take the title from your father, you must find a wife.”

Attend he did, rocking along in a carriage to the first ball of the season. A rather large event, or so Victoria had said, hosted by the Russel family.

The estate grew closer, emerging from the darkness with twinkling lights. The strong structure sat surrounded by lush grass and proud trees, gently swaying in the evening wind. Max fought the growing knot of dread that formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He wished for nothing more than to pass the evening as a mere shadow, lost to the crowd, unnoticed.

The carriage slowed to a stop and Max was slow to descend, gingerly stepping down and straightening his tailcoat. He dismissed his driver with a nod, suppressing the urge to clammer back within the confines of the carriage. He was met with the grandeur of the Russel estate, staggering pillars wrapped in foliage, imposing walls that dripped into magnificent window frames, and adorned with intricate moldings.

It was a sight to beyond, but Max could hardly stand it.

The sounds of others pulling onto the gravel behind him prompted him to slip through a lingering horde of guests and the entrance. The large doors opened to a spacious foyer, marble floors drenched in the warm chandelier light.

Max expected nothing less from the Russels, an honorable family attached to an impeachable name and title. He attended school with the youngest son, George, and hoped to find him before he was lost to the throng of other partygoers. Finding his fellow bachelors was the only source of solace Max found at such events. Many were his past schoolmates or current business partners, but more so, they were his friends.

If he were to suffer, he saw no reason why he needed to do so alone.

As if hearing his plea, a tall figure entered his field of vision.

“Verstappen!” A voice behind him exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

He turned, the tension easing in his shoulders, “Russel.”

George stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face, “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear that you would be attending tonight. I thought you, of us all, a perpetual bachelor.”

The comment was made in jest, but Max could not deny the truth of his words. Though he did not hold as infamous a reputation as some, Max was regarded as Unmatchable, unrelenting in his desire to never marry or sire children.

As far as he was concerned, his father’s wicked bloodline would die with him.

Max could only shrug, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “ I assure you, old friend, it was far from my idea.”

It was my mother's, the thought went unsaid, but Max was sure George knew well enough. His mother worried for him. She only wished to see him happy, Max wished she would drop the marriage matter entirely.

“I see,” George muttered, running a hand across his chin, a moment of silence passed between them.

Then, as chipper as ever, he exclaimed, “Well, here is to the rotten luck of some.”

With a snort, Max raised his glass before bringing it to his lips. Their banter was a long-established one, forged within the walls of preparatory academy and later enforced at university.

Max opened his mouth to inquire about their fellow bachelors, but was interrupted by two ladies making their way to him, fans held up to their faces. He was locked into a conversation before he could plan his escape. Though Max was grateful for George’s company, the sight of two of the ton’s most eligible bachelors detached from a group of their own welcomed the yapping hordes of women and mothers. They were soon drowning in a sea of fabrics and sparkling jewels, unable to do more than listen as accomplishments were rattled off and dance cards were shoved in their faces.

Max wished they would attach themselves to truly interested bachelors, of which there were plenty, but he suspected it was not so much them as it was their lineage. The other had always been incredibly popular, but Max, well, he knew of the rumors.

Max Verstappen, heir to the Duke of Hasselt, is a great beast - a monster, like his father. Though his stormy demeanor deterred many, the alluring promise of a dukedom attracted far more than his attitude could ward off.

Just as the voices began to melt into one, George nudged Max with his shoulder, “Thank you, ladies, but we must take our leave. We are required elsewhere.”

Their protests were almost immediate, pushing themselves closer to the bachelors, fluttering eyes and pouted lips directed towards them.

Truly, Max would have more sympathy if he would be given more space.

“Thank you,” He said, voice coming out far firmer than he meant, “But we should be going now.”

They were quick to silence, shuffling apart to clear a small opening, and Max was quicker to take it. He could hardly breathe amongst the clouds of perfume, nose burning with the assaulting scents, and was grateful for their escape.

“You looked as if you might die,” George muttered, guiding them to a small clearing by the dancefloor, “Were they truly so appalling?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, but no words found themselves tumbling out. It was not as if he were repulsed by the idea of a woman, or even of marriage, but the unhappiness he witnessed with his parents’ marriage was something he was unable to shake. His mother had been miserable, chained to a Verstappen man with no option but to provide him with the children he demanded.

Max could never, in good consciousness, reward that with the succession of the Verstappen line.

They arrived at the clearing before he could gather his thoughts. There, nursing glasses and wearing knowing smiles, stood Viscount Riccardo, son of Viscount Norris, and the Earl of Monte-Carlo.

A few of his oldest friends.

“Gentlemen!”

The men tipped their heads in respect but maintained their smirks.

“Never thought I would live to see the day,” Daniel began, “Max Verstappen at a party.”

“I rather think it was not his idea, was it?” Charles laughed, looking over at Lando who watched on with an ill-concealed smile.

“No,” Max sighed with a roll of his eyes, “It was not.”

Laughter erupted from the bachelors, George clapping another hand down upon Max’s shoulder. Their voices were hidden from passersby by the constant flow of music.

“Regardless,” Lando said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Perhaps a wife could be best.”

“How so?”

“Well,” He gestured to the room, clusters of women craning their necks to gaze at them, “If you were married, there would be no reason to attend these parties. You would have your solitude.”

“It is not solitude I desire,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He could hardly imagine a worse fate, but it was one he was willing to fall into.

“Then what do you desire, dear friend?” Daniel quipped, casting him a sideways glance.

Max could give no response, the words a thick ball in his throat, he could only push his nose into his glass. The topic was quickly dropped and conversation floated between them easily, even as they were picked off to catch a dance or two. Still, they were left to relative peace. Approaching a pair or lone bachelor was simple, it was encouraged. But, to find yourself in front of a group, was seen as distasteful, and desperate.

Regardless, the room only continued to fill, guests spilling into other parts of the estate, but with it, so did the knot in Max’s stomach. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers nervously tapping upon a nearby table.

Parties presented the unknown, and Max had tried desperately to stay far from it - the thought frightened him more than he would ever admit aloud. Within the unknown, was love.

Love felt completely foreign, a thing of fiction or myth, a sentiment that filled the pages of novels and fairy tales. Max was told that his mother and father did love each other, once. To present, however, that affection had long been lost.

Max had more than one idea as to why.

His father was a petulant man, looking to command others through fear, not respect. He was well regarded in the eyes of His Majesty, but ill in the eyes of the Ton. He was cold and selfish and, despite his prayers, Max’s father. Though Max had made every attempt to differ himself, it seemed that he was his father’s son.

And he always would be.

“-stappen…Verstappen…Max!”

The sound of his name yanked him from his thoughts.

“...yes?”

Charles looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry, “Is something the matter? I called your name, but…”

Max shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “I am quite alright, I apologize. I was merely lost in the lights.”

Still, the look remained.

“Honestly, Charles,” He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I am fine.”

Max turned away from him before he could utter anything else, bringing his hand back to his side. His eyes swept over the dance floor, hoping to calm his nerves in the senselessness of the evening. Both Lando and Daniel had taken to the floor, pulling themselves towards their partners. They stepped to the music, the quartet hidden away in the balcony. A few paces over, was George. Accompanying his mother on a round of the room, and receiving praise for a successful opening to the season no doubt.

The room was lively, couples turning in time and chatting coyly. Though it was not his preferred evening, he could see the appeal of such parties.

He felt rather foolish.

His eyes moved over the entrance, the trickle of people slowing, most finding themselves huddled around the dancefloor. Then, just as he was about to pull his gaze from the doors, something - or rather someone - caught his eye.

A woman, drenched in the candlelight, moving through the crowd of people. Her entrance was met with no fanfare or buzz, but he was entranced. If no one had taken notice of her yet, how foolish they must be.

She was the most gorgeous creature to exist.

A gentle smile on perfect lips, a tendril of hair curling over her forehead, the softest hint of rouge dusted across her cheeks - Max was caught. He was caught within the lace of her dress, within the glimmer of her jewelry, within the silk of her gloves. He was caught and never wished to be released from her grasp.

She was beautiful, extraordinarily so - blindingly so.

She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen, working her way through greetings, and rounding the room with her chaperone.

“Do you -” He forced himself to swallow, throat suddenly tight, “Do you know who that is?”

Charles nodded, relaying to Max her name and family, “I believe this is her first season. She was, according to my mother, a great success at the presentation to the queen.”

Max could see exactly why, a hand curled around the arm of her chaperone, dance card dangling from her wrist - each step was taken with purpose, with conviction. She was no simpering debutante, she was a lady commanding the attention of the room. Her strength was in her grace.

He watched as George and his mother approached her, she dropped into a low curtsy, rising again with her gentle smile. They were too far to make out the words they spoke, but Max yearned to know. He yearned to hear her voice, to be near her, to breathe her air.

“Has she caught your eye, old friend?”

For the first time, Max broke his start, turning to glare at Charles.

“Do not bother denying it,” He laughed, patting Max’s arm, “Ask her to dance.”

Perhaps, he dared, just for tonight.

He glanced back over to her, her eyes moving across the room before finding him. He was sure he forgot to breathe, her gaze piercing through him.

The thought crossed his mind. He could take her to dance, it would hardly mean a thing, but he was unsure if he would survive it. If he could withstand the heat of her gaze, the feeling of her hands within his own.

Max never thought himself a weak man.

He pulled himself away, “No,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “I - I - it would be best if I refrain.”

Perhaps, he was.

He hadn’t the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but he could not possibly give himself the chance to find out, most definitely not with her. Granted, he hadn’t attended as many parties as Charles or Daniel, but he was no neophyte. Such a reaction was ridiculous, he had only learned her name, and he could not dismantle his entire life’s purpose for a woman he had only just met.

Could he?

A look of curiosity crawled across Charles’ face once more, and this time Max feared he would be forced to hear the question that awaited him, but, as if by magic, George reappeared before them.

“Whatever is the matter with him?” He teased, sipping from his champagne glass.

“I think our dear friend is -”

“I am not.”

“Oh,” George smiled, an evil thing, “I think you are.”

Max felt his face flush, a dreadful heat racing down his spine. He reached over, snatching a lute of champagne from a passing tray, his mouth felt incredibly dry.

“I suggest you make haste, friend,” George muttered, turning to take in the dancefloor. It was filled with bodies, but Max was only concerned with one.

She stood alongside other ladies, chatting idly before a gentleman approached. Max recognized him as a second son with little to offer, the gentleman bowed deeply offering his hand to her. She seemed to draw the same conclusion, the smallest lapse of hesitation passing over her before placing her hand in his. He turned them onto the dancefloor.

Max was unable to answer, attention locked onto her as she danced, the music beginning behind him. Her movement was graceful and perfect, lines straight and steady.

“You may have found your bride yet,” Charles sighed, resting his hands upon his hips, “But you will lose her if you do not take action.”

“She is not mine to have,” Max said, placing his glass down harsher than necessary, “Perhaps it is time I take my leave.”

“I did not mean -”

“No,” George stepped forward, “You never come out to these parties, stay.”

“I really should -”

“Stay.”

He looked towards his friend, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t ever revealed his reasoning behind his continued bachelorhood, but he knew his friends recognized it as something far deeper. It was simply not in their nature to divulge such feelings.

Wordlessly, he plucked another glass from a tray and downed its contents. Quite boorish, but the slight burn helped soothe the pounding of his heart. It was far from his favorite alcohol, but it was all accepted for such parties. The stronger brandy was hidden away in the smoking lounges, and Max hardly entered those.

“Excellent!” George cheered.

Eventually, Lando and Daniel returned, with George departing to greet more guests.

Despite not being the heir, George made himself ever-useful. He was often a source of great knowledge or companionship - a dutiful host too.

“I cannot believe it…” Lando mumbled, fixing a crease in his coat, with a scowl.

“What?”

“Lord Ambrose,” He nearly sneered, “He insists on filling up dance cards before other gentlemen can, believing it to be a ‘claim’ upon the ladies.”

Charles shuddered, “He is a brute.”

“He is a cheat,” Lando pressed, “There are open bookings at the club with no sight of a check.”

“He is an Earl,” Daniel reminded, placing his glass between Charles and Max, “To be his wife is to have security.”

“But what of love?” Charles questioned indignantly, “What of proper courtship? Of a love match?”

“What of it?” Max’s words left him before he was able to keep them back.

“Well,” Charles turned to the dance floor, gesturing with his glass to her, “Would you court her? Or would you wish that she marry a man like Ambrose for security?” He nearly spat the word.

“It is much more complex than that,” Max said, finding her once more in the crowd.

She returned his gaze in an instant as if she could sense him, offering him a small smile. His heart began to pound once more.

“Women are forced to rely on the security of a name,” He tried to busy himself with his words, “A name that can only come from marriage, a name only a man can provide. They are not left with much choice.”

Charles seemed to think. He would never truly understand, as he had no sisters, but Max did. He remembers Victoria’s first season with burning clarity, how terribly nervous she had been. Her entire life and personality were boiled down to a singular match. And once she did marry, she was removed from their family, excised, and replanted.

Max hated it.

“Yes,” Charles whispered, his voice nearly lost to the swell of the music, “I - I suppose you are right…”

A bubble of pleasant silence grew over them, shrouded by the music as it drew to a close. Max watched as the gentleman returned her to the other ladies, offering another deep bow before stepping away. The ladies curled around her in an instant, their eyes alight with wonder. There was a soft flush to her cheeks, but she still looked breathtaking, fanning herself gently with a hand.

Something grew within his stomach, only it was not dread, it was something light.

“Oh, bother,” Lando hissed, eyes squirting just beyond the group of ladies.

“What is it?”

“There he is,” He jerked his head, something quite unlike him, “And dare I say he is -”

He was approaching her, coming upon the smallest break within the ladies’ bodies and greeting them with a hungry smile. Max’s legs were moving before he could will himself to stay put. Lord Ambrose was looking around the ladies, leaning far closer to them than necessary.

Max was cutting through the crowd, sidestepping other partygoers and ignoring the calls of his name. Anger flared within him, perhaps it was more disgust, at Amrbose’s blatant disregard for their honor.

Of all the bachelors, he had the most notorious of reputations. Countless mistresses and bastards littered his name, but the depth of his pockets made it a mere speck upon his title. She was well within her rights to select any man she pleased, and Max could never tell her any different, but he would not allow her honor to tarnish - any other gentlemen, just not him.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Max interjected, inserting himself between her and Lord Ambrose, “But I was wished to ask if,” He turned to face her, heart pounding, “I may have your next dance?”

“You are interrupting, Verstappen, as I was about -”

Her eyes went aglow with something akin to relief and she placed her hand in his, tightening around him, “Of course, I would be honored.”

