starlightdelrey

[starlightdelrey]

HAHAHA i’m glad ppl are liking it ❤️❤️❤️

the view between villages

platonic ! f1 grid x reader

summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.

cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,

song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan

(not based on any particular race)

today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.

"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."

the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.

she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.

"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.

"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.

"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.

---

"lights out.... and away we go!"

the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.

she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.

"i keep locking up."

her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.

"copy."

finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.

"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."

"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.

---

the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.

somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.

the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"

"yeah... turn up the volume?"

the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.

"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.

"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.

"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."

she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.

across the world, houses go silent.

---

"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."

the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.

"y/n, are you okay?"

silence.

"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."

no response.

the commentators continue.

"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."

---

his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.

"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.

"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.

"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"

"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."

"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"

"no word yet. sorry, logan."

"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."

"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"

"sure."

he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.

there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.

he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.

---

inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.

her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.

in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.

"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.

she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.

she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.

she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.

the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.

---

inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.

---

"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."

verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.

"what's happened?"

"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.

"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"

"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."

he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.

"tell me if you find anything out."

"copy."

as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.

"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.

he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.

he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.

---

a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.

"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.

and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.

and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.

she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.

---

the commentators are no longer focused on the race.

"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"

---

charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.

he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.

this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.

the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.

"we've got an update on y/n."

he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."

"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.

---

muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.

the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.

people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.

she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.

she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.

y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.

---

"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."

the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.

"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"

---

"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.

"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."

"how do you feel about her new nickname?"

"nickname?"

"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."

lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."

"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.

---

a few months later:

over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.

she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.

"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.

roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.

"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."

lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."

"yeah?"

"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."

y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.

he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."

"fuck off."

--- le fin ---

[starlightdelrey]

🔄Reverse Tropes

🛏Too Many Beds Lando Norris x Engineer!Reader

🚕Accidentally Kidnapping a Mafia Boss Max Verstappen x UberDriver!Reader

😡Really Nice Guy Who Hates Only You Oscar Piastri x Celebrity!Reader

❤️Dating Your Enemy's Sibling Charles Leclerc x Verstappen!Reader

🔼Love Triangle, but the 2 Love Interests Fall for Each Other Lestappen x Driver!Reader

🧠Fake Amnesia Lando Norris x Fan!Reader

✉️Divorce of Convenience Carlos Sainz Jr. x ChildhoodSweetheart!Reader

🤨Everyone is Convinced that You Aren't Together Logan Sargeant x Driver!Reader

🔥Too Hot to Cuddle Oscar Piastri x Reader

🫂Voluntary Proximity Charles Leclerc x BestFriend!Reader

💔Fake Breakup [But You Two Weren’t Together in the First Place?] Lando Norris x Piastri!Reader

#these titles are sending me 😭 #really nice guy who hates only you made me laugh for a full minute #genuinely can’t wait these seem so fun

[starlightdelrey]

Oscar Piastri x Reader // In Motion Pt. 5

Summary: one plane ride, a little sunburn, and far too many margaritas to count. 6.0k words

Warnings: alcohol, mention of previous sports injury

It’s a lazy Saturday morning. You’d showed up at the house an hour ago and planted yourself on the couch. Charles had been in the overstuffed armchair, and he’d barely batted an eye when you walked in, too engrossed in his TV show. Lando and Max had wandered downstairs eventually, and piled onto the couch with you. One by one, everyone else wakes up and comes downstairs. They have practice in a couple hours, but none of them are in a rush. Instead, they all choose to scatter around the living room. Charles turns on Planet Earth. Everyone’s engrossed by it.

“Hey, my aunt wants to know if we still want the house for spring break,” George says, looking up from his phone as a school of fish swims by on the TV screen.

Lando, whose head was previously buried under a pillow, sits up. “Obviously.”

“The house?” Oscar asks, and when everyone turns to look at him, he deflates. “Sorry, none of my business.”

George’s phone rings, and he answers and wanders off into the kitchen, chattering away. You’re perked up now, blinking around the room. There are smiles on everyone’s faces, now, at the mention of spring break. You’re all in desperate need of some time off.

Max turns to look at Oscar, arms raised above his head in a stretch. “Piastri. D’you have any plans for the break?”

“Not really?” He says, shrugging.

Max nods. “Cool. You do now.”

Max flops back over onto the couch, and so does Lando, effectively burying you once again.

Oscar turns to look at you, brows furrowed. “What did I just sign up for?”

You sit up from underneath Lando and Max, who groan loudly. “George’s aunt has a really nice beach house. We go there for spring break.”

Oscar raises his eyebrows. “Oh. You know, I didn’t mean to invite myself, and you guys-“

“Shut up,” Lando says, face half buried in the arm of the couch. “You’re going. It’s tradition.”

…..

The only thing worse than navigating an airport is doing it early in the morning with 6 hockey players in tow. You’d think they’d be good at travel with all the away games, but they’re not used to having to get themselves places. Lando almost leaves his luggage at the house, Max almost forgets his whole wallet, and you’re sure Alex would’ve been left behind completely if it wasn’t for Lily. Oscar’s the only self sufficient one, likely because he’s been living on his own for so long now. You think of him having to travel to games with his old team, wonder if he wandered around airports alone, and your chest aches. But he’s next to you, smiling brightly, suitcase in hand and clad in a hoodie and sweatpants. Lando’s ordering a beer from the bar. It’s 6am.

Max tries to usher the whole group towards the gate, like he hasn’t been the most scatterbrained person all morning. You let him feel like he’s in charge. It helps his ego. It’s not long before people get distracted- George wants a bagel, Charles wants to look at souvenirs, which is ridiculous considering you haven’t left yet, and Lily wants coffee. Max looks panicked as everyone starts to wander.

You clear your throat. “Okay. Lily, George, and I are going to that coffee shop,” you say, pointing at the one nearest your gate, “to get breakfast and coffee. Charles and Max will go in the shop. The rest of you can join whichever group, or you can wait at the gate. We’ll all be back here in 20 minutes.”

Max looks relieved, even as Charles drags him towards a stand full of license plate magnets with names on them. You head for the coffee shop, and find Oscar’s opted to join, too. Lando and Alex stay at the gate, guarding all the suitcases.

An hour later, you’re all seated on the plane, much to your and Max’s relief. George booked the flights for everyone so he could use his parents’ airline miles, and so you have no idea where you’re sitting until you actually get on the plane. You slip into your window seat, and Oscar stops at your row with a smile. He’s in the middle. George is on his other side. Up ahead, you see Lily, Alex, and Charles, and Max and Lando in front of them. You pity whoever the stranger is that will have to put up with Max and Lando in their row. Oscar helps put your carry on up above, and everyone settles in for the flight.

After takeoff, you push the window shade up. The sun is just barely starting to rise, and you’re already exhausted. Oscar leans close to peer out the window. He hums softly, pointing down below.

“You can see the house from here,” he points out, and you laugh.

He’s right. You can. The house, the ice rink, the soccer fields, they all disappear below. You wave goodbye, and Oscar laughs and does the same. Then you lean over and fall asleep, head resting on his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind.

…..

The eight of you descend on the beach house in a flurry of activity. It’s bright and sunny out, and you all wear sunglasses as you haul the luggage into the house. George points everyone to their rooms- you’re glad to learn you have the same one for the third year in a row, up on the second floor, with a nice view of the ocean and a room to yourself. Lando and Oscar are sharing, as are Max and Charles. Lily and Alex get a room, and George gets his own room. Charles offers to take your luggage upstairs for you, and you accept happily.

By the time everyone returns downstairs, you’ve made a grocery list. Max looks at it over your shoulder and nods in approval. There’s a little store within walking distance that should have everything you need. When Max suggests you all go to help carry bags, Lando groans loudly, already complaining about a headache or a sore back or whatever ailment will get him out of it. In the end, it’s you, Max, Charles, and Oscar who head off to the grocery store.

When you get back, you unload things in the kitchen, the four of you moving around each other with ease. Oscar drops the juice and you giggle, Charles hugs the bag of cheese puffs to his chest like a little kid, and Max starts pulling ingredients to make a late lunch.

“M’hungry,” Lando calls out.

“Thought you had a headache,” you call back, smirking as he walks into the kitchen.

“Back ache,” he corrects, smiling sheepishly. “Come on, you know plane seats suck.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you hand him the bottle of painkillers you picked up at the store. He gives you an easy side hug in thanks. Lando offers to help Max make lunch, and you retreat to the back deck for the first time this trip. You breathe in deep as the sun hits your skin, as the sound of the ocean fills your ears. It feels like the whole world is in front of you, stretching on and on.

Oscar walks out behind you, doing basically the same. “Wow.”

Alex and Lily are down near the water, and when he spots the two of you, he waves you over. “Low tide!” He calls out, grinning widely. “There’s starfish!”

You turn to Oscar with a grin, and then the two of you run down the shore to meet them. The stress of the school year starts to slip off your shoulders. For now, it’s just sun and sand and nothing else.

…..

Spring break, as it always does and definitely should, tastes like pineapple and coconut rum and frozen margaritas made in the ancient blender that somehow still works. It smells like sunscreen, the reef safe kind that Oscar insists everyone uses. It feels like sand stuck between your toes, like the crash of the waves against your legs, like the heat of the sun on your skin.

“Why couldn’t you guys be, like, professional surfers?” You ask, face half pressed into the giant beach towel you’re laying on. “This is where I’m supposed to spend all my time, not in an ice box.”

Max laughs and tosses a foam football at you. “You chose the school, too, you know. And you love watching hockey.”

“Max would be shit at surfing,” Charles pipes up, and though his eyes are hidden behind sunglasses you can tell they’re crinkled with amusement. “He is not very good at balance. Like Bambi.”

Max scoffs, picks up the ball he’d thrown at you, and chucks it at Charles’ head. Charles dodges it with a squeak and runs after it in the sand. Max follows, likely afraid of the retaliation that’s coming his way.

“Osc, you’re from Australia,” you say. “Have you surfed?”

Oscar’s laid out next to you, in the shaded portion of the blanket thanks to the umbrella George put up. He burns easily, apparently. You’d told him that you weren’t surprised, based solely on the pale tone of his skin, and he’d glared at you unhappily and then chased you into the waves. Now he lays there, face smashed against the blanket, same as you. It’s mid afternoon. He’s usually a bit sleepy in the afternoons, you’ve found.

He nods, prying one eye open. “Not any good, though.”

You scoff out a laugh. He grins back at you. There’s sand stuck in his eyebrow, and you’re about to reach out and brush it away when a shadow falls over you. You look up and find George standing there. Lily, Lando and Alex are following him up the beach.

“Margarita time?” George asks, grinning happily. You push yourself halfway up, propping up on your elbows, and nod your head. “It’s always margarita time, Georgie.”

Dinner that night is grilled shrimp and veggies and bread warmed up in the oven that all the boys eat too much of, promising not to tell their coaches. Someone asks Oscar to say “throw another shrimp on the Barbie,” which then devolves into bad attempts at Australian accents, which then further devolves into bad attempts at everyone’s accents. You’re left laughing so hard your stomach hurts, the sun setting, the warm ocean air washing over your arms on the back deck.

Oscar’s sitting next to you, and he wipes your tears of laughter away with a napkin and says, “You alright, love?” in what can only be a bad attempt at Lando’s accent.

You snort with laughter. The noise sends Oscar into a fit of giggles, too, and soon the two of you are bent over in your chairs, heads bumping into each others, as Lando tries to insist he doesn’t sound like that and Max assures him that he definitely does. When you finally catch your breath and sit up, they’re moving on to mocking Sebastian’s accent, because they always start making fun of their coach eventually. Lily’s watching you, though, a knowing look in her eyes.

You sit on the beach blanket next to the water after dinner, another margarita in your hand. There’s far too much salt on the rim- courtesy of Alex, who’d coated nearly the whole cup in it- which makes it taste a bit like the ocean. Oscar’s sitting next to you, a cup of his own in his hand. The sun is low in the sky, the horizon turning the lightest shade of purple as it turns to night. Oscar’s bare thigh brushes against yours, and you hold your breath.

The back door to the house slides open, and you turn to look. It’s Charles. “We are going to the store,” he calls out. “Are you coming?”

You wrinkle your nose. “None of you are driving, right?”

Charles shakes his head. “We will walk. We want snacks, and we are out of tequila.”

You nod. “I’ll stay here!”

“Me too,” Oscar adds.

“Okay, I am trusting you two,” Charles teases. “Don’t burn the house down.”

Charles calls out something unintelligible and probably not in English. Inside, you hear Max yell for him, also not in English. The door shuts. Oscar sucks in a sharp breath. There’s tequila in your bloodstream and salt on your lips and the heat of his leg next to yours. You close your eyes, the sea breeze dancing over your skin, and you can still feel his lips on your cheek after that game, weeks ago now. You sit for a while, basking in it.

