#mariahcarreyyy . . . 2k celebration | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

Note

max making u wear a pendant with his initials/driver's number engraved around ur neck coz he likes to watch it swing when u ride him

# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio ! nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

"Where's the necklace?"

Max's words had made you halt. He placed a gentle hand on your collarbone, pushing you gently from where you were mouthing at his neck and stroking his thumb where the gold of his initials should be.

With furrowed brows, you craned your neck down to follow his disheartened glare. The absence of the cool chain around your neck didn't seem quite as important as the growing need for max, max, max.

"Dunno," you mumbled dismissively, rolling your hips from where you were straddling his legs on the bed. "Ah—bathroom, 'think, t-took it off to shower."

Your boyfriend hummed sweetly before lightly tapping the side of your thigh. "Get it."

Barely forcing down a whimper, you bit your lip, tugging on the hem of his baggy shorts. "Max, please, just—"

A taunting, raised brow was enough to have you huffing and hauling yourself off of his lap. The walk from the bathroom and back to Max's arms, barely ten steps, made your eyes glassy and the pleasure stirring in your stomach boil.

You made the mistake of catching your reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, hair sprawled in various directions, and an evident pout etched onto your face. The necklace was expensive; you'd known that, but had Max really needed to stop you mid-foreplay to run and get it?

Judging by his cocky smirk and the fact that he'd fumbled out of his clothes in the ten seconds you'd left, you guessed so. Your eyes drifted down his body, past the sweaty abs, and onto his hand, lazily stroking his hard cock. You wanted it inside you, in your mouth—fuck, he was making it really hard to stay annoyed.

"Happy?" you grumbled, your facade slipping when Max swiftly pulled you into his lap, shivering slightly as he nearly ripped the shirt off of your body, the cold air hitting your nipples and Max's wet tongue trailing kisses down your neck.

Moans slip past your lips, and you slide a hand down to the angry, red tip of Max's length. You grin wildly when he groans, the vibrations rippling against your skin and shooting straight down to your core. "More than." He cups the swell of your ass with his massive palms and lifts you up to hover over his dick. "C'mon, shatje, make y'self feel good on m'cock."

And who were you to deny Max that?

The stretch of his cock burned like it always has, spikes of pleasure overcoming the momentary pain. Max's desperate moans mixed with yours, echoing across the room. After a few seconds, Max's palm impatiently striked at your ass, making you jolt and bite your lip to avoid the embarrassing sound that would have left your lips. "M-Max, oh, fuck."

You lifted your hips, almost slipping Max's slick-covered dick out of your wet pussy before dropping back down. Max's eyes were half-lidded, a hazy grin plastered on his face; he watched the gold swing recklessly, worrying his bottom lip at the fast pace you'd set.

Max rolled his hips upward to meet your movements, and the loud yelp that left your lips made you flush. "Fuckk, s'good, baby—ah, all mine, yeah? All. Fucking. Mine."

Punctuating each word with a sharp thrust, Max almost came when your wet pussy clenched around him. "All yours, m'all yours, Max."

That was what the initials on your collarbones stood for, didn't they?

authors note. i havent written in so long pls forgive me everyone

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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love ur writing, so deserved!!! ‘shush, we can’t have anyone hearing this,’ + max or oscar… maybe with some overstim?

# prompt no.9, "shush, we can't have anyone hearing this." nsfw 18+ content under beware ⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

The tricky thing with traveling to Australia with your boyfriend to meet his family for two weeks is not having neither the privacy nor time to fuck for two weeks. To shed off each other's clothes, kiss lovingly while Osc pounds into you, heaving breaths flowing out of his mouth when your pussy clenches around his dick like he'd ever fucking pull out now.

So, prior to entering the thick atmosphere of the plane, you and Oscar had devised a plan: you could go down on each other, but actual sex, even quickies, would probably wake up the entire Piastri house and therefore not be allowed. And both of you followed it.

For an impressive total of three days.

To be fair, what were you supposed to do when he sauntered out of the back door in those swim shorts, thigh muscles spilling out and all? Not promptly fly out of the lounge chair by the pool, clasp a tight hand around his pale forearm, and shove him inside the vacant kitchen?

"Y/n, what are you doi—oh," Oscar breathes out as your fingers curl around the hem of his shorts, tugging them down with one swift motion and housing your bottom lip between your teeth when your hand barely covers the base of his half-hard dick. "Oh, fuck, baby, turn 'round f'me, can't be the only one naked, hm? Lemme see you."