The murmurs from the surrounding ladies were immediate, covering their mouths with dazzling fans, but there was nothing to hide their amazement. The beast out to dance, how unlikely. He held his arm out for her, rounding the expanse of the dance floor as they awaited the music.

“I must apologize if - if I overstepped,” He sighed as they settled away from earshot, “I did not mean to make it seem as if you needed my saving.”

“Your apology is accepted,” She smiled up at him, placing a gloved hand upon his shoulder, and the other resting gently within his grasp, “But, regardless of how unnecessary it may have been, I am quite grateful.”

“Though I must admit, Mr. Verstappen,” The music queued up behind them, a gentle melody of strings, “I was under the impression you had no interest in dancing.”

Her words were a double-edged sword and Max could not deny.

“I, typically, do not,” He swallowed thickly, unable to withhold the truth with her before him, “But for you, I suspect there are many exceptions to be had yet.”

Her blush burned through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears, Max suppressed a chuckle. She was quick to recover, moving away from him with the first steps of the dance. It was a simple one, filled with a series of spins and skips. Despite his reluctance, he was still a member of high society. His education had included such social niceties, though he never thought he would put them to use.

“You are a far better dancer than the rumors allow you credit for.”

“Are you one to listen to rumors?”

“Only when they make such a man to be a beast,” She looked at him through her eyelashes, though it was not coy. There was nothing demure about her gaze, it was striking.

It was as if she wished to see into the very depths of his soul, to know all of his secrets and deepest desires.

And Max, the great fool he is, would gladly allow her.

He spun her in time with the music, guiding her by the waist, before pulling her near him once more. This close, he was able to see her more clearly. The shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her face - her beauty knew no bounds. The very dress she wore, a mere cloth of elaborate stitching, seemed to be one with her body, made for her.

He supposes it was, but so many debutants attempted to hide their nervousness behind frilly clothing and blinding jewels. She, however, seemed to command the very fabric on her skin.

“Is there something the matter, My lord?”

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, but there was a knowing look in her eye.

“No, no, I apologize,” He stepped behind her, reaching for her hand, “And I am not Lord, not - not yet.”

“Many men would jump at the chance to claim a title that is not theirs,” She huffed, unable to hide the roll of her eyes.

“Well,” Max found both her hands, lifting them above their heads before tracing a hand down her spine to the small of her back, “I am not most men.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, and when he went to remove his hand, she leaned into it, “No, I suppose you are not.”

The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken desire. There was much to say, much to do, but Max only planned to keep her from Ambrose, not the entirety of the marriage mart.

He straightened once more, clearing his throat, “My - my mother was incredibly involved in our upbringing. I learned a myriad of things my fellow bachelors did not.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cocking her head to the side, “Like…sewing?”

“...Yes,” He sighed, spinning them around, “But she said it was more with my unruly desire to be the best at…well, everything.”

His words pulled a laugh from her lips. It was not gentle nor polite, her laughter was bright and loud, pulling the attention of a few other dancers, but Max could not bring himself to care. He adored it.

He adored her.

“I am quite the same,” She mused, “I cannot stand to lose.”

Max smiled before he could stop himself, “Neither can I.”

He walked himself around her, holding his right hand to her waist and the other to her opposite hand. They locked eyes, Max’s blood rushing to his ears. The shy smile she offered him from across the room melted into a genuine smile, larger than the former.

Far more beautiful.

The music ended with a soft chord, the floor breaking apart to clap. Max slowly moved from her, unable to fight the need any longer, his eyes still trained on hers. They clapped, but the moment the applause died down, he took her hand in his. The walk back to the group was nearly a crawl.

He did not wish to leave her side.

They arrived sooner than he wished, but the words came just as quickly.

“May -” He nearly forgot himself, “May I call upon you? Perhaps…tomorrow?”

“Yes,” She breathed, still holding onto his hand, “I would like that very much.”

He looked down at their hands and waited for her to pull back from him. She did with a blush moving across her cheeks, and Max was unable to do anything but return it.

He felt like a boy, with his heart thundering within his chest, but - they locked eyes once more, the infinite land of understanding between them, surrounding them - nothing could ever feel more right.

_____________________

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

also, yes, there are geographical inaccuracies, but let's all just have fun and ignore them kay??? and if you guys like this and want me to continue this with the rest of the drivers, let me know

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xdacted · 1 year ago

Note

Has there ever been a follow up to of strangers and rain delays?

Hey!!! no, not that i've planned. I wouldn't be opposed to making it a series though, if it's something the people want<3

let me know:)

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #one shot #x reader #f1 fluff #fluff #lance stroll fluff

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xdacted · 1 year ago

Text

not here

Pairing: Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr.

Warnings: pure 100% fluff, nothing but fluff, the tiniest hint of angst, but mostly fluff

Word Count: 500

Status: Completed

Carlos didn’t get to see her as often as he wanted.

He didn’t even get to see her as often as he needed. There was always something pulling him away. Always a phone call to be taken, an autograph to be signed, an interview to be helped - always something.

But not now.

Not here.

Not in the quiet hours of the morning, just before daybreak, the sun resting below the horizon. The moon cast pure light through the windows, moonbeams dancing across their sheets, stars twinkling beside them. Her arms curled around a pillow, legs tangled together. He didn’t know where he began and she ended, but he liked it that way. The lingering night breeze brushed against his bare skin, sweeping through the windows. The world outside fluttered awake, but Carlos had her here.

Pressed to her back, arms tucked around her waist, buried in the thicket of her hair. Carlos couldn’t see her face, but he had memorized it. Each shadow, each line, each curve - each beautiful feature was committed to memory. The soft sound of her snores filled their room, her heartbeat steady against his skin.

Not a thing could reach them here.

He liked it that way.

Carlos leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the exposed skin of her shoulder, “Hermosa.”

His voice was too quiet to wake her, but he liked to see her nose twitch at the sound.

Beautiful.

Moments like these, where the world seemed to still for just a second, made the distance agonizing. Separated by oceans, miles of land, hours of the day - it was painful. Race weekends were filled with exhilaration and adrenaline. Race weekends were also filled with a clawing sense of breathlessness.

He couldn’t breathe.

But here, laying beside her without a care in the world, he breathed.

Carlos breathed.

Inhaling the scent of her shampoo and the dying hints of her perfume, she filled his lungs.

He breathed.

She turned in his arms with a heavy sigh, burrowing into his chest. Carlos couldn’t help but smile, tightening his arms around her.

He didn’t see her as often as he wanted, but she was here now.

Behind him, the sun began to rise, warmth trailing up his back. Soft rays crawled up the sky, spilling across her skin, and coiling in her hair. Carlos leaned down, pressing another kiss to her cheek and neck. She groaned, scrunching her eyebrows together.

A gentle laugh rumbled from his chest, dropping another kiss to her nose, “Hermosa…”

“...stop watching me sleep…”

Her voice was scratchy and unused, the corner of her lip quirked to reveal the smallest hint of a smile.

“But you’re so beautiful,” He whispered, nuzzling into her neck, “How can I help myself?”

A giggle fell from her lips like wind chimes singing together - beautiful.

“It’s creepy,” She stretched, arms winding around his neck, “Better only be for me.”

“Of course,” He said, “No one but you.”

After all, not a thing could reach them.

Not here.

_____________________

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

Also this is my attempt at trying to get out of my writing slump, it's short, it's sweet. I like it, so pls enjoy

175 notes · View notes

xdacted · 1 year ago

Note

Hii can u write about Mafia!Carlos being in an arranged marriage with reader??

Almost

Pairing: Reader x mafia!Carlos Sainz Jr.

Warnings: mafia! Carlos, arranged marriage, some fluff, comfort

Word Count: 903

Status: Completed

____________

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carlos.”

She was beautiful, Carlos couldn’t deny it.

Rising from the couch, extending a hand, the delicate bracelets lining her wrist glimmering underneath the chandelier’s light. Her hair was swept away from her face, falling behind her ears and framing the curve of her cheeks. The color of her lips, the dip of her cupid's bow, his name rolling off her tongue - she was breathtaking.

Bianca told him she would be, droning off a long list of her accomplishments and background to him on the drive over. Most of her information consisted of the family she was born from, detailing their history and future deals. Though the Sainz family had no debts to be paid, they had plenty of favors to reap.

‘A beautiful woman of good breeding,’ was what his father demanded he be given.

And here she was.

Staring up at him, the subtle curl of her eyelashes, a polite smile.

The guilt tugged at him.

“The pleasure is mine alone,” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her skin.

He felt her tremble.

Though her fear was well hidden, Carlos had lived in this world long enough. A world that knew only to take, swallowing the weak and destroying the beautiful. Blood dripping from his hands before he could kill, damnation carved into his soul, Carlos has always known who he was to become.

The shadow he was to step into. The role he was to fill.

But never did he imagine dragging an innocent soul to hell with him.

“Please!” Her father beamed at Carlos, gesturing to the space beside his daughter, “You must sit, you are our guest!”

With a nod, popping open the button of his suit, he sat beside her. She turned her gaze away from him, folding her hands in her lap. Carlos tried not to stare, he could only imagine the anger she felt. The betrayal.

He nearly destroyed his office when his father delivered the order. To secure his place as head of the family, and to remove any question of their family legacy, he was to marry. Take the hand of a stranger, bind them to him for eternity.

“We are honored that you have selected our family, Mr. Sainz,” The Father continued, shooting Carlos a wide smile.

“I am honored to have been entrusted with your daughter,” Anger bubbled beneath his skin.

He wasn’t sure what this family was thinking, he didn’t want to know, they were sentencing their child to a life of misery.

“Of course!” His voice boomed in the small reception room, banging against the vaulted ceilings, knocking into the paintings that stood witness, “Our families have worked beside each other for many generations, this will make us stronger.”

Voice caught in his throat, Carlos could only muster a curt nod.

“Well? What are we waiting for?”

Carlos was drowning.

He had been a fool, clinging to childish dreams, losing himself within fantasies of hope. Filling his head with dreams of loving and being loved, cherishing and being cherished. He had been wrong.

This world only took.

Carlos gestured over his shoulder, one of his men stepping forward to place a small velvet box in his waiting hand. Though it weighed nearly nothing, Carlos felt as if he might fall through the Earth, the jewel within burning his palm.

He was drowning.

Standing at the edge of a precipice, a scream trapped in his throat. Emotions racked within him, there was nowhere for him to go, no one to understand. He was alone. The world shifted beneath his feet, cracking and crumbling under the weight of his fate.

He could hardly breathe.

He could -

She turned toward him, offering her hand once more.

Carlos met her eyes, unsure of what to say. Unsure of what to do.

The world was watching them. History was watching them.

“This is your destiny, Carlito, your birthright.”

The box fell open with a simple click, revealing the familial ring he’d been given. A blood-red gem glared at him, the gleam of the thick golden band blinding him. Reaching for her, he saw as she flinched away. The smallest thing.

Small enough to miss.

Carlos looked back at her, but she wasn’t staring at him, her eyes locked upon his movements. He wasn’t sure she was breathing, her pulse jumping against his fingertips.

“You cannot run from it.”

With a sharp breath, he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“The House will always find you.”

It was done.

Her lip began to quiver, tears pooling in her eyes.

She was the only one to understand, to know the feeling of dread. Any chance of loving another had been ripped from her, but perhaps it didn’t have to be.

He laced their fingers together, blocking the eyesore sitting upon her hand. She gasped beside him, clinging to his side.

“Carlos -”

He shot her a weary smile, gently lifting her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles, “Mi amour.”

The color of her cheeks darkened, a shocked expression on her beautiful face.

“I will do my best,” He whispered.

Try to love. Try to be loved.

The softest quirk of her lips, “I will too,” She squeezed, “Together?”

Try to cherish. Try to be cherished.

“Of course.”

It wasn’t quite an ‘I love you’, but Carlos supposes it was the closest he could expect.

An almost.

_________

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

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #female reader #formula 1 #one shot #x reader #ferrari #f1 fluff #mafia au #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #mafia!carlos #arranged marriage #comfort

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

The theory of goodbyes

Pairing: Reader x Pierre Gasly

Warnings: emotional cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reunions

Word Count: 2,544

Status: Completed

Pierre was terribly bored.

His head pounding with the music that blared over the speaker, struggling to breathe in the crowded mess of the gymnasium. Sweat beads along his hairline, and he collapses in a nearby seat, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the strobing lights. He tries to take in the room, silver balloons that float above a floral archway and his former schoolmates cluster around the dancefloor. Truly, he can’t decide what he regrets most coming to the reunion or coming without Charles for support. He invited Kika, but she was swallowed in the pack, lost to other girls pulling each other apart to know, “How are you?! Let’s get lunch!”

Pierre can’t fight an eye roll, downing the rest of the burning liquid that someone had offered him - they were never friends, but Pierre assumes that they must have been friendly enough as he had taken it with a grateful nod. Racing and karting pulled him away from school far too often to ever develop lasting relationships. There was no one like that except Antoine and well -

He shakes the thoughts from his head before they can even form.

He looks around him, staring back at the old gymnasium. He’d never really been forced to be in here, never forced to drag his feet across the polished wooden floors. The walls stand tall, banners hanging from the pins in the brick announcing years of their athletic excellence.

The school mascot is painted across the center of the walls, and Pierre doesn’t stop the feelings of pride that swell within him. His days are long gone but never forgotten. They live within him, hovering just beneath his skin, something akin to a different life. A life that was filled to the brim with freedom and carelessness. When he was able -

A cackle pulls him back to himself and he sits a little straighter. He blinks, the lights passing over his face. Pierre adjusts the thin chair below him, scooting closer to the road table with a squeak of protest. Setting his elbow on the cloth, he reaches down to adjust his shoe, tight around his ankles - he just wants to go home.

But before he can commit to pushing himself up from the lone table, he sees someone through the sea of people. Sunken in her chair, legs crossed before her, she sits with an uninterested expression. To Pierre, she is the most interesting person he’s seen all night. The light dances upon her face, and he can see the line of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. Her hair curls away from her face, coils bouncing when she runs her head. In the darkness, he can see the glimmers of rings on her fingers as they drum mindlessly against the table.

Pierre can feel the air leaving his body, mouth going dry. He stares, burning a hole through the throng of dancers.

It can’t be. She couldn’t be -

He tries to blink, but when he opens his eyes once more, she’s gone. The small window of nostalgia collapses, filled by the bodies of strangers.