A few minutes later, present day Oscar’s shoulder bumps against yours. You open your eyes and turn to look at him. His cheeks are rosy pink. You wonder if he’d put enough sunscreen on.

“This is really nice,” he says, softly.

The sand is turning cold beneath your feet. You shiver slightly. He leans into you, warm arm pressed to yours, thigh pressing tighter against your skin. Your heart stutters in your chest.

“Mhm,” you agree, blinking softly at him and biting your lower lip, just to watch and see the way his eyes dart across your face. “George’s aunt is a sweetheart for letting us stay here.”

Oscar hums in agreement, but he shakes his head, hair flopping over his forehead in a soft swoop. “I meant… this.”

He nudges his leg against yours. Your stomach lurches in the best kind of way. He’s leaning back on the heels of his hands and staring at you while the waves crash onto the shore. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand, tiny grains of sand rolling between his skin and yours. You feel the electricity simmer up your arm and zap down your spine.

“Oh. Yeah,” you say, nodding in agreement. “It is.”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry or scream. He’s so close you swear you can feel his heartbeat, or maybe it’s just yours, pounding in your chest, going wild over the way he’s staring at you. He lifts his hand from the sand, the one farthest from you, keeps his other arm pressed to yours as he turns just slightly. When his hand comes up to cup your cheek, it feels so familiar. You remember blue paint on his thumb, brushed off on his pants, the poster leaning against the wall and his lips on your cheek. You want it again. You want more. You swear he leans in.

There’s a loud noise from inside the house, and he drops his hand into his lap. Your heart twists in your chest. You can feel the ghost of his fingertips on your skin when the back door opens. George yells something about playing flip cup. You don’t want to play flip cup- you want to stay here with Oscar and let him kiss you like you thought he was going to. But his hand is in his lap now, and he smiles sheepishly and starts to stand up, and you wonder if you imagined all of it.

…..

Two nights later, when everyone has gone to bed, you find yourself still wide awake. You’re buzzing, probably from the afternoon coffee you grabbed with Charles and Oscar at the cafe down the street. Max had said it was a bad idea. Charles is dead asleep upstairs, because caffeine has never really affected him. You’re busy thinking about two nights ago, Oscar’s hand on your face and the way he looked at you. You know it happened. You swear it happened. He’d been about to kiss you. Right? Maybe you're imagining things. Maybe it’s all in your head.

You’re sitting on the couch near the window, the glass of water Max poured you before he went to bed sitting half empty in your hand. You nearly spill it when someone clears their throat. You know without turning to look that it’s Oscar.

You stare out the window at the ocean. “Might go take a walk down by the water,” you suggest, just to see if he takes the bait.

Oscar hums. “I’d better go with. For safety, you know.”

You nod in agreement, not really seeing the need to protest. It’s a silly excuse, but you want him to come with. The two of you head for the doors, slipping in sandals along the way. The night air is cool, and you shiver slightly as you make your way down the beach. The sand is still sun warmed but cooling fast. The crash of the waves against the shore makes you sigh softly.

Oscar’s only a few steps behind you. The moon isn’t out yet, but you catch sight of a few stars in the sky. You stop at the spot where the waves meet the sand, and he walks up next to you. When you turn to look over your shoulder, all the lights in the house are off except the living room light the two of you left on. Oscar looks, too, and then steps closer. You feel like you should hold your breath, but you don’t. The air smells like salt. You wonder if the smell has seeped into Oscar’s hair and skin, or if he still smells like his shampoo and body wash. You hate that you know the scents of both.

“I love the ocean,” Oscar says, not for the first time that day.

You nod. “Me too.”

His fingers brush against yours where your hands hang at your sides. It sends a zap all the way up your arm, straight to your spine. Does he feel it too? That giddy feeling in your chest? The anxious feeling in the back of your brain? The want, deep in your gut, that makes you want to turn and press your lips to his. Does he feel it, too? You’d take a kiss on the forehead. Or another kiss on the cheek. Or just- if he would just move his hand a couple inches, just intertwine your fingers with his-

Like he’s read your mind, he does. He twists his fingers between yours loosely. You nearly choke on your own breath. Get it together. Your heart aches. You need, you want, does he?

“I…” he starts, then stops.

You turn. He’s already looking at you, face half lit up by the light on the back deck of the house. His lips look soft. They were, the one time you’ve felt them, pressed to your cheek in that hallway. His fingers fidget in yours, but he doesn’t pull away. You don’t either. The waves crash onto the shore over and over again. The sleeve of his hoodie brushes against your jaw when he cups the side of your face in his other hand. This time, you’re sure of it. You know what’s coming. He leans in, and you close your eyes.

If a kiss on the cheek sent butterflies wild in your stomach, this sends them through your whole body. Every nerve is on fire when his lips meet yours. Maybe it’s just because you’ve been waiting for so long. He’s warm against you, and his hand leaves your wrist to wrap around your waist and pull you close, and he tastes like rum and salt and smells like sunscreen. You tilt your head and let him deepen the kiss, let him take the lead, let him in. He’s smiling into it, and it makes your heart ache. When you tangle your hands in his hair, you can feel the sand stuck there, can feel the salt that still coats the strands from his swim earlier in the day. His hand slips to the back of your neck to hold you closer, and you melt for him, for the way he holds you so carefully and so surely, the warmth of him burning up your skin. He giggles into the kiss, light and airy and so Oscar it almost hurts, and you can’t help but match it.

He kisses you for what feels like forever. You can’t find it in you to complain.

…..

The rest of spring break tastes like coconut rum and tequila and Oscar. It feels like sun and sand and his hand wrapped up in yours, sneaking away at any chance you get. It smells like sunscreen and his cologne on the hoodie you stole from him, and it sounds like seagulls and his laughter, and the words he whispers into your ears when nobody’s nearby.

He steals you away while you’re in town, wandering the shops with everyone. He’s good at melting away into a crowd- and it is crowded, it’s spring break and everyone’s had the same idea as you. You hide in a souvenir store while you watch your friends disappear, and you don’t even feel guilty about it. You can’t, not when Oscar’s tangling his fingers with yours and pointing at a little beaded bracelet he says would look good on you. When he takes it up to the counter and buys it, and then loops it around your wrist for you, you feel absolutely giddy. You feel it even more when he kisses your temple sweetly. You rejoin the group a while later, just as they’re starting to worry. Nobody notices the bracelet, but you run your fingers over the beads all day.

Later in the week, he suggests a trip to the ice cream shop when everyone’s half asleep, mid afternoon. You’re tired, too, but when he says it, you suddenly feel wide awake. Once the two of your are out of sight of the house, he pulls you under his arm, hand squeezing at your shoulder the whole walk there. He buys you ice cream and shares his with you, too, and when he stops to kiss you on the walk back he tastes sweeter than ever.

There’s a lot of that- kissing. Anytime the two of you are alone. It’s overwhelming in the best way. Like the two of you have been holding back for so long that you can’t quite find it in you to stop. You sneak out of your rooms after everyone has gone to bed and meet on the beach at night, just the sea and the stars bearing witness as it all falls into place. You point out constellations, and Oscar tells you about the night sky in Australia, and how it feels different here. He finds you seashells admiring the way and gives them to you at night, and you start doing the same, each of you building up collections. They cover the empty space on the nightstand in your room.

One afternoon, you walk to the park nearby, all together, with a little picnic. It’s sweet- Max and Lando throw a football back and forth, and you sit in the grass and have cheese and crackers and fruit and watch people pass by. Eventually, George, Alex, and Lily head back to start dinner, and then Max, Lando, and Charles leave to pick up drinks on the way home. You and Oscar linger, though. They make it so easy to sneak away, really. You take the chance to lay on the blanket with him, your bed on his stomach, staring up at puffy white clouds in the big blue sky. His hand draws patterns on your shoulders.

When you finally head for the house, you walk past a set of soccer goals on a patch of grass. It’s easier, now, especially because it’s not the field where you got hurt. Oscar squeezes your hand anyways. It’s sweet. Something makes you slow to a stop. There’s a ball sitting there, in the middle of the field, black and white in stark contrast to the green. You drop his hand, and he makes a mild sound of protest. You walk over to the ball and toe at it gingerly, feeling the way it rolls under your foot.

He just eyes you carefully,

“We’ll take it easy,” you promise, and he nods. “I just…”

You can’t explain it. For years, you’ve never wanted to go near a soccer field or goal or ball. For years, this idea has brought tears to your eyes. But right now, you want to try. Oscar takes a step closer. He’s smiling.

You kick the ball at his feet. He passes it lightly back to you. The two of you exchange a look and take off down the grass together. You zig zag to every corner of the grass, not trying to get anywhere in any sort of hurry. You build up speed as you get closer and close to the goal, passing the ball back and forth with him. It feels good, to move your body and feel the grass beneath your feet. To feel the ball bounce off your shoe, to watch him accept the pass that you’ve placed so perfectly. You’re rusty, stiff, out of practice, but a little part of this still feels like home. There’s an achy feeling in your body that starts to melt away.

You don’t even realize what you’re doing, at first. He passes you the ball, and you’re in range of the net, and- you dart around him, eyes on the prize, now. He laughs, tries to go after you, catching on nearly immediately. But you’re too good at this, too fast- he’s used to blades on his feet and ice beneath him, not tennis shoes and grass and a ball rolling in front of you. You look up, find the goal, see your spot, and kick.

It sails through the air, hits the net, and falls to the ground. Goal. Behind you, Oscar cheers loud enough that when you close your eyes, you can imagine it’s all still there. That you’re really playing soccer, in front of a crowd again, scoring a goal, taking your team to a victory. You soak it in, for just a moment.

When you open your eyes, you’re on your back, staring at the sky, Oscar’s face looking down at you. His brows are furrowed.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He asks.

You shake your head. You know the tears in your eyes must contradict that. Oscar shifts on his feet for a second and then collapses to the ground next to you, legs kicked out away from yours, his head right next to your shoulder. The two of you form a little v on the grass, staring up at the sky.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed that,” you admit. “The… running, and the chasing, and the… scoring.”

His hand brushes against yours, then comes down to lay flat atop the back of it. His palm is warm and soft. You try to breathe normally. It’s easier said than done.

“You could always try again,” he says, quietly. “Do a club sport, or a league of some sort…”

You shake your head. “Nah, my knee is already starting to hurt.”

You rub your fingers against the ache. He sighs, heavily, and squeezes your hand. You turn your head to look at him. He’s close, closer than you realized. It wouldn’t take much for you to lean in, and nobody else is here, so you do. Just a short kiss, because you’re laying on a soccer field and there are kids and families nearby. But you want him to know how much this means to you. When you pull away, his cheeks are pink, and you think he understands.

Eventually, you know everyone will start to wonder where the two of you are. So when Oscar stands up and offers you a hand, you let him pull you up off the ground. He brushes grass off your back, and when you get back to the house, you head upstairs to change and hope nobody questions the grass stains on your shirt.

One night, after everyone’s in bed, you curl up on the beach on a blanket, your head against his chest. You listen to the waves and stare up at the stars. He draws lazy patterns on your back, his hand against your bare skin under the sweatshirt you stole from him.

“This is a real thing, right?” He says, quietly. “Not just a spring break thing?”

You smile into his chest, your cheeks suddenly warm. “God, I would hope so.”

“Okay, cool,” he says, in a very calm voice, like you can’t hear the thud of his heartbeat. “Cause I‘ve wanted this for a while.”

“Me too,” you murmur back.

Then he kisses you again, hand under your chin to pull your face to his. He’s a little sunburnt, and you can feel the heat of it on his skin when you brush your lips against his cheeks. Then again, maybe he’s just blushing. The way he smiles makes you think that might just be it.

…..

Keeping it from the rest of your friends is sort of… unspoken. It’s easy, like this, just the two of you. Easy to kiss and hold and talk and laugh without the pressure. You try to remind yourself that it’s okay to take it slow. That you have time to figure things out. And it’s easier to figure things out when you don’t have 6 other people’s opinions on it, let alone the whole team’s once they all find out. Whenever someone walks into the room and Oscar pulls his hand from yours, he scans your face, like he’s checking to make sure it’s okay. You always smile in return, and he lets out a little relieved sigh.

The very last night, you all order large amounts of pizza and breadsticks, and you spread out on blankets on the beach for dinner. The sun is low in the sky, and everything is golden. Oscar finds a spot next to you, laid out on the blanket. Max is already talking hockey plays, Lando listening intently while Alex rolls his eyes. George, Charles, and Lily are chatting about starfish. And Oscar is watching you, eyelashes fluttering against pink tinged cheeks. He’s being painfully obvious. When you smile back, you know you are too. For a moment, though, it doesn’t matter. Nobody’s paying attention anyways, as he brushes his fingers against the back of your hand where it lays on the blanket. It’s just you and him, for just a moment.

