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norrisleclercf1 · 5 months

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You Can't Leave Me

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Female!Reader x Lando Norris

Rating: R

Words: 2.6K

Warnings: Pure and utter angst, some humor as a coping mechanism, hospitals, crashes, medical talk, it's just heartbreak guys I'm sorry

Our Boy Series Masterlist

Synopsis: Monza. Rain. Nothing could go wrong at the Temple of Speed

"You can't act up when sitting here, do you understand?" Elijah groans as his Dad points at him. Elijah should've said yes when his Papa asked him to sit at the Red Bull pit wall instead. "Dad, I'm 18. I think I can act like a big boy and sit on the pit wall." Lando tightens his glare as the rain pours down around them.

Monza. The temple of speed and the track everyone loved for the hard racing, especially this year. The battle for the WDC was tight this year, facing off between his Dad, Uncle Max, and Uncle Oscar, who was still killing it at McLaren. Charles wasn't having the best season, as he was there but not where he wanted it to be.

Charles never once complained, as he loved watching Lando race and showing everyone how amazing he was as a driver. "Elijah, don't give me lip," Lando grumbles as he fixes Elijah's jacket. "Dad can do it myself." He laughs, not caring that he is getting drenched in the rain. The fans would eat up his wet and wild look right now. "Elijah, just let him." Charles pops up behind his son, pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, but I'm not a baby anymore." He groans, seeing the 3 of them on the big screen. Charles chuckles as the fans go wild and nods to the camera that quickly looks away. "Doesn't matter. You're our baby boy, and you'll get treated like it." Charles reaches out and pinches Lando's cheek, who slaps it away.

"The rain is letting up," Lando looks up to the sky, the rain dripping down his skin, and Elijah makes a face seeing the lovey-dovey face on his Papa's. "Yep, how about you two stop bullying your son and get ready." Elijah turns, smiling brightly, seeing his Uncle Max and Christian. "Hey, good lucky kiss?" Lando asks. Charles rolls his eyes and quickly dips, and they kiss with Elijah's body, blocking out any cameras.

"Oi, you too." Lando juts out his cheek, and Elijah whines loudly, shoving his Dad away. "I'm 18, Dad." Lando gets this look on his face but quickly wipes it out with a smirk. "Yeah, alright. I'll go get a kiss from your sister and brother anyway." Lando waves as he runs off into the garage. Charles looks Elijah up and down before shaking his head.

"Love you, Ducky," Charles whispers, entering the Mercedes garage. Turning, he sees Max slightly glaring at him. "What?" Max sighs and pulls Elijah into a side hug. "You should still give him kisses, Elijah; you never know when it'll be the last one." Max pats him as he yells back at GP he's coming. Rolling his eyes, Elijah slides on the RB headset and settles in for a long, wet, crazy Monza race.

"There's my girls," Lando beams, approaching you and Cecile. "Daddy!" Cecile beams as she hugs him tightly, Lando savoring the moment. He had this feeling. He couldn't explain it. Usually, he would be quick with his hugs and kisses, but this time, he let each one linger more.

"Everything okay?" Lando pulls away from Cecile, meeting your worried expression. "Yeah, of course, love." Lando makes a face at Callum, who giggles loudly with the large headphones on his head. "Just nervous," Lando adds, kissing you gently and then Callum on his cheeks. "Daddy!" Callum claps happily.

"Yes, buddy," Clearing his throat, he takes the 3 of you in before shooing you off to see Charles. "See you after the race!" "You better!" You tease back as one of the team members throws up an umbrella, leading you to the Mercedes garage. Lando takes 3 deep breaths, remembering his breath techniques to calm him down. Sliding down into the cockpit, he smiles at the little picture of his family and touches it softly. "Alright, let's go." He says into the radio, getting a reply.

"You know the last time you sat here, you were 8 and watched your Papa win." Christian talks into his headset, which has Elijah turning and smiling. "Yeah, I don't know who was happier. Ferrari or Uncle Max." Christian laughs, knowing all about Lestappen and how close they are. "Yeah, never seen a driver happier to lose a WDC, but here we are." Elijah chuckles. The picture of Max and Charles crying as they hugged was hanging up in their house. It was a gift from Max to Charles.