Pierre doesn’t feel himself standing, craning his neck over the crown. He steadies himself on the table, raising on the tops of his toes, an ache running up his calf. Silently, he adjusts the chair, raising a leg to rest upon it, fingers gripping the back before he stops himself.

What was he doing?

Foot dropping back to the floor, hands going limp at his sides, he can’t believe himself. He was about to make a fool of himself and to what? For a girl that probably doesn’t even remember him?

He flicks his empty cup. What kind of loser has he become?

Pierre was never reckless. Never this indulgent, cameras could be anywhere, everywhere. He shakes his head, he had Kika anyway. What was the point of reminiscing over a high school -

He sees her again.

Only this time, she sees him too. Her eyes fixated upon him, an unreadable look on her face. Something twists in his gut, heart pounding in his rings.

She is just as beautiful as he remembers.

He whispers her name, voice swallowed by the music.

It’s a secret, a declaration to the world, whispered to the timber of the gymnasium, to the steel of the basketball hoops. Before Pierre can stop himself, he’s walking. Parting through the sea of reality, ducking beneath hands, waving off conversation. With every step, he pulls himself under, below his skin, drifting back to the world long dead.

He stands before her.

A breathing memory. Looking up at him with her crooked smile, he can see the way that time has sculpted her clearer now. Carving her cheeks, her chin, hardening the lines of her eyes, darkening the color of her hair.

Beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

“You got a haircut,” her words startled him, a shiver running down his spine.

“I did,” He swallows, trying to calm the pounding of his heart as it threatens to burst from his ribcage, “You - uh - your hair is different too.”

She lets out a soft chuckle, a hand coming up to hold at a strand of hair, “I did.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, but the words are trapped in his throat, too much he wants to tell her. Too much he needs to tell her. His hands busy himself with the ends of his blazer, picking at a loose thread.

A stutter on his lips, she grabs at his hand, stopping his fingers in their movement.

“Sorry…just, we wouldn't want to ruin your fancy jacket.”

He stares down at her hand. Rings prenup at him, and he catches sight of her class ring.

A Pierre’s class ring.

She pulls her hand back with a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, almost as if she’s been burned, “Sorry.”

Don’t go, he doesn’t say.

He shrugs instead.

Silence pool covers them, and he thinks, he doesn’t want this conversation to end. He doesn’t want to walk back to reality. He gently nudges her crossed legs with his show, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “Do you - uh…”He turns to the overcrowded dance floors, “...wanna…?”

He offers her a hand, and she takes it. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, his heart leaping up his throat. He waits for her to slide her jacket off, pulling it over the fabric of her turtleneck.

As they walk, sidestepping pulled-out chairs and maneuvering the in-betweens of tables, they don't speak. They don’t look at one another. Just walking until they reach the edge of the crowd. He turns to her, and the song around them slows, it’s a mellow tune. Something about love and about forever, but Pierre couldn't care less.

“You know I’m a terrible dancer,” She groans, stepping towards him.

All Pierre can do is stifle a chuckle with the back of his hand. She sends him a glare with no real malice, a smile pulling at her lips, “What?”

She gently shoves him with her shoulder, “Is something funny to you, Jean-Jacques?”

Jean-Jacques. He hasn’t heard his middle name uttered in a long time. He hates the way it makes him sound like a round-bellied aristocrat, but he desperately wants to hear her call him that again. Because she’s the only one that can, he’s her ‘Jean-Jacques.’ And only Jean-Jacques.

He shakes his head with a shrug, “Nothing, nothing.”

They settle with each other, finding an open space behind strangers. They’re hidden in bodies, encased in the music that blares over them. Pierre puts a hand on her waist and takes her hand in his. She looks up at him, she is tentative to step closer, but she does. With her so close, her name sits upon his tongue. He hasn’t spoken it in years, the very sound of it painful.

He mutters it like a prayer

She hums, never breaking eye contact, lights dancing on her skin. Pierre has forgotten his headache, he’s forgotten his boredom, his readiness to leave. He never wants to leave this place. Not now. Not when she’s here. They’re both trapped, stuck between reality and what they want. He can see it, he can feel it. He can -

“How’ve you been?”

The question creates a painful space between them.

“Good,” He lies, “I’ve been good. You?”

She nods along, “I’ve been good too,” the tips of her ears begin to glow red, the way they do when she lies, “I’ve been great, actually.”

She turns away, staring into the distance, “You made it to Formula One.”

Pierre winces, her words burn.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Was it worth it?”

There's a waver in her voice, and it grows thick with emotion. Pierre closes his eyes with a sigh, leaning his head against the pole behind him. It was and it never will be. He has a career that he excels in, all the money he could ever want, and his parents couldn’t be prouder. But he’s - he’s always known that something was missing. A feeling. A light, something to keep him afloat.

“No,” He breathes.

She looks at him, her eyes wide and full of emotion. She doesn't look angry, she just looks sad.

“Did you ever go to med school?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it worth it?”

She pauses for a moment, taking her lip between her teeth, “I’m not sure.”

He can hear her unsaid sentence, the only thing stopping the onslaught of relief is the wave of shame he feels. He wants to be happy for her, he wants for her to have everything she ever dreamed of.

But with him.

He wanted her to have it with him.

He hates his selfishness. Hates that he hasn’t changed a bit since they were in school. Ready to ask her to give up her dreams to follow him around the world. Unable to understand why that would ever be an issue. Love could only justify so much.

Silence bubbles over them. They sway to the distant song that plays, and he holds her close. He worries he’s holding her too tight, but when he tries to pull away, the grip she has on the fabric of his shoulder tells no differently. So he presses her closer still, cheek lying on the crown of her head, her ear pressed against his chest. With them like this, in the walls of their old school, he can almost convince himself he’s sixteen again. He can almost convince himself that she -

“I’ve missed you,” She whispers, her words muttering into the fabric of his button-up shirt, and he nearly misses it.

Her words are almost swallowed by the noise around them. But Pierre hears, saving the words. He feels as if he’s floating, head high in the clouds of their youth. There’s nothing that can hurt them here, nothing they have to go back to.

Nothing is waiting for them outside this moment.

“I’ve missed you too.:

He hopes that she can hear everything he wants to say. Everything she should’ve said all those years ago when their youth could have torn through it all. Everything he should’ve said when he stood on her porch that night, cradling the box of his things she pushed into his chest with a curse of his name. Everything he should’ve said when she begged him not to go, to stay.

To stay with her.

With the regret heavy in his stomach, Pierre tightens his hold on her hand. He’ll hold her here with him now. He’ll keep them together, he won’t let anything pull them apart. He opens his mouth to say something. To tell her while they’re still in the clouds, while they’re still miles away. He’s gripping her hand in his, and he wants nothing more than to pull her closer. Time has been so cruel, it has stolen so much from them, so much life, but he’s here now. And so is she.

They’re here now.

“I -”

“Pierre!” Reality cuts between them, pulling him away. Reality pecks him on the cheek, snaking her hand on his bicep, “I was looking for you!”

Pierre can do nothing but fall apart, closing his eyes with a strained sigh. He can feel them fall back to Earth, the painful crash of time against them once more.

And he feels as if he’s lost her all over again.

“Who’s this?” Kika questions, a bright smile on her face, always kind.

When Pierre doesn’t speak, reeling from the pain of the space that’s wedged between them, she does, introducing herself as, “An old friend.”

Pierre almost laughs, under the weight of reality pressing against him, he can almost burst into tears. Friends. They are so much more than that, they always were, and he always wants them to be.

“Oh!” Kika jostles him, “Yes! Pierre has told me so much about you! I am so glad to finally meet you in person!” Kika’s laughter fills their shattered bubble and she begins to laugh alongside her, stale and empty.

Then, there’s a call of Kika’s name, it pierces the noise of the bass, having filled the dance floor with a pop song, lyrics melting into the background, “It was nice to meet you!”

“You too!”

They watch Kika walk away, with unreadable expressions on both their faces.

He starts, an explanation on his tongue, eyes wide and pleading, “It’s just-”

“I’m glad you found someone, Pierre,” She wrapped her arms around herself, fingered digging into the material of her sweater, a strange look on her face, “I’m happy for you.”

He is inclined to believe her.

“I really am, Pierre.”

His name sounds so cold as it falls from her lips, almost like he’s a stranger, shattering to the ground, he winces. Pierre reaches for her, wanting to feel the warmth around his hands once more, but he pulls away, averting her eyes.

He calls her name, begging for her to listen.

She is doing the right thing.

“You look good together,” Unshed tears brim in her eyes, eyebrows pinched together, a hand pressed against her cheek, “You - you look happy.”

She is saying the right thing, but that doesn’t change the way his heart pounds in his chest.

“I - I,” His words are stuck, lodged behind the lump of emotion. But Pierre isn’t strong enough to fight against reality, not when it presses against their chests

‘I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you, the way you loved me,’ Goes unsaid.

There would never be another her. Never another woman to make Pierre feel whole, never another hand against his to hold in the rain, never eyes to stare into, never another to waste days away with. He will never be sixteen again, and he will never have her again.

An ‘I love you’ nearly comes tumbling out, and the words burn against the roof of his mouth. He can do nothing but breathe, trying to ground himself against the burn of her gaze. She sees right through him, but he can’t hide. He doesn’t want to. She’s the only one he would ever let look straight through.

“Thank you,” Is all he says.

It sounds like goodbye.

“You’re welcome.”

And Pierre knows that it is.

____________________________________

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

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

The art of sibling hood

Paring: sister!Reader & Charles Leclerc

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,815

Status: Complete

***Request made by reader***

Summer break offers us a sliver of peace.

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

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

It was like losing a piece of myself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shake off the memories when Charles calls my name.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

With a curse, Arthur throws his cards down.

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

“You just don’t know how to lose.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine?”

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

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

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

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

“Hello!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” I whisper, pulling her close.

“Hi,” She whispers back.

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

“Is there -?”

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

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

What a drama queen.

__________

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

Hm. How strange.

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

What could it be?

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

A secret then.

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

But this - this was different.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

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

“Arthur.”

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

“Wanna make a bet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe I was a bit psychic.

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

I scoffed, “That’s nothing - €100.”

“You could be wrong.”

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

“€50?”

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

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

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get, dumbass.”

“LANGUAGE!”

__________

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

A peace that’s so very addicting.

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

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

Before I know it, they are both standing.

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

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

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

“I told you!” I cry.

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

Confusion is written across their face and I can only laugh

I hold out a waiting hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

__________

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

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

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

But what a beautiful memory it will be.

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

It is perfect. It is home.

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

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

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

“What happened?” Carla demands.

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

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

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

I can hardly breathe.

Anger coils tight within me.

Fucking vultures.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t right.

Summer is our time.

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

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

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

‘We’ve got it,’ She mouths, ‘Go.’

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

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

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

I step through.

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

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

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

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

I take a tentative step forward.

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

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

My brother is good.

And the world is cruel.

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

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

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

And Charles.

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

That Charles.

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

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

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

I hold him and let him fall apart.

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

I gesture for him to come and he does.

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

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

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

The only person -

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

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

We do.

We always will.

_________________________

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

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

Of Strangers and Rain Delays

Paring: Reader x Lance Stroll

Warnings: slight angst, fluff, meet-cute, pure fluff, first-meetings

Word Count: 2,383

Status: Complete

___________________

With another crack of thunder, Lance spares a glance at the wide window paneling of the Montreal airport. The skies are so dark it’s nearly black, thick clouds hanging over the runways, raindrops smacking against the pavement. The wind billows on, threatening to lift the tarmac that lines small carts zipping across the barely visible rows of lights, emitting a weak hue consumed by the onslaught of rain.

He can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Somehow, he knew this would happen.

From the moment he’d received word that their private airfield was closed, to the moment that his team was ushered to a quiet, empty terminal. He knew that the rain would keep him stranded in Canada. He had no real reason to worry, when Aston Martin constructed his travel plans, they always did so with the weather in mind.

He looked over at his P.R. manager. She sat across from him, her legs crossed over one another, staring down at a tablet. The glow of the screen cast a shadow over her concerned face, moving when her fingers worried at the skin of her lips.

“Something the matter, Charlotte?”

She flicked her eyes up at him, “Nothing that isn’t already my job, Lance.”

He snorts.

There were very few people who would have the backbone to speak to him so freely. It wasn’t that Lance thought of himself as above them, but the world seemed hellbent on making it so that was all anyone ever said. What they said to him couldn’t be worse than what he had said to himself.

There was a reason why he pushed himself into the car, forcing his freshly broken wrists to work just as hard as they had before. Everyone was watching him, everyone was judging him. He could feel their eyes, burning right through him. It stung.

But he was used to it.

From the very moment he’d gotten his seat, it was all Lance has ever heard.

Just a rich kid running with daddy’s money. That’s all he was to them.

Lance looked back down at her phone, a lump suddenly in his throat, “Did they say how long we’re going to be here?”

“I’m not sure,” She looked over to her left, her assistant - Mary - hunched over a computer, “Did they say?”

“We won’t have the clear for hours,” Mary muttered, her heavy bangs falling into her eyes, “Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” He clicked his phone off, pushing it into his pocket.

“Think I’ll go walk around,” He began to stand, catching the way that Charolette’s eyes widened, “ You can’t expect me to sit like this for hours.”

She let out a heavy sigh.

“Lance -”

He knows. He knows what it is.

“I won’t be far,” He tries to offer her a smile, “I’ll get you something to drink, you want something, right?”

She hesitated, she knew that he was aware. Regardless of what people liked to say, Lance wasn’t an idiot.

“I do,” She puts her hands over her tablet, leaning back in her chair, “Diet Coke, please?”

“You got it.”

_________

He can’t shake the look on Charolette’s face. It circles his mind as he walks down the long stretch of the airport hallway. The walls are painted a soothing tan, with bright lights overhead. He reaches over to skim his fingers along the dips within the paint.

It isn’t until he approaches the end of the hallway that he begins to hear chatter. It grows louder as he gets closer, and eventually, he’s standing right in the middle of the bustling terminals. He had no idea that they’d managed to hide him so well.

It wasn’t like he was Charles or anything, he didn’t have fans clamoring over themselves just to see him, but there were certainly weirdos. It had been a while since he’d seen one, surprised that he would’ve been allowed to go this far without seeing one of Aston Martain’s staff rounding the corner with him.

He shrugs it away.

People are much too preoccupied with themselves to notice him. He can hear people shouting at flight attendants from across the wide space, bags thrown around the floor. So much rain wasn’t typical for this time of year, but Mother Nature was simply an unstoppable force.

It isn’t before long that he spots a small cart of drinks with a bright orange umbrella in the air. He sidesteps people, offering small, ‘excuse me’s. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not after last weekend.