Hips swerving, you bend down to rest your forearms on the cool surface of the kitchen counters. Oscar's hand is heavy, cupping the swell of your ass, spreading the cheeks apart, and squeezing the soft flesh; the anticipation thrums loudly in your veins and sends the arousal in your stomach to stir.

You whimper when he pushes your bikini to the side, cupping your drenched pussy, and you can't help yourself when your hips desperately hump against his digits and moan loudly. "Osc, please—fuck, just."

"Shush," Oscar leans, his heated back flush against yours as he mumurs. "Can't have anyone hearing us, can we?"

A pout graces itself on your face; you crane your neck to look at your boyfriend's family, all outside, laughing and chatting livelyly through the large opening on the kitchen wall. Not quite large enough to show what Osc was doing to you, but to allow the obscene sounds to flow through it and into his relatives ears.

He shoves his fingers inside your hot walls, unphased, when your loud yelp catches the attention of one of his aunts, who merely furrows her brow and turns back to her company. "Can. We?" he grits out, each word punctuated with a sharp thrust.

"N-no, no—fuckfuckfuckk, Osc," you cry, burying your head in your hands to unsuccessfully muffle your moans, far too loud for your liking, but the curl of Oscar's lips trailing down your neck tells you he feels otherwise.

"Hm," he says, placing a sweet kiss on your shoulder and trailing his hand up to your lips, nudging two fingers against the soft flesh and grinding his dick against your ass. "But y'can't even do that. D'you want m'cock or not?"

You splutter when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, just enough for you to reply. "Yes, yesyesyes, 'do I do, miss y'cock so bad, Osc, fuck," you grind back against his fingers and squirm when the coil in your stomach is so close to bursting.

Oscar sucked in a breath when your desperate movements had you consequently humping his dick. Had you two really been foolish enough to believe you could resist each other for two weeks?

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mariahcarreyyy · 21 days

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Congratulations on the 2k 💕💌

Can I plz ask for "I don't deserve you." "yes, you do." + Charles Leclerc, like the reader comforting him after a bad race or something

# prompt no.16, "i don't deserve you." // "yes, you do."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

To Charles, qualifying eighth meant failure.

But doing it in Suzuka only made the constant tug on his heart worse. You could hear it on his radio, see it when he shrugged off everyone's comforting touches and darted towards his driver's room, head bowed shamefully.

He could act like he wanted to be alone, but you've been there when Ferrari messed up his races too often to believe him. You give the media personnel you'd been talking to a tight-lipped smile before excusing yourself.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyebrows furrow in concern when you see the bright red '16' etched on his door. The thin walls weren't a rumor; Charles' sniffles flowed through the cracks, and it made your blood run cold.

Three knocks—Charles' pitiful noises quiet down, but there's no clumsy shuffling to indicate him opening the door.

"Charlie?" You call out, your voice twinging in desperation. "It's me."

Three seconds later, Charles unlocks the door, leaving it ajar. It's his way of giving permission when his voice inevitably fails him every week. You take it as it is, stepping inside cautiously. One wrong move, and it would all go downhill.

His eyes are rimmed with crimson, glistening in the dimly lit room. His cheeks are wet, fresh tears overlapping the dried ones. His lips are wobbling, trying to contain the sob that would otherwise be wretched out of him.

You want to cry for him.

Despite the frequency at which you have to comfort Charles after a bad qualification or race, your movements are still hesitant. You stand in front of where he's sitting on his thin bed, nudging his thighs closer and clambering onto his lap.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, entangling your fingers into his hair, and the choked sob that leaves his throat makes you tighten your hold subconciously. "I'm sorry this happened. Here, especially."

He burrows his face into the crook of your neck. You can feel the uncontrollable tears trickle down your skin and stain your shirt; you couldn't care less. You wrap your hands around his neck and bring him in closer.

"I-It's so unfair," he murmurs into your skin, his voice shaky. The vibrations on your skin make you flinch slightly.

"I know," you sigh, because there's nothing else you could do.

Charles pulls away slightly, his arms still tightly wrapped around your waist but his head craned to meet your eyes. The look buried in him had you resisting the urge to walk out of the garage and scream at every Ferrari worker in the paddock. You softly cup his cheek instead.

"I don't deserve you," he breathes out, thick with sadness and realization.

You shake your head, your nose rubbing against his ticklishly. "Yes, you do."

