Tangerine
Tangerine
Oscar Piastri x reader
Masterlist
Summary: You’re definitely not an insomniac. But Oscar keeps finding you awake at all hours, and he’s starting to get worried. Or: I wrote this while actually being unable to sleep, passed out for 3 hours, woke up and finished it. So… here you go, I guess?
Warnings: insomnia, anxiety/mild paranoia?, alcohol, limited knowledge of the actual structure of the MTC and the corporate structure of McLaren in general, a poorly researched night in Tokyo
The MTC lobby is empty, besides you. The lights are half turned off, motion sensors that have gone hours without detecting anything. You’ve stuck to your table in the corner. It’s quiet, just how you like it.
You look up from your notebook after who knows how long, blinking your weary eyes. Outside, the floodlights reflect off the inky black lake. There’s a car, pulling up in the drop off area outside the front doors. It’s Oscar, you think, his car one of a few that are easily recognizable. Sure enough, it’s confirmed when he climbs out of the driver’s side door. He leaves it running as he makes his way up to the door.
Oscar scans his pass and the doors wing open, followed by all of the lights in the lobby flickering on. You squint, fighting the urge to shield your eyes from the harsh lighting. Oscar is rushing through the lobby, a man on a mission, but he skids to a stop about halfway across the shiny tiled floor.
He turns, slowly, and makes eye contact with you. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
You hold back a laugh, thinking that might be a little mean, all things considered. “What are you doing here?”
He sighs, hands hanging at his sides. “I forgot my phone charger, and my laptop, and…” he pauses, frowning at you. “What are you doing here?”
You raise your brows right back. “Working?”
You watch his eyes flicker across your setup. You’re still in the same McLaren sweatshirt you’d been wearing when you saw him that morning. Your hair is piled atop your head. Your laptop sits open in front of you, the only source of light before Oscar burst through the doors. There are papers and notebooks scattered on the tabletop. Your pen is missing- you selfishly hope that as he scours your table, he’ll spot it.
“You got here at 8am,” he says, bewildered. “It’s almost midnight. That’s almost 16 hours.”
He says nothing about the pen. Why would he? He doesn’t know it’s missing. Logically, it must be here somewhere, probably under a paper or clipped to a notebook, but you’ve given up.
“Yes,” you answer, smirking. “You’re great at math, Oscar.”
He rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, home? Sleeping?”
You shrug. “I took breaks. It’s not like I’ve been working all day straight.”
You’re not lying. You’d taken a good, long lunch break, and an afternoon walk around the grounds. You’ve gotten up to stretch a couple times, made runs to the break room for coffee. You hope he doesn’t see straight through it, though. Hope he can’t see the dark circles under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, the exhaustion weighing your shoulders.
It’s not that you weren’t tired. You just knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. One of those days. So instead, you had decided to be productive. Which had led to this- you in the lobby of your office building, hunched over a laptop. Oscar, the driver whose data you’re scouring, staring at you with wide eyes.
“Go grab your stuff,” you tell him, nodding towards the doors he’d been headed to. “You have an early flight tomorrow.”
He blinks wildly. “We’re on the same flight.”
You nod, because you both know this quite well. There’d been a meeting this morning about who had to be where and at what times. You’re on the first flight out with the main team, headed to Singapore.
“I’m not the one who has to drive the car at very high speeds this weekend,” you remind him, pointing the eraser of your pencil at him. “Or the one who has to be in front of the cameras. You need your beauty sleep.”
Oscar laughs at that, a happy sound that makes you smile, too. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”
You think about disappearing to the bathroom or the break room while he’s gone, just to avoid any further questions. You know Oscar relatively well, though, and knowing him, he’d just wait around until you came back. Or worse, come and try to find you. You can picture it- you pouring your third cup of coffee in the last hour, Oscar watching from the doorway with disdain. You stay put, sipping from your mug and scribbling notes.
He’s back within a few minutes, a backpack in hand. His keys dangle from his fingertips. You don’t look up from your laptop as he walks towards you, that is until he’s standing right in front of you. You blink up at him through your lashes. There’s a frown on his face- this close, you know your lack of sleep must be obvious.
He nudges the top panel of your laptop with a single fingertip. “C’mon. Time to go home.”
“I’m fine,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”
“What, you just gonna stay here until we all meet up in the morning to go to the airport?” He scoffs.
“That would be ridiculous,” you laugh.
“It would,” he agrees. He seems to see straight through you, though. “Come on. Close the laptop, close the notebooks. You can work on this on the flight, like a normal person.”
“I’m trying to improve your car, you know.”
“I’m not leaving until you do,” he finally says, and you scoff with wide eyes. “And remember, I’m the one who has to actually drive the car. And go in front of the cameras. I need my beauty sleep.”
You rear your head back, unsure how to even counter that. He takes the opportunity to close the laptop for you, and you bat at his hands. Then he’s sweeping your papers into piles, stacking your notebooks and gathering them up into his arms.
“That’s my intellectual property, you know,” you scold him, reaching for the papers. He holds them up above your head easily, and you groan. “Okay, okay, I’ll go, just- I lost my pen, earlier. It’s my favorite one. I just have find it and then I promise I’ll go- you can go home, really, I’ll see you-“
He’s reaching for your head, suddenly, and you freeze. When his hand returns to your view, he’d holding the pen between his fingertips. You blink once, twice, then reach for it, but he’s holding it above your head within seconds, too.
“We’re leaving,” he tells you, firmly. “Come on. Up we go.”
You get to your feet reluctantly and pack your things into your bag. Oscar helps, handing you your papers in neat little piles. He keeps you in front of him as you both exit the lobby, like he’s afraid you might take off running further into the office building. His car is still parked out front, still running, and you see him wince.
“Didn’t expect to be inside for so long,” he says sheepishly.
You laugh lightly, starting your walk towards the employee lot. It’s down a well lit path, but every step feels heavy this late at night.
“Wait,” he says, and you pause. “Do you want a ride? You seem tired. You know, sometimes that’s as bad as driving drunk.”
“I’m not gonna fall asleep behind the wheel,” you tell him. You say it with confidence, because it’s pretty likely you’re not going to fall asleep at all tonight.
He cocks his head at you, cast in the bright glow of the floodlights. “At least let me drive you to your car. Otherwise, how do I know you’re not going to just go back inside?”
You roll your eyes. “And how do I know you’re not trying to kidnap me?”
You end up getting in the car, because he makes it pretty clear he’s not leaving until you do. You contemplate just walking to your own car, but honestly your feet feel so heavy it’s just not worth the fight. Oscar, to his credit, doesn’t kidnap you. He also doesn’t comment on your very modest car, the only one left in the parking lot. He does try to offer you a ride home one more time, but he lets it go after your repeat refusal.
You say goodbye, climb into your own car, and start the engine. The heat kicks on quickly, thank god, and you start up a playlist. It’s only when you look up, ready to leave, that you notice his car is still sitting there. You can just barely see Oscar behind the windshield, and he waves at you. He’s waiting for you to leave.
You flip him off as you roll out of the parking lot, and you watch him laugh in response.
…..
You’re one of the first ones at the office the next morning, and therefore one of the first ones on a shuttle to the airport. Oscar’s chronically late, or as he would call it, chronically precisely on time, so you don’t see him until he’s climbing on the plane. McLaren’s rented out a charter plane for this trip, with the double header making it the easiest solution.
You’re already settled into a seat, laptop open on the table in front of you, headphones on. You barely even look up when you feel him looking over you, but then he’s tugging one side of your headphones off your ear.
“Did you even sleep?” He asks, brows furrowed.
“Yes,” you lie, raising your brows at him defensively.
Oscar raises his brows in return. He obviously doesn’t believe you.
Before he can say anything else, Lando’s behind him, leaning up over his shoulder. “Oscar, mate, get a move on.”
Oscar rolls his eyes but does as Lando’s urging. There’s not assigned seats, per say, but the two drivers are headed towards the middle of the plane where their trainers and other senior staff are sitting. That’s how these things normally go- it just makes sense. They’ll have meeting on the plane, talk about meal plans and strategies and get ready for the weekend. You’ll spend your flight going through the data just one more time, trying to unlock all of the secrets to give Oscar the best possible chance on Sunday.
…..
Singapore is good. Not great, not perfect, but good. For Lando’s team, it’s a huge weekend. And honestly, 4th place for Oscar in his rookie year is huge too. He’s thrilled, tells you as much after the race, after the briefing.
“I know you worked hard this weekend, put in a lot of hours,” he says. “Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” you say with a shrug.
“Right.” He says. “Thanks, though.”
You smile up at him, knowing it’s wobbly and insincere. You don’t take compliments well. “No problem.”
When you get to the hotel that night, you lay down in the bed and try to fall asleep. It’s no use, really, because it’s not your bed, and because your mind is racing. There’s nothing even bothering you, that’s the stupid thing. Just… a billion thoughts flying by all at once. So you wander the hotel, up and down the stairs, down the halls. You make a pit stop in the exercise room, walk on the treadmill, try out the towing machine. You’ve never been one for working out, but the internet says exercise can help with sleep issues. It’s worth a try, but it doesn’t work.
You contemplate sneaking into the closed hotel pool, but ultimately decide against it. You’d probably get caught, and then you’d get in trouble, and it would somehow make it back to your boss. Then you’d get fired in Singapore, left to find your own way home. So instead, you head for the vending machines on your floor. There’s got to be something in there that’ll cure the racing in your head. Or at least bring you some comfort in the dead of night.
What doesn’t bring you comfort in the dead of night is a face in the reflection on the glass of the vending machine. You nearly scream when you meet someone else’s eyes. You whirl around, arms in a defensive position, and come face to face with Oscar.
“Would’ve pegged you for flight, not fight,” he says drowsily.
“You can’t sneak up on people like that,” you hiss, dropping your hands to your sides.
“Payback,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face clumsily. “B‘sides, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. I was trying to get a snack.”
You blink at him. “Oscar, it’s 3am.”
He nods, blinks slowly. You almost expect his eyes to stay closed, almost expect him to fall asleep standing up.
“I woke up starving,” he says, shuffling towards one of the vending machines. “Promise you won’t tell Kim? I’ll buy you whatever you want.”
He’s cute when he’s sleepy. You want to tuck him into bed and tell him bedtime stories. You want to kiss his forehead. You blink hard, trying to reset your brain. The sleep deprivation is really getting to you. This is your coworker, your teammate.
You shrug and nod in agreement. “Would’ve kept the secret without the bribe, but if you’re offering…”
Oscar laughs, a quiet sound in the empty night air. “What’ll it be, then?”
He’s leaning against the glass heavily. He must still be half asleep. You can’t blame him. You point at the bag of chips you’d been eyeing, and then at the gummy worms in the corner. He nods in approval of both, selects them, feeds the machine his money. Then he’s picking his own snack- a poptart and a bag of Cheetos. He backs away, but you make a noise and point at the drinks machine.
“And a Red Bull?” You ask, pointing at your favorite flavor where it sits, lit up by fluorescent light.
He turns back, almost puts the money in, and then he pauses and looks at you. “It’s 3am.”
