softeren

[softeren]

“Britney’s in the wall”

Rosberg’s long, flowing blonde hair proved inspiration for then Williams team-mate Mark Webber, who began calling Rosberg “Britney” when in discussion with his engineers. This nickname stuck as Rosberg continuously got called Britney by the other formula one drivers.

[softeren]

would love more oscar with pregnant reader, just like rlly fluffy and cute, maybe like a babymoon type situation ?? 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Cw: reader is pregnant

"Pool or beach?", Oscar asked as he saw you put on your maternity bikini, adjusting the band around your bump.

After careful consideration from both you and Oscar, you realised that your babymoon would be better spent in a sunny european location with a beach. It would mean you had quick access to care if you needed it, you were close to home if anything happened and you'd be able to relax without having to out much more of a strain on your body, saving the hiking plans for another time.

"I'd really like to read by the pool", you offered, looking out at the villa's pool by the barbecue and outside lounging area.

"Okay", was all your husband said before he started bringing your things outside while you strutted in front of him.

Maybe it was a little carnal to feel like this, but he couldn't help himself - his wife, the love of his life, was carrying their baby and you looked beautiful doing it. Your body was the amazing, safe home for you baby and he welcomed all of the changes it brought, often reminding you in front of the mirror just how much he did.

"I know it's a little warm out, but I'd like a cuddle", you mused, smiling when Oscar pulled you into his lap, his hands going around your waist as rubbing your baby bump as he kissed your shoulder.

"I'm good with it, but we need sun protection", he asserted, getting the bottle and starting to apply the product on your skin, littering kisses along your back and chest before he was face to face with you, "hello, beautiful", he kissed your lips.

"Hey, Osc", you blushed at the attention he was giving you, kissing his lips again before getting the bottle from his hands, "my turn now", you smiled.

Moments of intimacy hadn't ceased to exist - Oscar never failed to make you feel special -, but they had a different look nowadays, like this one. Your hands worked on your husband's muscles, caressing the skin and enjoying how he reacted to your touches before you set the bottle down, "all done".

Laying down comfortably in his embrace, Oscar mused about his thoughts when he noticed you weren't reading yet, "do you think the baby will look like me or like you? I'm partial to them looking like you", he admitted.

"I think your genes will take over mine on a few things", you mumbled, "but maybe he could have my curly hair, your eyes, because they're very pretty".

"He could have your chubby cheeks - your mother sent me a few pictures last week when she was looking through your baby stuff and I melted, Y/N", Oscar admitted as he touched your face lightly.

"He's going to be a very handsome boy, just like his daddy", you put your hand on top of the one Oscar had on your bump.

"And very kind, beautiful, thoughtful like mummy", he kissed your neck, "I can't wait to be a parents with you, my love".

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

[softeren]

men should also just generally keep their hair long and lustrous

[softeren]

Mind, Body and Soul (CL16 x Reader)

2.5k words

In order for your family to possess sole dominion of Monaco, all you have to do is to take out Charles Leclerc, the heir to the Leclerc crime family. It'll be the easiest kill of your career. He is your husband, after all.

So @norrisleclercf1 (an extremely talented writer with an amazing brain and a dear friend) sent me mafia prompts because I was in a rut, and this will be the first of a few mafia-themed fics which may or may not take place in the same universe. I have yet to decide on that.

My (title to be determined) mafia collection will be a series on Patreon, but everyone gets access to the first installment ✨ I'm still thinking about if I will do abridged versions here on tumblr for the rest of them (coming soon: Max, Oscar, Lando), but do consider becoming a member of my Patreon if you want access to my works first and a few exclusives!

Warnings: Smut (minors DNI), mentions of violence, guns, murder, death, a bit of knifeplay, degradation

The sun is shining through the windows of your bedroom when you wake up. 

Rays of light are soft and warm as they caress your face, making for a pleasant awakening. 

How apt, you think to yourself, given the significance of the date today. A day that you’ve been eagerly anticipating for years. A thrill shoots through you when you think about what you have planned for today. 

Today is the day you kill Charles Leclerc.

Your husband. 

A marriage between your families, two of the biggest crime families in the country, was always going to be deadly. Merging your family’s resources and power with the Leclercs’ influence and connections made you unstoppable. At this point, you basically controlled the entire country, and then some. 

Rival bloodlines were extinguished swiftly and viciously. Competitors doing business in the same areas were either acquired, or similarly exterminated. 

You chuckle when Max, Charles’ second in command, comes to mind. A calculated, ruthless assassin- and Charles’ closest confidante. You looked forward to having him in your employ, and yours alone. 

As Charles’ wife, you’d acquire all of his assets, Max included, when he tragically passed later today. The perks of marriage.

Something akin to guilt tickles your brain as you unlock the safety box that you have had stashed deep in your closet to reveal a pistol. It is nondescript, simple, common, and tonight’s murder weapon. 

It is also not something that would be traced back to you, or your family. 

You may be the heiress to a dominant crime family, but you’re also a woman. Your guns are typically embellished with delicate engravings of your family crest, your bullets punctuated with your initials. Some would call it idiotic to have such blatant evidence of your involvement in such violent crimes, but to you it was a combination of girlishness and pride- you had all branches of the country’s law enforcement under your thumb. The thought of them even pressing charges against you was comical.

Your name struck fear into the hearts of many, with many murders toting your signature. 

For Charles, however, it was a murder that you couldn’t sign. No matter how much you wanted to. 

It wasn’t that Charles was a bad husband, or anything- quite the opposite. 

In your younger years, when you would encounter him at negotiations between your families, you had picked up on the fact that he always seemed to be fiddling with a knife, a slow, sadistic smirk on his devastatingly handsome face. You used to think that he’d be a psychopath, a bloodthirsty monster of a man, but through your families’ merger, you had come to discover that he was just as sweet as he was deadly.

The display case of knives and guns in your private armory hadn’t come as a surprise to you. It also looked quite good beside your collection. 

What had come as a surprise to you, however, was how doting he was. Fresh flowers would fill the ornate glass vase on your dining table every morning. You’d once caught him arranging them by his own hand when you had woken up a tad bit earlier than usual. Birthdays would always come with luxurious gifts- clothes, guns, jewelry, knives. It was touching how intimately he had come to know you. 

Charles was also an affectionate lover. You hated to admit it, but you would miss the way his arms would wrap around your waist when he slid into bed late at night, or the way he kissed your shoulder before heading out to a fancy dinner. 

He would be missed, for certain. Even by you. 

That was not going to get in the way of your takeover of the Leclerc crime family. 

Nothing was.

The evening is quiet and intimate. 

When Charles doesn’t have anything lined up after the sun sets, the two of you end up on the roof deck of your mansion. 

You’d asked your husband to keep tonight free for the two of you to spend some quality time together- and it wasn’t like he’d ever say no to you, whether you asked for a Birkin or for a slaughter. 

The result? 

The two of you lounging on one of the many comfortable couches on the roof deck, an unreasonably expensive bottle of wine split between the two of you. The moonlight reflects off the wine glasses that rest on the table in front of you quite nicely, complimented by the candle light.

A quintessential romantic night between husband and wife. 

Beside you, Charles is absolutely relaxed, his body sunken into the cushions. His green eyes are unguarded and half lidded. A slow smile spreads across his face, one that resembles a content kitten. 

“I’m glad you asked me to take the night off, cherie.” Your husband tells you, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. Green eyes flutter in satisfaction as he looks at you. “It has been a while since it’s been just the two of us like this, non?” 

Charles really is deadly beautiful. His tan skin is warm against yours, even in the cool evening breeze. His hair gleams in the candlelight, casting shadows over his face that perfectly accentuate his angles. His pink lips are soft and gentle in the smile he gives you. It’s amusing to think that this is the same man who had grinned at you psychotically as he slit the throat of the head of the Binotto crime family two weeks ago.

In response to his words, you hum in a noncommittal fashion, stretching out on the couch. You are clothed in one of Charles’ polo shirts, which hangs loosely on your frame. As you stretch out on the couch, the bottom of his shirt rides up ever so slightly, revealing a sliver of smooth skin on your thigh. So little, but so tantalizing to the green eyes that track your motions. 