The next morning, before you head to the airport, you wake up early and find Oscar in the kitchen, cutting up fruit. His hair is a tousled mess, eyelids heavy, but when he sees you, he smiles, bright and warm and sweet. You walk over and slip between him and the counter, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I was busy, you know,” he mumbles, though he doesn’t pull away when you lean in to kiss him.

“Mm,” you sigh. He tastes sweeter than normal. He’s definitely been sneaking bites of fruit as he goes. “Mango. My favorite.”

His cheeks are flushed. “Thought I was your favorite.”

You shrug and wink. “Close second.”

He swipes a piece off the counter behind you and presses it to your lips. You give him a closed lip smile as you eat it, feeling warm all over. He leans in and kisses you again when you’re done chewing, and you have the sudden, strong urge to pull him close, to press your hips into his, to let him pin you against the counter. But your friends are probably all about to wake up, so instead, you pull away and press a finger into the swell of his cheek. He laughs and kisses the furrow between your brows.

“Heading home today,” he mumbles, smile falling slightly.

You nod. “But it’s not just a spring break thing, remember?”

He nods again, the smile coming back to his lips. “Yeah. Just. Do you think we need to tell them?”

You know what he’s talking about. Or who he’s talking about, really. You tilt your head, chewing on your lower lip. “Do you think we need to?”

He sighs, nose bumping against yours. “They’re your best friends.”

And. Oh. Right. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, that it’s not just his teammates and your friends. It’s Lando and Max. Your chest twists. You like that it’s just you and Oscar, but you think about them, about how you share everything, and you wonder if they’ll be upset. Not even that it’s him, but just that you didn’t tell them. On the other hand, they’re likely to get overprotective and weird when they do find out. Max banned a guy you went on a date with from all parties your sophomore year, until Charles told him off for it, but by then it was too late. The guy was a jerk, which was half the issue, but still.

You blow out a puff of air, and then you have an idea. “I might… tell them I’m seeing someone, to start,” you suggest. “Just not who. Just… someone. Is that okay?” You ask.

“I think that’s a good idea,” he says.

“Okay. Cool. Me too,” you say with a nod.

Oscar giggles. You hear a door open, and footsteps. He groans, and you lean in one last time to press a kiss to his lips before you slip away. You sit down on a barstool just before George walks in, scrubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning,” he says, voice scratchy. “Ready to go home?”

“No,” you admit, and Oscar hums in agreement.

When he dishes out the fruit to everyone later, he gives you most of the mango. You grin up at him, wide eyed and feeling so, so happy. When you break his gaze and look across the table, you find Charles staring back at you, a knowing smirk on his face, and you wonder if you’ve been caught. Maybe you just look like a girl with a crush. You still feel like one, really.

You all walk down to the water one last time, dipping your feet into the waves as they crash against the sand. Oscar’s hand brushes against yours as he does the same. You don’t want to ever lose this feeling. The sun on your skin, the water tugging at your feet, and Oscar, next to you, feeling the same way you do.

When you pack the bags into the Uber to head for the airport, you feel a wave of sadness wash over you. You want nothing more than to stay, to never worry about school again, to let Oscar wrap you up in his arms and never leave. You pout, and Max catches you, laughing and pulling you into a loose hug.

“It’s okay, Bunny,” he murmurs, ruffling your hair. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

You don’t say it, but you think it- he and Lando are graduating this year. There’s a good chance they won’t be back next year, too busy with work or real life or whatever comes after college for them. Your heart twists. And Oscar- will he still be yours by then? Not just a spring break thing, you remember, but you have a strong urge to plant your feet in the sand and try to keep them all here. You watch your friends pack bags in the trunk and tease each other and laugh and your chest aches.

“Hey,” Lando says, quietly, sneaking up your other side. “We’ll be back.”

He knows. Max does too, but Lando really knows, because you think he feels it too. Max is trying to play hockey after college, but beyond beer leagues and pickup games, this year will be it for Lando. Senior year is exciting, but it’s a year full of lasts, too.

“Promise?” You ask, quietly.

He links his pinky with yours. “Promise.”

So you climb into the car, and you end up wedged between Oscar and Charles in the row of seats at the back of the car. Max is in the front seat, chatting away to the driver, and Lando’s already leaning his head against the door, half asleep. You press your shoulder into Oscar’s. He spots your hand on the seat between you and reaches out, brushes his fingers against the back of your hand. When you lean your head on his shoulder and let your eyes fall half closed, nobody questions it- you do it to all of them, all the time.

The beach house disappears in the rearview. Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head when nobody’s looking, and you start to believe everything will really be okay.

bunnyrabb1t

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen33, and 53 others

bunnyrabb1t truly a spring break to remember forever

landonorris still annoyed you and @/oscarpiastri didn’t bring me ice cream back :(

oscarpiastri You were invited & you called our ice cream trip dumb

landonorris doesn’t mean i didn’t want ice cream

lilymhe always a trip to remember with you babe!

bunnyrabb1t ilysm bb 😘

alex_albon hey. back off 🤺

oscarpiastri 🩵☀️🌊⛱️

bunnyrabb1t 🩵🌅🐚🕶️

charles_leclerc 🤨

carlossainz55 charles you are just jealous he is actually on her instagram before you

notes: hiiiiiiii hope this one was worth the wait!! if you are one of the people who told me you were staying up late for this: go to sleep! this is me tucking you in! see ya soon!!

series taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @putting-it-into-parc @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @sakuramxchii @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @colmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @not-nyasa @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofwordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom @lalloronaisreal @fangirl125reader @tpwkmera @booksandflowrs @elizanav @lightsoutletsgo @meko-mt @customsbyjcg-blog @bingussthirdtoe @sideboobrry11

(crossed out means i was unable to tag!)

#ITS HAPPENING #george is a cock blocker confirmed 🤨

[starlightdelrey]

Oscar Piastri x Reader // In Motion Pt. 4

Summary: a very bad snowstorm, bears in the ice hockey arena, and a one night only poster board pick-me-up. 6.6k words

Warnings: mentions of physical violence, small mention of alcohol

“So. You and Oscar spent a lot of time together over the break,” Lily says, carefully.

You roll your eyes and set the glue stick in your hand down, sensing this is going to be a long conversation. “We were the only ones here for like, a week. And we were bored. And then Max showed up, so it wasn’t just us.”

Lily isn’t looking at you. She has a wine glass in one hand and a magazine in the other. The two of you are making vision boards, which Max had called “glorified collages” when he called five minutes ago to ask about family dinner for tomorrow.

Lily hums. “He’s just so… quiet.”

You shrug and take a sip of your wine. “He’s not, really, once you get to know him. He’s just… it’s easier for him one on one, you know?”

Lily nods. You nod, too, and lean over to pick up another magazine. You flip through the pages, looking for whatever sticks out. Your friends collect magazines and newspapers and fun posters and give them to you, and you hoard them for days like these. A little sun drawing pops out at you from the page, and you reach for the scissors.

You clear your throat. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you were trying to say. We just. We had some movie nights, played some video games, took a couple walks. That’s all.”

Lily looks up at you and stares. “Right.”

You stare right back. “What?”

“Did you want something to happen?” She asks, and you freeze, the magazine page half turned.

“What?” You ask again.

“You said nothing happened,” she says. “Did you want something to happen?”

You stare at the wine in your glass, the way the warm light of the lamp catches on the red liquid. Your stomach swirls. Did you want something to happen? He’s your friend. Your study partner. He’s your best friends’ teammate. Did you want something to happen? He’s a sweetheart once you get to know him. He holds your hand when you walk by the soccer field and he doesn’t push you when you can’t do it. Did you want something to happen?

You shake your head. “We’re just friends. We bonded over physics trauma. We were just bored.”

Lily nods and reaches for the scissors. “Okay.”

You want to say more to defend yourself, but you think that’ll be even less convincing. So you move your focus back to the vision board and try not to think too much about what she asked you. It doesn’t matter what you wanted, anyways. He’d never see you that way, and if he did, he’s probably too scared of his teammates to do anything about it.

…..

January slips away faster than you’d expected. It’s full of syllabuses and assignments and far too much homework for this early in the semester. You do a lot of it at the kitchen table in the guys’ house, sat across from Oscar even though you’re not in a class together anymore. It’s just nice to have someone to study with, even if he has no idea what you’re talking about when you whine about your biology assignments.

February brings with it the warnings of a winter storm for the ages. On a Thursday night, you sit on the couch in the living room, giving your homework a feeble attempt. The guys are back from an afternoon practice, and everyone is settling in for the evening.

“You know who we play next week,” Carlos says, leaning over the back of the couch and looking at you.

“Can’t remember,” you answer, not even looking up from your book. “Not the Badgers.”

The Badgers are the Timberwolves’ sworn enemies. The rivalry game weekend is one of the most anticipated events on campus. It’s marked on the calendar in the kitchen with a dark red X. It’s weeks away.

“No,” Carlos says, raising his eyebrows when you finally look up at him. “The Bears.”

For just a moment, you wonder what sort of significance that’s supposed to hold. They play a lot of teams. Most of them, they’re relatively civil towards. A lot of the players grew up together on junior teams, and they’re still friends outside of game weekends. You’re about to ask if he has beef with a Bears player when you notice Oscar’s stiff posture where he sits on the floor in front of the couch. He’s been half watching the TV, half working on homework. Then you remember.

Oscar played for the Bears for two years. That was his former team. The ones who treated him so badly he quit hockey. You blink up at Carlos and pray he doesn’t take the route you think he’s going to.

“You know who used to play for the Bears,” Carlos starts, a lilting tone to his voice.

Oscar turns over his shoulder with a grimace. “Play is a strong term,” he says. “I did a lot more sitting than skating.”

Carlos shrugs and wiggles his eyebrows. “I am just saying. Maybe we should be worried that Piastri here will go easy on his friends.”

“Not my friends,” Oscar says, quietly.

You slip your hand off the couch and press it to his shoulder blade, hidden from Carlos’ view behind blankets and cushions. Oscar relaxes slightly, and his eyes flicker to yours. Carlos is just trying to rile him up, probably. There might be a hint of truth to it- trying to test Oscar’s loyalty, which is stupid.

You turn to Carlos and blink. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like your own apartment?”

Oscar laughs and tries to disguise it as a cough, muffling it into his elbow. Carlos grins, gaze flickering between you and Oscar, mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, Bunny has claws,” he teases.

By Sunday, everyone is panicked about the impending snow. The stores sell out of all the essentials before you can even bother to plan the week’s family dinner. You and Max will have to make do with what’s left on the bare shelves of the grocery store. The aisles are packed with people. You’ve lost Logan in the fray.

“He’ll be fine,” Max says, trying to maneuver the cart around a small child. He makes a funny face at her, and she laughs. “He will find us, and if he doesn’t…”

“Oh my god, please sound more concerned,” you say.

He shrugs and reaches for a box of Kraft Mac and cheese.

“You have to be kidding,” you say with a glare.

He nods, looking at the grocery list again. “I am. We are buying more TimTams?”

Your face grows hot against your will. You snatch the list from his hand as he eyes you, brows raised. At that exact moment, Logan, your lifesaver, appears from the crowd.

“I got so lost,” he says, eyes wide. “This place is a madhouse.”

Max nods, and he looks around, set determination on his face. “Alright. Let’s get what we need and get out. Logan, hold onto the cart.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child,” he says, but he grabs the cart anyways.

By the time the three of you get in the car, the first few snowflakes are falling. Max sits stiffly in the passenger seat the whole drive, like he’s worried a little snow will send you into a violent crash. You make it home safely, of course, and unload the groceries together. Charles is sitting on the couch in front of the living room window, staring at the snow, a cup of hot chocolate in hand.

“It’s already pretty,” he says, softly.

You ruffle his hair. “Is there more hot chocolate?”

He nods. “Oscar’s making it.”

You head for the kitchen, bags in hand, and find Oscar and Alex huddled around the counter. You give them a smile as you unpack the groceries, and Max and Logan do the same. Oscar looks up at you, eyes bright.

“What do you want in yours?” He asks.

You stand with your hands on your hips, thinking hard. He’s got plenty of supplies- mini marshmallows and sprinkles and caramel drizzle and whipped cream. You shrug.

“Keep it simple,” you say. “A couple marshmallows and some whipped cream.”

He nods eagerly and gets to work. By the time your bags are empty, it’s ready. He hands it off to you with a happy smile- the whipped cream sits in a perfect spiral atop the mug. He looks so proud, and it’s such a sweet gesture, you almost lean over and kiss him right on the forehead. Almost, before you remember half his teammates are here, and Max is watching, and everyone is apparently suspicious. And that it would probably be a strange thing for you to do. You just smile and thank him quietly instead.