"No," he sounds like he's made up his mind. If it matters, he doesn't show it, merely pulling you in closer, like you'd run away the moment his grip loosened. "I really don't."

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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hello and congrats on 2k ! it’s a huge milestone <3

could you do “it’s my thigh or nothing. i’m not lifting a finger to help you get off.” with max or lando ?

thank you !

# prompt no.14, "it's my thigh or nothing. i'm not lifting a finger to help you get off."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

It was completely innocent—honestly, it was.

In the short time Max had spent at home after work, you found yourselves wrapped in each other's arms on the couch, your heads tilted on Max's chest to gaze at the television.

The show illuminating the otherwise dark room with its bleak colors is not what captured your attention, though. It was when Max shifted—when he shifted, and his thigh conveniently found itself squished against the folds of your covered pussy.

You suck in a sharp gasp.

"Something wrong?"

And—fuck, Max sounded so normal. You would've thought he was oblivious to the pleasure stirring in your stomach had you not known any better. But you do know better, and the cocky grin you meet when you twist your head up only sticks the badge of confirmation on the thought.

"Max," you whine out shamelessly and loudly.

Tears almost gather on your waterline when you tug at the hem of Max's shorts, and he slides a massive palm to interlace your wrists behind your back. You try and fail to squirm into positioning your wetness above his noticeable bulge, the hand around your arms pressing deeper into your lower back and leaving you motionless.

"It's my thigh or nothing," Max tuts disapprovingly at your desperate movements, lifting his knee slightly and grinning wider when he hears your pathetic little moan. "I'm not lifting a finger to help you get off, wanna continue watching m'show, okay?"

But Max doesn't—his eyes stay glued to the sight below him, your needy frame writhing on his thigh, languid thrusts giving you so much and not enough. He bounces his legs after a few minutes of watching you in pity, biting his cheek to swallow the groan from feeling the slick through your flimsy shorts paint his shorts with your wetness.

"M-Max, ah, fuckk, oh, m'god, I can't," you cry out, hips faltering against his thigh and legs shaking as pleasure overtakes your touch, sight, and—

"Good girl," Max hums, releasing your wrists and tilting your jaw to meet his lips. "Y'looked so pretty riding my thigh, shatje."

He was insane.

Completely, utterly, and truly insane.

authors note. had to do this with max because im sorry have u seen his thighs???

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mariahcarreyyy · 21 days

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📝 Hi, can ask for all cocky until the other reciprocates your fleeting touches and unhidden feelings with lando norris from the fluff list plz

# prompt no.17, all cocky until the other reciprocates your fleeting touches and unhidden feelings

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Lando was always far from subtle.

Playing with the ends of your hair when he's coincidentally sitting beside you at the club or a gathering; squeezing your waist softly as a means of saying goodbye; resting his massive palm on your thigh, his fingers thrumming a random beat on the skin, as he drives you places.

But unfortunately, you weren't either. You could feel the flush from head to toe whenever his fingers lightly graze your skin, or hear your heart pounding out of your chest when you catch him staring (you're always the first to look away).

He had invited you to one of the races, and you took this as your chance—being on the receiving end all of the time quickly became a bit boring.

Lando led you inside the Mclaren garage with a firm hand suspiciously low on your back. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bring the fuzzy feeling in your head back.

After the first practice session—where you mindlessly toured the papaya garage and bought a snack from one of the vending machines before walking out into the main area—your eyes immediately darted towards a certain curly-haired Brit.

His back was facing you, but his shoulders shook with animated gestures as he talked with the engineer in front of him.

You stood on your tiptoes behind him, your lips grazing past his ear. "Hi, Lan," you whispered, hoping it came across as sultry as you imagined it.

Lando all but choked on his own spit when you slowly rubbed your palm up and down his arm, staring wide-eyed at the engineer in front of him. You have to fight the urge to laugh in his face. The older man gives Lando a knowing look before disappearing with a mere clap on the back.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his breath hitching when he turns his head to the side and is met with a mischevious hrin plastered on your face. "Hi."

You place a light kiss on his shoulder, fighting the urge to laugh when he lets out a muffled squeak, before turning away and jumping into a conversation with Lily, Oscar's girlfriend. You looked back at him twice, and he looks so stupid—frozen in his spot, face flushed in the middle of the garage.

God, if you had known it was so easy, you would've done this much sooner.

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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love tropes with max?

# send me a driver and I’ll tell you which love tropes i associate them with ! suggestive themes 18+ below

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Look, I was going to say 'enemies to lovers' because, well, have you seen Max? But let's talk about Max and a nanny/caretaker!reader.