“Right, we established that.”
“Why would you drink Red Bull at 3am?” He asks, bewildered.
You shrug. “Because I like Red Bull.”
“Go work for them, then,” he suggests. You laugh. “Actually, I have a feeling that would be severely detrimental to your health. Too many free energy drinks. Do you ever sleep?”
“Those are big words for 3am,” you tease, nudging his shoulder. “Come on. The tangerine one, please.”
“I’m not buying you a Red Bull.” He shakes his head. “I am walking you back to your room and you’re going to bed.”
“I’ll tell Kim about your snacks.”
“No, you won’t.”
You let him walk you back to your room. He stands there as you swipe the key card, as you open the door and shuffle inside. He says goodnight from the doorway. You close the door after you echo the sentiment, lock all the locks, and lay down in your bed. You close your eyes and try to go to sleep. You really, truly try. But when the clock turns over to 4am, and you realize it’s useless, you roll out of bed and head down to the vending machine. You buy the Redbull with your own money, carry it back to your room, turn on the tv, and settle in until the sun comes up.
…..
Tokyo may just be your favorite city in the entire world. Everything is open all the time. You’ve never felt more seen by a city. The days that you and the rest of the team spend there between the two races are heaven. You have meetings during the day, but they’re short and easy. At night, there are plenty of places for you to roam, plenty of things to do and see.
You spend your nights in ramen bars, in arcades, in toy stores that seem to stretch on for miles. You collect so many souvenirs you’re worried you’ll have to buy a second suitcase. Frankly, you’re going on week two of sleeping only in one to two hour stints, and it’s likely you’re beginning to get a little manic. In Tokyo, though, nobody bats an eye.
You join the team for breakfast in the hotel lobby on Thursday. You’ve somehow ended up at a table with Oscar and Lando- you’d gotten here before anyone else, and Oscar had chosen the seat across from you. Lando asks what you’ve been up to. They’ve been busy with promo stuff, you’ve hardly seen the two of them all week.
You regale them with your stories and hand off your phone to Lando so he can scroll through your pictures. Oscar listens with rapt attention, leaning to look at the photos too.
“How do you do all this and find time to sleep?” Lando asks, an amused tone in his voice.
“She doesn’t, mate,” Oscar replies, pointing at your phone. “Look at the time stamps.”
You roll your eyes and snatch the phone away from them. Lando’s looking at you with wide eyes, Oscar is smiling amusedly.
“Sleep is for the weak,” you tell them, and you swear Lando’s eyes are going to bug out of his head. “We’re in Tokyo, I’m making the most of it.”
To Oscar’s credit, he doesn’t bring up the encounter at the MTC, or the run in at the vending machines. Still, this revelation seems to bewilder Lando.
“Sleep is like, the most important thing,” he says, shaking his head. “For your health.”
“Not all of us have to be in tip top shape,” you say, stabbing your fork into a waffle on your plate. “Some of us get to have fun. Exhibit B. Our breakfasts.”
Lando looks at your plate, filled with waffles and bacon and your cup of coffee, next to it. He casts his glance to his sad looking bowl of oatmeal, then, and sighs heavily. Oscar’s laughing at the two of you, though his plate looks just as sad.
“When you pass out halfway through the day,” Lando says, a retaliatory furrow in his brow, “I’m telling Andrea why.”
“That won’t happen,” you reassure him. “And besides, it’s media day. I have it easy.”
…..
Oscar makes it on the podium on Sunday. You scream your lungs out with the rest of the team, run to the pit wall, watch the podium celebrations. He’s wrapping everyone in enthusiastic hugs, slapping everyone’s backs and grinning so, so widely. All the lost sleep feels worth it, just to see him smile like that.
When he makes it to you, he hauls you into his chest, arms around your shoulders, holding you tight. You could stay like that forever, if he’d let you. He tucks his chin atop your head and you think you’d like to make a home right there, in his arms.
The celebrations go late, and so does the debrief. By the time it’s all said and done, everyone looks exhausted, including the drivers. They start shuttling you all back to the hotel for the night, back in Tokyo so you can get on the plane easily tomorrow morning. You’re just glad to be back in the city. On a night like tonight, buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine, there’s no way you’re falling asleep.
You somehow end up in a shuttle with Oscar. He smells like champagne and sweat, and you tease him about it when he sits down in the back row next to you.
He smiled sheepishly. “So I smell like a podium finisher, then.”
You watch as the city goes by out the window and listen to him chat idly with the others in the van. When you get back, you’re the last one out of the car. He’s waiting outside the hotel, leaning on the wall.
“So, what’s your plan for the night?” He asks, cocking a brow.
“No judgement?” You ask.
“No judgement,” he promises.
You shrug. “Not exactly sure. There’s a lot to do. I’ll probably get some ramen, maybe go shopping. Might just take a walk.”
He nods. “Sleep?”
“Not high on the priority list,” you admit.
He nods again. “Can I come with?”
You blank, staring at him. “What?”
“On your adventure,” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can I come along?”
Suddenly your heart is pounding in your chest. He wants to come with? Why? There’s a part of you that doesn’t like the idea, that thinks your sleepless adventures are for you and you alone. The other part of you, the one that wins out, thinks it might not be so bad to have some companionship.
“… sure,” you agree, eyeing him carefully. “But you have to play along. No forcing me to go to sleep.”
“Promise,” he says, holding out his pinky.
You hook yours with his and seal the deal.
…..
You both head up to your hotel rooms to change clothes, and in Oscar’s case, to take a shower. He sends you a text when he’s ready and you meet him in the lobby. He’s in a casual outfit, jeans and a hoodie. You’re dressed similarly, in a pair of black jeans and a crewneck.
“Where to?” He asks, wide grin on his face.
It turns out that Oscar is the ideal late night adventure companion. You start your night out at a sushi conveyor restaurant, both of you joking about how Lando would never dare to eat there. You eat to your heart’s content and make comments about fueling up for the night ahead. He even joins you in having an energy drink, some Japanese brand that you’ve never heard of. Oscar reads part of the label to you, balks at the amount of caffeine in it, and drinks it anyways.
After the restaurant, the two of you climb into a cab and head to the Shibuya district. It’s crawling with people, buzzing with energy, and you feel right at home. Oscar sticks close to your side, hanging onto the back of your sweatshirt as you cross the busy crosswalks in a sea of people. When you turn, though, he’s smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The two of you climb the stairs to an observatory where you can watch the dance of pedestrians and traffic from above. There’s a glow to the city that feels akin to how your brain feels when you can’t sleep- like it never goes out, never turns off.
You tell this to Oscar, who gives you a contemplative look.
“Is it the energy drinks?” He asks. His hand is on your wrist, likely just to keep track of you in the crowds.
You shake your head. “The energy drinks came after the… not sleeping-“
“Insomnia,” he suggests.
“… not sleeping,” you repeat, narrowing your eyes at him. “Anyways. I was like a zombie. The energy drinks make it so I’m functional. I figure if I’m gonna be awake, may as well enjoy it.”
You head back out onto the streets and begin to wander again. Oscar follows along, always holding onto you in some way, always smiling when you look at him. The two of you wander through art galleries and museums lit up with neon lights. Somewhere in the middle of one of them, he slips his fingers between yours. You’re not complaining. There’s something grounding, leveling about his presence.
You stop for drinks at a bar- some sort of local beer that Oscar orders for both of you in Japanese. It’s followed by a vodka Red Bull, at your insistence. Oscar wrinkles his nose but drinks the whole thing, seemingly determined to match you.
Next door, there’s a highly American themed bowling alley. Oscar laughs about how Logan would love it and pulls you inside. It’s the first stop of the night that he’s suggested, so you go along eagerly. He’s snapping pictures, ones to send to Logan, ones for himself, ones of you smiling, renting out bowling shoes. He pays for the game, and you both do terribly. The worker puts the bumper guards up out of pity, because the two of you obviously have no idea what you’re doing. He’s a world renowned athlete, you’re a highly skilled engineer, and yet, you both suck at bowling.
“When did the in-“ you fix him with a glare, and he stops mid sentence. “When did the not sleeping start?”
You look up at the ceiling of the bowling alley and purse your lips, watching the disco ball spin. “Next question.”
He huffs and shrugs, rolling the ball down the lane. “I don’t have a next question.”
“What’s your family like?”’you ask him, and he smiles, softer than you’ve ever seen him smile before.
“Well, I have three sisters,” he starts, eyes lighting up.
Somewhere between the bowling alley, the next bar, and the shopping mall you end up in, you start to really get to know Oscar. It’s funny how the night opens people up. Everything feels safer in the dark, surrounded by other people. It’s creeping up on 1am- in theory, both of you should be sound asleep. The fact that you’re not makes anything okay. You learn about his family, his childhood, his friends back home and in the UK. You tell him about yourself, too. He listens with an eager look on his face, laughing at all the right moments, squeezing your hand at the right ones, too.
You end up in a store that’s packed to the brim with stuffed animals. He lets you drag him around the whole thing, pointing out cute ones and the ones you think are a bit odd. Then you gasp, pointing excitedly, pulling on his hand.
“It’s you,” you squeak, the delirium beginning to set in. It’s a stuffed Kangaroo, and he groans softly. “Look, you’re even making the same face.”
Oscar seems unable to argue with that. Both he and the stuffed kangaroo do seem to be scowling. He smiles instead, picks it up, and takes it to the register. He buys it before you can really even say anything, and the cashier packages it in a bag. The kangaroo’s head sticks out over the paper, your second faithful companion for the night.
By 3am, Oscar is starting to drag. He perks up every time you look at him and smiles brightly, but you can tell. His grip on your hand is looser lately, and his blinks are growing longer and longer. You turn to him, a sympathetic smile on your face.
“We can go back to the hotel, if you want,” you say, poking his cheek lightly.
He smiles. “Are you tired?”
You sigh. “No, but you are.”
“I’m okay,” he insists, shaking his head. “What about the batting cages you mentioned? That sounded fun.”
You pout at him. “Oscar, you’re half asleep. You’d definitely get hit by a ball.”
He nods in agreement. “Maybe I just need another energy drink?”
You cock your head at him, take in his heavy eyelids, his parted lips. “That would be your third one of the night. And that would be very unhealthy.”
He nods again. “Yeah. Okay. Just… I said I’d be along for the ride.”
“We can hang out at the hotel,” you suggest. “The pool area is open all night.”
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
“Me neither.”
You somehow end up with a pizza on your way back, and the two of you plant yourselves in the pool area on one of the chaise lounge chairs, the pizza box in front of you. You eat the greasy, cheesy food, and even Oscar indulges in it. He has his hand planted on the chair behind your back. Every so often you lean backs against his arm just to feel his presence. His knee bumps against yours, and you smile.
The pool is clear and blue. Neither of you will be swimming, but this felt like a neutral enough place. You’d thought about inviting him back to your room but had felt weird about it. There’s something calming about the still water and the smell of the chlorine, anyways.
He leans his head on your shoulder. The heavy weight of him is nice. He’s solid, sturdy, grounding. You’re chatting idly about something that happened at the race, something he’d missed while he was driving the car. You break off in the middle of a sentence to yawn, and then you close your eyes for just a moment. Oscar’s breath hitches.