You head back into the living room with the mug, trying to shake his soft, proud grin from your brain. Charles is there, in the loveseat next to the window, and he pats the cushion, beckoning you to join him. You sink down, turning so you can look out the window, too. He tosses a blanket over your lap.

“He gave you more whipped cream than me,” he says, pouting.

You shrug. “Maybe he likes me better.”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “Do you remember, a few months ago, when you thought he hated you?”

You nod. “Funny how things change, huh?”

Oscar walks in then, a mug in his hands. His gaze slips to the window, brows raising on his forehead, and he smiles happily. You smile, too and turn back towards the window as he walks over.

“Pretty,” he says, softly. “Wow, it’s really starting to come down, huh?”

You sigh. “God, I hope they cancel classes tomorrow.”

Charles sighs and sits up. “That reminds me. I have an assignment due at midnight.”

He stands up and stalks off, taking his hot chocolate with him. Oscar makes a sympathetic noise, but he doesn’t hesitate to steal Charles’ spot on the couch. You smile at him when he sits down. Both of you put your legs up on the cushions so you can stare out the window. You rest your head against the back of the couch and let your knee rest against his. Outside, Logan pulls up with a full car, having offered to pick up a few of the team members who didn’t want to walk in the snow. Carlos climbs out of the front seat and leans over, already trying to scrape together a snowball. Oscar sighs. You turn to look at him, and he’s got a look of apprehension on his face. You nudge your knee against his.

“What’s up?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe they’ll cancel the games next weekend, too.”

He doesn’t want to play against his old team. From what he’s told you, you can’t really blame him. He’d hinted at a toxic environment when he first told you, but the longer the two of you have been friends, the more information you’ve pulled out of him. He’d mentioned something about a scar on his upper lip, how his old team captain had left it there when he pushed him onto the ice. Your heart breaks for him.

Under the blanket, you reach out and rest your hand on his knee, lightly. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

He grins widely at that, and then hides it behind his mug of hot chocolate. You smile right back. Outside, Carlos hits Logan directly in the stomach with a snowball. The others are making their way towards the house. You brace yourself for the impending chaos.

Charles and Max cook dinner, and there are enough people in the house that you end up eating in the living room on one of the couches. Lando sits next to you, while Oscar sits on the floor in front of you, his back against the couch. The news is playing on the TV, and you all steal glances at the bottom of the display, where the area snow closures are being announced.

Max pokes his head into the living room from the dining room. “Snow’s getting bad. Anyone who doesn’t live here should probably go now, yeah?”

People begin to stand up. You almost follow suit, figuring it’s about time you headed back to your apartment, and not really wanting to walk in the snow. Lando grabs your wrist and tugs, though, and Oscar’s head whips around to look at the two of you.

“Maybe you should just stay,” Lando suggests, a small smile on his face. “It’s a storm warning, you know.”

You blink softly at him, though you sit back down. “Lan, I don’t have any of my stuff. I don’t have clothes to sleep in. I have an 8am class, and I don’t want to sleep on the couch and have a sore neck-“

“Oh come on, you know they’re going to cancel classes,” Oscar says, nudging your knee lightly.

“And if they don’t, I’ll go get your stuff,” Lando suggests. He pouts. “And you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I’ll get the air mattress out. C’mon. What if your power goes out?”

“When my power goes out, yours also goes out,” you remind him.

“But we can all be powerless together,” Charles chimes in from the other end of the couch.

You groan. “You guys. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself in a little bit of snow.”

You hear Logan’s car start up outside. You try to get up again, but Lando wraps his arms around your arm, and Oscar reaches for your ankles. You let out a squeaky laugh and try to break free just as Max walks back into the living room, brows furrowed.

“Max! Tell Bunny she should stay here,” Lando calls out.

Max blinks, eyes darting over the entire situation before he turns to look at you. “There’s a winter storm. You live alone. You are not going anywhere.”

You grumble, but you go limp anyways. Lando lets go of you and high fives Max as he walks past. Oscar holds onto your legs for slightly longer, and he squeezes your calf softly before he pulls away. You try to act normal about it, though from the side eyed look Lando gives you, you’re not sure you were successful.

Eventually, you head to the kitchen to help Max clean up from dinner. Lily, Alex, George, and Oscar sit at the dining room table, playing cards, while you and Max do dishes and Lando and Charles clean counters. When your eyes stay on the Oscar for too long, watching him laugh happily, the sink nearly overflows. Max nudges your shoulder.

“You can go hangout, if you want. I can do the dishes,” he suggests.

You shake your head. “M’fine. Just spaced out a bit.”

Max nods, though you can feel him watching you every so often. Lando and Charles start slapping each other with rolled up wet washcloths, and that distracts Max enough, at least for a few minutes. There’s music playing, and you hum along as the soapy water warms your fingers. When the dishes are done, Max ushers you to the dining room, and you take a seat in the chair on next to Oscar. Lando and Charles join, too, and you smile around at everyone. Snow is falling in the backyard, and the world feels quiet. Oscar’s fingers brush against yours when you both reach for a card, and you can’t help but smile. You’re exactly where you want to be.

At 9:30pm, just when you’re starting to yawn, and Lando is talking about going and setting up the air mattress, everyone’s phones go off. Little dings and chirps and vibration sounds echo through the dining room. Alex is the first one to open the email.

“Classes are canceled!” He calls out. “Snow day!”

The room erupts into chaos. Lando and Max hug each other, George stands up and cheers, while Charles collapses forward onto the table in relief. You turn to Oscar as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and shakes you gently. Alex leans over and kisses Lily on the cheek as she cheers. The joy in the room is infectious. Snow days have the ability to turn you all into children again, apparently.

Oscar leaves his arm around the back of your chair for the rest of the game. You try desperately to act like it’s not there, like you can’t feel the warmth of him on the back of your neck or the way his fingers brush against your shoulder. It’s consuming your thoughts, though, making it insanely difficult to focus on the card game at hand.

He’s one of the first to go to bed, and you miss the feeling as soon as he’s gone. You head up to bed eventually, and you pass Charles in the hallway on the way to brush your teeth. He gives you a sleepy half hug and stumbles into his room. You find yourself looking at Oscar’s door and wondering if he’s still awake, but you’re not sure what you’d even do if he was.

You wake up the next morning to Lando still out cold, snoring loudly into his pillow, and the early sun inching its way through the blinds. The air mattress is partially deflated, and you slide off of it and onto the floor with a soft thud. There’s a hoodie laying on the floor that seems relatively clean, and you pull it on. You know immediately it’s not Lando’s- it smells like a different laundry detergent and cologne, but it feels familiar and warm, so you leave it on. Then you wrap a blanket around your shoulders before you head downstairs.

Oscar’s sitting on the loveseat, still rubbing sleep from his eyes when you find him. He turns and blinks up at you, eyelids heavy. You blink back, long and slow, the way you’d been told to do with pet cats. It seems to work on him- he smiles. Without a word, you head for the kitchen.

You return with two mugs of tea, and he smiles up at you. He makes room for you to sit, and you do so happily, curling your legs under you and fully facing the window. It’s a winter wonderland outside. You can’t even see where the front yard ends and the street begins. Snow is still falling, though at a slower rate.

“It’s so… quiet,” Oscar whispers.

He stretches one leg out behind you on the couch, and bends his other knee up next to you. When you lean against him lightly, he doesn’t protest or move away. He just smiles.

You nod in agreement. “Pretty. I love snow.”

You blink a couple times and take a sip of your tea. Oscar’s leg is warm against your side. He reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. You sigh and let your eyelids flutter shut.

“Still sleepy?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah, but the air mattress is deflating, and Lando’s snoring, so…”

“Here,” he says, and you blink at him in confusion.

Oscar’s hand brushes against yours where you’re holding the mug. Your grip falters, and he slips it from your hand and sets it down on the nearby table. Before you can blink again, he leans forward and wraps an arm around your middle. Then he uses it to haul you towards him, your back against his chest, side by side on the little sofa. You’re nestled between him and the back of the couch, surrounded in warmth, your skin burning up. You can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest behind you.

“Okay?” He asks.

You nod, too sleepy to form the words, too sleepy to worry about what this means or if it’s weird or if someone else will see the two of you and have questions. He lets out a little laugh, his hand slipping into the pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing.

“Is this my hoodie?” He asks. You shrug. “Think it is, there's a hole in this pocket.”

“It was on Lando’s floor,” you mumble, burrowing deeper next to him. “So it’s fair game.”

He laughs, but he lets it go. You rest your cheek against his other arm and bask in the softness of it all, blinking at the falling snow and the soft morning light. Sleep scratches at the back of your brain, and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to stay present, it melts over you. The last thing you feel before you fall back asleep is the press of his cheek against the top of your head.

When you wake up, he’s in the kitchen, talking lowly with Alex. There’s a pillow wedged behind you to keep you from falling over and off the couch, and the blanket is pulled up around your chin. You don’t blame him for getting up, and you’re a bit relieved that he seems to have done it before the rest of his roommates are up, because you might have never heard the end of it. Though, when Lando rolls out of bed and joins you on the couch, with Max not far behind, and the three of you squeeze onto the little sofa together, you wonder if they’d have even questioned it. Maybe they’d have seen it the same as this- friends curled up on a slow morning, sharing space and warmth. Maybe that’s all it was for Oscar, too. You’re probably the only one who felt butterflies over it.

Oscar pouts when he walks in and sees his spot taken, though. Behind him in the doorway, Alex meets your gaze with a smirk, eyebrows raised, and you start to wonder again. Eventually, the rest of the people in the house join you downstairs, and you all start to make snow day plans. You close your eyes and listen to them talk. Whatever they come up with, you’ll enjoy, you know it already.

…..

Unfortunately for Oscar, the snow clears, and the first game against the Bears goes forward as planned that week. It’s a mess. The Timberwolves are up by two by the time they’re halfway into the second period, but the Bears are playing like, well, bears. Not a lot of penalties, but cheap shots and bad moves and what looks to be exhausting hockey. They’re frustrated by their own inability to score by the third period, and that’s when the claws really come out. The refs send a Bears player to the box for slashing. He gets back on the ice, and then another one gets called for tripping. There’s a few minutes left, they’re down a player, and they’re desperate.

When Oscar gets locked into a battle for the puck with his old team captain, you hold your breath. He manages to bat it away and send it skidding towards Max, but his helmet and face mask get shoved askew in the process. Somehow, you just know. Everyone in the arena follows the puck, but you watch as the captain on the other team rips his gloves off. You grab onto Lily’s arm and watch his fist connect with Oscar’s jaw. The Timberwolves bench erupts into chaos. The fight is over before it even starts, because Oscar just pushes the guy away and doesn’t swing back. The team captain gets sent to the penalty box. Oscar gets his helmet back on and gets back in the game.

An hour and a half later, you sit at the kitchen counter in their house, a mug in front of you. The house is quiet. You’re not sure why you’re still here- Lando went to bed a while ago, and Max had retreated to his room even before that. You’d made the excuse of staying to clean up the dishes, but now you’re just… here, still. Waiting. You should really go home. It’s bordering on midnight. If you walk home much later than this and any of the guys find out, they’ll be pissed.

The front door creaks open. Soft footsteps echo down the hallway, and you look up from your mug of tea. Oscar doesn’t seem surprised when he walks into the kitchen and finds you sitting there. He stops in the doorway, shoulders dropping. There’s a bruise shadowing his jaw. You wince.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he mumbles.

You stand up from the stool and head for the fridge. You can hear him walking closer as you rummage around in the freezer, finally finding one of the ice packs they keep in there. On a whim, you also reach into a cleverly disguised bag of frozen peas, and come out with two chocolate dipped ice cream bars. When you turn back to Oscar, items in hand, he looks perplexed.

“We have ice cream?” He asks, quietly.

You smirk. “Max hides them. But he can’t keep secrets from me. He won’t mind.”

He takes a seat on the stool, and you flip the switch for the overhead lights. He grimaces.

“I already had it looked at,” he says, brows furrowed. “Trainer said it’s fine.”

You hum as you step closer, pretending your heart doesn’t thud in your chest when you come into close range. “I know,” you say, reaching up and placing the ice pack against his face gently. He hisses. “This is actually an interrogation.”

His hand comes up to hold the pack, fingers brushing against yours. He laughs, then winces. “Yeah? What about?”

You drop your hand to your side. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

He sighs heavily, looking anywhere other than your face. You roll your eyes and open one of the ice cream bars and hand it to him. Then you sit down on another stool, facing him, before you open your own ice cream, too.

“I don’t wanna get suspended,” he shrugs. “And I don’t really fight.”

You decide not to bring up the guy at the party last semester and the way Oscar had been ready to punch him. “Even if they hit you first?”