He and Kelly broke it off a while ago, but Max couldn't handle saying goodbye to Penelope, so they settled for split parenting. Sometimes, though, Max would have to leave for short periods of time—media duties, race weekends, etc.—and that's where you came in.

A friend had recommended you to him, and after signing multiple contracts and NDC's, you were officially caring for P on all days of the week except Tuesdays (you suspect it's because Max is always home on Tuesdays). Anyway, at the same time that you had grown incredibly fond of his daughter, she had too.

It was not hard, Max thought; you were undebateably beautiful.

He tries to dismiss his heart soaring whenever you'd laugh at his poorly made jokes. He tries to ignore the urge to touch you if he were in the same room as you—hands gripping your waist to slide past a tight hallway, back pressed against yours to help you reach P's cartoon cup on the top shelf of the kitchen—all not so platonic or discreet.

Max would insist you stay for dinner most nights, despite you not having any real reason to. You'd never agreed to something more enthusiastically in your life. His blue eyes soften as he watches you wipe some of the pasta sauce off the corner of P's lips.

It awoke something primal in him.

He wants to have you here, sitting and giggling before him, forever. For as long as you'll have him. If you even want him. After his daughter had been successfully tucked in bed without a refuting sound, he'd come back to a clean dinner table. Glancing through the kitchen aisle window, he could see your figure wiping the dirty dishes in the kitchen.

Grinning cheekily, Max tiptoes behind you, cockiness fading into adoration when he hears you humming some Dutch songs he'd play around the apartment. He shakes his head, his eye on the prize. Just as you'd been placing a plate on the dishrack, Max grips your shoulder blades, whispering a hushed 'boo'.

Your heart nearly fell out of your ass. A loud yelp escaped your lips, your fingers loosening around the plate. Max's eyes widen, and he holds the plate before it shatters onto the ground in all his driver reflex glory.

Turning to face him, both your cheeks tint pink when you register how close Max is from reaching for the plate behind you; chest grazing against your nipples, a shared minty breath shared between you, identical flushes on your faces.

Like magnets, the two of you push past the tension in the air, and your lips meet halfway. His massive hands burn through your clothes, one on the swell of your ass and another cupping the side of your neck, deepening the kiss and squeezing lightly.

You gasp at the momentary constriction, a pathetic moan escaping your mouth. Max swallows it, takes it as an opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, and smiles against them when you pull him flush against you.

"Max," you whimper, lips close enough to brush against his.

"I know, I know, liefje," he coos, tucking his hands underneath your thighs and hauling you onto the kitchen counter, snickering at your loud gasp when he pulls you to sit on the edge.

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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OKAY UH 16/17 on the smut prompt list together w oscar 👀 like he's fucking you in your sleep and calls you mommy and after a bit you wake up and hear it

# prompt no.16, fucking the other whilst they're asleep # prompt no.17, freezing when the other accidentally calls them daddy/mommy nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

When Oscar had come home, sweaty and tired after a long training session at work, the only thing on his mind was wrapping an arm around your figure on the bed and letting sleep overcome him.

But now, as he lifts the covers and reveals the lack of clothes covering your skin, the thought is quickly discarded for another: Oscar hadn't cum in three days, and you, although asleep, hadn't put on any clothes with a purpose.

"Fuck.." Oscar mutters, lifting the blanket off your body and relishing the sight of your little nipples hardening under the cool air.

Shame clouds Oscar's vision only momentarily as he tugs down his pants and boxers. The tip of his cock is an angry hue of red, and the driver hisses when it escapes the confines of his clothes.

He lies next to you, gently turning you to your side and lifting the underside of your knee for better access; the arousal pooling in his stomach is enough to overshadow the shame, anyway.

Oscar tries to be as discreet as possible when he bends your knee to the side, biting his lip to conceal a moan when he sees your folds spread out for him.

The second his thick digits brush against your pussy, Oscar feels your slick start gushing out of your walls. Even when asleep, your body reacts to his touch almost desperately. His point is only proven when you unconsciously and subtly grind against his fingers.

He almost groans at the thought. Almost. Tweaking and rubbing at your clit for a few seconds to make sure you were ready for his cock. Oscar clasps one hand on the base of his dick, lazily stroking once, twice as the other lifts your knee again.

"Only y'can get me like this," Oscar gasps out, biting his bottom lip to muffle a groan when he pushes his tip inside and your hot walls clench around him. "Ah, fuck, s'good, s'good."