"Hey, are you sure it's okay for them to race in something like this?" Elijah wasn't one to worry about rain during a race, but something in his head told him it wasn't right. "Yeah, kid. They're okay. It's a Saftey Car start anyways." Christian waves off Elijah's worries, helping ease some of the younger one's tension. "I know, but….still," Elijah grumbles, looking at the screen as his Dad pulls up to the P2 spot behind his Uncle Oscar. "It'll be fine, besides," Christian moves and points to a button with his last name lit up. "If you get nervous, hit them, and you can talk to your Dad." Elijah gives him a tense smile and gently hits the button.

"Dad?" Letting it go, he waits for the familiar clicking and sighs, hearing Lando's voice fill his ears. "Hey, Ducky. Miss me already?" He jokes Elijah, smiling at the stupid nickname. "Be careful, old man or Uncle Carlos will jump down your throat." Lando shakes his head, the camera zooming in on the motion.

"I'm not old. That's your Papa." Lando lets go of the radio button and smiles, that feeling from earlier easing. The lights go out, and Lando follows the blinking lights of the Saftey Car and Oscar. He knew this track well. It was the first win for McLaren and a track he's always been great at. He had nothing to worry about.

"He's doing great, kid!" Christian laughs as the rain continues to batter the drivers and fans alike. Elijah was slightly glad he didn't have to race today. This rain was horrible. Clearly, not if the FIA was letting the race go on. "Dad, you're currently P1. Piastri is .2 behind you." Elijah, let's go of the button just once in a while, giving him an update. Glad that Christian was letting him do this.

Looking at the track map, he sees his Papa is battling Russel and the new rookie in McLaren for P4. But, sadly, they wouldn't be fighting for a podium too far back from his Uncle Max. Elijah smiles, clicking on the radio again to talk to his Dad, but the sound of screams has him looking up at the screen quickly.

There on the screen, through the thick clouds of smoke and rain laid in a bile of metal, was his Dad's car. Elijah doesn't know whose screams are louder, those in the stands or in the garage behind him. "Dad?" Elijah pleads, hoping that Lando will answer. "Dad? Are you okay?" It's static silence on the other end, Elijah choking on a laugh. This was some sick prank. Lando had to be okay.

"God dammit, Dad! Answer me! Are you okay?" Elijah rips his hand away as he pulls at his blonde locks, praying for some click of the radio or anything. The mechanics and everyone else around him were scrambling as the smell of burnt rubber and oil filled his lungs. "Daddy? Please, you've got to answer me." Elijah whimpers, finger white from how hard he pressed the radio button.

Strong arms wrap around Elijah's middle and pull him back. "No! No, Daddy! No, stop; I have to make sure he's okay! Daddy!" Elijah screams; people stop and stare as the arms pull harder, Elijah fighting. Another pair joins as they rip him away from the only comfort he's got. "No!" Like a wounded animal, Elijah roars as they pull him into the Red Bull garage. "Elijah, hey, it's me. Elijah, it's me!" He doesn't listen as he sobs, pulling at his hair as he tries his best to get back to the radio.

"Ducky," A broken whisper as Elijah finally looks up, seeing the grim look on his Papa's face. "No, no. Don't." He begs, seeing it was Carlos and Max holding him back. "He," Elijah chokes and sputters on spit as he breaks. People yell, rushing the cameras out as Charles moves to your side. Elijah couldn't bear to look at you and Cecile. His Dad had to be okay. He was okay. He is okay. "Eli, come on," Cecile whispers, pulling his hands out of his hair.

Cecile was stone cold; no emotion showed on her face. "Cece," she hauls her brother to his feet, with his weight supported by her two uncles. "The race is canceled. We're coming with you." Max leaves no room open for a fight as he grabs the keys out of Charles's hands.