The two of you are silent for a moment. You stare into the clear water, aching to drift and float and fall asleep. You sigh and pull your knees up to your chest.
“It started when I was a kid,” you tell him. “I just… stopped sleeping. It comes and goes in cycles. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I just…”
“Can’t sleep,” Oscar finishes for you, his words contradicting the sleepy tone of his voice.
“Yeah,” you say, blinking slowly again.
Your head droops, resting against his. He’s so warm, so comforting. He must feel you drifting, must feel your grip faltering, because then he’s sitting up, tucking you into his chest.
“Is there anything I can do?” He asks, drowsily.
“M’so tired,” you admit, curling into him. “Justwannasleep.”
Tears are stinging at your eyes. You hadn’t expected this, hadn’t been prepared for this part. The moment when your lack of sleep catches up to you, and you become an emotional, distraught mess. You’re seconds away from full on sobbing.
Oscar seems to sense this. “Okay. Okay, how about- I have a pull out couch in my suite. Why don’t you- if you’re comfortable, you could come sleep there. Maybe it would help to know somebody’s there if you need it? Maybe-“
“Okay,” you answer, nodding against his chest. “Okay, yeah.”
He takes care of the empty pizza box and guides you up to his room. You know there’ll be questions to answer if anyone sees you, but you’re comforted by the fact that it’s 4am and nearly every sane person is sound asleep. He scans into the room, and you let out a sigh when he lets go of your hand. He moves quickly, unfolding the pull out couch, grabbing extra blankets from the cabinets. Before you know it, you’re sitting down on the bed, rubbing your eyes.
It’s strange, now that you’re here. You’re in Oscar’s hotel room. You’ve just spent the night wandering Tokyo with him. You’re exhausted, sleep deprived, still on the verge of tears. Everything feels hazy and blurry.
“I can… go, if you want,” he says, and you blink up at him through your blurry vision. “Or I can sit with you till you fall asleep.”
“That might take a while,” you tell him. “Like, you’re more likely to fall asleep. Even… when I finally get to this point, it takes a while.”
He shrugs. “We could put on a movie.”
That’s exactly what you do. He turns on the tv, spots Finding Nemo on the guide, and turns it on. He sinks down on the bed, leaning against the couch back. You crawl up next to him as he turns the volume low. At first, you just sit shoulder to shoulder. Then he reaches out, wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you into his side. You sigh against him. Cradled close, you let the exhausted tears flow. He can’t see you, probably, and even if he can, you can’t bring yourself to care. He leans down, brushes his lips against your forehead.
“M’right here,” he says, softly. “I’ve got you.”
You wake up at 8am with your head in his lap. His alarm is blaring from the side table, and you’re both springing apart. He fumbles for his phone, shutting the alarm off with the shaky hands of someone who’s just been woken up from not nearly enough sleep.
You, on the other hand, have gotten the most consecutive sleep of your last two weeks. You stretch, rubbing the blur from your eyes and blinking at him.
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“For what?” He asks, voice steady.
“For… I don’t know. Keeping you up so late? Falling asleep on you?” You shrug. “I… that was a lot, for me to put that all on you.”
Oscar shrugs, so nonchalant about it. “It’s what friends are for.”
You nod, though you’re not convinced. You pull away, and Oscar’s soft smile drops to a flat frown. He reaches for you, but you dodge his touch.
“I should go,” you tell him. “We have to leave soon, people are going to be getting up and- if they see me come out of your room-“
“We can be friends,” he says, again, brows furrowing. “We didn’t do anything wrong, everything is okay-“
He doesn’t understand. It’s fine for him, but this is too much for you. He wants to be friends, but you’re looking at him and thinking about how if you could curl up on his chest every night, you might never have trouble sleeping again. He wants friends, you want more. You can’t have more, though, because there’s no way you’ll keep your job. And he doesn’t want that, anyways. Why would he? You’re just his pity project, the poor girl who can’t sleep, who fails at counting sheep.
“I should go,” you repeat, standing up. You can’t look at him, can’t watch him watching you. “Thank you. For everything. I’m sorry.”
He stands up too, and he grabs your hand. You pause, stuck between ripping your hand from his and running, or whirling around and snapping at him. Fight or flight. Instead, you take a deep breath. You’re still sleep deprived, still exhausted. 4 hours doesn’t fix two weeks of little to no sleep.
“I’m sorry,” you breathe, shoulders sagging. “I have a hard time letting people take care of me.”
“It’s okay,” Oscar says. “Just- come sit down? Let’s talk, okay?”
You sink down on the bed, rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “Why do you care?”
Oscar sits down next to you. He reaches out, knits your fingers together. You’re reminded of the art galleries, of the crowds, of the bowling alley. You split yourself open last night, in the safety of the time when you should’ve been sleeping. He saw you and he’s still here, somehow, hanging on. Your bones are tired. Your head is pounding. You need caffeine.
“I care,” he says, gently, “because I care about you. Because I think you’re a good person, and I want to get to know you better. And because this whole thing is not healthy.”
You sigh. His thumb brushes over the back of your hand methodically, back and forth. The funny thing is, you could fall asleep again, just like this. You could lean into his shoulder, let the warmth of him deep into your skin, and fall asleep. You wonder if he knows it.
“I’m fine,” you tell him, rubbing at your face sleepily. “Osc, I’ve been like this for years. It’s not just going to change now.”
“Not overnight,” he says, softly. There’s a callous on his thumb, you can feel the scrape of it over your skin. It’s oddly soothing. “But I can try. I can be here.”
“Why would you want to?”
“Because despite all the craziness, last night was the most fun I’ve had in weeks,” he says, and you could cry. “I want to spend time with you. I want to get to know you. Take you on dates. The whole nine yards.”
You should’ve expected this. Oscar can be shy, and quiet, but he can be straightforward, too. He’s pretty easy to read. He’s blunt with Lando, almost to the point of contention sometimes. But you’d been so focused on trying to prove to him that you were just fine that you hadn’t considered he was feeling the sparks, too. That maybe he wasn’t holding onto you in the crowd just so he didn’t lose you. That maybe he liked the feeling of your skin on his, too.
“If you want that,” he says, voice low.
You blink blearily, pull away to look up at him. “I do.”
He nods, leans forward, kisses your forehead. The rest of it will come later, you think. You can work all the details out when you’re both more awake. Right now, he pulls you into his chest and flops back onto the bed.
“We have an hour before anyone comes looking for us,” he says, rubbing your back lightly. “Close your eyes? You don’t have to sleep, just-“
You blink once, twice, and then you’re fast asleep before he can get another word out.
…..
Oscar wins the sprint race in Qatar, and then takes second on Sunday. He’s nothing but endless wide grins all weekend, despite the heat and the dehydration and his obvious exhaustion. You laugh when you watch him lay down on the floor in the cool down room and smile when he gets sprayed with champagne on the podium. He chases you through the garage afterwards to give you a hug, despite your screeching about how sticky he is.
He tucks you into his chest. “Couldn’t have done it without you, baby.”
Later, you help corral a very tired Oscar and Lando to the shuttles and back to the hotel. They’re each stumbling over their own feet, giggling and laughing about the race, shoving at each other’s shoulders. For a minute, you’re walking through an empty parking lot, far from any other McLaren staff, and Oscar links his fingers with yours. They fit together like puzzle pieces. His fingers are sticky with champagne, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Lando sees and doesn’t say anything, just smiles.
You’re keeping it quiet for now. Time to figure it out between the two of you before you get your bosses involved. You have a feeling it’ll be mostly okay. You’ll figure it out, one way or another.
You follow Oscar up to his hotel room, saying goodnight to Lando as he heads further down the hall. He knits his fingers with yours again, leads you into his room, and collapses onto the bed.
“I’m exhausted,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you?”
You smile down at him, laid out on the bed. He should probably shower, at the very least change his clothes, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him that.
You sigh. “I mean, yeah, but if you’re asking if I’ll be able to sleep… probably not.”
He nods in understanding and purses his lips. “D’you think… would you just… stay, until I fall asleep?” He asks, blinking up at you. “After that you can take my card and get a Red Bull and go do whatever, just-“
“Yeah, I’ll stay,” you tell him.
It’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. He gets ready for bed, and you do the same. You lean against the headboard and he crawls up the bed. He puts his head on a pillow in your lap, curls up into a little c shape. He’s very cat like, you’ve noticed, especially when he’s sleepy. You run your fingers through his hair, the tv playing quietly in the background, and he sighs and closes his eyes.
“Goodnight,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.
He’s out within minutes. Oscar is a sound sleeper. You could move him, could shift his head and get up. You could wander the halls, take his card and buy all the energy drinks you desire. But you look down at him, his brow unfurrowed, lips parted, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You could sit here and watch him breathe all night. It’s a terrifying and comforting thought, all at once.
You don’t sleep. It’s likely you’ll crash on the flight home, or maybe shortly after that. With your luck, you’ll pass out in a meeting when you get back to the MTC. Oscar doesn’t scold you when he wakes up and it’s obvious you’ve been awake all night.
He gets you coffee from the breakfast bar, exactly how you like it. And when he finds you in the backseat of the airport shuttle, he hands you a tangerine Red Bull. It’s early, the sun just peeking up over the horizon, washing the whole city with orange. He’s smiling at you, and you’re smiling right back.
When you fall asleep on his shoulder on the way to the airport, nobody dares to say a word.
…..
“Did you hear we’re gonna be sponsored by Monster next year?” Lando asks, throwing a tennis ball at a wall in the courtyard.
You sit up in the grass nearby, eyes lighting up. “You’re kidding. Free Monster?”
Oscar, whose stomach you’d been laying on, sits up behind you and wraps his arm around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder.
“Your consumption will be restricted,” he says, and you laugh.
You suppose that’s fair. Besides, Monster is fine, but nothing will ever top tangerine Red Bull.
check out the companion blurb, Glad You’re Here
thanks for reading, hope you sleep better than me! you can find my other fics here! sweet dreams y’all
More Posts from Teastoriesandforgottentime and Others
This is a cute blurb idea, I just fell asleep at my school's library and I imagined Liam coming to find you and sees you are at the university and fell asleep
He'd been away and you two have only been talking via messages and facetime. Those little chats have been getting fewer and farther apart as your school year has gone by.
Liam was aware of that, and he had no issues with it, but he has been missing you. So as a little surprise he decided to hop on a plane and come back to England to see you.
Of course, you weren't answering your phone which had him tracking it instead. Seeing as you were in the library he smiled, always the bookworm. Skipping each step and stops, seeing your head down and hunched over a book.
Sneaking up he goes to surprise you but stops seeing your sleeping face. "Aw, my little bug." Grabbing an extra chair he sits down, smiling at you. How tired you must have been recently to fall asleep in the library.
Feeling a presence next to you, your eyes pry open only to be met with not the words of your textbook, but the smiling face of your very blonde boyfriend. "Hi," You whisper, Liam cocking his head to the side smiling back. "Hi,"
"Take me home?" You yawn, rubbing your eyes. "Always,"
Congrats world champion ❤️
the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.