The sting is what wakes you up.

With tangled eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, your moan nearly echoes against the walls once you process how fucking full you feel. Oscar stutters but resumes sinking his cock fully inside you, nuzzling his mouth on the nape of your neck, and groaning freely now that you're awake.

"M'sorry, m'sorry, mommy," he pants into your ear, and you can't help but freeze, with no movements and no sounds. "Couldn't help it, y'so tight, fuck."

You can feel the redness radiating off Oscar's skin; you almost whine when you feel him slide his dick out of your pussy. "Shit, sor—ah, fuck," he stumbles over his words when you clench around his length, desperate to keep him inside. "Sorry, sorry, t'was weird, m'sorry."

"Why?" You furrow your brows playfully, reaching a hand back to play with his locks. "Y'don't wanna make mommy feel good?"

A loud groan fills the room, and Oscar buries his head deeper into your shoulder.

"You're gonna be the death of me, I swear."

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mariahcarreyyy · 1 month

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Hello

Congrats on your celebration, can I request prompt 18 from your smut list with Lewis being the driver.

Thanks soo much.

# prompt no.18, getting them hot and bothered before a race nsfw 18+ below beware⬇️⬇️

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

"Sweatheart?"

Despite the syrupy word of endearment, Lewis' tone is anything but. Gruff and voice thick with noncommittal warning, you almost halt your suggestive touch on his thigh when you hear it—almost. Instead, you tilt your head to the side. Eyes wide, seemingly innocent; Lewis knows you better than that, though.

Restlessly, Lewis shifts in his creaky bed in his driver's room, and you pretend to ignore the growing bulge his inky racesuit confines. His thick fingers latch onto your wrist. Firm, yet unmoving. Just there. You take it as your cue to continue.

Inching your hand further up his thigh, so close and so far from where Lewis needs it, you let out a teasing hum. "Yes, baby?"

"We can't. I have—" he stutters, fingers tightening around your wrist when yours graze against his covered dick. "Have a race in fuckin'..."

"Ten minutes." You finish the words he'd trailed off, grinning up at him with a mischevious glint in your eyes. "Enough, no—? Oh."

Lewis' lips are on yours in a second, hungry and desperate. He swallows the gasp that slips past the cracks in your lips, cupping your neck and gently splaying you out on his bed. Tilting your head with a forceful hand, Lewis' hot kisses trail down to your jaw and your neck, leaves lilac stains on your collarbone.

The familiar stir in your lower stomach makes you grip the thick racesuit, fingernails nearly piercing through as you pull him in for another kiss. He grins against your high, desperate whines. "Look who's all needy now; needed to—fuck—get me all hard b'for a race 'cus y'so horny f'me, hm?"

Your hand had slipped between your flushed bodies, past his tattooed chest, now rubbing his dick through the fabric. "If we have time," you murmur, relishing the silent moan he lets out when you roughly squeeze. "'don't see why not."

"Lewis! Lewis, c'mon, y'need to get out," a Mercedes personell shouts from behind the locked door, and Lewis contemplates ditching the shitty car and even shittier race for a release. "Race's starting soon!"

The driver rolls his eyes, resting on the forearms placed beside your head, and calls out bitterly, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."

"No, you won't," you giggle, ducking under his arms and away from his heated body.

"Sweetheart," Lewis leans down, slightly to the side, to breathily whisper in your ear. "If I don't cum, the only thing I'll be thinking of in that car is your pretty face 'n pussy."

Your hand grazes past his hardness again, your touch feathery, before placing a sweet kiss on his cheek and sitting upright. "Just don't crash?"

He groans, slumping on the bed and falling face first into the thin mattress. "I'll think about it."

Later that night, Lewis comes out of the race thinking about your pretty face, thinks about painting it with his cum; he thinks about thrusting into your wet pussy, fast and hard, just how you like it; he thinks about turning you over with your ass up, squeezing and slapping the soft flesh; he thinks about pulling out when he feels your pussy clench around him, not letting you cum over and over again.

And he'll be damned if he doesn't fulfill them.

authors note. i haven't been posting much bcs my health isnt the best right now, hopefully i'll be back soon!!

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mariahcarreyyy · 1 month

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Hii!!! CONGRATULATIONS ON 2K! I love reading your work, it’s always amazing 💕

Do you think you could write something with this angst prompt “lashing out even though they know they will regret it” for Oscar ? And maybe he is the one lashing out?