“You need a break every once in a while, love.” You say placidly, patting Charles’ thigh affectionately. “Even a don has to unwind every now and then. Besides, I missed you.” 

You take the glass of wine that rests in front of you between your fingers delicately. Red painted lips press against the rim as you down the remaining liquid. The sweetness hits your tongue, and you let out a small noise of disappointment when you realize that your glass is now empty. 

So is the wine bottle. 

“Let me get more wine,” you mutter to the relaxed lump on the couch that is Charles with a peck to his temple, giving him a sweet smile before you get up to head to the wine cellar. You smooth his shirt down on your body, then you make your way back into the house, hips swaying ever so slightly. 

As you walk away from where you and Charles had been seated, his watchful gaze never leaves your form. 

It’s time, you tell yourself as you enter the wine cellar. 

You walk to the specific cabinet that houses your stock of 1945 Romanee-Conti. As you pull the bottle from the rack, you reach behind to also procure the gun you had been so meticulously polishing earlier that same day.

As the cold gun metal makes contact with your fingertips, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you’re about to do next. 

You like Charles well enough. His death- a real shame, truth be told. 

Eh. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of rich, handsome men in Monaco. You’d find another husband soon. One that didn’t make your monopoly of the country a joint endeavor. 

A perfectly manicured finger unlocks the bullet chamber. All you have to do is reload the gun, make your way back to the roof, and place a bullet in between Charles’ perfectly shaped eyebrows.

The desolate, grieving wife act would soon follow. 

You had the perfect black dress for the funeral. 

Now if only the gun would close properly. Damn these cheap, poor quality guns, you think as you struggle to lock the bullet chamber properly- 

“Oh, cherie.”

A chill runs up your spine at the Monegasque accent reverberating throughout the wine cellar.

Before you can react, there is a large hand wrapped around both your wrists, holding them so tightly behind your back that you drop the gun. 

Your husband is pressed against your back, and you can feel every inch of hard muscle pressed up against your body. 

Charles’ other hand travels up to pull your hair into a makeshift ponytail, yanking your head back violently. You bite back a yelp at the pain. 

“So much for unwinding, hm?” He whispers in your ear, his voice laced with danger, his breath caressing your skin. 

Fuck.

You decide to play innocent. You have a backup plan of course, a particularly sharp one, literally up your sleeve. “You didn’t have to get up, Charlie. I was just getting more wine for us.”

A psychotic chuckle. 

“I am not a fool.” Charles says to you lowly, his usually calm and pleasant voice laced with absolute ire. 

Your husband roughly manhandles you, his motions so swift that you don’t even know how you end up bent over the table in the middle of the wine cellar. 

Your mind is running a hundred miles an hour. All you have to do is to get to the knife that’s strapped to your forearm, and slit his throat. You start to wriggle in Charles’ hold, and you manage to wrangle yourself away from his grasp.

So close- your fingers are so close to your weapon when Charles is back on you, throwing the sharp blade to the ground, where it clatters loudly. 

“Did you really think you could kill me?” Charles snarls out as he pounds into you from behind roughly, his hands gripping your hips so tight that you know he’ll leave handprints. “Think I’d be easy to take out, just because you have a pretty face? Think again, cherie.” 

The sarcastic undertone of his words has you clenching around him, a lewd moan spilling from your lips, eyes rolling back in your head as he makes a particularly harsh motion that hits a spot inside you that you didn’t know existed. 

You see stars. 

“Charles!” You moan out, your hands grasping out helplessly onto the table to try and stabilize yourself against the man who’s rearranging your insides with each snap of his hips, whose hands are claiming each inch of your skin that he can reach, feral grunts and moans filling every space of the cellar. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

A sharp, cold sensation trails up your spine, tearing through the shirt that you’d stolen from Charles’ closet earlier that day to reveal the expanse of your back. 

“Ah ah,” Charles laughs manically, tutting at you disapprovingly. One of his hands pushes your body down onto the table, making you let out a sound of pain. “Don’t squirm too much, my precious wife. You wouldn’t want to cut yourself, hmm?” 

His words don’t strike fear into your mind.

Instead, the thought of one of Charles’ knives, much like the one he had been fiddling with at that meeting all those years ago, drawing blood from your skin, carving his initials into your body, mind and soul makes you pant even harder underneath his relentless ministrations. 

“Please,” you whimper, squirming all the more, even going so far as to arch your body ever so slightly against whatever part of him you can reach with his strong hold on you. “Do it.”

The sharpness digs into your skin even more, pain only amplifying the pleasure you’re feeling more and more with each passing second underneath Charles. 

“So much for taking me out.” Charles gloats, trailing the blade up your back and to your neck, pressing it down- not enough to break your skin, but enough for you to cry out at how it presses against your airway. “I could kill you right now, cherie. But you’re here, whining on my cock, crying with my knife to your throat. Pathetic- ah fuck, i’m close.” 

Despite yourself, you know you’re close too. You can feel the familiar tension in your nether regions building more and more, the heat spreading throughout your body, primal need taking over as you reach our peak. 

“Charles!” You whine out pathetically, nails clawing at nothing as you climax around him, your walls tightening around him, filthy wet sounds of your cunt clenching and spasming around his cock ringing in both of your ears, your entire being collapsing on the table from the absolute pleasure that racks your body. 

Your vision goes white. 

A purely animalistic growl fights its way out of the throat of the man behind you after one particularly hard thrust, then Charles is releasing inside you- filling you up with his seed, spouting filthy, nasty litanies. 

“You would literally die for this cock to cream inside you, so fucking take it,” Charles moans as he continues to spill inside you, his entire body trembling behind you, a hand moving to pull you up against his chest roughly. He bites into your neck, pure domination running through his veins at how you’re helpless to his every whim, grinning at the way his teeth leave marks on your skin. 

“Now what do I do with you, you nasty little traitor?” 

“Did you have fun, cherie?” Charles asks you from beside you on the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the indents his bite had left on your neck. “I think it’ll bruise. Do you want me to get you an ice pack?”

“Yes, it was perfect, amour.” You reassure him, turning in bed to be face-to-face with your husband. Your eyes are warm and loving as you look at your husband’s worried expression. Charles’ brows are furrowed in concern, lips slightly parted, eyes alight with worry. You stroke his face gently. “I asked you to bite me. You didn’t hurt me. It was hot.” 

“I trust you,” Charles says to you softly, green eyes gazing intently into yours, his voice serious. “You would tell me if it was too much? If you are not feeling well? I may have gone a little too rou-”

You decide to cut the oncoming worried rambling immediately. 

“My only suggestion is that we should do the scene the other way around too. It’s been getting too boring without any opposition.” You tell your husband with a small laugh, before pecking him lightly on the lips. “Now stop worrying and get some sleep, love. We’re taking Penelope to the shooting range tomorrow. Our best man’s child has to know how to protect herself, after all.”

Charles lets out a groan that is mixed with a chuckle at your words, rolling his eyes as he pulls you into his arms, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. “You’ll have her getting her guns engraved. We’ll have to get Oscar to allocate a budget for that.” 

“I’m sure I can make any hassle it would be for you worth your while,” you say teasingly, with a flutter of your lashes.

As you fall asleep next to each other, Charles makes a mental note to make the necessary arrangements tomorrow. Whatever his love desires, he wills into reality- anything for the one who possesses his mind, body and soul. 

You don’t have to, but if you like my work and have a few spare bucks, I’d love it if you left me a tip on ko-fi and/or subscribed to my Patreon- which will give you early access to my work and some exclusive content!

As always, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated!

My fics are my own- please do not post them on other platforms without my explicit permission.

J’s Patreon | Request Guidelines | Requests | J’s Navigation

Tag lists

General. @i-wish-this-was-me @st4rshine @inloveallthetime @seasideslope @darleneslane @lilypadlover @biancathecool @piastrimovs @depressedriches @oscahpastry @prettiest-at-the-party @lifeboredme @megatrilss1885 @racingheartsposts @mess-is-my-aesthetic @bellezaycafe @not-nyasa

Didn't ask to be tagged but I'm tagging anyway. @leclerced @scuderiahoney @daddyricsdoll @norrisleclercf1 @norrizzandpia @curiousthyme @pinkswaet

💌 Drop an ask to be added to my taglist!