Elijah doesn't remember the drive; one moment, he's in the garage screaming, and the next, numb in the hallways of an Italian hospital. Cecile was holding Callum as you were curled into Charles, sobbing loudly, Charles hiding his face in your hair. Max and Carlos caged Elijah to ensure he didn't bolt.

"He didn't answer me," Elijah whispered. Charles looked up at his son but could not comfort him. "He was probably unconscious. It happens." Max replies, playing with Lando's hat. "Not like that," You whimper; Charles shushes you as you release a fresh wave of sobs. "I'm going for a walk." Cecile blurts, handing the sleeping toddler off to Carlos.

"Cece, wait." Elijah reaches out for his sister, but she pulls back anger in her eyes. "Just let her go," Max whispers, watching as Cecile rounds a corner.

"Um, loved ones of Lando Norris-Leclerc?" Elijah stands quickly as the others just look at the nurse. "We're his loved ones. I'm his son." The nurse sighs and looks over their shoulder as a haggard-looking doctor walks over. "Is there an adult I can talk to?" The accent was thick, but Elijah understood him perfectly. "I am an adult! I'm 18. Look, can you tell us," "Ducky, stop." Charles stands and walks over, stopping next to him.

"I'm Charles Norris-Leclerc, his husband. Just," Charles takes a deep breath, gathering himself. "Is he alive? Is," Charles's chest shakes as he steadies himself. "Is my husband alive?" Elijah stares at his father, seeing the man who is usually so strong, broken before him. The doctor looks Charles up and down and rubs the back of his neck.

"Mr. Norris-Leclerc, I'm sorry," "No, no, he's not. He can't." Elijah whimpers, staggering back into his Uncle Carlos's chest. "Say it," Charles whispers, looking over at you. "I'm sorry, but he's in a medically induced coma." You stand, tripping over the chairs as you grasp Charles's arm. "He's alive?" The doctor nods, groaning as he tries to find the right words.

"He's got intracranial bleeding. That means his brain is bleeding. You don't want that. Not only that, he's got multiple broken bones and a ruptured spleen, and we don't know how he is… cognitively. He's in a coma to help us reduce the swelling in his brain and deal with the mountain of injuries. We have a 24-hour window to see if he makes it through the night. Then, he may survive, but there's no promise." Elijah stops listening to the doctor ramble as he collapses against his Uncle, crying.

"Elijah, we can go see him." You whisper, wiping your eyes as Charles gathers Callum into his arms, a death grip on the child. Cecile standing far back. "I can't, Papa. I don't want to see Daddy like that." She whispers; Charles nods and walks over, kissing her before handing her to Max. Walking to the room, Elijah tries to prepare himself, the nurse speaking softly as he heads to the neuro-ICU ward.

"Listen, nothing ever prepares you for this. If you can't handle it, that's okay. But, he's not going to look like himself." The nurse warns them, but you don't care and walk in first. "Lando, oh baby." You whimper and drop into the chair beside his bed. He was littered with wires, tubes, and bandages.

"His curls," Elijah whispers, standing at the foot of the bed. "What, baby?" "Dad's curls, they're gone." It was stupid to point out, and your laugh proved that. "Oh, that's okay. He'll grow them out again." Charles whispers, taking Lando's other side. "I didn't kiss him," Charles looks up, and fresh tears gather in his eyes. "You can kiss him now," His Papa whispers, reaching for him.

Elijah walks over and stops, taking in the battered and mangled body of his Dad. "I should've kissed you, Daddy. I'm not too old; I'll never be too old for you. You're, you're always going to be my dad. And I don't care that you fuss over or kiss me. You can embarrass me for the rest of my life; I'll never be too old." Elijah sobs as he crumbles to the floor, sobbing into Charles's lap.

"You can't leave me, not yet, Lando. We're not ready." You whisper, kissing a cheek as you listen to the gentle beating of the machines. Charles shudders out a breath as Elijah's sobs quiet down, falling asleep from exhaustion. He doesn't know the time, but you're soon asleep on the couch in the room with Callum in your arms.