He nods and makes a little noise. You wonder if he ever fought back when they were on the same team, or if he just accepted it. Your heart aches for him. He shrugs again, eyes flickering up to yours. He looks so sweet, despite the harsh kitchen light, despite the purple tinge on his skin, even more with a bit of chocolate in the corner of his lips. You take a bite of your own ice cream in the hopes that it’ll cool you down.

“Just never felt worth it,” he admits. “I don’t know. Some people are in it for that, for the hits and the fights and the… aggression. I just like hockey. Besides, the guy got a penalty. So now he’s out for a game. That’s better than getting a hit on him.”

The tone he says the guy in is interesting- like he’s distancing himself, like it’s easier if he pretends it was just some guy and not the captain of his old team. You overheard some of Lando and Max’s hushed whispers. You know the guy said some shitty things about Oscar on the ice. And tomorrow, he has to play the rest of the team all over again. Oscar takes another bite of his ice cream and purses his lips.

“I’m okay,” he promises. “And if the guys think I'm going easy on them because I have some weird sense of loyalty, I’m really not.”

“Oh, Osc,” you say quietly, shaking your head. You reach across the gap and press your hand to his wrist, the one holding the ice pack. “Nobody thinks that.”

He shrugs. “Carlos was-“

“Carlos was being a dumbass, but he doesn’t really believe it,” you promise. “After the game, all they were worried about was you. That’s it.”

He lets out a huff and takes another bite of his ice cream, cracking through the chocolate shell. “I don’t wanna be worried about.”

You almost pull your hand from his wrist, but as soon as he says it, he winces, closing his eyes. You wait, rubbing your thumb against his skin. He takes a deep breath. You press your finger to his pulse point, and his breath hitches. You watch his shoulders move.

“I don’t mean that. It’s nice. Just. Had a bad day,” he says. “And we have to do it again tomorrow.”

You nod and squeeze his wrist. “That’s the shitty thing about the way college hockey works, huh.”

He nods. The ice pack bumps against his face, and he hisses. You muffle a laugh and reach to put your hand over his to steady it, keeping your grip gentle. He inhales through pursed lips and closes his eyes. He slips his hand off the ice pack and lets you hold it, and blood roars in your ears. It feels so trusting. Strangely intimate. His hand falls to your knee, and you try to breathe normally. You’re probably failing miserably. You swallow all the feelings down and try to come up with something to say.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” you remind him. “We can wake up and pretend today never happened. A new game, a new start.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “I can try.”

“That’s all anyone could ask for,” you tell him. “That’s all you can ask yourself for.”

A wavering smile crosses his lips. You take a bite of your ice cream to stop yourself from leaning in to brush your own lips against his cheek. The two of you eat the rest of your ice cream bars in the peace and quiet, under the fluorescent kitchen lights. His hand stays on your knee, barely there, just resting. Your fingers go numb holding the ice pack, but you don’t complain. You can hold this for him, for a little bit. He’s holding onto enough.

…..

You wake up on the couch the next morning with an ache in your neck, because by the time you finished the ice cream Oscar insisted it was too late for you to walk home, and you hadn’t wanted to wake Lando by sneaking into his room. Upstairs, you can hear the guys starting to wake up. Soon they’ll be donning their suits and heading to the rink to get ready. You push yourself to sit up and run a hand through your hair. Then you head for the front door.

Once you’re home, you call Lily. “I have an idea,” you say, ”and I need your help.”

Lily, to her credit, doesn’t ask a lot of questions. You’re sure she sort of understands what’s going on without having to ask, but you’re grateful either way. The two of you shuffle into seats in the arena, eager to watch. You’re wearing your jersey today, hoping it brings good luck, and you’ve both gone full out with lines of blue face paint under your eyes.

When they come out onto the ice, Lando’s the first one to spot you. He does a double take, nudging at Max’s shoulder. They both stare, heads tilted. You can’t blame them. Instead of your normal seats, the two of you are in the front row, right down by the boards.

You’d sit here every game if you could, but the tickets are outrageously expensive on a college student budget, especially when you can sit in the student section for free. Today, though, you’d splurged. There’s a poster board sitting at your feet that you’ve worked painstakingly on all morning. It needs to be seen, and for that, you need to be up close.

Lily lets out a squeak when Alex skates over. “Oh! Hi!”

You roll your eyes affectionately at your friend as she makes hand gestures at her boyfriend through the plexiglass. It’s too loud for them to hear each other, especially through the glass, but Alex’s big smile says more than words ever could. For what’s definitely not the first time, you find yourself wishing you could have what they have. You want someone to smile like that when they see you. You want to feel that giddy feeling.

Lando skates over, tapping his glove against the glass. You just shrug and laugh. He points at the poster board. You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes. It’s not for him. He’s not the one who needs it. Out on the ice, Oscar’s next to Charles, heads bent together as they stretch. Max skates over and points at you, and from this close, you can see Charles' affectionate eye roll, and the way Oscar smiles. He goes from apprehension to adoration quite quickly. Something turns in your chest. Lando, who’s still standing nearby, quirks a brow, and you wonder how plainly it’s written across your face.

While they’re all looking, you take a deep breath, pick up the sign, and raise it above your head. Alex bursts into giddy laughter, Lando’s shoulders drop, and Oscar’s face lights up like the sun.

Kick Some PiASStri, it says. The letters were cut out of magazines and glued down this morning, and you’re still a bit worried it’s not dry enough, but it seems to hold for now. Max and Charles bump their heads against each other as they laugh. Oscar shakes his head, absolutely beaming. It’s a new game, a new start, another day, another chance. And maybe, what he needs is a little bit of encouragement. A reminder that there are people rooting for him.

He skates over, playfully shoulder checking Lando, who’s talking to Alex, now. Oscar takes his stick and scoops up a loose puck off the ice. He flips it over the barriers to you, and you catch it, shrieking at the temperature when it lands in your hand. It’s nearly as cold as the icepack you held to his face the night before.The bruise on his jaw is visible as he looks at you through the glass, but he’s smiling so wide all the same.

He yells something. You can barely hear, but between that and the lip reading you’ve learned to do after years of watching hockey, you think he says something about his “number one fan.”

You just smile and laugh and hold the puck up in the air, hoping the giddy feeling in your chest isn’t painfully obvious. He puts a glove against the plexiglass, and you place your hand there, too, and you know you can’t but you swear you feel the warmth of him. It’s probably just your brain playing tricks on you. He shakes his head, then pats his hand against the clear surface, and then he takes off across the ice.

When you turn to Lily, she’s smiling knowingly. “That was…”

“Shut up,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t wanna hear it. He just needed some encouragement.”

It seems to work. He’s on fire that night, skating across the ice like it’s exactly where he belongs. You’re proud to be there, proud to hold the poster up when he scores, proud to call yourself his friend.

After the game, you find yourself in the back hallway of the arena, waiting. You can hear the music in the locker room from here, can hear the intermittent shouting and cheering from the guys. The other team is long gone. Lily’s back at the house already, getting things ready for the inevitable big party they’ll be having after a win like this. The poster you’d made leans against the wall.

Oscar’s the one to find you. His smile seems permanently set on his face tonight. His hair’s a mess, towel dried and sticking in every direction. “You kicked ass,” you call out.

He doesn’t stop at the socially acceptable distance apart. He walks close, so close you have to lean your head back just slightly to look him in the eye, so close that you can smell his shampoo and see the freckles on his cheeks. His hands are in his pockets, and your heart is in your throat. There’s something wild in his eyes. The bruise on his jaw is dark, almost blue now, and you reach up to brush a finger against the outline of it. He blinks and pulls his hands from his pockets.

“It was nice to see you in the front row,” he says.

Your pulse is pounding. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Those tickets are expensive. Just needed to make sure you could see the sign.”

He juts his chin out. “Yeah?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah. Did it work?”

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, and his hand lands on your hip. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye, and you hold your breath. His eyes search your face, darting between your eyes and cheeks and lips. You lean closer, closer. His cheeks are rosy and blotchy, from the game and the post game shower and- and maybe, from this, too. Is he feeling it, too? Is his heart racing, is he holding his breath, are there butterflies swirling around in his stomach?

Just when you think you can’t hold your breath any longer, he closes the gap, pressing his lips against your cheek. You wonder if he can feel how warm your face is beneath his lips, if he can hear the way your heartbeat picks up. It’s just a kiss on the cheek, but you let your eyes fall shut anyways, let the warmth wash over you, down your spine and all the way to your fingertips and toes. This is better than a thank you, better than anything, really.

There’s a loud bang of a door being flung open, and both of you break apart in a rush. You wobble, and he does his best to keep you steady. By the time you stand up straight, the two of you are standing a respectable distance apart, and the door to the hallway swings open. It’s Carlos, first, followed by the rest of the team. You try to compose yourself. Oscar’s face is bright red.

“Bunny!” Charles calls out, eager and bright eyed. “We won!”

Oscar backs away when Charles rushes up to hug you. Nobody comments on his red cheeks, or the poster sitting at your feet. You’re sure they’d teased him about it, but they won the game, so anything that got them there is seen as a good thing. Max is the next one to wrap you up in a hug, and soon you’re being pulled along in the stream of hockey players, out towards where the rest of their friends and families wait, out towards the walk back to the house where the party will already be in motion.

“Your face paint is smudged,” Lando says, pointing at your cheek.

You laugh and brush Lando’s hand away from your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Oscar wipe his thumb on his pants, as discreetly as possible, and your heart flutters in your chest. There’s a blue streak of paint left behind on the fabric. It’s some sort of evidence that it really happened. It’s enough, for now.

Later that night, when you’re falling asleep in Lando’s room after a long night of celebrating, you think of deep blue bruises and bright blue face paint, and how much you wish you’d gotten the chance to mix them both together. It would look nice, you think, as you drift off. Paint smudged on his rosy, freckled cheeks. It would’ve been nice.

You dream of Oscar. You’re definitely not complaining.

a/n: happy oscar’s birthday to all who celebrate! 🥳

Series Taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @putting-it-into-parc @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @colmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @not-nyasa @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofwordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom @lalloronaisreal @fangirl125reader @tpwkmera @booksandflowrs @elizanav

#kick some piASStri #actually obsessed with this

[starlightdelrey]

𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

f1 mafia au

arthur leclerc x norris!reader (code name odette)

synopsis: yn norris was born into a life of calculated violence. every decision she made faced consequences, and now, at eighteen years old, she's one of the most protected people on the planet. her symbol, the swan, is seen as a trademark of safety (one she uses almost exclusively on the women in the mob). although her family isn't friends with the other affiliated families, they aren't enemies - and when somebody begins planning an assassination on her, they're forced to become terse allies to keep the ecosystem of their partnerships safe.

cw: guns and violence, swearing, death, animal death, character death, problematic characters (they're all mob bosses like), age gap relationship, alcohol, more to come

a/n - very excited for this one!! comment, dm or ask to be added to a taglist, and definitely give requests on specific scenarios you'd like to see!

table of contents:

#formula one #f1 grid x reader #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc imagine #f1 au #formual one au #mafia au #mafia aesthetic #formula one mafia #swan lake #coquette aesthetic #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc fanfic #arthur leclerc x yn

[starlightdelrey]

Bleeding From The Storm (ONGOING)

Masterlist

After the death of Jules Bianchi, the head of the Bianchi family wants his daughter protected. He moved her to Monaco, the safe zone, and has her protected by Charles Leclerc. Max Verstappen was never supposed to meet her. He didn't even know who she was. But he knew she was beautiful, and he knew he wanted to know more, much to the horror of Charles Leclerc.

OR

There's a murderer out there. Their first kill? Jules Bianchi. The next target? His little sister. Not if Max Verstappen has anything to say about it

Mafia AU

The Death Of Jules Bianchi

#this is going to serve i fear #f1 mafia au’s drive me crazy

[starlightdelrey]

the view between villages

platonic ! f1 grid x reader

summary: f1 is a dangerous sport - it's common knowledge. but accidents - bad accidents - aren't as common. seeing the youngest (and only female) driver crash and not immediately respond is something the boys never thought they'd have to experience, and the rest of the world is just as devestated.

cw: major accident, graphic descriptions of injury and vehicular damage, graphic descriptions of car accident, mentions of death, blood and gore, negative emotions such as sadness and regret, angst, mentions of religion,

song pairing is "the view betwen villages" by noah kahan

(not based on any particular race)

today's race felt off to begin with. When y/n had attempted to leave her aging yorkie, comet, in her hotel room - like she had done for the past couple months - he began to whine.

"poor baby," she mocked, but turned the small TV on and switched it to the channel that would be broadcasting the race live. "look, com. watch me on the tv."

the dog had complied and jumped onto the un-made bed, but when she left and closed the door, he had whined once or twice before calming down.

she made a mental note to get him checked out at the vet, but got distracted when she showed up to the paddock and got a look at the track.