[softeren]

Crazy Cravings

Max Verstappen x wife!Reader

Summary: pregnancy cravings can make you (and your husband) do crazy things … neither of you particularly minds

Warnings: 18+ content and pregnancy

You sit in the Red Bull Racing garage, feeling the warm Spanish sun on your face through the open door. The roar of engines and whirring of power tools surrounds you as the mechanics prepare for the race.

Your eyes are drawn to the iconic blue and silver cans scattered around the garage. Those tantalizing cans of Red Bull that everyone else seems to be drinking so casually.

Everyone except you and Max, that is.

You rub your rounded belly, feeling your precious cargo kick and squirm inside you. At six months pregnant, your cravings have been … intense, to say the least. But none more powerful than your longing for the crisp, fizzy taste of Red Bull.

The caffeine is off limits, of course. You would never dream of jeopardizing your baby’s health. But oh, how you crave that sweet, energizing flavor that used to be such a routine part of your life.

Max emerges from the back room, his bright grey eyes instantly finding you. He strides over, that effortless confidence and raw athleticism making your heart flutter, even after all these years. His gaze drifts to the Red Bull can in a mechanic’s hand and a grimace crosses his face.

“Liefje, are you alright?” He murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I know how much those are torturing you lately.”

You force a smile, not wanting him to worry. “I’m fine, Maxie. Just … ignoring the siren call of carbonated temptation.”

His thumb strokes your cheek as he studies you, clearly not convinced. Max has been so incredibly supportive during this pregnancy, abstaining from Red Bull himself in solidarity. Cutting out his biggest vice, just so you don’t have to be tormented by the sight and scent of it everywhere.

“We should get you out of here,” he says, looping an arm around your waist to help leverage your bulk out of the chair. “The smells can’t be helping those crazy cravings.”

You open your mouth to protest, not wanting to pull him away from his work, but a fresh wave of dizzying desire hits you as a mechanic cracks open another can. The fizzing hiss and unmistakable scent make your mouth water uncontrollably.

“Max ...” you whisper, feeling your throat tighten with barely restrained craving and hormonal tears prickling your eyes.

He follows your yearning gaze to the Red Bull can and understanding dawns. “Oh, liefje ...” Scooping you into his arms, he strides from the garage, shooting an apologetic look at his crew.

Once outside in the fresh air, you bury your face against Max’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar, comforting cologne as he carries you to the motorhome. He eases you onto the couch, brushing kisses along your forehead and temple.

“I’m so sorry, schatje,” he murmurs, anguish lining his handsome features. “I hate seeing you suffer like this. If there was any way I could make the cravings stop ...”

You catch his hand, lacing your fingers through his calloused ones. “Max, you know I would never actually ask you to give up Red Bull, right?”

He shakes his head fiercely. “Not being able to have it for nine months is nothing compared to your sacrifice, carrying our baby. I don’t deserve you.”

Pulling him down beside you, you cup the chiseled line of his jaw, making him meet your gaze. “I happen to think you deserve the very best, Mr. Verstappen. And right now, the very best for both of us would be ...” Your voice cracks with fresh longing. “A damn Red Bull.”

Max’s eyes blaze with sudden determination, that iron willpower that has made him a champion coming to life. “Then that’s what I’ll get you. If those tossers at Red Bull Company won’t make a safe, caffeine-free version for pregnant women, I’ll personally make them regret it.”

You laugh shakily. “Max, you can’t just bully a corporation into creating a new product line for one person’s weird craving!”

“You’re not just one person,” he growls, tangling his fingers in your hair and bringing his forehead to rest against yours. “You’re my everything. And our baby deserves for its mother to be happy and have her cravings satisfied.”

Pressing a fierce kiss to your lips, he adds, “I’m calling them right now. And then straight to the CEO, if I have to. I’ll get you that Red Bull if it’s the last thing I do.”

True to his word, the indomitable Max Verstappen spends the next several days working every possible connection and calling in every favor. You catch bits of conversations, his clipped tones making it clear just how serious he is about this bizarre quest.

“No, I don’t care if it’s not ‘cost-effective’. This is for my very pregnant wife ...”

“She’s risking her health to grow an entire person! The least your company can do is make a freaking caffeine-free energy drink ...”

The crew quickly learns not to open any Red Bull around you, lest they face the wrath of an overprotective Max. Which is slightly embarrassing … but also incredibly sweet.

Your hormones most definitely approve.

Finally, there’s a break in the stalemate. Helmut Marko himself shows up at the motor home, those bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows furrowed.

“Max, this is ridiculous. They will not reconfigure an entire product line just because Y/N is having a little … craving.”

You brace yourself for the explosion, but Max just levels Helmut with that intense stare. “If you could experience these cravings yourself, you would be singing a different tune. Y/N is sacrificing everything to have our baby. The least Red Bull can do is give her a safe option to have the flavor she misses so much.”

Helmut’s expression softens slightly at the obvious devotion in Max’s voice. “You know that corporate will never go for it. Not for just one person ...”

“Then make it for all the other pregnant women dealing with the same issues,” Max returns, unruffled. “Or is a company that plasters ‘Gives You Wings’ on every can really too cowardly to follow through on empowering people?”

You suck in a shocked breath at his daring play. But the flicker of anger and resigned capitulation in Helmut’s eyes shows that it worked.

“Fine, you little shit,” the older man growls. “I’ll talk to product development. But I’m not making any promises!”

Except somehow … Max’s sheer bullheaded tenacity eventually batters through all the corporate resistance and red tape. Three weeks later, an unmistakable bright blue can appears on the counter, the iconic Red Bull logo stamped across it.

“What’s this?” You ask in confusion.

Max slides an arm around your waist, beaming proudly. “Open it and see.”

You crack the seal, sniffing cautiously … and almost melt at the nostalgic, beloved scent of Red Bull. But just as you start to panic about caffeine, you notice the slightly different flavor.

“Max, is this ...”

He nods, grinning. “Zero caffeine but all the taste you’ve been craving. No more tears over those damn energy drink cans, okay?”

Throwing your arms around him, you yank his head down to capture his mouth in a grateful kiss. “Have I mentioned lately how incredible you are?”

“Once or twice,” he jokes, then sobers, cupping your belly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you and our baby happy.”

“You’re giving me everything I ever wanted and more.” You take a long pull of the perfectly flavored liquid, sighing in blissful satisfaction. “We hit the jackpot with you, Max Verstappen.”

He kisses you again, reveling in your obvious enjoyment. “The only jackpot I need is right here.”

***

Your baby bump has popped out to truly impressive proportions now at eight months along. What started as an innocent craving for Red Bull has escalated into an all-out physiological war.

Nothing seems to satisfy you for long — you’re a walking bundle of hormones and insatiable desires.

From the plush solitude of the Red Bull hospitality suite, you try not to gaze wistfully toward the Ferrari encampment. But you can’t resist fixating on the tantalizing cones of rich gelato constantly streaming from their hospitality tent.

Watching a couple of Ferrari mechanics stroll by, licking at scoops of pistachio and stracciatella, is enough to kickstart a powerful new yearning. Your mouth waters shamelessly as they pass, the creamy dessert leaving you weak in the knees. Before you can overthink it, you’re shuffling toward the entrance, one hand cradling your belly.

“Scusi,” you call out hesitantly as you peek inside. “Mi dispiace … is it possible to get some gelato?”

You half expect to be waved away — it’s well known that the Ferrari team is notoriously insular and protective of their spoils. But the cheerful greeting you receive is instantaneous and overwhelming.

“Madonna mia! Look at this beautiful piccina!”

Suddenly you’re engulfed by a whirlwind of chattering Italian voices, greeted by smiling faces from the team of elderly signoras who comprise the Ferrari hospitality staff. Weathered hands pat your belly and cheeks, clucking sympathetically at your swollen state.

“You poor bambina, absolutely enorme! Of course we’ll get you some gelato to refresh you. And biscotti too! You need to keep up your energy, si?”

You’re ushered toward a plush sofa, various grandmotherly types fussing over you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing. It’s … surprisingly wonderful. They clearly adore babies and pregnant women. You get the sense that indulging a mother-to-be is hardwired into their very beings.