# prompt no.7, lashing out even though they know they will regret it

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Sometimes, Oscar wishes he could scream at everyone who calls him unbothered.

He wishes they could see him now, irritation coursing through his veins, mixing with his blood like water and oil; he wishes they could witness the dark cloud looming over his muscular frame, following him and more ever-present than his own shadow; he wishes they could cower at the sight of the scowl on his face, nose scrunched in distaste at all times.

The results of his race had been enough to send him over the edge. A less than satisfactory eighteenth, and it echoes bitterly in his head the entire race debreif.

Lando squeezes an encouraging hand on Oscar's shoulder as they both walk out of the papaya garage, and Oscar can't bring himself to do anything but send Lando a shaky smile.

A prolonged car ride, and a few hours later, the driver twists the doorknob of your shared flat. Oscar's shoulders visibly drop, leaving the remains of a bad race on the floor and letting his body (mind and soul) rest.

"Osc? Y'home?"

Your voice cuts through the silence, and Oscar wants to punch his own gut at how his jaw clenches at the sound. Relax, he reminds himself. But Oscar can't—he knows he can't.

Because the residual pounding in his head is making him wince; he's sweaty and shivering; he's famished and cannot bear the thought of food; he's put off by the sight of you before him and he wants to be cradled in your arms, too.

It's all too confusing for him. Oscar decides being angry would be easier, flow smoothly against his tongue. He almost forgoes his plan when his brown eyes meet your pity-laced ones.

"Hey, baby," you murmur, hesitantly reaching up to cup his cheeks. "I'm sorry, 'bou—"

Sweet nothings die in your throat when Oscar swerves away from your touch, wincing distastefully. Seemingly refusing to look at you, his eyes dart anywhere but the comfort of yours.

"I don't need you to baby me," Oscar grits out, his hips swaying to glide past you and the crestfallen look on your face.

"Oh," you bite the inside of your cheek, hands flailing helplessly to your side and watching him pad against the cold floors. "Okay, uh. There's pasta on the stove if you're hungry."

Oscar pinches his wrist. The thought of tangible pain seemed more comfortable than the guilt gnawing in his heart. Still, Oscar laments, you are too nice; I'm cruel now, and you shouldn't be this way towards me. He refrains from turning around when he hears you audibly exhale shakily.

"M'not hungry," he shouts again, slamming the door behind him without looking back.

Without looking at you.

authors note. i dont like this honestly i feel like its very ooc bcs i dont see osc lashing out a lot. i made him feel guilty idk if that helped. en e wayz enjoyy xx

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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Hi!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! Could I please request prompt number 8 from the angst dialogue list for Charles Leclerc? Thank you!!!

# prompt no.8, "what do you want from me? to throw away all i've worked for?" // "all i'm asking for is your time."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Change was something you did not lightly graze over or dismiss with a nonchalant wave of your hand. It slowly seeped inside the cracks of your monaco apartment walls, finding solace in your discomfort. But once even a portion of it was there, there was no denying its presence.

Not when the dent of Charles' curves is no longer easy to trace; yours was everpresent, wallowing and growing familiar with the ache in your bones every time you'd wake up to an cold, empty bed.

Not when, despite being allocated time off from work, Charles had let his job consume him. Nipping at his heart and head, wrapped in a frantic worry of not living up to his potential. Lately, it was as if it held greater priority than the peace you'd once been able to bring him.

He's slouched on his chair, fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel of the simulator; his movements are jerky yet cautious, risky, yet he is all but willing. Standing at the burgundy doorframe, you felt like you'd regressed to the age of a toddler—thrashing in your father's hold, begging for an ounce of attention, of care.

"Charles?"

The word drifts away, following the breeze of the opened window, swirling in the starry night sky. He does not answer. That's fine, nothing new. Your lips part to the shape of his name again, timid and picking dutifully at your fingertips. An exhasperated huff escapes his mouth, latching on to the side of his headphones and not-so-lightly placing them on the table.

With gritted teeth and a slight crane to his neck, barely allowing you to enter his peripheral vision, he mutters, "Yes, y/n?"

"Dinner's ready," you house your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting patiently for the dismissive 'not hungry right now' that would roll off his tongue in mere moments.

And Charles does not fail you or your expectations. He motions a hand to his simulator, sending you a pitiful excuse of a sorry smile that makes your palms furl into fists.