"the weather wasn't as shit yesterday during quali," she said off-handedly to max verstappen, who was chatting to the engineers.

"are you worried?" y/n was a good racer, it was clear - but whenever max saw how small she looked in comparison to everyone else on the team he had a small sense of dread. it wasn't new, just annoying.

"nah." she grinned at him, her hair already pulled back into a french braid for ease during the race.

---

"lights out.... and away we go!"

the lights blink out and y/n is already gunning it, attempting to bypass the boys from mclaren.

she discovered early on that locking up would be her main issue today, and she made it clear on her radio.

"i keep locking up."

her voice was calm but shook a little as she struggled to steer, and she spoke only in short sentences to prevent stuttering.

"copy."

finally, she worked out a system to braking that prevented the struggle, but in speeding up, found that she'd made her way into a mass of cars.

"watch out, y/n. keep out of trouble - wait until everybody else has moved out of each others way."

"ok. pulling back-" the radio crackled and then went silent as a car careened into the side of her.

---

the audiences at home got to watch a replay of the impact.

somewhere in australia, a family consisting of two parents, a teenaged boy and a little girl are watching the race.

the boy reacts first, jolting. "was that logan sargeant and y/n y/ln?"

"yeah... turn up the volume?"

the mother grabs the remote and obliges, terse.

"was that the girl driver?" the barely 5 year old asks, brows furrowed.

"baby, go play in the other room." her father dismisses her, and when she slowly shuffles out, eyes trained on the screen as the commentators relay the details, her dad huffs.

"now. and don't look at the screen anymore."

she squeals and runs out, and the boy starts to jiggle his knee up and down as they wait for more information.

across the world, houses go silent.

---

"and it looks like logan sargeant attempts to pull away from the crowd but misjudges the distance between himself and y/ln. we can see him here slam right into the right side of the body of her car, and she goes spinning out, right into barricades. oh! and if we slow it down, you can see that the force of her chassis hitting the barricades not only forces the car to lift fully off of the ground, but it also tips - the top of the vehicle flips up into the barricade until it falls back into place. that is a nasty hit for rookie red bull driver y/n y/ln."

the commentators keep talking, thinking nothing of the accident, until the cameras switch to the red bull team, who are trying to get into contact with the girl.

"y/n, are you okay?"

silence.

"can you respond? y/n we need a vocal response. anything, okay kid? even if you can just hold down on the radio button so we know you're there."

no response.

the commentators continue.

"and it looks like we're getting no response from red bull driver y/n, who has just crashed."

---

his whole body jerks on the impact, and he spins out off the track, coming to a shaky stop.

"shit, shit, shit!" his voice cracks.

"are you okay, mate?" the radio crackles at him as he's fighting back tears.

"yeah - was that y/n i hit?"

"yes, we can confirm the crash involved both you and y/ln. we are receiving word that it is a red flag crash."

"is she okay?" he doesn't get a response at first, so he tries again. "is y/n okay?"

"no word yet. sorry, logan."

"fuck! i'm so sorry - i really thought it was clear, i just... fuck."

"calm down, sargeant. wait for pick-up and keep yourself collected. we'll tell you as soon as we find anything out, okay mate?"

"sure."

he lifts himself from the smoking chassis and the world watches as he kicks it out of frustration before letting his head lower.

there's a sickening feeling in his stomach as he sees the girls unmoving vehicle.

he pictures her inside, and the fact that she's so much smaller than the older men cause his mind to unravel with pictures of her limp and unconscious.

---

inside the car, y/n blinks her eyes open, groaning.

her ears are ringing and her head hurts, and the body of her car is so warped that it's vacuum sealed her into the vehicle.

in the back of her mind, y/n feels the pain in her right thigh and left ankle, and her right shoulder feels dislocated.

"kid, we need an answer." the radio's muted and crackling, and when y/n tries to respond, she realizes that something on her end is fucked because they're still begging for an answer.

she goes to climb out of the car, but a sob tears out of her chest at the immense pain that suddenly blooms throughout her whole body.

she falls heavily back onto the seat and pants, closing her eyes.

she feels slight relief from the pain when she fully relaxes and closes her eyes, and nestles into her seat a little to get comfortable.

the need to sleep takes over her and she obeys, nodding off.

---

inside her hotel room, comet's ears pull back in concern as he hears his owners name being called out repeatedly from the television.

---

"red flag, max. we need to restart the race."

verstappen stills, his ears suddenly ringing. he has a bad feeling about the red flag but just can't place it.

"what's happened?"

"there was a crash between a williams and y/n. to the pit lanes, please." the voice on the other end seems calm, but there's a waver to it.

"fuck, are you joking? are they both okay?"

"the williams driver... logan sargeant, we're hearing, is up and out of his chassis. we've heard nothing from y/n yet."

he'd fight them, ask for more information, but knows that red bull would be the first to hear anything.

"tell me if you find anything out."

"copy."

as he drives to the pit lane, max replays her grin at him as she reassures the dutchman.

"nah." her nose is scrunched and hair pulled out of her face.

he thinks about how bulky the helmet looked on her, the barely 20 year old driver somehow never managing to put on any muscle, no matter how hard she tried.

he prays to jesus, zeus, allah, and even the virgin mary - surely she'd have sympathy to max's prayers, as she's lost someone dear to her before. any deity he can think of is immediately begged to ensure the safety of his partner.

---

a whining noise pulls y/n back into consciousness, and she furrows her brows.

"i'm trying to sleep, com. shut up." when she opens her eyes and sees the battered cockpit in front of her, she realizes that she's not hearing her dog cry, it's just the ringing in her ears that are back.

and then suddenly all she can see is comet waiting for her. comet, waiting in a hotel room that she'll never re-enter. what's gonna happen to the mutt if she dies? her parents are over-seas, she has no boyfriend to look after him. comet would be all alone.

and then all the guys on the grid are flashing through her head. she knows, vacantly, that logan crashed into her. he'd never forgive himself if she died. verstappens win streak would be fucked if he was grieving over his teammate. even lewis hamilton, who was the first driver to openly back her as the only woman on the grid.

she screws her eyes shut and lets out a heavy sob, steeling herself.

---

the commentators are no longer focused on the race.

"and i think i can speak for all of us when i ask, where is the goddamn safety car and ambulance? young driver y/n y/ln has been stuck in the wreck for about a minute and a half now, and there has still been no aid for her. which is a cause for concern about the overall safety of f1, as- oh my god!"

---

charles is already on his way back to the pit lanes, muttering manifestations under his breath for y/n to be okay.

he's shaking, filled with lead and a lump in his throat. he and y/n aren't super close, due to their team differences, but every time he spoke to her she had a certain gleam in her eye that one only had when they weren't afraid of death.

this worried him. racing was her life - would she succumb easily? it was a known fact that many drivers drove as if they had nothing to lose.

the idea of her choking on mortality in her chassis scared him more. maybe her body was broken, and the pain was all she could feel as the life drained from her? he worried for those that would have to witness the blood and bruises when she was pulled from her car.

"we've got an update on y/n."

he was pulled out of his mind. "tell me. please."

"she's getting herself out. the paramedics were taking too long, so she took it upon herself, apparently." a startled laugh falls out of charles' lips as he cheers back.

---

muscles screaming, y/n forces herself to lift out of the cockpit, allowing her body the only relief of rest once her upper half is slung over the halo. for about five seconds she stops, before she forces herself to continue.

the safety car and paramedics are here now, and camera crew for the live footage plus the netflix crew are close behind.

people are shouting at her to stop, but she continues to claw her way out of the wreckage.

she's crying and praying to a god she never knew she believed in as she forces her broken legs out of the car, sliding over the side to the ground.

she stands and looks around at the medical crew who are advancing towards her and tries to take her helmet off. she can't, and they're reassuring her that they'll do it for her.

y/n looks out at the audience and raises one arm to greet them. she's met with immediate raucous applause and, swaying for a few seconds, she falls.

---

"you would never believe it. this lady is pulling herself out of her car. as the camera zooms, you can really see the absolute strength this is taking her - hold on, we're getting audio now."

the world watches with bated breath as the coverage of her climbing out of the car begins to play. you can hear the agonised screams she lets out as she forces herself to exit, and just how broken some of her limbs look. her left ankle hangs limply, and she has to use both arms to force her right leg out of the cockpit.

"what a magnificent scene. y/n y/ln has kissed death, and still lives to tell the tale. we see her now, standing on the track as the medical staff come to her aid, and she falls. a very fair response to what she has just gone through. a round of applause to y/n y/ln, the girl who kissed death!"

---

"so lando, congratulations on p4. obviously, the whole crash between logan and y/n caused a damper on the overall race. how do you feel about it?" the interviewer pushed a mic at his face.

"the crash? yeah, it was terrifying not knowing if she was okay or not. i'm not surprised she ended up climbing out of the chassis herself," he laughs softly. "i've never known her for being patient."

"how do you feel about her new nickname?"

"nickname?"

"people are calling her 'the girl who kissed death'."

lando can't stop a high-pitched laugh from escaping. "girl who kissed death? that's stupid. oh god, i can't wait for her to find out about that. she'll be proper pissed off."

"right, well, thanks lando. have fun celebrating!" the interviewer bids him farewell.

---

a few months later:

over the healing process, y/n was forced to give multiple statements, post social media posts, and even a quick video from the hospital bed, but when she sees comet, her resolve finally fails.

she begins to tear up as the scruffy dog barks at her, jumping up and down.

"someone's excited to see you," lewis hamilton, the temporary guardian of the dog, grins.

roscoe stomps his feet and licks y/n, panting at her.

"awe, little babies. i was so scared of dying and leaving comet all alone, but i think he would've been fine."

lewis glances down at the kneeling girl in front of him and tsks, nudging her with his foot. "don't say that, y/n. nobody would've been fine."

"yeah?"

"yeah. have you seen all the tiktok edits of your crash? people were terrified. i was terrified."

y/n doesn't say anything, but stands to hug the british man.

he holds her back, before clearing his throat. "save that love for death. heard you've kissed it before."

"fuck off."

--- le fin ---

#formula one #f1 #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 imagine #f1 grid x reader #f1 angst #formula one angst #lewis hamilton x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #logan sargeant x reader #max versappen x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one oneshot #starlightdelrey

[starlightdelrey]

Omg yess someone that writes for heartbreak high!!! We need more writers in this fandom especially for spider

yes !!!! there is like nothing for this fandom which is lowkey surprising to me?? but i have some spider writing coming soon dont even worry <3

[starlightdelrey]

hi !! could you do a sweet first date type fic for ant and harper ?? i dont really see a lot of love for them so far but I AM OBSESSED! I was thinking maybe they'd go axe throwing for a first date since harper mentioned she wanted to go. ant is lowkey scared he's going to get a limb cut off then overcompensates w the bravado just bc he can see how much she's enjoying herself. u dont have to do this at all obviously but it was just some thoughts i had popping up

hiiiii!!! i really loved this ask like the idea and all the little prompts are just so cute !!!! pls pls if you have any more ideas dont hesitate to send them ! its a little choppy and rushed, but overall just a cute little fic <3

here it is!

thank you !!

[starlightdelrey]

axe throwing - a.v + h.m

spoilers for heart break high season one and two !!!!!

anthony vaughn x harper mclean

request: hi !! could you do a sweet first date type fic for ant and harper ?? i dont really see a lot of love for them so far but I AM OBSESSED! I was thinking maybe they'd go axe throwing for a first date since harper mentioned she wanted to go. ant is lowkey scared he's going to get a limb cut off then overcompensates w the bravado just bc he can see how much she's enjoying herself. u dont have to do this at all obviously but it was just some thoughts i had popping up

in which two of the hartley kids finally get a moment of peace together (or ant thinks he's gonna lose his arm)

lowercase intended

hbh masterlist + main masterlist

cw: mentions of past trauma, mostly fluff, end of season 2, i basically made up my own timeline to make it work, ive never been to axe throwing so i made some stuff up, not proofread !!!!

---

the hartley high kids were stuck in a sort of limbo - since the school had burn down not even two weeks before the term break, the school board had decided everybody deserved an extended break to help 'unpack their trauma'. almost everyone thought it was a load of bullshit but couldn't fight having almost a month off school.

harper had been struggling, although she'd never admit it to anyone. it was unfair - every time she almost healed from one experience, a brand new one happened. darren had recently been going through a housewife phase, and in one cooking attempt, they'd accidentally set off the fire alarm. it caused the blonde to shut down for almost 24 hours, the experience of being locked in a smoke-filled projection room taking over her thoughts.

ant had accidentally been a lurker for quite a few of these mini events - like witnessing chook stare down harper at the housewarming party. when woodsy had called for harper and amerie during the fire, his whole body had been filled with a sense of dread (although he'd never tell harper how he'd fought to try and get to her).

the two decided to keep everything between them as light as possible, which had led to today's activity being set up.

harper dashed out of her shared home with darren and ca$h (their fake moans and tips for safe sex following her) and started up her borrowed car from robert.

when she drove up to ants place, he was sat outside, waiting already. harper couldn't fight the grin that stretched across her face as he wandered over to the passenger side. anthony had taken the concept of axe throwing and lumberjacks very seriously, and had dressed for the part - a plaid button up tossed, un-buttoned, over a cropped white tank top and a pair of baggy jeans.

he got in and immediately leant forward to kiss the blonde, and she pulled away with a smirk. "what's with the gay lumberjack cosplay?"