A tray of gelato cups appears, the rainbow of flavors almost dazzling in their variety — chocolate, pistachio, prickly pear, lemon, stracciatella. Before you can reach for one, it’s plucked from your grasp.

“No no no! Leave it to Nonna Maria.” A stout signora with a green paisley dress and frosted silver curls shakes her head sternly. “I’ll start you with the lemon to whet your appetite. Then a nice creamy stracciatella as a proper treat for the bambino.”

The tangy flavor of the lemon gelato hits your craving exquisitely. As soon as you’ve polished off that cup, Nonna Maria presents another brimming with the creamy chocolate chip perfection of stracciatella. You moan in appreciation, unbothered by the chorus of approving noises from your doting new entourage.

Before you know it, you’ve been plied with cups of hazelnut, strawberry, and caramel flavors as well. These hospitable Italian ladies simply won’t be deterred from pampering a future mamma. As you scrape the last smears of gelato from a ramekin, a new grandmother settles on the sofa beside you.

“Now ... tell Nonna Gina what this little maschietto or bambina has been craving, eh?” She pats your belly affectionately. “We have chefs who can whip up anything your heart desires!”

Is it a pregnancy thing, this sudden wave of tears that blurs your vision? Or just being so insanely touched by the kindness and maternal care of these lovely strangers? You blink rapidly, swallowing hard.

“Honestly … gelato has been my biggest craving these past couple days. I don’t know if I can eat another bite.”

A chorus of disapproving gasps and tuts rises from the assembled grandmothers. “Bah! This pregnancy has ruined your appetite, piccina,” one crows, waving a hand dismissively. “We’ll soon get it back to rights, don’t you worry.”

For the next hour, you’re lavished with attention, fussed over and coddled like the most precious jewel. Cold drinks and chilled towels appear to keep you comfortable as the nonnas take turns sitting with you, petting your belly and swapping outrageous birth stories.

Their colorful Italian voices swell and ebb as they bicker over whose recipe for pasta al ragu is most authentic, who has the most grandchildren, and whose first-born grandson is most handsome.

It’s chaos and noise and overwhelming affection … and you’ve never felt so utterly content.

As the afternoon light slants golden through the awning, a familiar figure appears in the entrance, haloed by the fiery rays.

“Liefje? I’ve been looking everywhere ...” Max’s disbelieving gaze sweeps over the scene in front of him — you, surrounded by a veritable coven of grandmotherly Italians who seem entirely absorbed with you. “What in the world ...”

A chubby signora with a bright orange shawl wrapped around her ample form hops up, beaming widely. “Ahh! We have been absolutely spoiling your beautiful wife, of course. Did you know she had a craving for gelato? Well, no problem for us — we have taken her like one of our own bambinas!”

The others cluck and murmur in outraged agreement at his shocked expression.

“We absolutely will not let a piccina in such a state go hungry or uncomfortable! Now you sit down so we can get you a plate of some proper food too!”

Max gapes at you, utterly nonplussed as you grin back at him with unabashed glee, utterly stuffed with Italian desserts and reveling in the indulgent babying. You pat the space beside you invitingly.

“You’ve got to try Nonna Gina’s tiramisu, Maxie. It’ll knock your socks off.”

He settles beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders and still looking rather dazed. But the instant the first warm smile and pat lands on his arm or knee, Max’s expression melts. This team of fussing Italian grandmothers has clearly adopted you both as their own.

Nonna Maria reappears, shoving a plate stacked with crispy arancini, indulgent risotto alla Milanese, and a creamy slice of tiramisu into your husband’s hands. “Eat up! You need to keep your strength up too, caring for this sweet cosa bella.” She plants bristly kisses on both your cheeks before scurrying off again.

Max watches her go, then turns to you with a bemused chuckle, squeezing you close. “Well, schatje. I have to hand it to you — at least your pregnancy cravings bring you to some … interesting places.”

You hum in agreement, perfectly content as you snuggle against his side. “Can you really think of a better place for me to nest?” You grin as another nonna appears to pat his cheek, welcoming him into the chaotic fold. “I think I may have just found my second family.”

He tilts your chin up, eyes sparkling with warmth. “Anything that makes you happy and keeps our baby healthy.”

As he kisses you tenderly, surrounded by clucking encouragement and rapturous croons of “bello, bellisimo” from your new Italian grandmothers, you know you’ve never felt so blissfully cherished.

You and Max make your way slowly back to the Red Bull motorhome, stuffed to the gills with gelato and trailed by a gaggle of besotted well-wishers calling out farewells and advice.

“I still can’t believe you managed to befriend the entirety of Ferrari hospitality,” Max laughs, helping ease you onto the couch in his driver’s room. He nudges your belly playfully. “This little one is shaping up to be quite the international charmer!”

“Says the man who single-handedly compelled Red Bull to create an entirely new product line,” you point out, patting your swollen middle contentedly. “I have a feeling this baby is going to be the most spoiled child on earth.”

Max settled beside you, gathering you close with a tender smile. “Can you blame all our people for wanting to give the world to you two?” His thumb traced your jawline reverently. “You’re carrying a little miracle, liefje.”

Your breath catches, as it so often did when he looks at you like that. Like you’re his entire universe. With so much pure adoration and love shining in those grey eyes.

“Our miracle,” you correct softly, cradling his calloused hand over your belly. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Not just supporting me … but giving me everything I could ever dream of.”

He opens his mouth like he wanted to protest, but you press on, needing him to understand how treasured he makes you feel.

“You don’t stop until I’m happy. Even when I get these raging, random cravings that probably seem crazy, you move heaven and earth to give me whatever I need. Most people would never ...”

“Neither of us is most people,” Max interrupts fiercely. He presses a searing kiss to your lips, then the swell of your abdomen. “You and our little one are my entire world. I’ll spend every day showing you how much I love you both, how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

Hormones raging, you pull his mouth back to yours, savoring the taste and feel of him surrounding you. When you finally part, you rest your forehead against his.

“In that case, you better rest up for tonight,” you tease. “I have a feeling that someone’s going to get a craving for sardines and waffles right around midnight.”

***

At nine months pregnant, you feel like a blissfully beached whale.

Your belly protrudes so massively that you can barely see your feet anymore. Simple tasks like tying your shoes or rolling over in bed have become awkward geometric obstacles. Max has to help you up from every chair or couch, his strong arms levering your frame into a vertical position.

Lingering in the paddock is no longer an option either. You’ve been gently but firmly ordered back home to Monaco to prepare for the baby’s arrival.

Thank goodness your nesting instincts are going full tilt — otherwise you might go stir crazy waiting for this little one to make their grand debut. You’ve rearranged and re-organized the nursery a dozen times, washed and rewashed all the tiny onesies and miniature accessories, and baked enough lactation cookies to feed an army of nursing mothers.

Really, there’s only one craving occupying your mind now …

The thump of shoes in the hall makes you look up eagerly. Max appears in the doorway of the sunlit nursery, loose waves of brown hair framing his face. The plain white tee stretches enticingly across his chest and shoulders, making your mouth water for an entirely different reason than food.

“Hey schatje,” he greets, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes in your flushed cheeks. A knowing smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Were you just ... thinking about me?”

You shake your head adamantly, wincing as the motion makes your whole body ache in protest. “Maybe just a little. This particular craving is getting out of control.”

Crossing to you in two strides, Max cups your jaw and brings your lips crashing together in a searing kiss. His tongue sweeps demanding and possessive into your mouth, making you whimper faintly. That intoxicating masculine scent of fresh sweat, motor oil, and sandalwood surrounds you in an alluring cloud.

After all these years, just the taste and smell of your husband is enough to drench you in molten wanting. Baby or no baby, Max Verstappen is still the sexiest goddamn thing on two legs.

“Mmm, I know exactly what you need,” he rumbles against your neck, nipping a tingling path along your sensitive skin. “Luckily for you, I’ve got a free schedule all afternoon to help take care of this craving ...”

He scoops you into his arms effortlessly, cradling your heavy weight against his chest to carry you to the bedroom. You twine your arms shamelessly around his neck, luxuriating in the hard strength of his body against yours.