He wasn’t the most popular of drivers at the moment.

Charlotte tried to hide his phone from him after the race, saying he needed to focus on recovery. Lance saw right through her and refused to leave without it. With a slight quiver in her lip, she pressed it into his palm.

“Don’t look,” She said, her hand tight around his, “It won’t do you any good, Lance.”

“What haven’t I already heard, Charlotte,” He slipped his hand away from hers, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He would have plenty of time to look on the plane home.

He did.

Lance scrolled on Instagram and Twitter, trying to bite back the anger that rose from within him again. That video - that stupid video - of him with Henry. The camera shook as he just left the frame, only the sight of his green racing suit racing out. There was the rattle of the large toolbox beside him, and the movement of Henry’s body.

Shit.

It was everywhere.

And so were the comments.

They called him spoiled, a monster, a cheater, a loser - everything under the sun was thrown at him, and he just kept scrolling.

Reading word after word, until his eyes began to burn. Lance deserved worse than this. He was a professional, Henry was his trainer, and he shoved him.

Like a dick.

Lance sucks in a deep breath when he gets to the cart, surprised to see no line. He digs into his pocket, “I’ll take a Diet Coke and two waters, please.”

The cashier nods along, ringing him up with a polite smile. He reads Lance his total, opening a plastic bag to place the drinks in, “Thank you, have a good day, sir.”

“Thanks,” Lance mutters, reaching for the bag, “You too.”

As he turns to walk away, he notices a kid, no older than 9 or 10, running around with an Aston Martin sweatshirt on. The green is bright against the dull furnishings of the airport. Lance can’t fight the smile that makes its way on his face or the embarrassment that begins to bloom in his gut.

The seats scattered around the terminals are packed, filled to the brim with stranded passengers. Pieces of luggage are scattered about the floor, little kids jump over them in an attempt to entertain themselves, people are engaged in rapid conversation, and some are slumped over the small armrests, asleep.

It was nice, to fade into the background.

He loved the fans, but Lance has always been a quiet person. His personal time is sacred, his downtime is sacred. He had his obligations on race weekends, signing hats and shirts blindly, but here, he was just a guy trying to get drinks.

He turns back towards the exit, the walkway seems to get more crowded. Lance lets out a sigh before he can stop himself. If he goes now, he’ll be discovered.

Fuck.

Looking around him, there are no spaces not taken by bodies. He tries to round a corner, keeping the bag tight to his chest.

He spots an empty seat, well, one without a human in it.

It’s only a few steps away from him, he’s there before he can turn around.

There’s a girl, headphones around her head, hoodie pulled over them. Her glasses reflect the screen of her laptop, positioned on her crossed legs. She’s invested in something, a hand cupping her chin.

Lance debates walking away, but she notices him before he can.

She looks up at him, pulling one of the slides of her headphones back, eyes widening slightly.

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” He says, jostling the bag in his hand, “Is someone sitting there?”

She looks over, and immediately reaches to grab her backpack, “No, no, sorry.”

He waves a dismissive hand at her, “It’s ok.”

He settles beside her, sliding down in the seat. The noise of the space fills his head, he doesn’t have to think any thoughts of his own. Minutes tick by, the bag resting against his legs. His phone buzzes.

Charlotte.

“Where did you go?”

“I just needed a break, sorry.”

The three bubbles dance across the bottom of his screen before disappearing and reappearing.

“It’s ok. Come back when you’re ready, kid.”

He smiles. The lump in his throat back again. Lance knows that he’s made her job harder, he knows that as she scrolls on that tablet of hers she is trying to manage the damage he’s caused. She has been nothing but supportive, a guiding hand during interviews, and he does nothing but make her life harder.

He sighs.

Lance tries to forget himself. He takes in the room once more, eyes trailing over the streaks of rain, over the fluorescent lights, the people. He tries to forget the last race week. He looks over at the girl beside him, catching sight of her screen.

It’s a movie, he’s unsure if he’s seen before. The two characters on screen stalk around each other, weapons at the ready, blood dripping down their temple. Looks intense.

He begins to pull his gaze away when he catches sight of shimmering Formula One helmet stickers. The glossy sticker glitters in the light, dark forest green mimicking the design of his helmet, with ‘Stroll 18’ written beneath it in bolded letters. His isn't the only one there, Max and Fernando among the few, but it’s the only one he cares to see.

When he looks back at her, she already staring at him.

There’s clear embarrassment across her face, a dark blush across her cheeks.

She pulls her headphones off as she begins to speak, “I - I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable -”

“It’s okay,” He stops her before she can continue, a smirk pulling at his features, “You didn’t know I was going to be here.”

A beat of silence passes before he adds, “Or did you?”

She gapes at him, “Of course not! That’s so weird. Don’t even joke like that.”

“Sorry,” He mutters, trying to hide his smile with his hand.

“No, you’re not,” She lets out a small giggle, and Lance can’t help but want to hear it again.

With her hood pulled down, he can see her more clearly. She’s beautiful.

The lines of her face, the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose. Even with her face glowing, her smile is all he can see.

“You’re right,” He shrugs, tucking his arms into his sides, “I’m not.”

“That’s rude,” She’s quick to answer back, movie paused.

“I’ve been told I’m rude,” The words slip from him.

The look on her face changes, the slight drop of her lips. She just stares at him, but it doesn’t burn.

“Maybe you are,” She says finally, looking down at the ground before back up to him, “Doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy.”

Her words pierce him.

The lump in his throat is thicker than before, he nearly feels like he’s choking on it. It means more than she could ever know, a stranger’s opinion. He doesn’t even know her name. He wonders for a second if she can hear his heart pounding, ears burning.

“Thanks,” He forces out.

“‘Course,” She smiles.

It feels like the sun on Lance’s skin.

“Are - Are you a fan?” He tries to change the subject.

“Yeah,” She mutters pulling her laptop to her chest, “Sorry about the - the stickers…”

“It’s ok,” He laughs, trying to rub away the tightness in his chest, “It’s nice to meet a fan.”

She smiles, picking at the sleeves of her sweater, “Well, I never thought I’d be able to meet any driver.”

“Why’s that?”

She looks at him and rolls her eyes, “Are you kidding? The cost of a grand prix is more than I make in a month.”

She fixes herself on the seat, tucking her leg around the chair, “Can’t afford it.”

He hums.

There’s a certain guilt that builds up within him. There was always that saying, ‘Cash is King.’ He has known so many talented drivers forced to leave the sport because it demanded more than they had. The prices got far too high and the rewards were far too little. He knows more than most give him credit for that he’s privileged, his father’s money has allowed him to fail more than some ever get the chance to.

“So then,” he continues, “Where are you headed to?”

“Mr. Stroll,” She stares up at him through her glasses, “Do you know that you’re not supposed to share that information with strangers?”

The laugh that is pulled from him is far louder than he means for it to be. It draws the annoyed glances of a few people around them, but it makes him double over. She laughs too, failing to smother it with her hand.

It isn’t funny, but it’s perfect.

“So you get to know everything about me, but I know nothing about you?”

“You’re famous,” She mutters, pressing a hand to her chest, “I’m just a fan.”

Lance shrugs. He didn’t want her to be just a fan, but maybe that’s just the rain talking.

“Still. I think it’s only fair,” She opens her mouth but Lance adds, “And anyway, I’m just a guy.”

Her mouth clicks shut. She stares at him again for a second, that same look returning to her eyes. It’s almost as if she can see right through him, but he doesn't mind.

“Then,” She puts her hand out, “How about this…”

She introduces herself, telling him her name before saying, “It’s nice to meet you, stranger.”

Lance looks down at her waiting hand. Her smile is dazzling. It’s bright against the dark murkiness of the rain, it balances him.

Lance breathes out.

“I’m Lance, nice to meet you too, stranger.”

_________________________

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

I also feel the need to remind some people that these are FICTITIOUS pls remember that

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

The goldmine

Paring: Reader x Lando Norris

Warnings: angst, unhealthy relationship, open ending, hurt/no comfort

Word Count: 2,534

Status: Complete

TW: A FICTITIOUS depiction of an unhealthy relationship

___________________

The night ticked by slowly, seeming to drag along. Silence filled the apartment, the curtains drawn over the moon. There was nothing but the eerie darkness. I was so cold, trying to hide myself in the pillows of the couch.

He was supposed to be here.

Lando. My Lando.

He was supposed to be here, but he’s not. He’d promised me, swore up and down that he wouldn’t be late. He was. The motorsport world was a demanding one, one I didn’t ever try to understand. I drew him away even if I begged for it to leave him to me. It wasn’t even the start of the season, this was supposed to be my time with him.

But McLaren called and he hurried to answer.

It was supposed to take him two days, then that morphed into a week, but he was supposed to be back. He promised.

I let out a sigh. There are no tears that prick my eyes, I stopped crying for this last season. I knew how much he loved racing. It was a love that ran deep, a need that he couldn’t live without. I knew this, I knew it when we got together, but I had always thought that maybe I could find a space too.

I thought he could love me too.

Maybe I just need too much.

I shake the thoughts from my head. I couldn’t help the ache in my chest. Being away from him hurt and it frightened me. Never did I think I could love someone so much. So much that I would stay even when they kept leaving.

But here I stand, waiting in our empty apartment, begging for him to crash through the door.

It just remains closed. The lock was tightly wound.

This is so painful.

______________

“How do you even do it?” I asked, twirling Lando’s hair in between my fingers.

“Do what?”

I let out the smallest chuckles, his hand grazed my legs, drawing mindless patterns into them, “Just sit there and…drive?”

“It’s an art,” He looked up at me, beautiful eyes glimmering in the light of Monaco, “I do art.”

“Oh, do you?”

He feigned an offended noise, “I will have you know that I am a very renowned artiste.”

I dragged my fingernails along his scalp, “Yes, of course. Please, excuse me.”

With an eye roll, Lando looked away. From the balcony of the apartment, we could see the ocean. It shined as the sun danced across it, a light breeze rolling through the streets. The air was filled with salt and I loved it.

Lando lay between my legs, after insisting he’d try sunbathing with me that day. He hadn’t been doing a very good job of letting me sunbathe with him. He demanded that I lay with him and when I refused, he simply planted himself between my thighs, leaning back onto my stomach.

“You’re very comfortable.”

“I am glad you’re finding comfort in my misery.”

“How dare you!” He pulled himself up, twisting his body to glare at me, “I am a joy to be around. People love my presence.”

“Why don’t you go be with them then? Hm?” I brought my sunglasses down on my nose.

With a huff, he turned back around, fingers finding the flesh of my legs once more. Blessed silence passed over us, and I let myself melt into the chair that supported us. It was curved for back support and I had never been so grateful for a purchase.

The sounds of the streets below moved between us, though, neither of us said a word. Not until, Lando mumbled out.

“I like being with you…”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the skin beside him, “I like being with just you.”

I couldn't fight the blush that burned across my face.

“Lando…” I whisper, I took the glasses off my face and dropped them onto the small table beside us.

His eyes flickered to mine. There was something else within them. I didn’t know at the time, and I still couldn’t say. It felt like a secret between us, but we never had secrets.

“I like being with you too,” I motioned for him to turn and he did. He steadied himself on the arms of the chair, pulling himself over me. I am drenched in his shadow but his eyes never leave mine.

I brought my hands up to his face, running a soothing line over his cheek.

“I like being with just you.”

The smile he gave me was enough to rival the sun itself. A glow of beauty and light of faith. I loved him so much I felt like I was going to explode, the emotions building up in my chest. I was filled with so much warmth it’s difficult to remember where everything went wrong.

__________

I didn’t feel like fighting him anymore. I couldn’t.

I could hear the flick of the lock. There was the smallest feeling of relief drowned in the sea of dread. I was filled with anger and hurt, so much that I could hardly breathe.

When he walked in, gently pushing the door open, he didn’t say a word. I thought of letting it go, letting him go. He’d set his stuff down and haphazardly unpack, I could slip back to bed. I could just let it fade into nothingness, let it become nothing. That’s what I did with everything else.

I make myself smaller on the couch.

I can hear his footsteps, soft on the floor. I’m not sure if he knows I’m here, but I pray that he doesn’t. If I don't have to face him now, it’ll make letting it go easier. I can’t stand to see him now. Not when I’m brimming with these terrible feelings.

There’s the little voice that begs for him to look for me. The smallest hope that he does find me. That he looks at me and scoops me in his arms, holding me like he used to. Wanting to be near me or else - as he said - he’d die. I wanted to feel needed.

But Lando just walked right past the couch.

I could see the tension in his shoulders, hair sticking up every which way. He was tired.

So was I.

I let out a sigh - it leaves my lips louder than I meant for it to.

He freezes. His turn towards me seems to take an eternity. Even in the darkness, I can make out the lines of his face, the color of his eyes.

Beautiful.

He finds me, curled in a ball, tucked in between the couch cushions. The guilt that creeps across his face is immediate. Guilt is not a good look on Lando.

I take my lip in between my teeth.

He doesn’t say a word, just staring at me.

I wonder, for a moment, if he expects me to lash out. To scream and cry. But I can’t. I can’t because it’s stuck. Everything I want to say is stuck, tucked right under my heart - because even if he kills me, I love him.

He seems to have regained control of himself. Wordlessly, he moves from where he stands to sit across from me. On his way, he flicks on a lamp. The dim light that fills the room hurts my eyes.

I can’t stand to look at it.

His hands fall into his lap, lacing his fingers together. He’s so far from me, just watching me. I fidget with the lining of the blanket. My heart begins to pound and this feels terribly like something I’ve seen in my nightmares.

__________

Watching him race for the first time was exhilarating.

I felt like I could feel the fire of the track in my veins. The sun beamed down on the paddock, the heavy headset sitting over my ears. To see it on a screen, and to see it in person was incredible. With every car that zoomed past, I could feel the ground tremble.

He’d been so excited that day, practically jumping out of his skin.

With his hand locked in mine, he walked me through the paddock. The fans clamored over him, thrusting shirts and papers in his face. He took it with ease, signing as many things as he could, and taking as many pictures as they allowed. His P.R. agent, Loren, had to push us into Hospitality.

I could hardly contain my laughter. This Lando - the racing Lando - was so different from who he was with me. Not a stranger, but different.

He seemed to be more aware, more present. He seemed to step into the persona that Formula One created for him. It would never matter. Lando was still my Lando, I loved him.

In his driver's room, there were pictures of us. Small moments in time captured and perched upon a small table. I couldn’t stop the way my heart fluttered.

He snatched the photos from me, the tips of his ears glowing red.

“I think that’s very cute,” He didn’t say much, just pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist.