With a few tips, he wasn’t so boring after all. Secretly, I’ll tell you that you aren’t either. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to lower your value. Don’t trust them. They know they can’t afford you otherwise.
— Brandon Sanderson, Tress of the Emerald Sea
Count All The Freckles On Your Face - LN
Summary: After a jet ski accident on holiday Lando learns just how much y/n means to him and how impossible it feels to have to leave her for a race.
Very freckled reader!
I was going to make this a car accident story, but that felt a little too cliche and I know Lando has been out on jet skis before so we're running with that.
Having Max and his friends all out on a yacht in Monaco is a pretty great way to spend his day. Especially when he gets to have his girlfriend there in a bikini. Or it was great until he notices one of his friends checking her out then he called on her and quietly asked if she might put something else on. Though he excused it as her not wanting to get too cold.
"Are you sure you don't want someone with you?" Lando asks as he clips the buckle of her life vest on.
"I've been on a jet ski before, Lan. I think I can handle it." Y/n smiles brightly before she kisses him. "I'll be fine."
"Ok, if you insist. But I want some photos of us on there together before the end of the day." Lando laughs then watching her climb on.
"I promise. So long as you're getting some with your future husband too." Y/n grins gesturing to Max who puts his middle finger up to her earning a kiss to be blown in his direction. "Love you too Max, even if you're constantly trying to steal my boyfriend. I respect he was yours first."
Max and y/n have that classic best friend and girlfriend friendship that forms resembling that more of siblings who can't get along.
Lando moves back to sit on the sun bed with Max looking at something while y/n and a couple of her friends ride around on the jet skis.
Things take a bad turn within a matter of seconds.
There's some yelling, a thud and splash before it's followed by screams. At least that's how things happened from Lando's perspective on the deck of the yacht.
She hit the bow of the yacht when the jet ski steering locked. They dragged her out the water and called for an ambulance to meet them at the dock while doing everything as instructed. But inevitably it all lead to the same thing.
Hospital with hours of scans, tests and trying to stitch up the head wound which hadn't let up bleeding much at all due. Although they tried to slow it.
"She'll wake up, it's just sedatives keeping her asleep now." The doctor explains while Lando pulls a seat to the side of her bed. "But there's no reason to suggest the head injury would be anything more than a concussion and maybe a bit of memory lapse."
"Thank you for everything. Really." Lando states with a rough voice that gives away how much emotion he's trying to withhold. The doctor leaves and Lando shifts a little in his seat as Max looks at his friend who has been a shell of a person. "You don't have to stay mate, it's late. You should get some rest."
"What about you? You leave for a flight tomorrow." Max mumbles earning a glare that just about threatens to end their friendship there and then. "Alright, I'll see you later."
Then Lando is left alone with y/n.
He just looks at her, the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room.
His eyes scan across her face looking at the cinnamon dusting of freckled covering her slightly sun burnt skin. Without thinking about it, he finds himself trying to count the freckles to pass the time, pausing when he has to figure out if it's two freckles merged together or just one bigger freckle. Then his mind drifts to thinking about how the cooler weather in the winter makes since of them fade. Although they've only been together 7 months, having started dating in winter when her freckles were much less.
In the winter she has 168 freckles across her nose and cheeks.
The idea of only having spent part of one winter and part of one summer with her nearly makes him break into a cold sweat.
Suddenly before he knows it, nearly two hours have passed and he is knocked from his dreaded thoughts when y/n pulls her hand from his grip and raises it to the bandaged stitches on her head.
"What the hell?" Y/n croaks as then shooting up to sit making Lando stand and try to make her focus on him.
"It's ok, it's ok. You...you hit your head when the steering locked on the jet ski. You got stitches. You just need to lie down." Lando explains quickly making her swallow thickly. "You've been out for a couple hours."
"It hurts. My head, it hurts." Y/n mumbles lying back down with Lando's guidance.
"I'll get a nurse. See if they can give you anything."
After getting her something to help with the pain, Lando sighs rubbing his hands together nervously.
"You have to go. I'll be out of here by the time the race weekend is over." Y/n states reading his mind even with a head injury. "I'm not going to hold it against you, Lando."
"I'd hold it against me." Lando murmurs before sighing softly. "You know you had 168 freckles on your face when we met and now you've got like...way over 300. I couldn't even count them all."
Y/n can't stop her smile then opening her arms which means him lean over and hug her.
"You still have to go, Lando..."
"I know."
-
Lando hates being in the paddock without y/n. All he wants is to get her there but the doctor said travelling in a plane wouldn't be the best for her. So instead, he's just texting her every 5 minutes to make sure she's ok.
Though he left Max with her so he feels somewhat reassured that she's being cared for. The two might fight like siblings but Max will take care of her like a brother too and if Lando asks for him to do it then you can be sure he'll keep her safe.
"Lando..." Jon sighs seeing Lando return to his drivers room after the qualifying debrief and just begin to fall apart. "She's ok. I checked on her every 5 minutes like you've been doing and I called to make sure she was watching."
Lando nods before rubbing his hand over his face then trying to hide it as his emotions overwhelm him. He's never cried over a girl like this before and he's not enjoying it.
"Alright, y/n can you talk to him?" Jon sighs after getting her on FaceTime.
"Baby? What's going on? Why are you so upset?" Y/n frowns through the screen.
"Baby, I wish you were here. It's horrible being here without you." Lando states hating the sound of his voice. "I need you here."
"It's less than 48 hours before you see me again and you'll be working or sleeping for most of that." Y/n smiles lightly but Lando still looks completely unsatisfied with that. "It'll fly by and you can stay on FaceTime with me until you're asleep if you want."
"You'd stay on FaceTime with me all that time?"
"Of course I would. I miss you too...even if I can't memorise how many freckles you have because you don't have any." Y/n teases while Lando rolls his eyes a little at her.
So they do spend the rest of the night on FaceTime. Max making continuous and and frequent appearances on y/n's side. He does earn himself a warning to not be hugging or getting too cosy with y/n, much to both Max and y/n's honesty.
"How you going to say that when she won't shut up about you?" Max laughs then wincing when she clearly elbows him out of shot. "Ah, vicious."
"Ok, bedtime. Come on." Y/n yawns unknowing that while still on FaceTime her boyfriend is texting Max telling him to check on her every so often which earns a thumbs up through the screen that y/n thankfully doesn't notice. "Can I give Max a hug goodnight?"
"Fine. If you must." Lando hums while she laughs a little and leans down hugging Max before she stands up blowing him a kiss and heading up to her room. "We're staying on the phone right?"
"Yes."
Unsurprisingly they both fall asleep pretty quickly and when Max checks on them after heaving silence for 15 minutes. He ends the call and pauses since y/n is a weirdly silent sleeper, he also carefully checks her pulse. Then sighing in relief when he feels the gently thudding.
-
Lando didn't make the podium but he tended to all the post-race demands before taking off faster than the cars when the lights go out.
He didn't tell y/n that he'd be coming back so quickly. So when he walks into his apartment to find y/n's tear stained cheeks as she sleeps against Max who is away and playing on the games consoles. Lando's only hoping Max didn't ignore his girlfriend crying because of the game.
"Max, what the hell?" Lando hisses gesturing to the sleeping body beside Max.
Max only looks down looking confused for a moment before he laughs a little and nods.
"She missed you and told me she just needed to cry it out." Max explains making Lando's inside churn with emotion, his own eyes getting a little shinier.
"Ok, baby. Let's get you away from the man who will let you cry while he plays...are you playing Spider-man?"
"It's a good game." Max argues quietly while Lando gently pulls y/n up as Max grimaces. "She was crying pretty hard at one point but when she went quiet I checked for a pulse to make sure she was alive."
"Right, thanks." Lando hums sarcastically before he manages to finally pull her up into his arms, slightly stirring with a mumble of incoherent words. "Night man, I'll see you in the morning. And really thank you for staying with her and keeping me in the loop."
"It's not problem, you know I do love her like family by this point and I didn't enjoy seeing her hurt any more than you did. But see you tomorrow, mate." Max nods as Lando disappear feeling the approval and validation of Max worrying for y/n being the final nail in the coffin.
Lando loves this girl and he will for the rest of his life.
Lando falls asleep, pulling her tight against himself but not without a quick shower, just to really clean off travelling so soon after a race.
Morning comes and goes with neither of them shifting. Too at peace in each other's hold to move, despite y/n not actually being conscious of the fact it's Lando who is half-suffocating her with hold tight his hold has been on her all night.
Lando does wake up first and he takes the time to count the stitches on her head. 9.
9 stitches.
Y/n suddenly shifts, moving and groaning as she almost seems to try and escape his hold before she groans, then after a sharp inhale she suddenly leans forward closing in on his t-shirt before inhaling like she can only breathe air filtered through the fabric.
"You're home." She whispers making him laugh a little.
"You got that from smelling me?"
"You always smell the best. So yeah." Y/n grins still keeping her eyes closed as she nuzzles down into him. "Max smells nothing like you."
"Are you saying he stinks? Because I'll tell him and never let him live it down."
"No. He just doesn't smell like you and you are my favourite person in the world." Y/n shrugs innocently then wincing a little when Lando brushes her hair back and his fingers run over her stitches.
"I'm sorry, does it still hurt?"
"No. I just...hate knowing I'll have a scar there from it." Y/n mumbles finally looking up at Lando and connecting their gaze. "I'll get over it, so long as I have you to wake up to. It sucked missing the race."
"It sucked not having you there for the race. I couldn't get back here fast enough." Lando smiles then kissing her. "and for the record, stitches and scar or not I love you and I want you with me all the time. I'd squeeze you in the car with me for races if I could...and if it was safe."
Y/n pouts a little, tears lining her eyes before she sighs softly and kisses her with a grin.
"I love you, baby." Landowhipsers really wanting to emphasise the fact he loves this girl more than he know a person could love another person.
He'd give her everything, every penny he owns and every belonging he has if she asked him for it. But he knows she wouldn't because she just loves him without everything else.
"I love you too, baby." Y/n sighs then reaching over to the clock to check the time. "Is Max still here?"
"Yes. Somewhere."
"It's 3 in the afternoon, we've just left him out there."
"He's capable of taking care of himself...more of the time."
Y/n hums deciding that she's happy for Max to be left if it means she can stay tucked up in here as long as possible with Lando to make up for lost time over the weekend.
how about Jason with the prompt "text me when you get home"? the one time they forget/fall asleep before sending the text and Jay loses hid mind. rushes over expecting them to be dead but they passed out on the couch as soon as they got home
really superbly SCRUMPTIOUS prompt Aud. I love protective jaybird 🥰‼️ thanks for sending something in 🫶
jason todd x gn!reader. worried protective snuggly jason. no warnings really, ya boy is just paranoid and madly in love with you 💓
request something! I rb all fics to @sanguinelibrary
****
As soon as you get out of your last class of the day, your phone rings.
You answer it, wedging the phone between your ear and shoulder as you fish in your bag for a couple of bills. You're already walking to the train station.
"Hi, snookie bear," you say into the phone, slightly delirious with hunger and sleep deprivation.