“Aren’t you worried about ... squashing the baby?”

“Not at all,” he deposits you carefully on the bed. Those bright grey eyes darken with blazing lust. “I’m going to take such good care of you and our little one.”

His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once — caressing, nibbling, and stroking every sensitive inch he can lavish adoring attention on. You keen softly when he dips his tongue into your navel, rubbing reverent circles over the tight swell of your belly.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Max murmurs, lips brushing the crease where your torso and bump meet. “So ripe and round and radiant with our child. My beautiful, strong girl ...”

All you can do is lie there gasping, overwhelmed in the best possible way. He strips you methodically, leaving a trail of scorching, openmouthed kisses over every newly exposed inch.

“My sexy little pregnant wife,” he husks, tongue dragging up the slick crease at the apex of your thighs. “Can’t resist this craving can you, liefje?”

His fingers plunge inside you, curling expertly as his mouth closes over your throbbing bud. You throw your head back shamelessly, mindless with pleasure as Max devours you.

So good, so unbearably good …

He ravishes you thoroughly, sending gushing waves of release crashing through your body over and over again until you’re gasping and quivering. Atoms of blissful satisfaction hum in your bloodstream as you float back into sweet oblivion.

An insistent nudge against your belly slowly rouses you. Max looms over you, hair deliciously rumpled and eyes glittering wickedly. “Did I satisfy that craving sufficiently? Or should I keep going?”

Your mouth curves in a greedy smile, hands gliding over his flexing shoulders and chest. “Again, please ...”

It had long since become a running gag around the paddock and team — before you were advised to stop flying. When you couldn’t be located, someone would joke that you must be off ravaging your utterly besotten husband yet again.

Max took the ribbing with surprising grace, grinning unrepentantly whenever his shirt collar revealed another blossom of lovebites discoloring the skin of his throat.

You really didn’t care about the teasing. You’re indulging an entirely healthy and normal craving — just a wife thoroughly appreciating her man.

“Can you believe people used to call this a punishment?” You giggle breathlessly one afternoon.

Max nips a stinging path along the soft skin of your inner thighs, tracing tantalizingly close to your heated center. He laves his tongue soothingly over the reddened marks, leering up at you from between your parted legs.

“Let them call it whatever they want. I’m just taking advantage of your hormones making you insatiable for me.”

“Mmm, well I can’t seem to resist your obscenely perfect body either,” you admit with a lazy stretch. “Maybe we really are being punished.”

One dark brow wings up eloquently as Max drags his eyes over you in a deliberately insolent perusal. Taking your leg in hand, he licks an achingly slow, filthy stripe up the crease where thigh meets hip.

You choke on a whimper, whole body jolting as he sucks a blossom of wet kisses into the satiny expanse of your inner thigh. Those bright grey eyes hold yours in wicked challenge as his clever tongue massages and swirls over your sensitized flesh.

“This certainly doesn’t seem like punishment to me,” he husks darkly. “Does it feel like punishment when I do this ...” His mouth moves higher. “Or this ...”

By the time he finishes torturing you into a quivering, needy wreck, you’re more than ready to beg.

“Please, Max!” You sob, bucking helplessly against the maddening sensations. “I need you, oh god I need you so bad ...”

He settles heavily over you, nuzzling your hair aside to trail searing kisses along your damp throat. “Then you shall have me. My needy wife can have whatever she craves ...”

It’s midway through one such shattering round of lovemaking that Max’s phone begins to ring shrilly. You try to disentangle, burning embarrassment tinting your cheeks, but he simply growls and clutches you tighter.

“Leave it!” He bites out, surging forward to recapture your mouth in a bruising clash of teeth and tongue between thrusts. “I’m busy ... satisfying … my wife ...”

After, as you lie tangled in a sweaty heap of satiation, you can’t resist asking with a wry smile, “Was that another craving I just demanded you satisfy?”

Max props himself up on one elbow, thumb stroking idly along your abdomen as his piercing gaze roams over your flushed, disheveled form.

“Whatever my wife needs,” he responds huskily. Those burning eyes promise infinite carnal delights to come as they caress your body. “I’ll always crave giving her everything she desires.”

He stretches beside you, a blissful smile curving his lips as you snuggle up against his side to exchange lazy kisses.

You’ve got a sneaking suspicion this is one craving that might outlast the pregnancy ...

[softeren]

Like Bambi on Ice - Max Verstappen

Summary: Some people might mistake Max's protectiveness as something negative but really he just doesn't trust his accident-prone girlfriend to get more than 10 steps on her own without managing even just a minor injury.

Themes: multiple injuries for reader

No part 2 requests please

There's really no reason for y/n to be so uncoordinated and have such bad depth perception. There's literally not explanation, doctors have tried to figure it out. Max even tried to theorise but to no avail.

Y/n just is clumsy and that clumsiness leaves with some sort of cut, bruise, scrape or sometimes more a severe injury. Usually much to Max's distress and attempt to prevent it.

Sometimes he's successful in rushing to stop he from falling, or walking into things.

You know when you try to swerve a counter and sometimes hit your ribs? Y/n managed to crack a rib doing that just last month. That made Max freak out since it happened while he was away for a race weekend and she had stayed at home.

It's healed since with plenty of rest and continuous efforts from Max to make sure she doesn't do anything to risk further injury.

Right now they're just in the hotel room, getting ready for a Sprint Saturday.

"I-ah." Y/n gasps words cut off followed by the sound of skin hitting the floor. "Ow."

Max jogs into the bathroom already knowing what's happened since she's just stepped out the shower. He finds her sitting on the floor with her legs out in front of her.

"How do I manage to fail at getting out the shower?" Y/n groans making him laugh a little as he picks her up put his hands up under her armpits. "It's tragic."

"It's not tragic. It's just the way you are." Max smiles then moving behind her and holding her waist till she's off the slippery bathroom floor and onto the much safer and softer to land on carpet of the bedroom. Though does actually keep hold of her till she turns to face him.

Her body slumping in a heavy sigh as he gently tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I love you, injuries and all." Max states earning a hum.

"I love you too, perfectionism and all." Y/n grins then sighing. "Can you help me dry me hair?"

"Of course I can, baby."

-

A mistake on Max's part was letting y/n follow him up the stairs, because as soon as he heard as squeak of the rubber sole of her shoe on the plastic step and her gasp, he managed to turn fast enough to prevent her upper body from hitting the steps but her knee cap smashes straight into the edge of a step.

"Fuck! Ah, ah ah." Y/n panics as Max rushes to pick her up and carry her to a better spot. "Ow, ow. No. It really hurts."

Tears are the first sign of y/n's injury being something that Max needs to worry. She didn't even cry when she cracked her ribs, sure he wasn't there but other people were and she just hissed, rubbed her ribs and it was only when the bruising appeared she went and got them x-rayed for damage.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Y/n gags once she's sat down, tilting her head back as she takes a few deeper breaths while Max tries to access the damage.

"We need to get you to the medical centre, just to be safe. You're bleeding quite a bit." Max sighs since the cut across her knee is pretty nasty but the blood that's dripping down her leg is definitely making it look bad. "Don't look, don't look at it."

"Well it must be pretty bad if you don't want me to look." Y/n laughs with a shaky breath earning a small sigh from the driver as he looks at the few team members around him.

"We'll get you moved." Max states really just wanting her to pick her up and get her seen to as quick as possible. "Don't look though."

"Keep looking at the ceiling. Got it." She nods with a breathy laugh that gives away she's definitely feeling the pain of her injury.

They get her to the medical centre, gaining a fair amount of attention from others in the paddock. They clean her up and find her kneecap is intact and after giving her a clean up and stern-strips to close the wound as best they can, they also give her crutches with instructions to not bend her knee too much otherwise the wound will open again.

"Max, what happened to y/n? There's like stains from her blood on the ground in the paddock. Is she ok? Everyone was so worried seeing you carry her to the medical centre."

"Ah, yeah. She's fine. She tripped going up the steps in the unit and just sliced her knee cap. But once they blood was gone it wasn't so bad. She is ok though, it was just a bit of shock." Max explains since he knew this question was coming.