“I don’t want to share you with anyone here,” He mumbled, dropping his head into my shoulder.

I let out a scoff, slapping at his arm, “Me? You’re worried about me?”

He didn’t lift his head to nod.

“Lando, you have people begging for a picture - I don’t want to share you with them.”

He did finally look up, the lighting of the room hitting his eyes in a way that made them look a wonderful hazel. I can see the flakes of green that swim in them, how beautiful.

A smirk pulled at his lips, and he dropped his head once more.

“You don’t have to share me.”

I rolled my eyes, “I most definitely do.”

“‘S’not true.”

“It’s very much true, Lando,” I couldn’t help the way that seriousness took hold of my voice. I hadn’t ever really thought of it. How he wouldn't ever be mine after that weekend. I could ignore it before, I could stay off Twitter and Instagram, but being there - experiencing it - I couldn't run from the truth anymore.

Everyone loves Lando Norris.

I was just one of many.

“Well,” He pressed a kiss to my neck, “I only like being yours anyway.”

What a blissful promise.

__________

He was so different now. A stranger sitting before me, a stranger wearing Lando’s clothes, his cologne, his face. A stranger with his smile, with his laugh, with his eyes. But there was no doubt, there never could be - the man sitting before me was a stranger.

He didn’t look at me, staring right past me. I thought he might make a run for it, just push straight past me and out of the apartment, but he stayed. His hands fidgeting with his shorts, pulling at the hem and I have to fight the urge to intertwine our fingers.

“This isn’t my fault,” He says finally, voice quiet.

I can’t do this. I can’t have this pissing contest right now.

“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. When I do, he finally meets my gaze, and I nearly break. Those beautiful eyes, they’re so full of emotion. The burden he carries is one heavier than I could ever know, but I would never know if he keeps me out. I can’t help him if he won’t let me.

He begins to voice my name, but I hold a hand up.

I can’t hear that. Not now, if I do I’m sure I’ll break. Like all those times before, I know I’ll fall apart at the first sign of distress. Because as much as it hurts, I love him. I love Lando Norris with all I am. There is no one I could love any more than I do him.

But that’s the problem, I can’t love him anymore.

The pain is too much. The guilt is suffocating. I can’t drown like this, I can’t die like this.

“You need to let me go, Lando,” When the words leave my lips, I know the bridge between us is shattered.

“I love you,” He whispers, reaching over to grab at my hand. I don’t move because I don’t want to.

I want to feel the warmth of his touch once more, I need to feel it. When he touches me, I breathe. His scent settles into my lungs and it’s so easy to convince myself I can do it. That I can push through the weekends away, the nights crying. I almost do.

His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel him tracing mindless patterns on my skin. It’s nearly enough to bring me to life. But I don’t need to be reminded that I love him, I don’t need to be reminded that I need him. I know I do.

But I can’t have him.

Not now.

Maybe one day, but not now.

“Lando.”

“Don’t go,” I turn away, trying to pull my hand back, but he holds me, fingers tight around mine, “Please.”

‘Don’t do this to me.’

“Lan -”

“I’ll be better,” He’s moving closer, rising from his seat across from me. In a few quick strides, he’s in front of me, kneeling before me, “I promise.”

“Love, please.”

I throw an arm over my face. The tears fall down and I don’t bother stopping them. I can’t look at him. I can’t face his breaking heart. I feel like I’m dying.

“You need to let me go.”

“I can’t - I don’t want to.”

I can’t move, I can hardly breathe. His words, whimpered into my stomach, rendered me silent.

“I want you - I want you to want me…please…”

That was never the problem. Loving him was never the issue, but I couldn’t love him properly. I hated the sport he loved because it took him away from me. I hated racing and he would always love it. I hated being second to something that was his goal.

I hated standing in the way.

I couldn’t keep him here with me.

My head began to pound, legs trembling, threatening to give out. The thoughts swirled in my head, there was so much. Too much. Too many reasons, too many excuses.

“Lando,” I cry, unable to keep it in, “Let me go.”

“No,” He nearly shouts, tightening his arms around me, “I’m yours. I want to be only yours.”

I can’t. I fall to the floor. He falls with me, clinging to me. I dig my fingers into his arms, finding his middle. My arms and legs lock around him. I needed to leave. I needed to go but - he held me tighter, pressing a kiss to the side of my temple - but he was holding on. I needed to but - I breathed him in between sobs, and he tried to furrow impossibly closer - but I was holding on.

I needed to go, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to let go

“I - I love you.”

“I love you.”

I love you.

______________________

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

this was totally a rant fic and i do noooot believe that he would ever do anything like this btw

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #female reader #formula 1 #one shot #x reader #angst #formula one x reader #lando norris #mclaren #lando imagine #lando x reader #lando would never treat you like this btw #this is just a fic pls remember tht #heavy angst #no comfort #this hurt to write but i did it anyway

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

the tides

Paring: Reader x Oscar Piastri

Warnings: Fluff, pure fluff, meet-cute, light angst

Word Count: 1,201

Status: Complete

___________________________

There was little Oscar ever got to keep to himself.

It seemed that as he moved throughout the world of motorsport that list only grew smaller and smaller. Now, with cameras watching his every move, and commentators dissecting his every action - it felt like Oscar couldn’t even breathe. He knew that he didn’t have it as bad as Charles or Max, but it felt like there was always another person around the corner, just waiting for him. Was he so wrong to be tired of it?

Was he so wrong to want -?

“And here is the car for the year!” A chipper voice rang out through the bustling movement of the garage, “We’ve made several changes this year and are extremely confident in the car’s performance this year!”

He looked over his shoulder and there she was.

Walking around with an Alpine guide - Amanda - with a V.I.P pass swinging around her neck. She trailed light fingers over the Alpine car, tracing the stickers and logos that sat atop the blue paint. Her eyes were fixed on the car, looking over the groves of the chassis and wings. There were a few people behind her, huddled around the opening of the garage, trying to make themselves as small as possible.

Oscar had to hold in a laugh.

He could practically hear the muttering of the mechanics as they slipped past. There was nothing they hated more than random people in their space as they were trying to work, but V.I.P. tours were an essential part of marketing, or so Oscar had been told. It wasn’t like he paid much attention at those meetings anyway.

He was only a reserve driver.

There is not much for him to do besides sit there, maybe test a few laps, and sit some more. But being signed to a team was better than floating around in the nothingness, just waiting for a slot to open up. At least here, he had access to cars, to simulators, to the numbers - he could prepare himself for next year.

Amanda rounded the expanse of the car, gesturing to Oscar with a bright smile, “This is Oscar, our reserved drive for this year!”

Her eyes found him in a second. Oscar had never known how terribly wonderful it is to have someone’s full attention. With her gaze on him, he fought the urge to turn away, bright eyes staring straight through him.

Her walk to him is slow, and Oscar can hardly hold his breath.

She’s beautiful.

“The Formula 2 Champion?”

Oscar nearly chokes on his spit, twisting around so that he can face her. He is so very sure he has stopped breathing. He has never been the best with new people, always keeping his friends close and outsiders as far as possible. Logan said it was the first time that the Motorsport world had ever been given an introverted Aussie. It was just who he was.

“Yes!” Amanda’s smile grew even wider, “We’re very lucky to have such talent on our side this year.”

Oscar was still perched atop his stool, hunched over the monitors. She finally got close enough and he rushed to stand, nearly tripping over himself. She let out a bark of laughter.

Her voice rang throughout the garage, dancing through the air. Her laugh was beautiful.

“Sorry…” He muttered, straightening his jacket. The bright blue fabric suddenly felt too big on him, his pants too loose. He wasn’t dressed well enough to meet her. Thoughts began to swirl around his mind, never had he been one to care about appearances. Never had Oscar been the kind of guy who cared what others thought, but her opinion was suddenly the only one he wanted to hear.

It was ridiculous.

“Oscar,” He offered his hand and, for a moment, she just watched him. Her eyes traced over his body and up to his face. He felt like he was on fire, the drum of his heartbeat loud in his ears. Then, like the ocean crashing in at high tide, she put her hand in his.

“A pleasure to meet you, Oscar.”

She added her name to the end, pulling her hand back with a small smile. There was a bright red blush that spread over her face, blossoming across her cheeks and ears. He hadn’t realized that he said her name aloud.

It was finally his turn to laugh, “I - I’m sorry, did I say it wrong?”

“No,” She held up a defensive hand, trying to cover her widening smile, “It was perfect.”

She was perfect.

Oscar opened his mouth once more, but Amanda popped her head between them.

“I am so sorry to interrupt, but we have to move on,” She shot Oscar an apologetic look, shrugging her shoulders.

“Of course!” She moved away from him, turning on her heel. The sun hit her skin, dancing across her clothes with the wind tangled in her hair. Oscar couldn’t stop staring.

He was an idiot.

He had just met her and already, he was an idiot.

“It was nice to meet you, Oscar,” She muttered, her voice nearly swallowed by the roaring fans behind her, but Oscar heard.

“Nice to meet you too…”

And she was gone.

Whisked away out the garage doors, her small group following behind her. The tide had come and gone, Oscar had never realized how much he could miss the sea.

Oscar was never one to know or care much about love - he’d liked people, but never had he felt like this. His heart was thundering within his ribs, it was a bit terrifying. Was it that simple? Loving someone? Surly not, there had to be more, didn’t there? He turned back around, trying to ignore the knowing looks of the engineers and mechanics around him.

Already she was out in the open. He let out a sigh, what was he thinking?

He couldn’t love someone like that. People like her deserved someone -

“Oscar!”

Oscar spun around, and it was her.

The beautiful, beautiful girl from earlier. Her pass dangled from her hand, and the lanyard twisted around her fingers. Oscar hadn’t realized he was standing and walking towards her until he was in front of her, muttering out a simple, “Yes?”

“I know you must be busy,” She started, wringing her fingers, “But, well - I was wondering if you ever did get a moment alone, you could spend it with me…?”

Oscar had no words, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

The doubt was quick to work across her face, “But I know that this must be an insane time of year for you guys, so don’t feel -”

“I’d love to.”

He doesn’t have time to be embarrassed. He doesn’t have time to lament over the fact that one day, this will be exposed for everyone to see. He doesn’t because she stands before him with the smallest smile and she rolls into his life like the tides.

He knows she’ll have to be with the sea, but for this moment he wants to keep her with him. Just the two of them. Just for now.

“I would absolutely love to.”

Just for now.

__________________

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

This is for bbg Oscar bcs I love him sm and I'm so proud of him

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

The wind chimes we hear

Paring: Charles Leclerc x Sister! Reader

Warnings: fluff, family fluff, family angst, family feels

Word Count: 2,760

Status: Completed (part of a mini-series)

* A Request*

There was the green field, littered with dandelions and daisies swaying in the wind. Sunlight drenched the stems, rolling over the grass, kissing my skin. The twinkle of our grandmother’s windchimes, clinking together. The scent of the sea, the taste of salt dancing high above the air.

I could hear my brothers laughing, pushing each other, shoving the other into the dirt. The sound of our mother scolding them, my father’s bellowing laughter. They called my name, pulling at my hands. They didn’t understand why I was so small, why I couldn't run like them.

I didn’t get it either.

They call my name again.

It sounds fainter.

The sun goes cold, and the grass stops dancing. My father’s face distorts, fading into nothingness.

“Ma’am?”

There’s a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me. My eyes blink open.

There’s a woman smiling down at me, her red lips showing a dazzling set of pearly white teeth, “We’ll be landing soon.”

I nod, trying to suppress the yawn that grows in my chest. My headphones have slipped to my temple, and with a groan, I push them back. The cabin light is far too bright, I pull my hood further over my head.

What a strange dream.

We spent the entire summer with my grandmother. We ran around her spacious backyard, and we loved it. Sitting around her stained glass table, staring up at the colors as they shimmered in the light of morning. We were kids then.

The city is nothing more than a spec outside the window. Surrounded by the glimmering sea, clouds making it seem impossibly far. Home.

__________

Catching a car was more difficult than I expected. Normally, my mother was more than happy to pick me up - or she would’ve sent one of my brothers - but we were all coming in at different times. I didn’t want to burden her.

Summer break was a glorious time. I always managed to snag a few days free of practice, I would always dread going back, but I would never sacrifice it for anything. My brothers were always happy to be home, hiding out at our mother’s house before telling anyone they were home.

Our lives pulled us in different directions, but we always found our way home when Monaco came calling. I looked out onto the streets, cars buzzing past, and people bustling on the streets. This country bore us, we loved it. We would always come back.

The car ride is short and before I know it, I’m standing at the steps of our home. The door swings open before I can knock, my brothers staring back down at me, pulling me into the waiting house.

They wrap me in a hug, their arms tight around me. I breathe them in. The house around us seems to breathe with me. With all four of us between its walls, I feel the anxiety in my stomach uncoil. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. Emotion is tight in my throat but I force it down.

I would never hear the end of it if I cried.

“Little Miss Champion,” Lorenzo brings a hand down on my hair, ruffling it.

I whine, pushing his hand away, “Lo! My hair…”

He chuckles, “I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. I smile. This easy batter has been missing, we’ve been missing. Being here with them feels like coming back to myself. I can hear the windchimes again.

“Good flight?” I nod, sliding my backpack from my shoulders, but Arthur is already taking it from me.

I don’t bother protesting, following them into the house. Charles pulls my suitcase behind him, parking it at the threshold of the kitchen. They let me walk in first, and when I do, my mother is standing there.

I nearly crushed her in a hug, burying my face into her blonde hair. She presses a kiss to the side of my face, brushing my hair back, “What is this love, hm?”

I can’t help the laughter that leaves me. She smells like honey and lavender, her hair soft against my temples. I don’t ever want to break away. Her hands soothe down my back, tucking themselves under my hoodie.

“I missed you,” I whisper.

It’s faint enough to die in the air, but she lets out a little giggle.

“I missed you too, my beautiful girl.”

I curl tighter around her.

Being away hurts. It hurt to know that she was here alone, in this empty house. It hurt to hear the excitement in her voice when I called. It hurt to have her hold me knowing I’ll leave in a few days.

“Mum -”

“I love you so much,” She beats me to it. She pulls away from me, her warm smile making my heart full.

“That’s not fair,” I nearly whine.

She just shrugs, but the smile never leaves her.

“Alright! Enough already,” Arthur claps his hands on my back, “We’re hungry!”

“Yeah,” Charles says, sliding his arm around Mum’s shoulders, “You took forever.”

I roll my eyes and pinch at Arthur’s sides, “Shut your face.”

__________

Dinner is an easy affair.