"Charles, I said—"

"I know what you said, mon amour," he sighs, and the pet name feels foreign on his tongue and bitter to your ears. "'Can't leave the sim."

Any shame you have left dwindles next to your bruised ego and non-existent dignity.

"One dinner, Charles, 'won't even take twenty minutes out of your day." Your voice is small, directed towards the back of his head, satisfaction pricking at your heart when his hands freeze, sending him crashing through the virtual track.

Desperate, do you even care anymore?

Abruptly, he stands up, arms extended on the table, to steady himself. The shift in atmosphere made you gnaw at your lip harder, and the metallic crimson made you wince. Your feet are glued to the floor.

Charles turns, standing up right to face you. He looks normal, you realize. You've been trying to figure out how to breathewithout him near you, and he looks normal.

"What do you want from me? To throw away all I've worked for?" He raises a predatory brow, malice dripping from his tongue. "Eat, y/n. I'll probably order something later, but I'm not wasting my time with—with."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

With you, is left unspoken.

"All I'm asking for is your time." You meet his hard stare and refrain from cowering at the sight. "But it's obvious you don't give a fuck to at least give me that."

You don't run, but you'd never walked so frantically out of a room before. A small part of you is waiting for Charles to scurry behind you, shouting a 'wait! wait, y/n!'. Which would probably not grant him immediate forgiveness but perhaps warm the shivers coursing through your body.

He doesn't.

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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congratulations on 2k!! deserved 💌

how about charles being an ABSOLUTE cat dad like reader has a cat and once he gets introduced to it they become inseparable

# i'm very much a cat person this was so cute to write. i imagined this early on in the relationship but dream as u will!

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

When jealousy took form and blossomed in a person's wretched heart, it did so in two branches: rational and irrational. The glint coloring your eyes in an ugly green after witnessing Charles enter your flat for the first time, automatically gasping and fawning over the white ball of fur idly strolling past the hallway, was certainly the latter of the two.

A gentle, startled sort of coo slipped past your newly minted boyfriend's lips. "A cat! Oh," his dimples form in slopes on his plump cheeks, his eyes creasing in a giddy smile as he drops his belongings and rushes to craddle the kitten in his arms. "I didn't know you—aww, bebé, qu'il est mignon!"

The otherwise quiet hallway was filled with the fondness of Charles' voice and soft, satisfied purrs reverberating in the kitten's throat (who looks comically small in his bulging biceps, by the way). Past the lingering envy and sudden urge to morph into a cat and have Charles hold you carefully, you can't help but grin at the sight.

Charles neck must hurt from looking down sideways and murmuring sweet nothings to the cat as if it were a baby. Or it didn't, very possibly, seeing as you've walked into one too many workout sessions of him training his neck. You allowed him to topple closer to the edge of a cuteness overload before the fatigue piling in your waterline proved too heavy to bear.

Kick off uncomfortable heels; Charles giggled when the ball of fur nuzzled its tiny, pink nose into his neck.

Shrug the jacket onto the floor; Charles dips down to rub the button of his nose against the kittens.

Hang it on the coat rack; Charles melts into an incoherent puddle on the floor when your pet reciprocates his movements.

Pad against marble floors, rubbing your eyes sleepily and shutting the door of your bedroom halfway once you get there; Charles lets out a distant, "Y/n? Mon amour? Where'd you go?" from the hallway.

A smile, your heart appreciating your boyfriend shifting his attention from the cat, threatens to crack at your lips until—

"Oh, mon dieu! He's rolling on the ground. Y/n! Y/n, viens! Viens, come see!"

You throw your hands up exasperatedly despite your solitude, hastily take off your makeup, and nestle into the coldness of your generously sized bed; Charles will come later, but not alone. The warmth radiating off the tiny ball of fur is easily noticeable, squished between two frames and contrasting heavily with your boyfriend's presence.

"I love you," the monagesque murmurs; and then, after a few beats of silence, before you were to open your mouth and echoe his words, he says, "You too, Y/n."

As his cackles bounce off the walls of your bedroom, only growing louder and intensifying when he receives a harsh slap on his shoulder, you find yourself joining in the laughter, unable to resist.

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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congrats on 2k!!! you deserve it and so so much more <3

can i request being overprotective of them in front of prospective partners with max ofc thank u very much -cait/@leclerced

# prompt no.10, being overprotective of them in front of prospective partners

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

It was embarrassing.

Watching two grown men argue over who would drive you home from the lively, neon-lit bar led to a bashful flush, warming your body amidst the crisp darkness of the night.