"Lando," Charles whispers, chuckling at how his hands weren't injured, just a broken toe or two on his feet. "You knew, didn't you? People always say before a disaster that they can feel it. Did you?" Charles leans in closer, resting his head gently over his heart. "You've never been nervous to race in the rain. You're the best in the rain, I envy that. This should be me. You would be handling this better than me." Charles takes a deep breath and listens to the steady thump of his heart.

"Don't leave, you can't. You still have to teach Cecile how to drive. Kiss Elijah some more on camera when all the cute girls are watching. Callum, Callum needs his Daddy. Y/n, she needs you, will kill each other if you're gone, so you can't. Do you hear me? You can't leave me yet, not yet. I go first; that was our deal. Me, not you." Charles sighs, touching the bandages on Lando's head.

"Did they have to shave the curls?" Someone snorts at the door, and Charles turns, seeing Oscar with Cecile standing before him. "He looks like a mummy." Charles laughs, holding his hand out for his daughter. "Yeah, he kinda does." Cecile walks over and sits in Charles's lap, staring at Lando.

"She felt ready, so I brought her here," Oscar whispers, sitting down where you were not too long ago. "Thank you," Charles whispers as Cecile traces the tubes and wire. "He'll be okay." Oscar looks at Cecile, who smiles softly. "No way Daddy dies with a bald head." Charles covers his mouth, trying not to laugh as Oscar fails. "You're right, he'd haunt our ass for letting that happen." Charles takes one last deep breath and wipes his eyes.

Lando wasn't leaving, not yet. And Charles was going to make sure of that. A nurse comes in, but Oscar holds up his hand. "Let everyone in or stay. But we're not leaving." They seem ready to argue but sigh, moving to the side as everyone else files into the room. None of them are prepared for Lando to leave them just yet.

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 2 months

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Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college.

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way.

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars.

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time.

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.”

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson.

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe.

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind.

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest.

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin. Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep.

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains.

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued. The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before.

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags.

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off.

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world.

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.”

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right.

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.”

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.”

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout.

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you. He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too.

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?”

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious.

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape.

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do.

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt.

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?”

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him.

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.”

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away.

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles.

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse.

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it.

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak.

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in.

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat.

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist.

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart.

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

#boys in the boat #Joe rantz #callum turner #joe rantz x reader #callum turner x reader

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wulfhalls · 1 month

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love callum turner in his cunty ass white bomber jacket watching his guy fly off while visibly so anxious nervous worried he looks like a sick dog wanting to gnaw his own paw off but still serving like mad in that fucking jacket

#mota #txt.me

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 2 months

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Co-Stars pt.7

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: Emmy Awards... Y/n is nominated, Callum too...

Warning: Pure joy/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/

Y/n's dress:

She made her way on the red carpet with her cast and directors. Photographers were shouting at them. ‘’Y/n, Callum, a kiss!’’ one of them yelled. The couple looked at each other before bringing their face close to each other, only to pull away before their lips could touch, they laughed and kissed rapidly. ‘’Do you guys think Y/n is going to win?’’ another photograph asked. ‘’We hope so!’’ Austin replied, making the woman smile. There they were, the Emmy Awards, Master of the Air as been nominated for a lot of things, one of them being the best supporting actress in a drama show, Y/n was nominated. When the nomination was announced, she couldn’t believe it. Callum was so proud of his girlfriend. ‘’Mr. Hanks, what do you think about Y/n’s nomination?’’ The woman looked at the men she admired when she was younger, he inspired her so much. ‘’I think it’s fully deserved, she worked hard, and I hope her hard work is rewarded’’ He replies. Y/n’s eyes filled with tears; she was touched by his words.