Jason snorts on the other end. "That's a new one. Hey, baby. Y'heading home?"
"Indeed I am."
"Need a ride?"
You wait and listen. Eventually, you hear the sounds of hitting and grunting in the background. You roll your eyes—only Jason would be in the middle of a fight and then ask if you need a ride home.
"No, I'm okay. It's not dark yet. Plus you sound busy."
"I'm never too busy for you," he says immediately. "And it's gonna get dark in an hour. Are you sure—"
"Yes, Jay," you say gently. "I'm sure. Don't worry about me. I'm going straight home."
You're already at the station. There's a good amount of people, students and workers alike. The university is in a relatively okay part of town, especially during the day. You're not worried. It's not like you traipse through Crime Alley on your downtime.
"Okay." Jason takes a deep breath. "Just—just be careful. Text me when you get home."
You note the hint of worry in his tone. Maybe this week has been particularly saturated with crime. Jason tends to get a little overbearing about your safety when he's had a tough week. You know he had go down to Blüdhaven and help his brother—with what specifically, you don't know.
Most of the time, you're sure you don't want to know.
"I always do," you say. The train pulls up to the station. "Ooh, train's here! I'll talk to you later. I'm thinking of ordering takeout. Too tired to cook."
"Okay, sweetheart. Be safe. Love you. Lock your door."
You roll your eyes fondly. "Yes, Jay. Love you too. Bye."
You hang up as you step onto the train. You pull your headphones out of your bag and shut your brain off during the ride. By the time you get off the train, you've lost hope that you'll be doing any work tonight. You're absolutely wiped out after three back-to-back classes.
It's still light when you get home. You lock the door after you get in, the habit ingrained into you, and dump your bag onto the couch.
Takeout is a no-go. You're hungry now and about thirty seconds away from passing out on the couch.
You change into your home clothes, eat a granola bar, and call it a day. You'll eat more later.
You turn off your phone to bar any annoying notifications and fall into bed, eyes closing immediately.
****
The sound of your deadbolt being teared off its chain wakes you up. You flinch and jump awake, trying to blink through sleep. Your mouth is dry from how hard you slept, and your eyesight is slightly blurry from the sudden flood of moisture.
Your bedroom door swings open, and suddenly you're pulled into warm, heavily muscled arms. You hug back on instinct; you'd know the feel of your boyfriend anywhere.
"Jay, h—"
"You didn't text," he says, voice shaking. "You said you would. I was—I thought you were—"
You tense, guilt knocking into you.
"Shit. Jason, I'm so sorry. I meant to, I was just so tired..."
Jason pulls back to look at you, hands still on your shoulders. His expression is stern.
"I'm gonna pick you up from now on. When are your late days?"
"Jay, no, GCU is across town. You can't possibly pick me up three days a week. That's too much! What about patrol?"
"Somebody else is out at this time," he says stonily. "Crime Alley can wait an hour while I get you home."
His eyes blaze green, a side effect of the Pit. You can tell he's putting every effort into keeping a lid on the worry and fear and anger over your silence.
"Jason." You cup his face. "Honey, I'm safe. I'm sorry I didn't text you. I'm sorry I worried you. But your adrenaline is spiked right now, Jay. Everything feels magnified. I don't need to be picked up. I was perfectly safe coming home. Okay?"
He shakes his head, holding your wrists. "Anything could've happened. I was so—fuck, baby, I was so scared. I-I checked the station footage and the traffic cams, and I didn't see you after you cut through the park, and I thought—I was sure you'd—"
Jason pulls your arms around his neck and buries his face into your shoulder. He supports you by the backs of your thighs, tugging you into his lap. Then he clings tight.
"Oh, Jay," you murmur, petting his curls. "I'm alright. This end of Gotham isn't so bad. And I know you'd have found me even if something had happened. But nothing did."
"Can't lose you," he chokes out.
"You won't lose me, honey," you say. "You keep me safe."
He trembles in your embrace. You kiss the shell of his ear and continue to pet his hair.
"Let me pick you up tomorrow, at least," he pleads. "We'll get dumplings at that place you like. You barely ate anything when you came home."
"Okay, Jay," you say, because you know he needs that reassurance. He won't relax without it. "That sounds good."
You keep stroking his hair. "Y'wanna order in now?"
"In a minute."
Jason lays you both down on the bed. He throws a leg over yours and pulls you into his chest. It's now that you see just how much tension is locked in his shoulders. He's exhausted.
"Jus' wanna hold you for a bit," he says, lips resting on your shoulder.
He's drowsy, the adrenaline finally ebbing. You close your eyes and snuggle into his arms.
"You can hold me for as long as you want," you say, threading your fingers with his. "I'm not going anywhere."
Can you please please write smt about doing body shots off either Charles or lando. I keep staring at their necks in pics and I’m imaging just licking salt off it. I feel like lando would be soooo cocky about it and just let you lick it off his neck and make you grab the lime from his lips and then he ready to do it back to you
A/N: Lando is so perfect for this, Lando would be so cocky while Charles a blushing mess so we picked Lando in this house
You needed to be careful. The party was starting to get out of hand, but Lando had gotten P2 and Carlos P1 so the party was ragging. Everyone was getting tipsy and drunk while others were sober because of the slights they would be catching in a few hours.
Unable to remember who screamed it but all you knew is that everyone was doing body shots and the person who cracked the first was the next victim. And that's how you ended up standing in front of a smirking Lando. His hair was messed up and lips swollen.
No telling who he's been kissing or doing body shots off od, but you hated this. Standing in front of everyone has Daniel and Carlos explained the concept of what was going on. If either of you kissed, then you cracked, and someone will have to do a body shot off you.
Lando was following your every movement as Daniel placed you in front of Lando. The music was pounding and people everywhere but when Lando spoke in his low husky voice, something that happened when he's worked up and tipsy. "Are you okay?" Lando asks, pulling you in which has you leaning onto his chest for support. "Yeah, I've done this before." You whisper back, clearing your throat. The hands on your waist tighten and Lando's bright eyes darken but he says nothing as he smiles.
"So, who made you crack?" You asks, trying to forget your own nerves. "Don't worry about it," "Carlos did," Daniel teases craning Lando's neck to the side you swallow hard.
It's hard not to stare at Lando with his large hands, perfect smile, and neck he was just, perfectly imperfect. "Really? Can't believe I missed that." Lando giggles, from your words and the salt being stuck to his neck. "Alright! LET'S GO!" Daniel yells loudly which has everyone turning but still, it was a rather large party not even half the people were paying attention.
From the corner of your eye you see the other drivers laughing and watching you two closely. "Here goes nothing." Taking the bottle from Carlos's hand you take a swing, ignoring the burn in your throat as you lean in to lick the salt.
Slowly you move your tongue, a shudder passing through Lando's body, causing some wolf whistles as Lando's hands move from your waist to your ass squeezing it. Pulling back you look for the lime, looking at Lando he smiles and you groan seeing it in his mouth. "Cheater," You whisper, fingers tangle in curls as you yank him forward sending the drivers crazy as you kiss him deeply.
Groaning into the kiss Lando loses the lime as you curl your tongue sending him crazy you pull away with the lime in your mouth. Everyone laughing and cheering when you pull back with it in your mouth. "I think I win, yes?" You ask Daniel who is clapping and nodding. "Hell yeah!" Turning you see Lando standing there dazed. "Maybe next time, baby boy." Patting his cheek, unsure where that courage came from.
Walking away you move your hips from side to side, uncaring that everyone is going crazy as you slip into the crowd. If he wanted you, he'd come to you.
Sore Loser - LN
Summary: Lando’s girlfriend is a gaming streamer and he is obsessed with her. But sometimes jealousy over her male subscribers can get the better of him. Or in other words the war he has with most of her subscribers can get a little out of hand. But he can get pouty, especially when she beats at his own game.
Lando isn’t sorry to say that he and her are easily a perfect match. Her streaming brings in plenty of money that there’s no element of her using him, she plays games with him, she’s there for every race and they support each other.
He’s been out with some of the boys today though and getting back she’s already started streaming.
“Alright, I’ll play the F1 23 game. But if Lando appears like he’s been summoned by the FIA to not let himself be beat by his girlfriend, then I won’t forgive you guys. He’s played this so much, he’ll beat me purely from having played.” Y/n states as she starts up the F1 game. “Who should I drive as? I can’t be Seb this year.”
“Be me.” Lando speaks up appearing behind her which makes her jump and turn as he leans on the back of the gaming chair. “Sorry, baby.”
“I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”
“I’ve been gone for like 5 hours, how long did you want me to be gone for?” Lando jokes while she smiles up at him with an expression that she always seems to wear around him. “I’ll be upset if you don’t.”
“You can’t keep using that against me.” Y/n pouts before laugh when he takes her remote and begins picking and choosing her set up. “You better not be setting me up to lose.”
“I’m not. You need to worry on these trust issues.” Lando scoffs while she looks at the camera in a move that only works to be described as from The Office. “I don’t want to date a loser anyway.”
“Wow. Do you guys hear the way he talks to me? This is supposed to be love.” Y/n scoffs then looking at Lando who just looks back at her for a moment then leaning down and kissing her.
“I’m going to shower and leave you to it.” Lando states only just pulling away from the kiss before he kisses her again. “Love you.”
“Love you too.” Y/n smiles before turning to back to her PC while Lando leaves the room. She sighs seeing the chat feed and frowning. “Alright, you guys don’t be talking about my man like that. He treats me so good.”
Her subscribers really hate Lando, mainly because many of them are male and the ones who don’t hate him are fans of Lando’s who defend him without a second thought.
“I’m going to see if I can beat Lando’s fasted lap too. I think I can…I hope I can.” Y/n states then biting her lip as she begins to focus on the race.
She has to try a couple tracks to find one she stands a chance at beating Lando’s record on, but eventually she does it on the Zandvoort track of all circuits she could excel in.
“Ahaha! I did it!” Y/n exclaims jumping up and squealing in excitement as she shoots to stand up, purely out of excitement. “I beat his time! Aha!”
Audio messages from the chat begin to flood her ears. Most of congratulations while Lando appears and grins when she jumps spinning.
“I beat you in Zandvoort!” Y/n beams then sighing as she looks at the chat, clearly something being said in her ears from a subscriber that she doesn’t appreciate.
“What?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m gonna do another race because I want to go on the Bahrain track.”
“Can I race with you?”
“Yeah, of course you can but promise you’ll ignore the chat. They’re just jealous about you.”
Lando looks at her with a mildly unimpressed expression since he knows what her chat is like but she also gets a lot of support.
“What track?” Y/n asks making Lando puff out a breath.
“The chat is saying Spa.” Lando states pointing at the chat.
“Spa it is.” Y/n smiles before wavering when she sees the chat flood with comments about how they should drive the Russia track. They can’t because it’s not on the game as an option but it doesn’t stop them. “Fucking trolls.”
Lando doesn’t comment deciding to just focus on the game, he’s going to prove himself. Not that he need to but his ego is getting bruised knowing that these men spend her stream either hitting on her, promising they could be better for her than him or just hating on him with no remorse.