"i'm breaking lumberjack stereotypes, harps. be happy for me." but he glanced at her with a lazy grin and she shook her head, trying not to get distracted.

as they drove, ant insisted on being on aux. this meant that when spider called him, the audio was put on speaker.

"heya, spider."

"ant, you'll never-"

"hey spider!" harper piped up chirpily, and spiders whole demeanour over the phone changed.

"fuck off, harper."

"wait until i tell missy what you just said, dickhead. don't think i won't steal your girl." harper grinned as she said it, and ant turned to her quickly.

"hey!"

"you wish, harps."

---

"i actually don't think we need to throw axes," ant stood stiffly, his gloves shoved in his pocket and axe in one hand.

harper, who was in the middle of putting her safety glasses on, paused and stared. "what?"

"i just like- don't feel like losing an arm today. ya' know?" he looked at her hopefully, and harper raised a brow.

"don't worry, baby. i'll protect you."

the nickname flicked a switch in his mind, and immediately, ant was back to his usual antics. "no need, m'lady. i will be protecting you."

glasses on, harper turned to stick her tongue out at him - only to be met with the flash of a camera. "ew, ant. i look proper munted with these on. delete that."

he didn't respond, and to be fair, she didn't really care all that much anyways. the two walked forward with their safety gear fully on, prepared to let out some of their anger.

at first, they mess around a bit, until harper finally gets her axe to actually hit the target. from then on, it's a full-on war - they're making up mini competitions, tallying points, and getting into arguments.

halfway through, harper's got 12,368 points while ant has -12.

"we should totally turn our competition into a drinking game, harps. it would be so fun."

"and dangerous." harper braces herself and launches her axe at the target. "ant, we suck balls right now - imagine what it'd be like if everyone was drunk?"

"oh. ohhhhhhhh! yeah, i didn't even think of that."

"of course you didn't, babe."

ant grabs harper and yanks her closer to him, hugging her. some employee chides them for being dangerous.

"you're so pretty, harper." he's looking down at her, grinning, harpers cheeks are pink.

"you're not so bad yourself, anthony." her hand wraps around the back of his neck and pulls him closer.

---

"i cannot believe that we seriously got kicked out for making out!" harper exclaims in the car, pulling out of the parking lot.

"it was totally worth it." ant's still dazed, and he fumbles plugging his phone in.

it goes silent except for the frank ocean playing in the background, until ants phone buzzes with a notification. on instinct, harper's eyes flick to the screen - and her heart jolts.

his lock screen is a recent picture - one of harper, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunched. her tongues poking out and her hairs a little wild, but she looks happy.

"ant! is that the picture you just took of me?"

"of course it is. can't get it out of my head, it's seriously driving me crazy." he looks down at the picture, a slight blush on his face.

"you just wait until i get a new picture of you, vaughn."

---

#anthony vaughn #anthony vaughn imagine #ant heartbreak high #ant and harper #harper mclean #harper mclean imagine #harper heartbreak high #harper and anthony #heartbreak high 2022 #heartbreak high imagine #heartbreak high #fluff #heartbreak high fic

[starlightdelrey]

heartbreak high navigation

PSA no minors allowed please!!!! there will be sensitive content and nsfw content explored in these fics!! i do not want to have to block anybody!

i write from a fem/nb pov only (sorry) and will not write for some characters (like chook), and i'm willing to write smut and sensitive topics - to a degree xx

to request, either comment, dm or leave an ask (also comment, dm or leave an ask to be added to the tag list) !!

romantic partners i'll write for include: spider, ant, malakai, missy, amarie, harper, (to be updated)

---

character x character

oneshots:

axe throwing - ant and harper (in which two of the hartley kids finally get a moment of peace together (or ant thinks he's gonna lose his arm))

more to come !

#heartbreak high 2022 #heartbreak high #spider heartbreak high #spencer white #spencer white x reader #spider imagine #anthony vaughn #ant heartbreak high #anthony vaughn x reader #anthony vaughn imagine #malakai mitchell #malakai heartbreak high #malakai mitchell x reader #malakai mitchell imagine #heartbreak high imagine #ant and harper #harper mclean #harper mclean imagine #harper heartbreak high #harper and anthony #fluff #heartbreak high fic

[starlightdelrey]

i’m hugely f1 orientated on this page (even though i haven’t really been writing) but the release of the new season of heart break high is making me want to fill the void of fanfics for the show

#heartbreak high #heartbreak high 2022 #requests are open #spencer white #anthony vaughn #malakai mitchell #will write for more characters #about to go crazy

[starlightdelrey]

[starlightdelrey]

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤

shut up and drive masterlist

(in no particular order)

! this soundtrack is constantly being added to - drop a rec !

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐬 "and don't go there, 'cause you'll never return"

𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 - 𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 "there's an energy when you hold me, when you touch me, it's so powerful"

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐫𝐢𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 "get you where you wanna go, if you know what i mean, got a ride smoother than a limousine"

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 - 𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞 "something 'bout you, makes me feel like a dangerous woman"

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 "well, i don't give a fuck about your friends, i'm right here baby"

...

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #cl16 #cl16 fic #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n

[starlightdelrey]

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 (𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔)

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝟏 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐮𝐩-𝐚𝐧𝐝-𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐨𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐲/𝐧 𝐲/𝐥𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝟏, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞(𝐬𝐬).

charles leclerc x model!reader

mostly actual writing, some social media

cw: slight age gap (20 and 26), swearing/violence, sexual themes, online bullying/harassment, in person harassment, some social media aspects, reckless driving, (will add more as the story goes on)

(note: i am not an f1 nerd! (i am a fan though !) there will be slight inaccuracies, and i will mostly be focusing on the readers perspective and more 'domestic' moments of the drivers. some descriptions may not be technical/may be against the rules, but this is a work of fiction)

psa i do not own anything to do with f1 nor am i affiliated.

if you would like to be added to a taglist, either comment, message me, or put in an ask <3

𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 (a collection of music to enhance your reading experience)

...

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc angst #cl16 #cl16 fic #cl16 imagine #cl16 x reader #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x you #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc blurb #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n

[starlightdelrey]

After All

Charles Leclerc x bestfriend!reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, tooth rotting fluff

Charles is a lot of things. He’s determined, hardworking, a bit of a self sacrificing dumbass. He’s kind, talented, humble, confident, soft. He’s your best friend, your closest confidant, the person you would trust with your life.

And, according to everyone who’s ever seen the two of you together, he’s madly in love with you.

…..

Pierre’s the first one to say it. He’s known both of you the longest, he’s one of Charles’ best friends. He sidles up next to you on a warm afternoon. You’re both on Charles’ yacht, leaning against the railing and watching as he does a backflip off the deck and into the water.

“He’s going to hurt himself,” you point out, “and Ferrari will not be happy.”

Pierre snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “He is showing off.”

You give him a look of disbelief. “For who?”

Before he can answer, you’re drawn to look at Charles again when he calls your name. You watch and wave at him, and then he lines himself up for another stupid trick dive that makes your stomach lurch. He makes a splash when he lands, sinking deeper and deeper till you can’t see him through the bubbles. Just when you start to worry, just when you feel like he’s been under too long, he resurfaces. He kicks himself to the surface, hair plastered to his forehead, laughing raucously. He’s suddenly the boy you met at 13, big dreams and big plans and a big personality to get him there.

“You,” Pierre says, jarring you out of your staring. “He is showing off for you.”

You roll your eyes and elbow your friend. “What? He is not. Why would he be trying to impress me?”

“Because he is in love with you,” Pierre states, so matter of fact you almost don’t realize what he’s saying. “Come on, it’s obvious.”

“He is not!” You laugh, shoving at his shoulder lightly. “Jesus, Pierre, the fumes from those engines must really be getting to you.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, probably to rebut with some insane theory he’ll present as fact. He’s interrupted by Charles calling your name again. This time he’s waving you down to the back deck, eyes sparkling. He’s going to want you to jump in. You have a fear of heights, a fear of falling, a fear of deep, open water. Despite it all, you head down to meet him anyways. Charles could talk you into anything, could make even the scariest things seem easy.

“You have to hold my hand, though,” you say, when he urges you to jump in with him. “The whole way, no letting go.”

“The whole way,” he promises, knitting your fingers together.

…..

It’s a bit of fate that you end up in Suzuka for the race. You hadn’t been planning on going, but there’d been cheap flights available when you looked the week before, and suddenly you’re off to Japan. Charles is thrilled about it, always happy to have you there, even when he’s busy and barely gets to see you. He says there’s something comforting about knowing you’re in the garage or the stands.

He takes you with him to as many things as he can, including the pre race media days. The second you meet up with him after you get to Japan, he’s talking non stop about Sebastian’s Buzzin Corner project, and your heart melts at the excitement in his eyes. He’s been missing Seb lately, having a tough go of things and searching for guidance.

You watch from behind the scenes, behind the cameras, as the entire grid arrives to make pollinator hotels and decorate canvases. You smile when Sebastian spots Charles and runs over to give him a hug, and you smile even bigger when Charles follows Sebastian around like a lost puppy. Sebastian seems just as happy to be near Charles again, stopping by to check on Ferrari’s progress frequently.

Charles turns during a lull in the event, when the cameras are on another team and Sebastian is distracted, too. He waves you over, eyes bright, smile wide. You can’t help but be drawn towards him. Any time he wants you nearby, you go willingly, eagerly.

He has paint on his fingers, speckles of it on his shirt. Charles is creative, too. He doesn’t get nearly enough chances to show it, in your opinion. He’s stifled by brand deals and the public eye and overbearing management. You stand next to him, eyeing his and Carlos’ artwork with a soft smile. The pollinator hotel is filled with supplies, the roof is decorated, and Charles tells you excitedly that they’ve already had their first “guest”. He hands you a paintbrush when nobody is paying attention.

“You should add something, chéri,” he says, nudging you lightly.

You look up at him, twist your face into an unsure smile. “Am I allowed to?”

“Of course,” Sebastian says, having made his way back around to the Ferrari team. You smile at Charles’ old teammate as he pays your shoulder lightly. “It’s not exclusive, you know.”

You laugh, reaching out with the paintbrush and adding a small heart next to the stripes and stamps the guys have painted on. “A little love for the the pollinators and bugs.”

“You weren’t saying that about that spider last week,” Charles teases.

“It was in my hair,” you say through gritted teeth, looking at him with wide eyes. “Don’t slander me in front of Seb.”

Carlos is giggling, watching the two of you. Sebastian is doing the same, his eyes lit up reminding you of years ago when he and Charles had been teammates. He’d joked about the two of you exhausting him, with your boundless energy and constant flip flopping between bickering and affection. You’d insisted you were the ones keeping Sebastian young.

Someone calls Charles and Carlos over for a photo op. You peruse the bee hotel while you stand next to Sebastian. There’s a lot of people’s artwork on there, but somehow you think you know which brushstrokes belong to Charles.

“I see not much has changed,” Sebastian says, nodding his head towards Charles. “He calls you darling and then teases you in the same minute.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “He is my best friend, both of those things are his job.”

“Ah, to be young and oblivious,” Sebastian says in a lilting tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughs, tilts his head at you. “Just that my wife was my best friend, once.”

You narrow your eyes at him. The glare has no effect if the grin on his face says anything. Sebastian is older, wiser, and Charles trusts his judgement on nearly everything, but you know he’s wrong about this. There’s no way Charles sees you as anything more than a friend. You’ve come to terms with that. You can live with that. You have to live with that.

Charles makes his way back over to the two of you, hands in his pockets. You plaster a sunny smile back on your face and try to ignore the way Sebastian is watching the two of you. Charles is telling you to paint something else, pointing out the empty space left on the canvas and the bee hotel.

He takes your hand, still wrapped around the paintbrush, in his own. He dips it in the black paint, leads you over to the wooden structure, and adds another heart.

“More love,” he says, singsongy, squeezing your hand. Behind you, Sebastian barely muffles an affectionate laugh. “More love for the bugs.”

…..

“This is my favorite song!” You yell over the booming bass.

You have a drink in your hand, your… 6th? of the night? You’re not sure, you’ve lost count. Charles keeps handing them to you every time your gets low. It’s always tequila and soda, always with two limes.