Master of The Air already won 5 awards tonight, it was amazing; but now, it was the time for the best supporting actress in a drama series. Y/n was nervous, she felt like throwing up. ‘’The nominees are Y/n Y/l/n in Master of the Air’’ Y/n blew a kiss to the camera as she watched a little piece of her work on the screen. ‘’You don’t think I care? Every time you go up in the air, I’m terrified that you won’t come back! So, no I don’t understand what it’s like up there, but you don’t know what’s it like here!’’ she yelled. That scene was when she yelled at Bucky. It was an amazing scene. ‘’And the Emmy goes too…’’ Helena Bonham Carter was announcing the winner. Y/n took a deep breath as she, and all her co-stars waited for the results. ‘’Y/n Y/l/n in Master of the Air!’’ She couldn’t believe it, she put a hand in front of her mouth as she looked around her. ‘’You did it, baby!’’ Callum said, hugging her, the rest of the cast joined in the hug. Her first reflex was to take off her shoes, she didn’t want to do a Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars. She quickly kissed Callum before making her way on the stage, barefoot. She got up, hugged Helena, took her trophy and got closer to the microphone. ‘’Oh my god, uh, hi everyone!’’ she said, tears falling from her eyes. The crowd cheered on her. ‘’Where do I start? Thank you to everyone that voted for me. Uh, I’m losing my words. I want to thank Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and Gary Goetzman for creating this amazing T.V show. Tom, you’ve always been an inspiration for me, I’m honoured to have had the opportunity to work with you. To all the girls out there, keep going, hard works pays off.’’ She had to stop and take a breath; she was speaking fast. ‘’Uh, to my co-stars; I love you guys so much, thank you for making me feel welcomed and making this experience so fun. To my mum and dad, thank you for always believing in me. Lastly, I want to thank my other half, Callum Turner. You’ve always been there for me, since the beginning of all this, I love you so much, baby, I couldn’t have done this without you, being your love interest has been really fun, and you made me comfortable with the exploration I did with the character, with certain emotions. Thank you for being my rock, I love you. Thank you so much everyone’’ she said, blowing a kiss to Callum, before lifting her trophy into the air. Her co-stars were cheering for her at the top of their lungs, Y/n laughed when she heard them.

‘’The Emmy for the best supporting actor in a drama show goes to… Callum Turner, Master of the Air!’’ Callum was smiling so much. He and his girl both won the same award. Y/n jumped in his arms to hug him. He made his way to the stage, hugged Johnny Depp, took his trophy and got closer to the mic. ‘’Wow! Thank you so much, it’s amazing! First of all, I want to thank Tom, Steven and Gary, thank you, God I’m saying the same thing as my girlfriend. Uh, to my co-stars, it’s been a crazy journey, from boot-camp, except for you Barry’’ his comment made the hole cast laugh. ‘’Thank you for supporting me during the process. To my beautiful girlfriend, you’ve been with me since my first movie, we were together ever since. Just like you, I couldn’t have done it without you. Y/n, quit smiling like this, I’m trying to do this without stuttering, you’re making it difficult’’ he said to his girlfriend who had the proudest smile on her lips. ‘’I love you so much. Thank you everyone! Have a goodnight!’’ Callum smiled as he left the stage.

‘’8 wins tonight, congratulations, if we can get back to Y/n, how are you doing, dear?’’ the journalist asked. The ceremony was over, tonight felt like they were ascending to Nirvana. Y/n and Callum were floating on a euphoric cloud. ‘’I’m still overwhelmed at the moment, it just feels really good, having my hard work being rewarded, mine and my boyfriend’s. I try to soak it all in’’ she smiles. Her cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. ‘’ And you, Callum?’’ he stopped looking at his girlfriend to answer the question. ‘’It doesn’t feel real, it’s an amazing night and yeah, I can’t wait to celebrate with them’’ he laughed. They got asked other questions, but when they got in the limousine, everyone was looking around. ‘’8 fucking wins!!!!’’ they all yelled at the same time. ‘’I just won an Emmy!!!’’ Y/n said, showing her statue around. The guys started to laugh; it was euphoria. ‘’You both won an Emmy!’’ Barry said, looking at Callum. He took his girl and kissed her passionately, all the joy and the relief were transmitted in that kiss. It was the greatest day of their life!

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air imagine #master of the air #co star #emmy awards

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