I don’t bother asking where Carla, Charlotte, or Alex are. The first day is always just for us.

“So what regiment have they got you on now?”

Lorenzo gestures to my plate, it’s mostly green. I promised my trainer I’d take it easy, but with my mother’s cooking, a promise meant nothing. I shrug.

“Nothing,” He snorts, “I mean it!”

“So why no pasta?” Arthur stuffs another forkful into his mouth, our mother scolding him under her breath.

“Planes always mess with my appetite,” I reach for the pitcher of water, “Tomorrow I’ll eat more.”

The conversation is plain, but it’s wonderful. To just be here with them, talking about nothing. We laugh and joke, the house seems to burn with energy. Soon, the food is gone and we race from the table.

Mum captures Lorenzo as he tries to sneak past her, she pulls him to do the dishes with her.

“What a loser,” Arthur mutters, plopping down on the couch. He goes to reach for the remote, but I snatch it first.

“Hey!”

I wave him away, “You’ve been here all day. I just got here.”

“Exactly,” He doesn’t make another move to it, leaning his face into the palm of his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the couch, “It’s only respectable.”

“I know you’re not talking about ‘respectable’.”

I lose myself in surfing the channels, clicking through news broadcasts and show reruns. There’s never anything good at this time, but I always look anyway. A cartoon’s theme song rings through the house and I let out a small laugh.

As children, we would all pile into the kitchen and watch it before school. It would run right when our mother would coral us to the door, tugging on Arthur because he always wanted to see it end.

I’m lost in my thoughts when Charles’ voice rings out.

“Who’s that?”

Charles and Arthur leaned over my phone, tapping at the screen. I hadn’t even noticed Arthur moving. It lights up to the picture of me and my boyfriend. My arm slung around his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss.

Shit.

“No one -”

Before I can snatch it back, they’re pulling it away from me. There’s a look on Aruthur's face, eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow. I can feel the anxiety coil in my stomach. I wasn’t ashamed, I just wasn’t ready.

“No one?” Charles frowns at me, eyes darting to the phone in his hand, “This? This is no one?”

My face grew hot. Why did it always have to be this way?

Arthur scratched the side of his face, “Really? Who is this guy?”

“No one,” I sigh.

I reach for my phone again, but Charles jumps back. He tucks the phone into his pocket, holding a hand up to my chest. I let out a groan.

“Charles, please -”

“If he is ‘no one’,” I can already hear the question, I roll my eyes, “Why not tell us who he is?”

“Because I am a grown woman with my own business,” I thank the heavens I decided to leave him in France, “Now, give me my phone.”

“Tell us who he is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

I almost screamed. My face is red, and I can feel the tears prick in my eyes. It was always like this.

I can see Lorenzo enter the room out of the corner of my eye. He takes in my state - arms crossed over my chest, cheeks red, pinched expression - and lets out a bark of laughter.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, holding his hands out in defense.

“Hey! I haven’t done anything.”

The apology is on my lips, but Charles and Arthur beat me to it.

“She has some secret boyfriend,” They flash my phone at him. I am mortified.

“A secret boyfriend?” He steps closer to the phone, and he moves closer to the screen, eyes squinting as he inspects my boyfriend's face. He makes a look of disgust.

“Really?”

This wasn’t fair. They were judging someone they hadn't even met. I have never, ever, judged one of their girlfriends. The many that passed by, I have never once held any hatred towards them. But they hated my boyfriend simply because he loved me.

It was so stupid.

“Why this guy?” Lorenzo turns to me, Charles and Arthur voicing their agreement, “Really? You shouldn’t be -”

“I am not a baby!” I can feel the tears, my voice going thick with emotion, “I am a grown woman. I can live my own life. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not five years old anymore!”

They stare at me, mouths agape. As soon as my words leave me I want to take them back. I can see the regret crawl across Charles’ face, but I can’t take it. I snatch my phone from his hand and run out of the room.

I hear them call my name, and even feel as Lorenzo tries to grab my arm, but I push him away.

I stomp upstairs, slamming the door behind me.

__________

When I stop, my lungs burn. I’m wheezing out into the air. My heart is thundering within my chest. I can feel the embarrassment pool in my gut.

It didn’t matter how many trophies or world titles I won. It would never matter. They only saw me as their little sister. I had been in their shadows for years, watching as they stepped into the light. The world loved them, the world adored them.

Couldn’t I have this one thing?

Couldn’t I have someone to love me?

I pick at the hem of my shirt. I’m being selfish. They didn’t mean anything by it, it was just careless teasing. But to me - I dared to look at my phone, my boyfriend's beautiful smile staring back at me - it wasn’t careless. I bite on my lip, pulling at the skin.

My room is just as it always was. The walls are littered with pictures, posters lining the sides of my bed. I filled it to the brim, you could hardly see the wallpaper beneath. On my dresser, there are the trinkets I left behind. Seashells and paddock passes. I can feel the emotion welling in my throat again.

This was more than just the teasing.

I push my back into the door. On the other side, I can hear my brother’s voice. They’re arguing, scolding one another, blaming the other for my outburst. But it wasn’t their fault.

So much was changing, we were growing and it frightened me. I side down the frame, pulling my knees into my chest. The tears come before I can stop them. I really was a baby.

I moved out two years ago. I wasn't far, but I wasn’t home. Charles moved out ages ago, and Lorenzo before him. Our leaving wasn’t new, but that didn’t change how strange it was. At first, it felt wrong. I threw myself into training, hours with my coach, and hours distracting myself. There was a reason I only came home a few times a year. It was always hard to leave.

Summer break was always my only exception. I stayed and it hurt.

I always wondered if they felt like this, but I never had the nerve to ask. I was afraid they’d laugh in my face, afraid they would call me a kid. Being away seemed so easy for them, racing across the world. Different cities, different countries, different time zones.

It didn’t look difficult for them at all.

Meanwhile, I cried at my first international competition. It was only for three days, but I called home every night.

I rest my chin on my knees, blowing out a sigh.

My tears have subsided into sniffles. The ridiculousness makes my face burn again. I can almost laugh, but before I can push myself off the floor I hear their footsteps come up the stairs. They try to speak in hushed whispers, but I can hear everything anyway.

“Move, this is your fault!”

“Mine?! You made her upset!”

“Shut up, both of you!”

I almost laugh, covering my mouth just in time to stifle it. I can hear them stop at my door. There’s a long moment of silence, I can feel their hesitation. I look up at the doorknob, the dying sunlight spilling in through my blinds.

There’s a tentative knock. I say nothing.

Charles calls my name.

I say nothing.

It’s evil, but it makes me crack a smile.

Another knock rings through the room, louder this time, “Stop being mad at us…”

I can hear Charles and Lorenzo smack Arthur on the head.

“OW!”

“You’re so stupid.”

Lorenzo tries this time, but his voice is soft, “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to make you upset, will you open the door?”

I rise to my feet but just stare at the door.

“Please?”

With a roll of my eyes, I turn it open. It reveals the apologetic look on their faces.

“We’re sorry,” They say, nearly in unison. I can’t help but laugh.

When we were kids and got into fights our father made us apologize together, we’d have to redo it if we weren’t.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur starts, looking up at me, fiddling with his hands, “We shouldn’t have looked at your phone.”

To his right, Charles nods, “It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

I look at Lorenzo.

“What?” He holds his hands up, “I didn’t really do anything wrong -”

Charles jabs him in the ribs.

“Ah! I’m - I’m sorry,” He muttered, brown hair falling into his eyes as he doubled over, “I’m sorry.”

“I meant it,” My arms are tight, gripping onto my sweater, “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“We know,” Lorenzo pulled himself upright, “We know. It’s just…you’re our baby sister.”

“No one is ever going to be good enough for you.”

“Ok,” I mutter, “But he doesn't have to be good enough in your eyes. He’s my boyfriend. He’s good enough for me.”

They seem to think. The silence that passes over us is heavy, I can almost see the wheels turning.

Arthur is the first to speak, “Does he make you happy?”

I can’t help the shock that makes its way onto my face, “Yeah…he does.”

He shrugs, “Then that’s all I care about.”

I crack a smile, reaching over to grab his hand. He interlaces our fingers, giving me a quick squeeze. I can feel the unsaid, ‘I love you.’

Charles doesn’t say anything, he just moves forward, wrapping his arms around me, “I want you to be happy. That’s it.”

I let go of Arthur to hold his middle, “I know. I am.”

He lets me go with a sigh, pulling away with a smile. It’s bright and the one thing that hasn’t changed since our childhood. I hear the windchimes again.

Twinkling in the daylight.

Lorenzo hooks his arm around my neck with a sigh, “If it’s what you want, I guess it’s alright.”

I smack his arm.

He smiles too, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I mean it.”

“I know.”

The anxiety clears. There’s still something unsaid between us, but it isn’t enough to ruin this moment. Our mother calls us from down the stairs.

“Have you made up yet?”

We dissolve into laughter.

“Yes, mum.”

_________________

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

212 notes · View notes

xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

i think you were drunk (you spelled wedding wrong)

Paring: Reader x Carlos Sainz Jr.

Warnings: Hurt/no comfort, Fluff, Childhood love

Word Count: 5,807

Status: Complete

Inspired by: "Why'd you invite me to your wedding?" - Kevin Atwater

____________________

Carlos hadn’t seen the message until the next morning.

A message from a number he thought forgot about him. For a moment, he wondered if it could be true. If it was real.

“Hey! I’m sorry this is so out of the blue, I know it’s been a while. I hope you’re doing good, I watch your races so just know I’m always rooting for you. I miss being at the races with you, it was always so fun. I’m sorry it’s been so long. But I wanted to invite you to my weddign, which will be next month. I’ve sent an invitation to your family, I hope that’s alright. I wanted to invite you myself because I could not imagine that day without you. Let me know if you can make it, I know how busy you are. Love you.”

Then, right under it, is a smaller bubble that reads:

“Text me back if you can. I miss you.”

Carlos thinks he might be sick. He rereads the message, pulling his phone closer to his face. He can’t stop himself from whispering her name. It’s been years. This girl, his girl. His entire life, she’s been there, since he was little. They were fast friends, but, of course, to Carlos, it was more than that.

To him, it was everything.

__________

“Someone has a crush on Carlito!”

Her brothers were running around them, stomping across the grass. She groaned at them, they had moved twice - each time prompted by them coming around to pick at their sister. Carlos liked to giggle at it, he and Blanca weren’t as rambunctious.

Carlos knew that they liked to pick on her, but would always stop the moment she began to cry. She was their baby sister after all.

“Shut up! I do not!”

Her face was a violent red, the blush spreading up to her ears. She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, and puffing her cheeks. Her brothers come to pull at her hair, pinching at her sides. She whines for them to leave her alone and Carlos can only giggle.

He thinks about what they’ve said. A crush? On him? The thought alone makes his face go hot. That kind of thing, with moms and dads and kissing. He hadn’t given it much thought.

Would it be so bad? Carlos didn’t think so. He thought that if he did have to marry anyone, he’d like it to be her. She liked racing and played golf with him.

“Maybe Carlito has a crush on you!”

“Stop!”

Carlos looked down at his lap. Did he? He pulls at the skin of his fingertips, his head full of thoughts. He shakes his head, trying to laugh it away, “No way!” He says.

It’s easier like that.

When he looks over at her, she’s staring straight at him, a smile on her face.

“We’re best friends!” She declares, glaring over at her brothers, “Right?”

“Right!” Friends. If she wanted to be friends, Carlos thought that was perfect. “Best friends.”

Because even friends could marry each other, right?

__________

He spent the morning staring at his phone.

Carlos thought that perhaps it would go away, fade into nothingness, but it was still there, a blue bubble glaring right at him. He had spent hours rereading it, so much so that he was sure he could recite it from memory.

‘I miss you.’

He squeezed his eyes shut. The memories of her were something that he kept away. Secret treasures that he held so close to his heart. Even after all these years, at just the simplest phrase, Carlos could feel his heart begin to pound.

It was only her.

It would only ever be her.

Evidently, he recalls bitterly, he wasn’t it for her. Carlos has to stop himself from throwing the phone. Even in the darkness of his mind, he can see those words. He can hear her voice, reading them aloud. It makes him sick.

He knew that they would meet again - he prayed for it - but never like this. It wasn’t fair. Almost cruel, he thinks, that he would be subject to loving her for the rest of his life. But, how beautiful it is to love her.

He thinks of her smile. The smallest quirk of her lips, something so shy and tiny. It was only full with him, or at least, it was. His mind wanders to who she might be now. There’s a part of him that knows he could find out, the quickest search of her name would tell him everything.

But there’s a reason he hasn’t, he was afraid of seeing her happy without him.

He couldn’t.

Carlos sighed.

His chest was heavy with emotion. There was a sea of them - anger, sadness, happiness, longing. He might just explode. Fall apart on his couch and just a mess of a man.

They were so young then. Just kids. Carlos thinks of the irony, they used to sit and laugh at the thought of people getting married so young. Thinking that you could devote yourself to someone you hardly knew, he remembers how they thought it was so stupid.

It isn’t as funny anymore.

__________

When Carlos got the call from Red Bull he cried.

His father had been pacing the room with him, talking about his chances and pondering on the season. But as soon as that phone rang, he was right at Carlos’ side, already pulling him into a hug as soon as he confirmed a date for contract negotiations.

It was his time.

His start was here and now.

When he managed to calm himself down, he called her.

She picked up and screeched in his ear when he broke the news.

“OH MY GOD! CARLOS! YOU DID IT!”

He started to cry all over again, “...I know…”

“I’m coming over,” She said hurriedly, he could hear her bustling around the room.

“Wait! You don’t have to -” She’d already hung up on him.

He was waiting outside for her, fidgeting with the dirt around the steps of his house. The excitement was buzzing in his veins, he could still hardly believe it. She rode up only a few moments later, dropped her bike onto the lawn, and ran up to him. He caught her in a hug.

Carlos couldn’t help the few tears that escaped him. His dream was finally happening. He would finally get the chance to be known as more than just the son of Carlos Sainz, he was going to make a name for himself.

He couldn’t wait.

When she pulled away, she was quick to seize his shoulders, “You did it!”

He could only smile, there was so much joy, he was bursting with it.

“I’m so proud of you, Carlos,” She said, smiling up at him.

He felt his face go red. She would never understand how much those words would mean. Everyone could hate him, everyone could be against him, but so long as she wasn’t, he could do anything. Since the very beginning, she had always been his biggest supporter. Every race she could go to, she was at. It got harder as he climbed the ranks, races were farther and farther. But it always seemed like she just knew.