What he doesn’t expect is for his girlfriend to completely destroy him in the race, pulling a Max Verstappen and having built a 20 second gap ahead of him.
“How did you do that?” Lando questions making her shrug innocently then shooting him a smile. “Do you have cheats?”
“No! Of course not. Spa is just my favourite one to play on when I’m not streaming so I have perfected it a bit.” Y/n pouts while the chat goes off about how he’s treating her horribly and that they’d be celebrating her doing so well. “Alright, stream is over guys.”
They both know that they’ll be comments online about this and no doubt they’re going to be all over TikTok and instagram fan accounts with claims that the relationship is on the rocks, but she doesn’t want to keep streaming with the chat being somehow even worse than it is most time.
As soon as the stream is over and her PC has been turned off.
“Hey.” Y/n sighs moving over to Lando and straddling his lap as she throws her leg over him. “You know I don’t listen to the idiots in that chat.”
“I don’t like the way they talk to you, baby.” Lando frowns rubbing her thighs while she smiles sadly then kissing him. “Or about me.”
“I know, neither do I.” Y/n sighs then shifting. “But I’m in your bed every night and they’re just sad men who think they stand a chance if they slander you when we all know they don’t.”
It should comfort him but Lando is a man who likes to make a point.
“Can I post you on my instagram?”
“If it improves your mood, you can post whatever you like of me on there.” Y/n smiles knowing that Lando’s jealous side comes through in a way of needing to show the world exactly who she belongs to and she’d be lying if she said it isn’t a little attractive for him to her. “I still beat you though.”
“Don’t remind me…But I’d beat you on a real track.”
“Yeah, well…you are an F1 driver, if you didn’t that would be incredibly embarrassing given I’ve I’m a terrible driver in real life.” Y/n laughs before running her hand through his hair. “How about you post whatever it is you have in mind and I’ll figure out what the hell we’re eating for dinner?”
“Only…if you promise we can race on the Silverstone track next time I’m here when you stream.”
“Because you know I’ll mess it up.”
“No. I just know I’ll not mess it up.” Lando shrugs in a faux innocence then sucking in a breath as he looks at her monitor. “I love that you game.”
“You’ve said.”
“But I hate when you beat me.”
“As made obvious.” Y/n hums leaning forward and kissing him. “Are you going to be grumpy all day?”
“Yes.” Lando pouts jokingly earning a grin and nod before she gets up and yanks him up after.
-
After a post with a carousel of pictures with y/n ranging from some cute and goofy ones with one of Lando’s hand squishing her face to a wet t-shirt picture that very much shows she’s cold and not wearing a bra at the time. His fans went insane, y/n’s fans actually imploded.
But he felt a hell of a lot better knowing he posted it in a way laying his claim. Y/n is his girlfriend and no matter how many promises strange men make in her chats or how vulgar they are with what they want to do to her, that’s never going to happen if he has a say in it.
“You got me in trouble with my parents.” Y/n states while Lando looks at her with a smirk. “The wet t-shirt?”
“It’s one of my favourite pictures of you.” Lando grins then gently pulling her forward into him. “I got in trouble too. But I’m still not sorry.”
“No, I think that’s the scorpio coming out.” Y/n hums before she’s lifted up onto the physio bed with Lando lifting up the Quadrant hoodie she’s stolen and sighing as he gets sight of her boobs. “Someone could easily come in.”
“You’re my girlfriend let me take advantage of that how I want to.” Lando huffs while she rolls her eyes but suppresses a smile.
“Yeah, enjoy it.” Y/n yawns then leaning back on her hands. “Do you know how many subscribers told me on my last stream that you gave them a new lock screen?”
“Don’t say that, don’t ruin this for me.” Lando groans since there’s no point in deleting the post now, it’s too later and the picture has been up for the better part of a week. “I hate your subscribers.”
“I know…a lot of them hate you too.” Y/n laughs before she jumps a little then his thumbs rub over her nipples. “Don’t start something we both know you don’t have time to finish.”
“Sorry, baby.” Lando grins before leaning forward and kissing her softly. “I do have to go.”
“I know.” Y/n sighs then being kissed again as he tucks her boobs away gently and pulls the hoodie back down.
“I’ll find you later.”
“I’ll be watching. Kick their butts.” Y/n smiles before they take off. “Don’t be a sore loser like when you lost to me!” “You’re not funny!”
Then he’s gone and she sighs giving herself a few minutes before she heads out to take her spot in the garage to watch her boyfriend do what he does best.
Sleepy Endearment
Charles Leclerc X Reader
Genre: Fluff
Summary: Reader becomes a human teddy bear
Warnings: none :)
Notes: Happy birthday to Lord Percival!
Masterlist
The thing about Charles Leclerc is that he loves to sleep more than he lets on. So when his girlfriend decided to get up to make breakfast, a birthday tradition, he didn't let her go.
A heavy arm around her waist kept pulling her back into bed every time she tried to escape. Which was not helping her mission of trying to make her lovely (and clingy) boyfriend something to eat.
"Sleep, mon chéri. It's too early to be awake." His raspy morning voice pleads.
"Sharl, I'm trying to be cute and make you breakfast."
He simply responds by rolling over on top of the female. "Could eat you instead."
She giggles at his antics. The clingy Monegasque continues to pull her underneath him. Their limbs tangled up in the sheets.
"Isn't it your birthday?"
"But you're sweet enough for me."
Finally, he gets both arms around her and flips them. He squeezes her like she's a teddy bear and refuses to let her go. "Warm."
She gives in to his embrace. It's not worth fighting him over this. At least, that's what she convinces herself the reason is and definitely not that he's stronger than her.
She attempts to tickle him only to be stopped and blocked from all angles. Again, she sighs in exasperation.
"At this rate, we'll starve to death." She huffs into his chest.
"The I will die a happy man."
"You're very endearing when you are sleepy. Did you know that?"
"Yes, because you say it almost daily in your beautiful morning voice." Charles punctuates each word with a kiss in a different place.
"Maybe if you keep kissing me, I won't try to leave."
"Oh mon amour, I can do much more then just kiss you if you want." Charles wiggles his eyebrows and both of them fall into a fit of laughter.
Breakfast didn't happen until almost noon kn a Monday. The afternoon sun filtering over their bodies as the Kitchen becomes a mess. But, on the brightside, they have enough energy to clean the mess up.
And maybe for some other things as well...
Changing Lanes
Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader
Summary: Charles Leclerc always thought he would spend the rest of his career racing in red. But you make him see that he deserves better than false promises and unrequited love
“Took you long enough,” you say, lounging casually on the small leather couch in Charles’ driver’s room, your fingertips tracing intricate patterns on the cushion beside you.
Charles raises an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as he kicks off his shoes. “Every single time I see you, Y/N, you always have something to say.”
You linger on him. “Is it my fault you had to chat with the entire paddock before coming here?”
He smirks, crossing the room. “It’s called being polite. Something you could learn from.”
“Polite?” You scoff, feigning innocence. “Oh, like how Ferrari celebrated that P3 like it was a win? That kind of polite?”
Charles stiffens but he keeps his cool. “We take what we can get.”
You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Starting on pole and settling for P3? Charles, you deserve better.”
“I know,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze. “But this is racing. Sometimes it just doesn’t go your way.”
You lean in closer, your voice dropping an octave. “It could, though. If you were with a team that actually valued you, that gave you a car worthy of your talent.”
He looks up, meeting your gaze with a challenge. “You mean Red Bull?”
A coy smile plays on your lips. “It’s not a secret that Dad wants you. And imagine … you, in a competitive car, and me, right by your side as your race engineer.”
Charles’ eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Tempting,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer. “But is this for the team or for you?”
“Can’t it be both?” You whisper back.
His breath hitches and he pulls back slightly. “This isn’t just about racing, is it?”
You hesitate. “I see how they treat you. How they let you down time and time again. But with us ... with me ... it would be different.”
He looks conflicted. “It’s not that simple.”
“Why not?” You press. “With Red Bull, you’d have support, a competitive car, and … me.”
Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about what happens on track. It’s about the politics, the contracts, the media ... it’s all complicated.”
“You make it sound like an impossible puzzle,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. You gaze locks with his, trying to convey everything you feel.
“It might be.”
You lean in, lips just inches from his. “Then let’s solve it together.”
He hesitates, searching your eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”
You smirk, confidence oozing from every pore. “Isn’t that what racing’s all about?”
Charles chuckles softly, the tension in the room slowly melting away. “You always have an answer for everything.”
“It’s the Horner in me,” you retort with a smug smile. “Besides, aren’t you tired of being just another pawn in Ferrari’s game?”
“It’s not easy. To just switch teams, to give up on something you’ve worked for your entire life.”
You reach up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Who says you’re giving up? You’d be making a choice. A choice to be somewhere you’re valued. Somewhere you have a real shot at the championship. With people who truly care about you and actions that reflect that.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just about the racing. There are so many other factors.”
“Like what?”
He opens his eyes, meeting yours. “Like us.”
You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“If I come to Red Bull … if I work with you … it changes everything. Our relationship. Our dynamic. Everything.”
You take a moment, absorbing his words. “We can handle it. We’re strong enough.”
He gives you a sad smile. “I wish I had your confidence.”
You cup his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. “You have me. Together, we can face anything.”
Charles looks at you for a long moment, his emotions raw and exposed. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll think about it. But whatever I decide … know that it’s not just about racing. I refuse to give you up.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “Never settle for less than you deserve.”
He smiles, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Same goes for you, Y/N Horner.”
***
“I still can’t believe they forgot to remove the radiator blank,” you murmur, your fingers softly tracing patterns on Charles’ bare chest as he lies next to you in his São Paulo hotel. The dim light from the bedside lamp paints soft shadows on his face, emphasizing the frustration in his eyes.
Charles sighs heavily, turning his head to look at you. “Neither can I. Another race, another issue. I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”
You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. “You don’t deserve this, Charles. You’re better than this. Better than them.”
He chuckles humorlessly, eyes closing. “It seems like it’s one thing after another.”
“Come to Red Bull,” you whisper, fingertips dancing down his arm. “You know it’s the right move.”
He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours. “Y/N, we talked about this.”
You press a gentle kiss on his jaw, speaking against his skin. “Hear me out. If McLaren overtakes Ferrari in the Constructors’ standings, you can activate your exit clause. You could leave them, Charles.”
Charles swallows hard, feeling the warmth of your breath on his neck. “And if they don’t?”
“Then we’ll buy you out,” you say confidently, trailing kisses down his collarbone. “Dad’s already spoken about it. We want you. I want you.”
Charles’ breath catches as your hands explore his torso but he tries to focus. “Equal status with Max?”
“Of course,” you assure him, pressing your body flush against his. “You and Max, racing side by side. Just think of the possibilities.”
He groans, both from your touch and the tempting offer. “A car designed by Adrian Newey ...”
You nod, “With plenty of oversteer, just how you like it. No more one-sided compromises.”
He laughs softly. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
You smirk, lips hovering over his. “Always. And instead of Xavi, you’d hear my voice on the other end of the radio, guiding you, supporting you.”