"That's good, well not good but we're glad she's not managed to injury herself too bad."

-

Despite some assuming y/n's knee injury would stop her from further injury, Max knew better.

In fact her efforts to prevent further injury to her knee only led her managing to sprain her wrist using the crutches. She also managed to get stuck in-between a sliding door which had her hysterical with laughter as Max jumped to push the doors apart again.

"I wonder how many scars I have...or how many scars I've gained since we met. I feel like the paddock is a bit of a source of injury for me." Y/n comments as they sit back in Max's Monaco home.

"You might have a point." Max hums since he can't deny she is accident-prone but for some reason she's never managed to walk through the paddock without tripping, falling or bumping into someone. Sometimes all three at once, or even all three at completely different points in her walk.

It's almost impressive she can manage to injure herself so much given how short the walk to the Red Bull unit is compared to the others but if anyone could achieve so much with injury, it's y/n.

Max sighs tracing his thumb over the pink, fresh scar on her knee as she rests her legs over his lap.

"I love you." Y/n mumbles with a soft smile leaning her head against the back of the sofa.

"I love you too." Max smiles then rubbing her thigh. Oddly the part of her body with the least scaring, not the least injury but the least scaring. Just one slightly white scar of when she was younger, falling down a rocky edge into a river. A few rocks ripped up the back of her thigh pretty bad and the scars look almost like scratches. "I love every inch of you, born that way or not."

"I don't know how I got so lucky to get a man who will literally jump to protect me from myself and my horrendous co-ordination." Y/n grins shifting close enough that she can kiss him a couple times. "You are the best, and not just in F1."

"Now you are just feeding my ego."

[softeren]

hiii idk if youre doing reqs rn but how about lestappen x reader where shes unused to being taken care of, having to succumb to the fact she needs help after an injury (nothing too graphic like maybe a sprained ankle or a broken wrist) and max and charles trying their best to make her understand that they *want* to help and that she has to let them and her yk kinda warming up to the idea idkkk😭 feel free to ignore it i js thought it was sweet✋️😔

You turn on the kitchen lights and Charles and Max are immediately pausing the game and turning around, surprised to see you supporting all your weight in your left leg, while keeping your balance by leaning against the wall.

Max is up in a blink of an eye. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” He helps you walk to one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

“I wanted something to eat.” You say, sitting down and trying not to show how relieved you are. Your ankle is still hurting but you don’t want to worry them.

“You could’ve just told us.” Charles joins you and Max in the kitchen. “What do you want?” He asks you while walking towards the fridge.

You wince, looking down at your hands. “I can prepare something. You’re busy.”

“We were just playing FIFA.” Max leans down to leave a kiss on your cheek. “We weren’t exactly busy.”

“Still,” You argue back, this time looking at your blonde haired boyfriend. “I can do it myself.”

“You’re supposed to be resting, or you’re not gonna get better.”

Charles is right.

And just because of that you accept his offer to make something to eat.

“I’d like some pasta, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Charles frowns as he takes all the ingredientes out of the fridge. “If it’s not too much trouble? Are you hearing yourself?”

Max gives him a disapproving look when he sees you look away.

“You sit here and we’re gonna take care of it, okay?” Max smiles before helping his boyfriend to avoid any incident like it always happens when Charles cooks. Or tries to.

While they’re occupied you think that is a good idea to take a shower to feel fresh and clean before dinner.

But the second you move to get up, Charles is by your side ready to help you.

It makes you feel a lot of things, some good and bad — especially some bad ones. Because the last thing you wanted was to cause trouble and have them running behind you to help with whatever you need, forcing them to cancel events to stay at home with you. Which is exactly what happened.

“What do you want?”

You groan, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“I’ll run a bath for you.” Charles smiles brightly, forcing you to sit back down. But you don’t let him get away, grabbing his wrist.

“I can do it,” You feel stressed and a burden, and there are tears pricking your eyes. “You don’t need to do everything for me.”

Max stops chopping the vegetables to pay attention to you. “We know that,” He says with a weird expression on his face that you don’t really want to think about right now. “we’re trying to help you. You fell down and are in a lot of pain even if you want us to believe otherwise.”

You blush because you thought you were doing a pretty good job hiding how bad you actually feel.

“When we said that we want to take care of you, it was because we mean it. Nothing is more important than you.” Charles rubs his thumb over your knuckles, while you feel really small and scolded like a little kid.

“I just–,” You hide behind your hands, finally letting the tears fall freely down your face. “I don’t wanna be a burden.”

They stay silent for a few minutes. And then, you feel Max arms on your back while Charles lifts your chin up with his fingers. They look softly at you which only makes you cry harder.

“Oh, princess.” Max wipes the tears with the pad of his fingers. “We love you. Of course we want to take care of you and help with anything you need. You’re never gonna be a burden for us, okay?”

“I know you’d do the same for us.” Charles lets you rest your head against his chest as the both of them hold you in their arms. “Will you let us take care of you?”

You want to say no, but deep down you want to be taken care of. But you’re so used to doing everything by yourself, you never had someone worrying this much for you, never had someone who cared. And now you don’t have one but two people willing to drop everything just to take care of you.

You nod against Charles’ chest, tears still flowing down your face, and whisper, “Okay.” Even if you still want to fight against it and do everything by yourself.

Maybe things need to change a little.

[softeren]

I can take them

[softeren]

i need to bite him

📸 Qian Jun, China 2024

[softeren]

Post race Charles and Post race Max need to be studied

Two different vibes, yet so similar.

[softeren]

Carlos being obsessed with readers baby bumppp 🫶🫶

Cw: reader is pregnant

"There are my girls", Carlos said as you stepped into the hospitality with his parents following you behind. The Spanish GP had a sweeter taste this year with all his family there, Carlos starting from pole and your pregnancy finally out in the world, which meant you were walking around in one of your pretty dresses, bump fully on show much to Carlos' appreciation.

"Hello, amor", you greeted him, kissing his lips and feeling his hands go straight to your bump.

"Look at you two, you look so nice!", Charles seemingly came out of nowhere behind you, "I'm filming the weekend - would you mind if I take a little clip of you?", he said.

"No worries", you nodded.

"Just so you know, Y/N, Carlos spent one of the last videos we recorded for social media talking about your baby bump, he even showed some pictures he takes weekly - it was all very cute", Charles smiled.

"You have what?", you turned to face your husband, "you always say those are just for you!".

"I couldn't help myself, your baby bump is so cute! I can't get enough!", he kissed your temple.

.

"Hey amor", you said softly as you stepped inside the bedroom, your husband smiling up at you from his spot on the bed as he tidied his bedside table.

"Cariño, I was about to go downstairs to come and get you after I got this sorted out", he stated as you gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes and made them all squinty like usual.

"Can I have a cuddle, please? The boys keep kicking me and I could really use some you time before your parents bring Clara back", you spoke.

Carlos stretched his arms, wanting to comfort you, "Come here, I would love nothing more", he offered

You smiled softly this time, laying on the bed carefully so you could face your husband after he mimicked your movements - albeit in a much more athletic and smooth way.

"You're a little far away from me", Carlos chuckled as he rubbed your bump, feeling the little kicks, "I can't believe we're almost there", he mumbled.

"You tell me, I just wanted to be close to you but these guys want to get to your first - it's all fun and nice when you marry the tall, handsome Spanish man, but when it comes to having his kids? Especially two of them? No one tells you about that", you giggled.

"It's so round", Carlos said as he rubbed around your belly button, feeling the boys soothe down with their legs, "and you're doing it so well, you look so beautiful, every day", he kissed your forehead before he wiggled around a little more, finding a way to hold you closer to him.

"This is perfect, thank you", you whispered as you felt as enveloped in his embrace as you possibly could.

[softeren]

...

[softeren]

Yuki: The only thing I'm guilty of is being adorable... ...and also assault with a deadly weapon.

[softeren]

The Not-So Invisible Boyfriend - OP81

Request from @tinyhrry - Hii i have a request for oscar. His relationship with yn is not a secret but its private. So yn ikes to make tiktoks and ig stories but oscar doesnt want people to think shes single and alone so he does things that make it look like shes with a guy. Im sorry if this is confusing but its like this tiktok! https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSFsD3oNK/

No part 2 requests please

Oscar and y/n never really made a point of discussing the privacy of their relationship. They just both sort of silently fell into an agreed digital silence with each other.