When he would come back she would insist on a very detailed account, getting angry with him when he left anything out. She claimed it made her feel like she was there. Carlos always just rolled his eyes, but he could never deny how much he loved it. To know that she wanted him to do well.

It made every victory sweeter and every loss harder.

Above all, he hated losing in front of her. To know that she was watching, to know that she could see him fail. He hated it. But she always said that even champions have bad seasons, it wasn’t untrue, but Carlos hated it nonetheless.

They had moved to the steps of his house. Sitting beside one another, their knees touching, she bumped him with her shoulder.

“So, you’re going to remember me when you’re rich and famous?”

He rolled his eyes, “I don’t know. I’ll probably be super busy being too cool.”

“You are not cool.”

“Whatever,” He shrugged, “Don’t come crying to me when I’m champion.”

“As if,” She shoved him, he caught himself on the step and turned to her.

He began to laugh before hooking his arm around her neck, “Of course, I’ll remember you.”

‘I love you.’

“You’re my best friend.”

She looks up at him. Carlos thinks that there’s something that passes across her face, but then, it’s gone. She smiles a true smile. Wide and beautiful.

“Good.”

_________

His mother calls him on the way to a meeting.

As much as he wishes he could just let the phone ring, he knows he can’t.

As soon as he answers, she’s gushing in his ear, “Carlito, I can’t believe she’s getting married! How wonderful! She will be the most beautiful bride! The invitation is just gorgeous.”

He lets her speak, leaning back in his seat. It hurts to know that his mother is so excited. He always thought that she wanted him to marry her, that’s what she always said when he was a kid. Maybe everyone let it go but him.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, Mama,” He lies. It’s awful, lying to her. He can’t try to explain his feelings now, there’s still a part of him that wishes they’d go away. Hoping to drown himself in whatever work Ferrari will give him. The pain burns and he just wants to breathe again.

“We should send her something,” She adds, he can hear her moving around the house. He wonders if she has the invitation in his hand.

He hums, trying to keep the anger from his voice. This wasn’t her problem and he wasn’t going to make it hers. She doesn’t need to know - even if she did, what would she do?

His mother seems to think for a moment, humming a mindless tune before saying, “You should send her something!”

Carlos nearly chokes.

“What?”

“Yes!” Her voice is so bright, “You two were so close, why not send her something? A ‘congratulations’ of sorts. Yes, that would be nice.”

“Mama…” He begins, unsure of how to tell her, “I - I don’t know -”

“Carlos,” She warns.

With a sigh, he just hums again, “I’ll look into it.”

“Good,” He can hear the excitement ramp up in her voice again, “Isn’t this just so beautiful?”

Carlos can’t respond.

It isn’t. It makes him sick. The very thought of it makes him want to cry and scream. Anger burns within him, stomach twisting. He hates this. He hates it because he loves her. He loves her more than anything.

“It is.”

__________

It was quiet, the summer sun dancing on their skin. A breeze pulling through the air, tall grass blades dancing. The smell of the garden roses drifting around them.

Carlos’ heart was pounding, thudding against his ribs, nearly jumping into his throat. He tried to swallow the anxiety that nearly lept from him, but the nerves in his stomach made it impossible. He felt like he was choking. Just sitting beside her, so close, but so far.

He could feel the heat of her hand, he yearned to touch her, to intertwine their fingers. It wouldn’t be wrong, they held hands a lot back then, but he wasn’t sure he could do it, afraid his heart would’ve exploded.

��What is it?” She looked over at him, her eyes trying to pry the information out of him.

He tore his face away, fists clenching at his side. He was always so afraid to tell her. Just a boy terribly in love with a girl, but he could never bring himself to say it. When he tried the words would abandon him and he would just end up brushing it off.

But there, in the silence of the garden, he knew there was no hiding it. Not when she was boring a hole into the side of his head. She stared right through him. He took his lip between his teeth, horrified at the thought of it all slipping out.

She would hate him. If he ever dared to say something like that she would kill him, he was so sure. It’s funny to look at it now, but he just focused on the blades of grass beside him. The green was bright and strong, small weeds blooming within the folds of dirt. He reached over to pluck at a dancing flower, but his hand was caught.

She grabbed him, fingers around his wrist. Her hold was hardly there, he could break free from it if he wanted. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay there with her.

He was sure that she could feel his racing heart, but she said nothing. Just bringing her hand up to rest in his palm. His stomach flipped, and he shut his eyes.

This wasn’t like him. Carlos had never been a coward, but for her - and only her - he was reduced to nothing. He loved her, his feelings brimming inside him.

Any more and he was sure that he would come apart at the seams.

“Carlos,” Her voice whispered.

He cracked his eyes open, and she was there, leaning over to peer down at him. Her hair fell from her shoulders, so close that he could smell her shampoo. It was the same one she’d used since they were 6 - one her mother made. The scent was her and her alone.

Carlos swallowed.

She lowered herself closer. Carlos was sure his heart was so loud that she could hear it, surely she could. She smiled down at him, cocking her head to the side.

“What are you thinking?”

He just shook his head, afraid to trust his voice.

“Then?”

“‘Then’ what?”

“Why won’t you look at me?” A pout made its way on her face, jutting her lower lip out dramatically.

He chuckled, trying to rein in his heart. But it was so difficult, her beautiful eyes looking down at him, the lines of her lips and nose and cheeks. He had memorized it all. He would know her no matter what, from the way she laughed, to the way she spoke, to the way she just breathed.

Carlos loved her so much it hurt.

‘I can’t,’ He didn’t say, ‘I love you too much.’

She didn’t say anything. Just smiling down at him. Carlos thought that just for a moment if even for a moment, something shifted in her eyes. A foreign look floats in them, dancing in the color and making them shine.

It was odd.

He wanted to know what that was, the smallest change. Silence pulled over them.

The sun shined through the parts in her hair, falling onto his skin, a gentle stroke of warmth. The breeze carried the scent of the roses, and the grass below them swayed. Around them, the world seemed to slow. It was like the only person he could see was her.

The only person that she could see was him.

Lost somewhere in time, just two hearts dancing away in the summer. Nothing else would matter, just them, just at this moment.

Carlos lost himself.

He leaned up, closing the space between them, and kissed her.

The softest thing, a barely there press of their lips.

He hadn’t even realized he’d done it, pulling himself away as soon as he did.

Neither of them said a thing. Just staring at the other with wide eyes. A pink blush dusted her cheeks, and that look in her eyes changed again. She drew in a sharp breath, and Carlos was sure he’d ruined everything.

It was destroyed because of him.

But he couldn’t even mutter out an apology. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. She moved away, rolling back to sit on the grass. Carlos felt like crying, bringing a forearm to cover his face.

What an idiot.

He felt the regret sit against his chest, so heavy he could hardly breathe. Why did he have to lose control of himself? They were supposed to be friends, but all he was doing was making it complicated. He was in love with her, she loved him - it was supposed to be enough.

Carlos let out a deep sigh. He could hear the grass shifting beside him, he spared a look over and she was still there. She sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, tucking her chin on them, arms wrapped around her legs.

When he opened his mouth to speak, she beat him to it, “I - I guess…I mean, I guess it would be lame if you went to Red Bull without having your first kiss, huh?

He shot up, “That’s - that’s not what this was! I - I’m sorry!”

She turned to face him, her face still bright red, but with a shy smile, “It’s ok.”

He hadn’t realized that he reached for her hand, and she squeezed, “I didn’t mind. If I’m going to have my first kiss, at least it’s you.”

Carlos could only stare at her, mouth hanging open.

This wasn’t what he thought.

“Are you sure?”

She leaned against her knees, “Yeah. Isn’t that what friends are for?”

The word struck him deeper than it had any right to. But he couldn’t help the relief that flooded through him, “Yeah…yeah…of course.”

“It would be lame if I was the only F4 driver without a kiss.”

“Super lame.”

“Hey!”

She burst into laughter. Her laugh filled the garden and he was soon to join, throwing his head back. This was easy. Being like this with her was easy.

“That means you would’ve been lame too.”

“Not as lame as you.”

“I’m super cool.”

“No, Carlos, you’re not.”

They never spoke of it again.

__________

Carlos nearly has a heart attack when his phone buzzes in his pocket. But, upon further inspection, it’s only Blanca.

‘I talked to Mom,’ Her text says, ‘She told me what happened.’

He just stares at it. Pocketing his phone, he’ll answer it later. Too many texts have been sent to him today. Carlos contemplates running over his phone. Maybe that’ll shut everyone up.

His pocket buzzes again. And again. And again.

With a groan he pulls it back out, scrolling through the messages.

‘Answer me.’

‘CARLOS.’

‘Ok,’ Is all he sends back, ready to tuck it away once more, but there’s another text that pops up.

‘Are you ok?’

For a moment, Carlos thinks about telling her. Though he never said a word about his feelings Blanca had this way of knowing. She called it a ‘sister thing’. Carlos just thought she was nosey.

‘Yes,’ he sends, following it with, ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

The text bubbles appear and disappear, it’s not very fair. He knows. But there’s too much happening and he can’t - he just can’t. Tomorrow he will apologize, but today, he just needs a break.

In one of her ‘sister thing’ moments, she only ends up sending.

‘OK, I’m here if you need anything. I love you.’

Carlos can feel the lump in his throat and struggles to swallow it.

‘I love you too.’

__________

She called him sobbing.

It was nearly midnight, Carlos had just gotten back from a race. He’d fallen onto his bed, sighing into the night air, when the rang. He thought about letting it go, the rings growing louder in the silence of his room.

Against himself, he reached over and answered.

As soon as he did, he could hear her heaving breaths, the sound of her hiccuping cries. He shot up and pulled the phone closer.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

There was no answer, just another broken sob. The slick sound of her sniffling, wet breath.

“Please,” He whispered, already standing, “Please tell me what’s wrong. Carino, please.”

“W-Will you come o-over?” She managed.

He did. Shoved his feet into his shoes, pulled a shirt over his head, and stormed right out the door. It never crossed his mind to take a car - he just ran. Pushing his way through the gate and rounding the corner into the street. He could hardly see a thing, the moon clouded and fuzzy.

But he ran to her.

He was there faster than ever, crawling over the small fence to get to her backyard. The garden stood tall, and the roses nicked his ankle. But all he could think about was the light coming from the upstairs bedroom, a shadowy figure pacing across the curtains.

He had half a mind to scream for her, but she peered through the curtains and he could see the relief spread across her face. The sight of her made his stomach drop, he nearly tripped over himself to climb the ledge. It was a path he’d taken countless times, jumping to grip the railing and hoisting himself up. As a kid, he used to need her help, but they weren’t kids anymore.

And Carlos is sure he would’ve found a way. Nothing could’ve stopped him from reaching her.

Dropping himself onto the wooden floor, he breathed her name, but she was already pushing herself into his arms. He felt her trembling against him, wet facing pressed into his shirt. He couldn’t have cared less. Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her closer. Claros dropped his head to whisper into her ear.

“I’m here…shh…I’m right here.”

Where her arms were locked around him, she fisted at his shirt, the fabric bunched between her fingers. Her grip was so tight he worried it might rip, but how could he ever worry about that? She pulled away from him, just enough to look him in the eye. Her face was blotchy, cheeks wet with tears, eyes red-rimmed.

But Carlos still thought she was beautiful.

The heartbreak on her face made something crack within him.

“W- What’s wrong? Please, tell-”

“My dad,” She gasped, sucking in a large fit of air, “It - it’s my dad…he’s dying, Carlos…”

The world seemed to go still. Her words hadn’t seemed real, and Carlos half expected her brothers to jump from the dark hallway and laugh. It wasn’t possible. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to them. Things like this - losing people, losing friends, and family - happened to everyone else.

But not them.

It seemed that the world had finally come caving in on their little bubble. It was shattering around him and all Carlos wanted to do was stop it. Carlos felt so cold, that he hadn’t even realized that he began to cry too. Silent tears rolled down his face before he could stop them.

The pain was unbearable.

But they held each other. There, on her porch, they stood crying. Falling apart and having the other to lean on. Carlos clung to her, afraid that the world would try to take her too. That it would get greedy.

‘I’m sorry,’ He wanted to say, but he couldn’t. The words lost to him, stuck in his throat.

He prayed that she would know. That she would know his feelings, the way he needed her. The way he loved her.

“Stay,” She whispered to him, her words almost swallowed by her cries, “Please.”

‘I need you.’ Went unsaid, but Carlos heard it anyway.

“Always.”

‘I love you.’

__________

“Everything alright, mate?” Charles’ voice pulled him back to himself

Carlos shakes his head, blinking a few times, eyes stinging, “Yeah..fine. Sorry.”

He looks up, Silvia glaring down at him. The P.R. briefing was never anything he truly listened to, but perhaps his disinterest had gotten far too obvious.

“As I was saying,” She rolled her eyes, flipping the papers in her hand.

Her words fell past him again, something about interviews and language. He could feel Charles’ eyes still on him. He was far too kind for his own good, sometimes that meant trying to understand things that he had no business knowing.

The meeting rolled on, and when they were dismissed, Carlos tried to slip away, but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey!” Charles hooked his arm around Carlos, “Everything alright?”

“Of course,” He tried to sell it with a smile.

Charles didn’t believe him, green eyes boring into his own. When Carlos looked away, Charles was quick to bid those around them goodbye and steer them to an empty conference room.

Damn, empath.

“What is it?” Charles said, shutting the door behind him.

Secrets had never been Carlos’ strong suit. He threw himself onto a chair, bringing his hands up to his face. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about the message and was unsure how to start. He was lost in the sea of his emotions, torn between his sadness and anger.

He felt like an idiot.

“Carlos?”

Charles sits across from him, concern written across his face. Carlos takes a deep breath, he steadies himself on his knees, resting his elbows on his legs.

“There was this girl - we were friends when we were little,” Charles nods along, letting Carlos speak, “And earlier today, she texted me to tell me that she was getting married.”

“OK?”

Carlos looks over at Charles. He’s unsure of the face that he makes, but it seems to be enough for him to understand. His face falls and he puts his hands over his heart.

“Mate, I - I’m so sorry.”

Carlos waves him away. This isn’t his fault, and yet, it’s just like Charles to act as if it is, “I will be fine.”

Charles is silent for a while, looking down at his hands. He’s fiddling with the rings on his fingers, eyes darting around the room. Carlos has known him for far too long, he could practically see the cogs turning.

“What?”

Charles doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, there’s a look in his eye, “Do you still love her?”

Carlos takes a deep breath. There is only one answer, there has only ever been one answer.

“Yes.”

__________

Her father died 4 months later.

And she was gone two months later.