Charles captures your lips with his, deepening the kiss before pulling back. “You’re making it very hard to think.”
“That’s the point,” you whisper with a playful grin, your hands tugging at his waistband.
He bites his lip, trying to resist your charms. “But Y/N ... it’s not just about the racing. It’s ... it’s us. What happens to us?”
You cup his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “We fight together, we win together. Every podium, every championship, we celebrate together.”
He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You make it sound so perfect.”
“It can be,” you promise, pressing soft kisses on his eyelids. “With Red Bull, you’d have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. And me.”
Charles smiles, caressing your cheek. “You’re very persuasive, you know?”
You grin. “It’s one of my many talents.”
He chuckles, capturing your lips once more. “I’ll think about it.”
“Whatever you decide, I’ll still be by your side.”
He smiles, pulling you closer. “I know. And that’s what makes this decision so hard.”
***
“Absolutely unbelievable,” your father mutters, watching the replay of Ferrari’s disastrous double stack. “You would think they’ve never done a pit stop before.”
You nod, equally shocked. But your attention shifts as the familiar figure of your favorite Monegasque storms into the Red Bull garage, his helmet still on and visor obscuring his face. You can feel the fury emanating from him.
“Charles?” You question hesitantly.
He doesn’t respond to you but instead turns to your father, “Christian, can we talk? Now. Somewhere private.”
Christian looks taken aback by the intensity in Charles’ voice but nods. “Of course.”
Charles glances at you. “You too, Y/N. Please.”
You follow, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. Once inside the small office, Charles finally removes his helmet, revealing eyes red from restrained tears. He takes a moment, collecting himself before he speaks.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Charles exhales. “Every single time I think they’ve hit rock bottom, they find a new low. Today was the last straw.”
You approach him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Charles, I’m so sorry.”
Your father is equally sympathetic. “That was hard to watch. I can’t even imagine what it felt like.”
Charles closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just today. It’s everything. I gave them everything. I wanted to win with them. For my father. For Jules.”
You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “They would be so incredibly proud of you. No matter what.”
He blinks back tears, voice strained. “I wanted to drive that red car to the top for them. But I can’t keep sacrificing myself for a team that clearly does not value me in return.”
Your father speaks up, “Charles, if you’re thinking of a change ... Red Bull is ready to welcome you with open arms.”
Charles looks up, locking eyes with him. “I know. And as much as Ferrari has been my dream, my home, I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with a team that values me. I want to join Red Bull.”
You’re taken aback by his sudden declaration but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s made up his mind. “Charles,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“It’s hard,” he admits. “But this is where my heart is telling me to go.”
Your father gives the two of you a moment, leaving the office to give you privacy.
Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you close. “I never imagined leaving Ferrari. But after everything, I know it’s the right decision.”
You wrap your arms around him, resting your forehead against his. “They will be so proud of you, Charles. No matter what colors you wear or what car you drive.”
He smiles weakly. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”
You pull back slightly, searching his eyes. “This is a big step. I don’t want you to regret anything. Are you still sure?”
He nods, determination in his gaze. “More than I’ve ever been.”
You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then welcome to Red Bull.”
***
“I have to tell Ferrari,” Charles straightens, determination evident in his eyes. “I just need to get it over with. Will you come with me?”
“Of course.“
Charles grabs your hand, pulling you towards his driver’s room. “Wait here,” he says, going in and returning moments later with his Ferrari jacket. He places it over your Red Bull team polo, attempting to keep your allegiance concealed for now. You both then proceed to the debrief room where the Ferrari team is waiting.
Fred Vasseur begins his speech the moment you both enter, “This wasn’t how we wanted to end the year but looking ahead to next season—”
Charles cuts him off, “Actually, there won’t be a next season. Not for me.”
The room falls into a tense silence, all eyes on the driver who has given them his heart and soul.
“What do you mean?”
Charles takes a deep breath, “I’ve decided to leave Ferrari.”
Gasps fill the room. Fred’s eyes land on you, finally noticing the Red Bull logo peeking out from under the jacket you’re borrowing. “And you bring her, of all people, here to tell us this?”
Charles squares his shoulders. “Y/N is here because I asked her to be. This decision is mine and mine alone.”
Xavi stands up, “After everything we’ve done for you! This is how you repay us?”
You can’t hold back any longer. “Everything you’ve done? You mean the countless strategy mistakes, the endless car issues, the complete lack of support?”
Another team member cuts in, “This is not your place, Y/N!”
“It is today,” you retort. “I’m here to support my new driver.”
Charles’ voice shakes but he speaks with conviction, “I gave everything for this team. I bled Ferrari red. But I can’t keep doing this. Not when it’s clear that my effort and commitment is not matched in return.”
Fred’s voice softens. “Charles, we’ve had our challenges but we can overcome them together.”
Charles shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m joining Red Bull. My manager will send over the necessary legal paperwork as soon as possible.”
The room is filled with murmurs, disbelief evident on every face. Charles takes one last look around, his eyes filled with pain, and turns to leave.
You follow closely, feeling the weight of every step as you exit the debrief room.
The second you’re around the corner, Charles breaks down. He rests his forehead against the wall, tears rolling down his face silently. “I didn’t ... I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”
You pull him close and try to find the right words. “It was never going to be easy. But you did what you had to. For yourself. For your future.”
He turns to look at you, eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I just wanted to make them proud.”
You cup his cheek, wiping away a tear with your thumb. “They would be proud of you. Not for the badge you wear or the car you drive but for the man you’ve become.”
Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence.
When he finally pulls away, he manages a weak smile. “Thank you. For standing by me.”
You squeeze his hand. “Always.”
***
***
***
Charles stands in front of the massive two-story trophy wall at the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes, eyes wide with wonder. “Ferrari would never do something so ... gaudy.”
You smirk, sidling up next to him. “And yet, you love it.”
“I do,” he laughs. “It’s … different.”
You lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “Well, Ferrari hasn’t had all that much to exhibit in the last two decades. Not for lack of trying from the drivers, of course.”
He playfully nudges you with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cheeky.”
The two of you walk further into the factory. “So,” Charles draws out, “I was wondering if you could recommend a good real estate agent in the area.”
You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Why would you need an agent when I have a perfectly good apartment we can share?”
“Really? Are you sure? I just … I wasn’t sure if you would want that and I don’t want to pressure you.”
You roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course I do, Charles. It’s not even a question.”
He smiles, the weight of the decision to move seeming a little lighter now. “Thank you.”
You wink, taking his hand. “Come on, let me show you around.”
As you guide him through the factory, he’s like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. “This place is incredible,” he murmurs, running a hand along a piece of machinery.
You grin, pulling him towards the simulator room. “Wait until you see this.”
He steps inside, eyes immediately drawn to the impressive simulator setup. “Wow.”
You gesture for him to sit down, watching as he takes a seat, adjusting the settings. “Ready for your first sim run in the RB20?”
He nods eagerly, “Let’s do it.”
As he starts the simulation, you watch closely, monitoring the data and providing feedback. The two of you work seamlessly together, the connection between race engineer and driver already forming and growing.
After several runs, Charles steps out of the simulator, a huge grin on his face. “That was incredible! The car feels amazing.”
You smile. “I’m glad you think so. The team has put a lot of work into it.”
He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. “I can’t wait to get on track with you on the other side of the radio.”
You pull back, looking into his eyes. “Me too. We’re going to do great things together. I know it.”
He nods. “I know we will too.”
***
“I have to admit,” Charles says, eyes scanning the paddock, “I’m thankful that Mercedes and McLaren are between our motorhome and Ferrari’s. Makes things less ... awkward.”
You glance towards the distant red of the mobile Ferrari building, understanding the sentiment. “Must be weird being so close and yet so far.”
He nods, a hint of melancholy in his gaze as he looks at the place he called home for so long. “It’s bittersweet.”
Pulling him from his thoughts, you nudge him playfully. “Come on, Mr. Pole-Sitter. We have a race to prep for.”
Charles smirks, playfully rolling his eyes. “Always so professional, Miss Horner.”
You grin. “Only when it counts.”
The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage is electric. Mechanics and engineers hustle around, getting everything ready. The RB20 sits gleaming, waiting for its moment to shine.
Charles adjusts his gloves, taking a deep breath. “Feels different,” he admits, looking at you. “Being here, in this car, with this team. But a good kind of different.”
You lean in, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this. It’s just another race.”
He smiles. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one in the hot seat.”
“True, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just listen to my voice and trust me.”
“I always do.”
As he gets into the car, you lean in closer to his helmet, your lips touching it’s hard shell. “And Charles? Stay safe out there.”
He looks at you and winks. “I’ll come back to you.”
The race begins with a burst of energy. Charles takes off from pole, holding his position as the field jockeys for placement behind him.
“Good start,” you say through the radio, your voice calm and composed. “Keep it steady.”
“Copy.”
The race is intense, with Charles and Max battling for the lead, their cars dancing on the edge of perfection. The radio chatter between the two of you flows naturally, filled with technical details, strategy adjustments, and the occasional personal quip.
“Feeling the heat from Max?” You tease after a particularly close call between the two Red Bulls.
Charles laughs breathlessly. “Just keeping things interesting for the fans.”
The race continues at a blistering pace, with Charles and Max pushing each other to the limit. But through it all, Charles remains in the lead, with you guiding him from the pit wall.
“Final lap,” you inform. “Bring it home.”
He nods, pushing the car to its limit. The cheers of the crowd grow louder as he crosses the finish line, securing his first victory with Red Bull.
“Amazing job, Charles! I knew you could do it!”
He lets out a whoop of joy. “Yes! Thank you, team. Thank you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you all.”
The two of you celebrate the victory, and as the rose water sprays and the cheers of the crowd fill the air, you know that this is just the beginning of an incredible journey together.
***
“You’re sure about the medium tyres, Y/N?” Charles asks nervously as he looks at the other cars lining up. “Everyone else is starting on softs.”
You nod confidently, tapping the race strategy on your clipboard. “Yes. The upside of using the mediums is it gives us flexibility. We can extend our first stint if needed, especially with possible rain on the forecast. While everyone else has to pit early for hards and then again for inters when the rain starts, we’ll only have to pit once. Trust me.”
He inhales deeply, trying to quell the unease bubbling inside. “I do trust you. It’s just ... Ferrari ... the strategies there ...”
“I know,” you interrupt softly, understanding the trauma and distrust years with Ferrari had instilled in him. “But this isn’t Ferrari. It’s Red Bull and we work differently. I’ve got your back.”
“Alright,” he looks into your eyes, finding assurance and conviction there, “let’s do this.”
The race begins, and Charles holds his ground well on the medium tyres, though the drivers running softs initially show quicker pace. But as predicted, the clouds soon darken and the threat of rain becomes increasingly evident.
“Stay focused,” you guide through the radio. “Remember the plan.”
He pushes on, expertly handling the streets of Monaco. The cars around him begin to lose grip and one by one they dive into the pits for hard tyres.
Charles keeps lapping. He moves up the order.
“You’re doing great,” you encourage. “Stick to the plan. We’re right on schedule.”