Charles laughs, shaking his head. “You have said that about every song in the past hour.”

“I mean it this time,” you say, eyes wide. You’re standing up from the table, pulling on his arm. “C’mon, we should dance, Charlie!”

He groans lightheartedly. Really, all of this should be your sign to cut yourself off. You don’t like dancing, and you rarely call him Charlie. Everyone calls him Charles, so you’d let the nickname go years ago. You’d worried it made you sound childish, made you sound like you were holding onto years past. He doesn’t budge from his spot in the booth, watching you warily.

“Amour, I don’t like this song as much as you apparently do,” he says, shaking his head. “And I like dancing even less.”

“Fine,” you say with a pout. “I will find someone else, then.”

You melt into the crowd before he can pull you back into the booth and down to earth. You’re at that pleasant stage of drunk where everything is funny and fuzzy and floaty. You spot Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, at the bar, and she needs much less convincing to join you on the dance floor. She abandons Alex with George and follows you eagerly. It’s Las Vegas, you’re here to have fun. This is fun. The two of you squeeze through the swirling mass of people till you find a good spot.

You don’t know how long it’s been when Charles finds you there- you just know you’re sweaty, a few drinks deeper, and past the point of no return. The song that’s playing now is your actual favorite song, a fact that you tell Charles when he steps in front of you, his hands on your waist to steady you.

“I know,” he says, because of course he knows. Nobody knows you better than him. “I also know you are drunk.”

“M’having a good time,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his neck. It’s just to keep you steady, you tell yourself. “Vegas, baby!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, but he starts to sway to the music with you. One hand stays on your hip, but the other comes around to your back and pulls you closer. You like being pressed against him, like being able to feel the warmth of him even through the fabric of your clothing. You don’t think before you spin in his grip, press your back to his front, keep your arm around his neck behind your head. Tomorrow morning, or rather, later today, you can blame it on the alcohol.

Charles wraps his arm around your waist in response, and you swear you feel his lips on the back of your neck as he pulls you in again. You’ll blame that on the alcohol too.

It’s like you blink, and then you’re standing out on the sidewalk, surrounded by the lights of the Las Vegas strip. The night air is cold, and you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the talk of a night race in the desert and the temperature.

“What’s so funny?” Max asks.

You’re surprised to find him standing next to you, and you blink at him.

“S’cold,” you say, unable to explain the rest of it. You just giggle again. “Where’s Charlie?”

Max raises his brows. “He went inside to get your jacket. You left it in the booth. Remember, five minutes ago, when you said it was cold?”

Huh. You don’t remember, but Max is probably telling the truth. He and Charles are more of friendly rivals than enemies now, despite their formative years. Max is definitely not trying to kidnap you as revenge. He has nothing to get revenge for- he won the race. Maybe he’s bitter that a Grand Prix he talked about so negatively had ended up being one of the best of the season, you suppose. Though you’re not sure that would give him a reason to kidnap you-

“I called him that once,” Max says, and you tilt your head at him. “Charlie. He didn’t like it.”

You remember. It was in Brazil, when they’d all been gathered in a garage. You’d seen it in a video. You can’t admit that, though, without admitting you watch tiktoks of your best friend, so you stay quiet on that subject.

“He thinks it’s childish,” you say with a shrug, scuffing the toe of your shoe on the ground. “I… forget, sometimes.”

You forget that Charles isn’t just your thirteen year old friend, the guy you’d never expected to even tolerate you. You can’t remember how it even happened, how you went from barely saying hi in the halls at school to dinners with his family, homework at their kitchen table. You’re not sure it matters now. What matters is keeping him a part of your life.

You’ve adapted. You’ve let pieces of him go, like childhood nicknames and any hope he’ll ever look at you the same way you look at him. Charles is larger than life, now. You’re still small. You’re still thirteen sometimes, still sitting at the table, begging Charlie to help you with your math problems.

“That’s the thing,” Max says, nudging your side lightly. “He doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you that says it.”

You frown. “Oh, he definitely minds.”

Max shrugs. “He doesn’t show it, then. Probably because he loves you.”

You nod solemnly. “I am his best friend.”

“Right,” Max laughs. “Sure. Friend.”

Charles reappears shortly after that, your jacket in hand. It turns out Max isn’t even leaving- he’d just been tasked with keeping an eye on you while Charles went back inside. He says goodbye and goes back into the club, while Charles is checking his phone, telling you the car should be there any minute. The night has gone from fuzzy to blurry, and you lean heavily on Charles’ shoulder, blinking repeatedly and trying to stay awake. He pours you into the backseat of the car, drags you out of it ten minutes later when you get to the hotel.

“You are so drunk,” he says, standing in the elevator, your head against his chest.

“I know you are but whatamI?” You slur, tugging on his jacket.

Charles just laughs. Even if he could understand you, he wouldn’t get the reference. His hand is resting on your shoulder, fingers squeezing your bare skin softly. You’d taken your jacket off as soon as you got inside, complaining about being hot. Charles had just taken it from your hands with an exasperated smile.

“I think you should sleep in my room,” he suggests when the elevator dings and the doors begin to open. “So I can keep an eye on you.”

You’re not that drunk, but you’re not going to argue. “Yeah, okay.”

When you wake up in his bed in the morning, Charles is asleep on the couch. He’s stretched out, one arm hanging off the edge, one foot on the armrest. His blanket is tangled in his limbs, and you feel guilty, suddenly. It was his night to celebrate, and he’d ended up taking care of you, ended up sacrificing his hotel bed and sleeping on the sofa. You sit up, feeling sick to your stomach, and not from the hangover.

“Lay down,” Charles says, not even opening his eyes. “S’too early. You need more sleep.”

“I should go to my room,” you whisper, and he opens one eye and looks at you warily. “That couch cannot be comfortable.”

“It’s not,” he admits, and the guilt lurches in your gut again. He’s smiling, though. “You tried to insist on sharing the bed, but you were very drunk.”

That’s not surprising. Drunk you always wants Charles close. You direct your eyes to the comforter and muster up all the courage you have left.

“I’m sober now,” you tell him. “So either we share the bed, or I go to my room. You look so uncomfortable.”

Charles hesitates for only a second. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, if you’ve crossed the line. But then he’d shifting, untangling himself from the blankets and tumbling off the couch. He crawls into the bed next to you, sighing happily as he sinks into the mattress. Seemingly almost without thinking, he reaches out, slips his arm around your waist, and hauls you against his chest. You let it happen.

There’s something sacred about the time between morning and night. The sky is a purple hue outside the hotel room window. The halls are quiet. Charles’ heart thuds in your ear, steady and beating out a soothing rhythm, and nothing about this feels out of place. It’s like this is where you’re meant to be, tucked against him, slotted together like puzzle pieces. You wrap your arm around his upper arm, and he pulls the blankets over the two of you.

“G’night, Charlie,” you mumble.

He laughs, and it’s a sweet sound. There’s no hostility behind it. “Goodnight, amour.”

…..

There’s something to be said about your inability to see something as it is until it’s staring you in the face. You’re stubborn as a mule, and maybe blind as a bat, too. It’s not till the holiday break that it all clicks into place.

Charles is sitting next to you at your kitchen counter, decorating cookies. You’ve been baking all weekend. It’s your grandmother’s recipe, now your responsibility to keep up the tradition. There are batches set aside for your family to decorate later, another set for the cookie party you’re holding with some of your friends from university. But Charles had whined and begged about wanting to decorate cookies, about wanting to be a part of the tradition, and you’d given in oh so easily.

He has a heart shaped one in his hand, a knife with red frosting in the other hand. He’s being so delicate, so particular, like it means so much to him. It’s just a cookie, you want to say to him. You hold my actual heart in your hands every day without a care, but you’re so delicate with a cookie?

Except, then, you’re thinking about it, and maybe that’s not true. Charles is brash and bold and confident, but he’s never anything other than gentle with you. He cares deeply, throws himself headfirst into things, he’s all or nothing. But when he’s around you he lets his guard down, takes the time to think. He’s cautious, heartfelt, kind. He takes his time.

“Max asked me to play padel today,” he says casually. “To make up for him missing our match.”

You laugh, though it feels a bit forced. You’re watching his hands, watching as he takes the white icing and writes something on the cookie. “Oh? You didn’t go?”

Charles shakes his head. “He wasn’t free till 11:00. I told you I’d be here at 10:30.”

You frown, blinking at him. He’s so focused on the cookie he doesn’t even notice you staring. He hasn’t spent this much time on a single cookie since he got to your apartment that morning.

“You could have come over later,” you say.

He shakes his head. “This was more important. I’ve been looking forward to it all week.”

It shouldn’t be the moment, is the thing. Nothing spectacular happens. It’s not like he’s made some big confession, not like anything drastic has changed. Somehow, you just know. He looks up at you, a soft smile on his face, and it’s so, so obvious. You wonder if this is what he sees when you look at him. You wonder if this is what everyone else has seen and told you about. There’s so much love in his gaze that it makes your heart skip a beat, makes your skin feel hot, makes your fingertips go numb. You set your cookie down on the table.

He holds his in his own hand, peering down at it as if he’s judging it in a competition. He turns it between his fingers, leaving a red thumbprint on the underside of it. He has icing on his fingers, all the colors of the rainbow. It’ll probably stain his skin.

“You are always more important,” he breathes, and you can’t breathe at all. “The most important.”

He turns the cookie towards you, but you already know what it’ll say. His initials and yours, in white icing on a red backdrop. He’s been saying it all along, really. The whole way. More love. I know. Somehow it has still caught you off guard, stolen the air from your lungs and the words from your lips. All this time pining after him and you had never actually considered he might be feeling it, too. But it’s there, written on the cookie, and it’s written on his face, too.

You lean in to kiss him. He tastes like frosting and feels like love, and you wonder how you didn’t see it sooner.

…..

A week later, Pierre spots the matching hickeys on yours and Charles’ necks and laughs his ass off.

“I told you,” he says, through peals of laughter, shaking his head. “You are both so blind.”

Charles wraps his arm around your waist, and you shrug. You stare up at your boyfriend, happier than you’ve ever been, the weight of his hand on your hip grounding you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, dismissing Pierre even as he continues to laugh. “We figured it out. That’s all that matters.”

Charles leans close, presses his lips to your forehead. You feel it all. The years of waiting, wondering, wishing. Pierre is congratulating the two of you and saying something about calling Carlos about a bet they’d apparently had. You can’t bring yourself to care. In the end, you suppose, Pierre deserves to gloat. All your friends do.

They were right, after all.

thanks for reading! you can check out my other fics here!

[starlightdelrey]

⟡ charles leclerc ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡

little guard - @xxblairexxss

a rock? thanks! - @starkwlkr

what's mine is mine (^)

dancing in the rain - @thef1diary

you are in love - @love-belle

fairytale - @pucksandpower

changing lanes (^)

mommy and me time! - @julyretrograde

jealous!charles - @theemporium

welcome to the chalet (^)

30 more minutes - @chillielo

mirrorball - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

causal dominance - @verstappen-cult

26 birthday kisses (the cutest thing i've actually ever read) - @f1version

after all - @scuderiahoney

all's well the ends well - @clerc16

pov - @mirohlayo

you are in love - @luviemax

i saw mommy kissing santa claus - @uramakimochi

something - @leclsrc

red - @champagneholland

— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡

too good - @dilemmaontwolegs

all that matters (^)

i'm a young man after all - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

right timing - @moneymasnn

christmas with charlie - @sports-on-sundays

the final frame - @leclsrc

— ˢᴹᵁᵀ⟡

congratulations - @awritessomething

true temptation - @cherry-leclerc

ruined all of my plans (^)

you know it - @leclsrc

sexy appeal - @lecsainz

— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡

charles' playlist - @writingstoraes

birthday - @absolutelynotmate-archive

obsessed - @chrisevansonly

nonsense...or is it? - @astonmartinii

a very nonsense christmas (^) (pt2 to one above but can be read alone)

friendship bracelets (^)

tight knit (^)

love languages (^)

oh no he's hot - @verstarppen

baby - @csainzoperator

self care queen - @mclanorizz

dangerous woman - @hemmingsleclerc

ferrari's girl - @landitolover

sur le point - @f1fnatic

mystery girl - @lewisvinga

ever letting go - @hs-is-loml

— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡

everything shower smitten (smau) - @xxblairexxss

tying the knot two three (smau) - @dannyricsmirrorball

christmas in monaco two three - @everythingne

how you get the girl (smau) - @verstappen-cult

the one that got away (smau) - @lxclerc

steal my girl snitches end up in ditches i'd lie (smau) - @leclerckins

friends or not? two - @leclercsloveletter

let you break my heart again - @sofs16

is it over now? two three four five six seven (smau) - @rhaenella

hard carry (i have a crush on the reader no joke) - @leclucklerc