Her mother couldn't take the pain of being alone in the house her husband built, so she left. All things packed, the house empty, they were gone.

Carlos couldn’t even say bye. His negotiations with Red Bull ran longer than they were supposed to, when he threatened to walk out his father nearly smacked him.

“This is the opportunity of a lifetime!”

“She’s my best friend - I love her!”

“There will be other girls, she is not the only -”

“Yes,” He nearly screeched, “She is! She is the only one!”

His father just stared at him, sharp eyes squinting. He would never understand and Carlos didn’t have the strength to make him. He called her instead.

She picked up on the second ring. Neither one of them said a thing, but Carlos could feel her disappointment. It was his own.

Eventually, he can bring himself to utter her name, trying to find the apology, but she beats him to it.

“I’m going to miss you,” She says.

Carlos nearly cries. They’ve been apart, his racing often keeping them away from one another for months on end, but she has always been at him, waiting for him.

“I wish you could stay.”

He was being selfish - he knows - but the fear of her leaving, going far away. Carlos thought he was dying. His chest was tight, breathing shallow. His mind was racing, trying to think of something to make her stay - anything.

“I do too,” He could hear the faintest hint of a smile in her voice, “But I can’t.”

“I could…” He began.

But there was nothing. There was nothing that he could’ve done. The decision was one that was far beyond both of them. Spain held so much sadness for her, and it would be wrong for Carlos to ever want to have kept her there. It wouldn’t have been right.

Silence ballooned between them once more. They were just there, breathing with one another. There was so much Carlos wanted to say, so much he needed to say. His love felt like it was bursting from his chest, trying to force its way out. Carlos choked it back.

This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the right moment to -

“I love you, Carlos.”

The words hit him and he nearly collapsed. He could imagine her face, hand curled tight around her phone, beautiful face red. His heart was pounding, blood rushing.

All these years, all this time. He loved her in silence, but to know that she loved him. It made him feel like he was floating.

“I -”

“Carlos!”

His father was standing right before him, eyebrows drawn tight together, “They are waiting!”

“I’m going, I just have to-”

“You should go, Carlos,” He heard, her voice thin. She was crying, he knew she was, “They’re waiting for you.”

“NO!” He demanded. This wasn’t how he’d say goodbye, he wanted to tell her.

“Please, I just need to say something.”

Again, his father just stared at him. But there was something different, his eyes were softer. Carlos thought if even for a moment, he saw understanding. With a click of his tongue, his father turned away, “Five minutes.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

He took a deep breath, “I - I need you to know-”

“I already do know,” There was a slight laugh to her words, just the smallest thing. Before Carlos could say anything else, she kept going, “Go show them who you are, Carlos.”

“But I need to tell you that I -”

“I love you too,” Was all he heard before the dial tone.

She was gone. Just like that.

__________

Though Charles offers to take him out to treat his sorrows, Carlos declines. He watches as Charles’ smile falters, but he still pats Carlos on the shoulder.

“Of course,” He says, turning to fish his keys from his pocket, “But if you change your mind, let me know. Okay?”

Carlos nods. He waves Charles away. When he’s alone in his hotel room, he collapses onto his bed. He slips his phone from his pocket. It opens and he’s face-to-face with her message.

Carlos wanted to be angry.

After years, this was the first thing she said.

He could say something, call her. It wouldn’t be right, he can’t be the reason that she breaks someone’s heart. He can't be the reason that someone else has to live without her. What a terrible existence that is.

It just makes no sense, to think that after all these years, she invites him to her wedding. Carlos always thought that once they made their way back to each other, they would marry. In all his dreams, she was his wife. To love her forever would make the distance worth it.

She told him that day. She said that she loved him, Carlos couldn’t help but think that maybe she was just being nice, just telling him what he wanted to hear on the most important day of his life. Thinking that maybe he had taken it wrong.

“Love you.”

But she would never love him the way he loved her. Completely. From the first day he met her, bumping heads in class, to the day he lost her. He has always loved her. He can see her still, smiling and bright - like the stars. He can feel the summer breeze, the smell of their childhood. He can see the rosebuds right before they bloom, waiting with her as the rain comes and they get sick. He remembers going to all her Flamenco performances - acting like he really cared about dances and not just seeing her face light up when she saw him.

There is no part of his life that he can look back on and not see her. She is everywhere. And Carlos knows that she always will be.

‘Text me back if you can.’

He couldn't bring himself to say no but knew he’d die if he had to see her marry someone else. It would break her heart, he’s sure of it. He can almost picture the disappointment on her face. Carlos wishes he could be stronger, to just put on a brave front, but he can’t. He’s only human.

He’s just a man hopelessly in love with a woman he can’t have.

What a pitiful thing to be.

Carlos looks down at his phone.

The words are searing. If he saw her, what would he even say? Would he be able to hold himself back? Keep himself from spilling his feelings?

The answer is simple.

He won’t.

There is something small inside of Carlos’ mind that feels giddy, she still thinks of him. He was still important to her, she wanted him. She cared about him. She missed him. Maybe she still loved him. Maybe he could -

He shakes the thoughts from his head. No. That was a lifetime ago, those feelings were alive when they were 16. Not now.

There’s only one question he thinks back to.

Why?

After all these years of silence, why now? Why this?

They were kids back then, but Carlos likes to think that even what they felt then wasn’t nothing. That’s the very problem. Nothing was the same. They weren’t the same, the world around them wasn’t the same - even if Carlos so desperately wished it was.

The screen begins to fade, but he taps it. It lights up once more, illuminating in the darkness of the hotel room.

She’s getting married and she wants him to come.

She’s happy and in love. She’s moved on. Carlos thinks of her smile again. A crushing sense of finality passes over him. He hopes that whoever it is makes her smile, and makes her laugh. He hopes that they hold her when she cries, and catch her when she falls.

He hopes that one day he’ll be able to look back on her without so much pain.

Why?

That question refuses to die, still floating around in his mind even as he tries to shake it away.

He’ll never know why, but maybe it’s better that way. To keep her as who she is in his memory, to keep them as they were. Young and beautiful. That’s all.

Her message will sit unanswered. He can’t. He won’t.

Carlos whispers an apology, he hopes that it might reach her. That she’ll catch the drift of his words in the wind, maybe even forgive him. He lets himself think of her, wondering what she’ll wear, what her hair will look like.

Beautiful.

He’s sure.

He just won’t be there to see it.

____________________

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

Check out the song, it's not available yet, but it's up on TikTok

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #female reader #formula 1 #one shot #x reader #charles leclerc #ferrari #carlos sainz #ferrri and i actually have beef and that's why i've spelled thier name wrong #i hate them but love charles and carlos #carlos sainz jr #light angst #fluff #kid fic #no comfort #this hurt to write but i did it anyway #love you bye

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xdacted · 2 years ago

Text

To love you forever

Paring: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: Angst/comfort, is a sequel but can be read as a stand-alone

Word Count: 1,643

Status: Complete [Apart of a longer work]

_______________________

Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The rush of blood in his ears, there was champagne everywhere. Max reached over, clapping him on the back with a quick, ‘Good job, mate.’

It was easy to say that when you’re world champion.

All things considered, Abu Dhabi had been good to him. This wasn’t what he wanted but second was better than nothing. He couldn’t hold back his smile when they brought trophies out, the smooth metal gleaming under the bright lights. Such a beautiful thing. He could hear the roar of his team below, nearly falling over one another.

Charles likes to think that the Tiffosi will forgive him.

Their season wasn’t perfect, nowhere near it, but he’d managed this. To hold Checo off, to claim the second place spot for himself. They would love him, wouldn’t they? He was sure that he would always love them. Because that’s what this was - racing was at the center of who he was.

The rush was still fresh in his veins, buzzing beneath his skin. Thousands were watching him, hundreds staring up at him. But in the crowd, clinging onto the barricade, he could see Arthur and Lorenzo. Their beaming smiles made him want to cry.

They loved him. They loved him - not because he was on the second step of the podium - but because he was Charles. To them, he would always be just Charles. Charles risked a thought to his father, looking at him from beyond, he was sure. He had to fight the burn of his eyes, a knot forming in his throat.

He did it.

He dragged Ferrari from the mud. Countless hours and sleepless nights, screaming into his headset, cursing at strategy choices - it was all for this. There was still so much to do, but Charles knew that it could wait. There was time.

Because although racing was his core, it wasn’t all he was.

He’d come to the discovery that he was much more. A musician. A brother. A son. A friend.

Simple things he’d forgotten.

But standing here, lifting the trophy above his head as the crowd roared for him, was more than enough to remind him. Staring out into the sea of faces - flashing lights and bright banners - he can imagine nothing better. Perhaps being champion, but that’s all in due time. It’s not his turn, it’s Max’s. He clapped and whistled when the Dutchman’s name was called. For all the media loved to say about them being ‘rivals’, Charles would never be able to bring himself to hate Max. They had known each other for far too long - they weren’t idiotic kids with something to prove anymore.

Charles let out a bark of laughter when Max had turned the Champagne on him. The rush of liquid was in his ears, he was sure, but he returned the favor. He poured the bubbles down Max’s shirt.

Being here. Just in the moment, it seemed that the year hadn’t been terrible. That there was something else he could do now. He could breathe.

It would be better if -

No, Charles shakes away the thought.

That wasn’t fair.

She did what was right, she did the good thing. She did what Charles couldn’t. He thought of her, every race he tried to see her face in the crowd. Sometimes he did, but when he looked back, it was gone. He assumed his mind was trying to make up for the pain in his heart.

Even though he knew, deep down, she wasn’t here. He couldn’t help but hope. To think that maybe, just maybe, she was out there. Watching him. But men driving in circles was never her thing. He just liked to think that -

Charle’s breath caught.

There was someone, tucked deep into the pockets of fans, with eyes burning right through him.

He whispered her name before he could stop himself.

She’s so beautiful.

There’s a pain that burns through him, he hadn’t expected to see her here. He hadn’t ever expected to see her again. Driving away from her was the most painful thing he’s ever done. Letting her go, when all he wanted to do was hold on - he felt like he was dying.

He wants to keep staring at her, tracing his eyes over her face, trying to memorize the changes before she’s gone, but suddenly they’re being ushered from the podium. The rest of the ceremony had flown by but he was absorbed by her.

She was the only thing he could see.

“Party later?” He hears Max asking him.

It pulls him back to himself and he can only nod. Max’s face twists with confusion and he opens his mouth to speak but Charles is already wishing him goodbye. He runs from behind the stage. Dodging interviewers and his team, they shout after him but he could care less. As he rounds a corner he can see Silvia with a waiting P.R. team.

It was his duty.

Charles had a job.

She looked up to see him charging at her, and was quick to step to the side.

“C-Charles!?”

“I- I’m sorry…just - just a moment, please.”

He rushes right past her. He had let his duty come in between them before, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again. If nothing, if she told him that she hated him and that she was happily with someone else - Charles just wanted to hear her speak.

Her voice would be enough. Her presence would be enough.

Charles is running mindlessly, he knows the security won’t let him go past the paddock. He knows it’s nearly impossible to see her, but he hopes, prays, that something will happen -

“Charles?”

Her voice forces him to a halt. He nearly trips over his feet, spinning on his heel at the sound of her words. He doesn't quite know what part of the track he’s at, somewhere behind the main buildings.

But she’s there.

Standing right there, a paddock pass clutched in her hand, cheeks flushed. Her hair sways in the night wind, rolling softly across them. She is beautiful.

His beautiful girl.

He whispers her name, there’s a part of him unsure if she’s real. Thinking that she may just be a figment of his imagination, that perhaps the season had finally torn him apart.

For a moment, she doesn’t say a word. Standing just an arms length away, and all Charles can hear is his own labored breathing. He’s afraid that he’ll scare her away, that any little thing will take her from him again.

He just needs to hear her speak. He just wants to be around her.

Eventually, she says, “You did amazing. Congratulations.”

“Did -” He cuts himself off, “Did you see me? Racing?”

He feels like a child asking, but then she lets out a ghost of a smile and whispers, “Of course.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Charles can’t help himself. He moves closer, and the scent of her perfume fills his lungs. He breathes. She settles deep within him, but it’s not like she really needs to. There will always be a space for her in his heart - he’s always been hers. Not even distance, time, or sadness, could change that.

As he moves, so does she.

He sees her hand reach out, but she stops herself.

Charles can feel his heart breaking again.

This distance, this space, between them burns. He wants to touch her, he wants to feel her heartbeat against his. He wants to be loved by her again.

Because he never once stopped loving her.

“How -?” He dares to ask.

But there’s much more that goes unsaid.

‘Do you hate me?’

‘Do you miss me?’

‘Are you here for someone else?’

‘How are you?’

‘Did you enjoy the race?’

‘Did you see me?’

But no question as important as the one he fears the most, “Do you love me?”

He doesn’t realize that he’s said it aloud until he hears her sharp intake of breath, her eyes going wide.

Charles is quick to move back, afraid that he’s ruined it. Just like before, it’s all ruined.

“I - I am so sorry. I do not know - there must be…please understand -”

“I will always love you, Charles.”

Charles can’t breathe.

Just staring at her. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, she’s so beautiful. A radiant star that stands only an arms length away. She’s so close now, he can feel the heat of her skin. Loving her was as easy as breathing, but never, did he dare to imagine that love for himself. He broke her heart, he drove her away.

Her love filled him like starlight, the very life in his body. He was set aflame, burning under the unyielding warmth of her stare. He couldn’t take the fragility of her words, so carefully spoken. Charles could feel it, his words stuck in his throat.

He had so much he wanted to say, so much he needed her to know.

He was better now, Charles had done so much work to make himself better.

And he was.

He was different for himself. For her.

The distance was far too painful, so she closed it.

She was moving towards him, throwing herself in his arms, “Charlie,” She whispers, shoving her face into his chest, “My Charlie.”

Charles is shaking, his legs trembling and he’s afraid he might drop her, but he tightens his arms around her middle. There is nothing - not time or space or death - that could pull him from her. She was here, in his arms.

He can feel the tears rolling down his cheeks, but he furrows his face into her hair. Crying in front of her doesn't scare him, she won’t judge him.

She loves him.

She has always loved him.

And he would always love her.

____________________________

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

Also, as I've said, this is apart of a longer work, but it can be read alone, it just might not make the most sense. But whatever floats your boat :)

#charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #female reader #formula 1 #x reader #one shot #formual one #formula one #abu dhabi gp 2022 #ferrari #ferrri and i actually have beef and that's why i've spelled thier name wrong #lol #i'm not sorry #comfort #light angst #fanfic #f1 oneshot

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