However, as the first raindrops begin to fall, panic sets in among the other teams on the grid. Those who just pitted for hard tyres are forced to pit again for intermediate tyres, losing precious time.
“Now,” you command, “Box this lap.”
He follows your instruction, driving into the pits, and with a flawless stop by his Red Bull crew, re-emerges in the lead.
The rain continues but Charles navigates the treacherous streets of Monaco expertly, maintaining his lead. When the chequered flag waves, it’s Charles who crosses the line first and finally claims victory at his home Grand Prix.
Tears of joy and relief pour from Charles’ eyes as he takes in the moment. “Thank you,” he says over the radio, voice choked with emotion. “I can’t believe it. We did it in Monaco!”
You smile, tears in your own eyes. “We did. I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”
He laughs, the sound full of pure joy. “You did. And I’m so glad I did. Thank you for everything.”
As he steps out of the car and jumps on its nose, arms spread wide, the crowd roars in approval, their prince finally crowned in his home race.
Then he rushes to the barriers and jumps into the cheering crowd of dark blue waiting for him. When his sweaty lips find yours surrounded by the celebrating Red Bull team, you take a moment to whisper a promise, “This is just the beginning. It will only get better from here.”
***
The season flies by in a blur of champagne showers. Heading into the Italian Grand Prix, Charles find himself leading the Drivers’ Championship with Max nipping at his heels.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Charles confesses, staring out at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. “This was home. I don’t know how they will react now that I’m no longer wearing red.”
You rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Many fans support the driver, not just the color he wears.”
He takes a deep breath and looks over the crowd. “The Tifosi are different. They bleed Ferrari red. I’m afraid they will see me only as a traitor.”
“You gave them your all,” you counter. “They’ve seen the struggles. They know why you left. They understand. Trust in them and in yourself.”
As the two of you make your way towards the paddock, the familiar chorus of cheers fills the air. But instead of the jeers and boos he feared, a chant begins to rise among the crowd of red: “Charles! Charles! Charles!”
Charles stops in his tracks. “They’re ... they’re cheering for me.”
You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “Told you.”
He’s soon swarmed by a group of fans, all clamoring for autographs, photos, and just a moment of his time. It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi remains unbroken.
An older fan steps forward, his Ferrari cap worn with age. “You are still Il Predestinato. We wish it ended differently but we have eyes. We watched the races. We know why you left. No matter what team you drive for, you always have our hearts.”
Charles blinks back tears, deeply touched. “Grazie,” he whispers and claps the fan’s weathered hands in thanks.
Another fan, a young girl with a homemade sign that reads Once a Tifosi, Always a Tifosi, shyly approaches. “We still love you, Charles,” she says.
He kneels down to give her a gentle hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking off his Red Bull cap and placing it on her head.
As the day goes on, the support from the Tifosi only grows. They cheer for him during practice, during qualifying, and every time he appears in front of the stands.
It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi is as strong as ever.
That evening, as the two of you sit in the garage looking over data, Charles reflects on his day. “I was so afraid,” he admits. “Afraid of being rejected, of losing their love. But today ... today was incredible.”
You close the analytics. “The Tifosi love you. Not because of the car you drive or the colors you wear but because of who you are. Just like I do.”
He nods slowly. “It’s overwhelming. Monza has always been special to me. To feel this level of love and support ... it’s more than I ever expected.”
You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “They see your passion. They see how much you give on and off the track. Anyone who does not love and respect you for that needs to reconsider.”
He exhales slowly, “I just ... I wanted to make them proud, to win for them in red and bring glory back to Maranello. But knowing they still support me no matter what ... it means everything.”
You look up into his eyes. “And they always will. Because they know you always gave and will continue to give your best. They love you because they are loved in return.”
He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “For always being my rock, especially in moments like these.”
“Now let’s go out there tomorrow and win.”
***
“Vegas, baby!” Charles shouts, swinging an arm around your shoulders, both of you holding champagne glasses that have been refilled one too many times.
You giggle, distinctly feeling all of the alcohol you’ve consumed. “We won! We did it!”
Charles laughs, pulling you closer. “We did! And do you know what people do when they’re in love and win in Vegas?”
You think about it for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes. “Get ... married?”
Charles nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Y/N Horner, will you marry me tonight?”
You don’t hesitate, “Hell yes!”
The two of you, in your drunken stupor, begin your mission to find a wedding chapel. However, before you can get very far, Max spots you and quickly catches on to what you’re planning.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Max exclaims, grabbing Charles by the shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going with Y/N?”
Charles replies with a sloppy grin, “To make her Mrs. Leclerc!”
Max bursts into laughter, trying to play the voice of reason. “Mate, as much fun as that sounds, I think you might want to sleep on that idea.”
But you’re not having it. “No, Max! We’re in love and it’s Vegas. We’re doing it!”
Before the conversation can escalate further, your father joins the fray, looking both amused and concerned. “What on earth is going on here?”
Max chuckles, “Your daughter and Charles here have some ... ambitious plans for the evening.”
You pout and stumble slightly, “Daddy, we want to get married! Right now!”
Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Married? Tonight? Seriously?”
Charles nods with absolute seriousness, though his precarious swaying contradicts his tone. “Christian, I love your daughter. And we won. In Vegas. So ... wedding?”
Your father places a firm hand on his driver’s shoulder. “Listen, Charles, I have no doubt about your feelings for Y/N. But my baby girl deserves the world. When and if you ever decide to propose, I expect you to get down on one knee, stone-cold sober, and ask her properly.”
Charles blinks, processing the words. “But ... Vegas?”
You laugh and go to hug your father, almost falling over in the process. “He’s right. Let’s just enjoy tonight. And if we still feel like getting married in the morning, we can discuss it then.”
Max smirks, “Trust me, you’ll thank us in the morning. If you can even remember this conversation, that is.”
***
“Charles,” you begin, your voice echoing in his helmet, “The team has made the call. You and Max are free to race. No team orders.”
There’s a pause on the other end. “Understood. May the best man win.”
The tension in the garage skyrockets as soon as the lights go out. It’s evident that this is going to be an epic battle from the very first turn. Max and Charles swap places multiple times, pushing their cars to the very edge of their limits.
“Breathe,” you remind him calmly as the laps go by, “Don’t loose sight of the race as a whole. There’s a championship at stake.”
The entire race is a blur of overtakes, pit strategies, and nail-biting moments. The two Red Bull cars battle wheel-to-wheel lap after lap. One side of the garage against the other.
Coming into the final laps, Charles is right on Max’s tail — the championship hanging in the balance between them.
You know there’s not much you can do to guide him anymore … it’s all up to Charles.
“Last lap,” you try to sound composed despite the pounding of your heart. “You can do this.”
The cheers and gasps of the crowd are deafening as Charles makes his move, taking the inside line and overtaking Max on the penultimate turn.
“Push now! Just a few more corners.”
As Charles crosses the finish line, the enormity of the moment crashes over both of you.
“Charles Leclerc,” you scream over the radio as tears stream down your face, “you are the World Champion!”
“Yeeeesssss! Yes! Yes! I ... I can’t believe it. This is ... thank you, everyone. To the entire Red Bull team, you’ve given me the chance to chase and achieve my dreams. To my friends, my family, to every single person who’s been by my side, believed in me, and supported me … thank you. And Y/N, you’ve been my rock and my oxygen. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you so much!”
***
“Whew! That was a lot of rose water!” Charles laughs, wiping the bubbly liquid from his eyes.
You chuckle and try to wring out your hair. “You didn’t have to drench me, you know!”
Charles grins cheekily. “It’s a special occasion, after all. Both of us on this podium? It’s a dream!”
Then suddenly, he turns serious and signals to his brother in the crowd below, who throws him a small leather box. Charles catches it and promptly lowers himself down on one knee in front of you, making the crowd fall into a stunned silence.
“I tried this in Vegas,” he starts with a laugh, “But I might have been too drunk and missed a few pretty important steps.”
Charles takes a deep breath and his eyes lock onto yours, saying everything that words would never be sufficient to. “Y/N, being on this podium with you, winning the World Championship, it’s the pinnacle of my career. But what we have ... it’s the pinnacle of my life. I can’t imagine going on this journey with anyone else, facing the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. Will you marry me?”
Tears flow steadily down your cheeks and you nod with a fervor that would make bobbleheads jealous, “Yes! There’s no one else I’d want to spend forever with.”
The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the deafening roar echoing around the Yas Marina Circuit. Max gives a loud whistle, his face lit up with a big grin next to you on the podium stage.
Charles rises to his feet and pulls you close, attacking your lips as the crowd goes wild.
“Promise me we won’t head to a chapel right after this race?” You joke, sniffling and giggling at the same time.
Charles laughs, looking slightly sheepish. “I promise, mainly because I’m too young to die and your father would definitely kill me if I even thought about pulling the stunt we tried in Vegas again. You deserve a fairytale wedding.”
You press your face against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as fireworks explode overhead. “All I need for my fairytale is you.”
-
bucksdoll liked this · 6 days ago -
shookykookie30 liked this · 1 week ago -
nothinisreal liked this · 1 week ago -
fivedicksinatrenchcoat liked this · 1 week ago -
cheirosa59 liked this · 1 week ago -
brieflyannoyingandfunny liked this · 2 weeks ago -
vits22 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
rorocannon liked this · 2 weeks ago -
its-hell liked this · 2 weeks ago -
gaviprix liked this · 2 weeks ago -
idkwahr liked this · 2 weeks ago -
canyon-nina reblogged this · 2 weeks ago -
lucasfilms77 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
mara1999 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
astreadfred liked this · 3 weeks ago -
kyrathegreat985 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
gooddaytoeveryone liked this · 3 weeks ago -
mothman-supremacy liked this · 3 weeks ago -
currently-bored12 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
capwenyu liked this · 4 weeks ago -
pinkdiorcaps159 liked this · 4 weeks ago -
justnatys liked this · 4 weeks ago -
arafaist liked this · 4 weeks ago -
cryinghotmess reblogged this · 1 month ago -
destinyg237 liked this · 1 month ago -
cryinghotmess liked this · 1 month ago
-
yasssst liked this · 1 month ago -
evelyn-darlings liked this · 1 month ago -
thoushallnot liked this · 1 month ago -
gigglepreads reblogged this · 1 month ago -
scuderiahoney reblogged this · 1 month ago -
saveurspring liked this · 1 month ago -
13ariaa reblogged this · 1 month ago
-
ollehsstuff liked this · 1 month ago -
life-netural123456 liked this · 1 month ago -
47629 liked this · 1 month ago -
bonvitamargeurita liked this · 1 month ago -
ladydarkness31 liked this · 1 month ago -
melancholysbaby liked this · 1 month ago -
reddiesit liked this · 1 month ago -
untold-otter liked this · 1 month ago
-
eddiemunsonfan2022 liked this · 1 month ago -
aristotles-butthole liked this · 1 month ago -
gavelgirlxx liked this · 1 month ago -
towritetobleed liked this · 1 month ago -
beomgyusimp reblogged this · 1 month ago -
beomgyusimp liked this · 1 month ago
-
radglitterchaos liked this · 2 months ago