They follow each other and like each other's posts but that's the extend of it.

Y/n already having a decent following on her platforms and Oscar amassing a following from his career. Neither needed the other for some sort of clout.

So Oscar never appears on y/n's accounts and y/n never appears on Oscar's accounts.

She attends races and does get caught on broadcast and in clips of the paddock. But she has noticed that Oscar sometimes likes to insert himself in other ways. Just little glimpses of himself.

He has always helped but when y/n makes videos she finds his hand reaching into frame or he'll put a necklace he's bought for her on her before she starts recording.

One particular instant that he shocked her with was throwing his 81 cap at her while she was recording a TikTok.

"Alright, guys so I'm back home. I'm home alone and I'm going to have a reset. So clean the house and have a little pamper session with me." Y/n grins setting her phone down. "We've been away and the apartment was sort of left in a bit of a mess. So it needs a revive and then I'll give myself a nice night in."

Oscar is out in Woking on the simulator for the day so she's got the day to just spend however she likes.

Y/n sets up her clips and cleaning the floor, doing their washing from travelling so much.

"I'm not saying that I was made for house chores...but honestly till me I'm not a top tier house wife right now." Y/n grins to the camera as she finishes folding laundry. "Ok, time for trophy wife agenda to start."

-

By the time Oscar arrives home y/n is just stepping into the bath and sighs settling down in the worth of the bath.

"Getting boobs out for the camera." Y/n mumbles before seeing Oscar step up to the open doorway. "Hello, you."

"Are you pursing a new avenue that I don't know about?" Oscar questions making her grin.

"I'm trying to captured me in the bath. But actually since you're home and not dripping wet like me-don't make that face, you perv." Y/n states watching Oscar smirk at the mention of her being dripping wet.

"I'm sorry, go on." Oscar laughs since he knows she was going to ask for a favour.

"Could you get me a glass of water with some ice please?"

"Ok." Oscar nods though he moves forward and leans over kissing her softly. "Can't believe you're naked on camera right now."

"I'm covered!" Y/n giggles earning a disapproving grunt before he moves out the bathroom and she looks at the camera knowing how she'll edit that moment later.

Oscar appears with a wine glass with water and ice in it knowing that y/n likes to use wine glasses for any drink she wants because it's "boujee" that way.

"Awww...thank you, baby." Y/n grins before watching him sigh and sit on the floor still out of frame of her phone but still there. "Are you staying?"

"I want to join you but you're recording so I'll just sit here."

"No...stop the recording, it's for a TikTok anyway. I've definitely got enough footage for the video." Y/n smiles making him get up and stop the recording. Putting her phone down on the side before he pulls off his own clothes and climbs in behind her. "How was your day?"

"It was good, missed you."

"You always say that." Y/n laughs before she's pulled to lead back against as much as possible. "I missed you too...cleaned the house and I got all our clothes clean and dry."

"Productive day and now you're ending it relaxing and winding down?"

"Yeah, feels like the only right way to end the day."

Later while editing, y/n does her usual technique of including Oscar but not enough for him to really be in it, just him handing her the wine glass and his feet when they end the day watching Monsters Inc.

-

Y/n smiles posing for a video in the mirror for Oscar's hands to come into frame, placing his helmet on top of her head and his laugh to be captured just before she stops recording.

"I'm trying to get my outfit on video, you pest." Y/n laughs then sighing. "I'm uploading that though."

"Do it." Oscar grins placing his helmet down and pulling her into a kiss. "Mmm...if we were anywhere else."

"Behave." Y/n laughs then clearing her throat while Oscar seems to have his mind stuck in his own thoughts of what he'd do if they were anywhere else. "You need to get ready for practice, get changed."

"Mmm." Oscar grunts finally releasing her with a small smile while she sits down and posts the video.

It takes a matter of minutes for DMs to come in with followers and fans saying they wish y/n and Oscar posted together but this is really the extend of it. Hell, they've even appeared on Lando's photography account more than they've appeared on each other's.

Y/n thinks the only evidence of her in Oscar's posts is her shoes and maybe a few strands of hair.

"Can you imagine the reaction of if we post together one day?" Y/n smiles as she leans back watching Oscar change and wondering what the reaction would be if she posted a video of him changing. Obviously nothing too explicit. But still the reactions would be feral.

"Maybe our wedding. Just one photo of us from the back." Oscar smiles since he quite enjoys creating chaos despite his external chill behaviour. He is always a bit amused by the reactions to just the peaks of him in y/n's posts. Fans practically drool at the glimpses of the couples dynamic which is otherwise completely unknown to the world.

[softeren]

funny wife, happy life

carlos sainz x wife!reader

summary - the grids beloved couple have begun a prank war, subjecting the drivers and fans to their hilarious antics

masterlist

request by anonnie :) thank you love! - hey you could write about carlos that he and Y/N his wife that they are the funniest couple in the paddock that Y/N has the same personality as carlos that they often play pranks on each other on tiktok

-

your knees were cramping, on the verge of giving out, as you held your hidden position in your husband’s drivers room. charles had told you he’d be back in a few minutes. a few minutes. ha! you’ve been sitting here for ages and you’re about to collapse. until finally you hear the sweet, sweet sounds of your husband's laugh approaching you quickly. you give a quick scramble to collect yourself and pull up your tik tok account in order to record the heart attack soon to be inflicted upon carlos. the door handle jiggles and opens, alerting you of his presence. his footsteps become closer to your hidden position behind a few large items and abruptly stop. you take it as your queue to jump but before you can-

“BOO!” your husband screeches at you with his phone in your face as you let out a mirroring yell and fall backwards on your ass. 

“AYE DIOS MIO!” you hold your hand over your racing heart and carlos crumples to the floor in a fit of hysterics. you can’t help but join in soon, but not without playfully swatting at him in a joking matter of pretending to be angry. 

“mi-mi amor,” carlos tries his hardest to get out in between laughs as he begins to sit up, “you’re too easy!” he falls again, most likely due him replaying the scenario again in his head.

“aye! easy? i believe i remember you begging for a date with me, señor,” you continue to chuckle at his phrasing, teasing him relentlessly felt like a duty to you. 

“whatever,” he brushes off the playful comment and turns his attention to the video he recorded of you on his phone, “y/n, this is too funny,” 

“si, bueno. i wish i got that video of you instead, though” you act out a solemn expression and carlos sees right through your jokes.

“well you didn’t, loser. i’m posting this,”

-

you and carlos had opted for a night in after the race due to his fatigue and your absolute need for a shower. after lando had pleaded with you both for a minute to rethink your decision as you were walking back to the hotel, he ultimately gave up trying and muttered a slight ‘old married couple’ at you and carlos while the both of you just laughed at his mini tantrum. 

once inside your hotel room, carlos headed for the shower, but stopped and turned when he noticed you weren’t following.

“i thought you wanted to shower, amor?” he asked in your direction.

“i do, but i kind of want to shower alone tonight, lo siento,” you respond while biting your lower lip to not give away your amusement. see - you had a plan. while carlos was in the shower you were going to get to the vanity and paint on a fake hickey. set up your phone. and get him back for ruining your prank earlier. 

carlos stands looking at you with a bit of skepticism. you rarely shower separately, only when upset with each other and he was beginning to worry, “aye, are you mad about earlier? me scaring you?”

“love, the only thing that is scaring me right now is how stinky you are. i’m not mad i just don’t need a smelly shower with you,” you shrug off his accusation with a laugh in order to lighten the mood and your husband catches on, chuckling with you.

“okay, you don’t need to tell me twice,” he begins to make his way over to you with his arms out wide, “you do want a stinky hug before i hop in, no?” calling your bluff he tries to latch his arms around you as you scream and try to run away.

“sto-stop!” you giggle as he grabs you in his arms, “eww! carlos!” the whine slips from your lips as he starts planting kisses all over your neck and face, tickling you causing you to let out more laughter. his grip loosens and he backs away towards the bathroom, grabbing his change of clothes off the dresser as he does so. one arm raised and a finger pointed at you he lets go of a very loose warning, “this isn’t over, cariño,”

“oh no!” you gasp in dramatics, “the tickle monster! what am i five?” carlos just laughs and releases a ‘loca’ under his breath as he shuts the bathroom door and turns on the shower. you then quickly get to work with your makeup, planting the perfect looking hickey in a place he hasn’t seen all day, but will very soon. once it was done, you discreetly hide your phone and patiently wait on the bed for carlos to leave the bathroom. 

fresh out of the shower, your husband steps into your room with just a pair of sweatpants on as he continues to run the towel over his damp hair. you take that as your sign to begin your prank and tie your hair up into a bun - giving carlos the perfect view of your neck. walking over to him, you plant a kiss on his lips and step back from him as he turns his attention towards his wife. looking you up and down for a second, making eye contact with the hickey, you feign confusion and innocence by proceeding to ask, “que, mi amor? is there something on my face?” you attempt to turn and ‘check’ yourself in the mirror, but carlos pulls on your arm, spinning you around to face back at him. he quickly discards the towel in his hand, throwing it to the floor, as he looks closer at your neck. 

“did you hurt yourself, cariño?” he asks softly, “maybe with one of your hair tools or something,” he finishes as if he’s almost assuring himself. 

“no? what is this carlos?” you question, trying your damnedest not to let out a smile.

“tienes algo en el cuello,” you have something on your neck uh oh. carlos only spoke direct spanish with you when he was deep in a feeling - lust, happiness, anger. “parece un…” it looks like a… 

“que?” you ask softly.

“a hickey, y/n. it looks like a hickey. y sé muy bien que no fui yo quien te dio esto,” and i know very well it was not me that gave you this

“oh, oh that? ya, um, actually that might be from my curling iron, you were right!” responding lightly only made carlos narrow his eyes at you further. 

“y/n, qué hice mal,” what did i do wrong?

“oh no, carlos, baby, nothing- you did nothing wrong,” you panic at his sadness and hold his face in your hands, “it’s just a prank, los, te lo prometo,” i promise you

he looks down at you, widening his eyes in hope before he says anything, then you hear - so quietly you almost miss it, ‘take it off’. 

“i will, i will baby. come here, come with me,” you lead him into the bathroom, grabbing your makeup wipes in haste and rubbing the fake hickey right off your neck. you hear your husband let out a long and deep exhale before he gives your sides a squeeze. 

“you just took ten years off my life with that stress, amor,”

“lo siento, carlos. i’ll even show you the video where i put it on if that makes you feel better,” you turn around in his hold and give him not one, not two, but three quick pecks to the lips as you drag him back into the room to retrieve your phone. as of that moment, carlos begins plotting his revenge. 

-

the next week, your husband and you arrive early at the paddock for race day due to his necessary media duties. with your hands intertwined, you begin making your way to the ferrari garage - passing a few reporters and fans on the way. while making your way, a few fans had called out to the both of you. carlos always joked that his fans loved you more than him, but every joke has a bit of truth to it. 

“y/n! carlos! over here! can we get a picture?”

your husband - ever the gentleman - turns his attention to the young group of girls at the barricade and leads you both over to them. once carlos had signed a few things and taken a few pictures, you both turn to leave but are prevented by the girls. 

“y/n! can we get a picture with you too!” carlos checks you over, asking you non-verbally if you’re okay with it and you slightly nod in his direction to signify the answer. bending down and over slightly, the girls grab a few selfies with you and speak to you about their love for your tik toks, tweets, and overall personality. with your light ego boost, you turn and chuckle to your husband. 

“isn’t it great that your fans love me more?” you give him a sly smile and a poke to his stomach as he laughs along with you.

“aye, they’re just saying that to make you feel better, amor,” he shoots back quickly.

“nuh-uh,” you scoff back, “they love me so much more, i think i better be the one to race today,” at this point the girls are recording your interaction while giggling at the banter your husband and you have provided. 

“in your dreams, cariño,” he bites back with a smile.

with that comment, you whip around to face the group, “do you hear how he speaks to me? my own husband! he hates me!” you sigh dramatically as carlos pulls you into his arms. the crowd before you erupts in laughter at your antics and your husband bids polite goodbyes, leading you away. you’re both leaving in cackles as you continue to jab each other back and forth.

as you round the corner to the ferrari garage, you both run into fernando walking towards aston martin. 

“hola, nando!” you call out with a wave. he stops curtly and leans in your direction, arms parting for a hug. you receive it kindly, swaying lightly back and forth all while exchanging pleasantries. 

“aye, he oído felicitaciones están en orden,” i hear congratulations are in order fernando presses with a smile.

“porque felicitaciones?” why congratulations? you ask back to him. 

“oh! lo siento, ¿se supone que nadie debe saberlo?” i’m sorry, is no one supposed to know?

your confusion ends when you turn to your now - dying laughing - husband at your left, “¿le dijiste a todo el mundo que estaba embarazada?” did you tell everyone i was pregnant?

carlos can’t even shake out words at this point due to laughter as he just begins to vigorously nod his head yes. fernando takes this as his sign to head back in his previous direction, chuckling under his breath something about ‘these damn kids again’. 

“you’re dead, carlos sainz,” you state matter-of-factly at him. 

“i’m sorry, me or my fathe-”

“YOU KNOW WHO!” you yell back, cutting off his smart ass comment, “does the whole grid really think im fucking pregnant, you ass?” this time carlos’ laughter is cut short and he just slowly shakes his head yes, nervousness now overwhelming his features instead of amusement. 

“do you now realize how stupid that was?” you ask him again. again he slowly nods his head yes, his eyes only meeting his shoes. out of your peripheral, you can see lando approaching the both of you and he holds out his arms in glee.

“there are my favorite soon-to-be parent-”

“SHUT IT!” you snap in his direction, “the only child i will be raising for the foreseeable future is the one in front of me,” you nod your head towards carlos, and his eyes - again - never leave his shoes. lando begins to laugh even louder than your husband did before at his friend being scolded like a child.

“oh i am so tweeting about this,” he lets out between laughs. 

you take a glance over at your husband and whisper a light ‘karma’ into his ear before you kiss his cheek and head off to find his family in the garage. 

-

after the race, carlos is doing interviews and you are searching to find him. not being in the media pen, but instead just along the gates talking to reporters, you easily walk up to your husband and wait over to the side for him to finish. the reporter speaking to him notices your presence and begins to wave you over. you shake it off quickly, wanting your husband to have his shining moment, but instead he also joins in waving you over - causing you to reluctantly head in their direction. 

“hi!” you squeak out to the reporter, carlos pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“hi, y/n! thank you for joining us for the interview!” the young woman starts. 

“thank you for letting me crash!” you reply back with a giggle. 

“not crashing, you’re here by invitation,” your husband speaks up, kissing your forehead after doing so.

“i’m sorry if we were too forward to invite you,” the reporter chimes in fast.

“no, no!” you assure back, “i just didn’t want to outshine ‘ole carlos over here, you know how it is,” you joke, giving the reporter and your husband a laugh. 

“for sure,” the young woman gives you, “we love you two as a couple, you both have been informally deemed the grids funniest couple with all your banter and tik tok pranks, how do you both feel about that title?”

“it’s a heavy weight to carry,” you dramatically sigh, “i have to keep the people on their toes and give them what they want,” the reporter laughs once again at your comments as you shrug before your husband chimes in, “funny wife, happy life - right?” you all share one more laugh before the reporter lets you two depart. 

as you’re walking out of the paddock, hand in hand, you reach up on your toes to plant a kiss to carlos’ lips. he hums back in approval, stopping you, with his hold moving to your waist and pressing deeper. you smile into the kiss and can feel him doing the same. once pulling apart, your husband stares into your eyes, the contact moving from eye to eye to lips. you almost crumble watching him shamelessly adore you. 

“what are you thinking about, amor?” you gently ask, attempting not to ruin the soft moment with loud diction.

“just how much i love you, cariño,” his reply is simple, yet means so much. even though you both are playful with your antics and pranks, your love is something that never falters with seriousness. and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[softeren]

i miss him (post race maxy)

[softeren]

i miss him (post race maxy)