Only minutes prior, Max had taken one look at you and decided home was where you should be. You didn't make any protests because he's right; you wonder if you looked like a book to Max—pages crinkled, broken spines, and easily read words in his favorite font.

"I can take my fucking girlfriend home, Max," your boyfriend, Scotty, seethes through gritted teeth, an ugly vein bursting on his forehead.

Scotty evidently did not like the idea of Max driving you home for a reason you had no idea of. You and Max had been friends for years, so if even an ounce of your yearning and want was reciprocated, he would've done something by now.

That thought did little to dwindle the stubborn 'what if's from gnawing at your soul, the twinge in your heart whenever you see Max with anyone but yourself.

And also the slight guilt at thinking of another man when you have a perfectly fine one waiting at home for you each night but. Whatever.

"I swear to fucking God if you get into that car with her--"

Eyes widening, you place a calming hand on Max's shoulder and ignore the daggers your boyfriend is glaring at your touch. "Okay, how 'bout we all relax, yeah?"

Max cranes his neck to look at you, his harsh facade melting when he catches sight of the worry etched on your face. Once his heaving turned into steady breathing, your face ducking shyly to look away from his gaze, your boyfriend cleared his throat loudly.

You hastily drop your hand like the Dutch had burned you, and Max lets out a disapproving noise at the loss of your contact. Yeah, Scotty did not look impressed. The murderous glint in his eyes did nothing to quell the uncomfortable atmosphere, his jaw flexing like he's capable of murder, of tearing Max's limbs off and letting the blood spill on the pavement.

"Scotty...to be fair, you did drink, and I don't really feel like dying tonight."

A hand creeps around Max's waist, your fingertips pinching the flesh after you hear him snort. A barely concealed yelp from the driver has Scotty scrunching his nose up in distaste, nostrils flared, and betrayal painted across his face.

You should probably side with your boyfriend, but. But the cool breeze makes the tiny hairs on your arms stand up, teeth chattering; you wrap the thin, barely-there jacket Max gave you at the beginning of the night and roll your eyes, walking to Max's car.

Fondly, Max observes the impatient tapping of your foot and flush on your face—from the cold, he tells himself, not for the same reasons as himself. He raises his brows tauntingly at Scotty before advancing towards your shaky frame.

"Fuckin' bitch," Scotty mutters into the air, lips pursed into a scowl and vodka overriding his senses.

Your ears don't quite grasp the words, but Max's do. So, when the world champion's fist paves the way for the colorful hues of a bruise to bloom on the bridge of your boyfriend's nose, you can't help but choke on a gasp.

authors note. anddddd scotty makes a comeback!!!! tbf in the og fic he was actually portrayed as a good bf. max & reader r js bad ppl. now i dont have to feel bd tho cus he's terrible in this🥰

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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📝 - 1 from angst list with charles leclerc?

congrats on 2k!!!

# prompt no.1, "itching to text them, yet the guilt of pestering them hits."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Fatigue made a dark, blurry home under Charles' eyes. It began to flourish after pre-season testing; during the rough hours, he would train and debrief to improve the quality of the car. Then, his tiredness, absence, and bitter tone were easier to ignore—easier to dismiss as Charles being overworked.

Now, everything is too blurry, with red lines mixing with the wrinkled sheets of your shared bed. It doesn't feel shared anymore. The warmth of Charles body beside yours comes late in the night and flees too early in the cloudy sky for that.

Unease wrapped itself around your frame, and the need for Charles touch, kisses, hugs—hell, you'd settle for fucking words on a screen so long as they were his—gnawed at your heart. Reaching back for your phone, you soon drop it as quickly as your hands grasped it. It falls on the leather couch with a soft thump.

Charles didn't need this. He could come home, find solace in your frame for a few short hours, and complain about his job. But he didn't deserve this—having to halt his actions only to talk to you, to comfort you when there was no reason for you to be upset in the first place.

You shake your head.

"Anything you need, mon amour, you tell me, text me, call me. Oui?" Charles had said a few months prior, carresing your cheeks and staring fondly at the redness on your nose. It was cold, then. Winter break with no responsibilities or drawn-out nights at Maranello or longing.

Charles might not need this, but he'd want it.

From: You baby can i talk to u? i miss u read

He doesn't respond immediately, or in a second, minute, or hour. The anxiety-inducing bubbles appear on your screen right before you've begun getting ready for bed. But it comes, and you feel a little more than embarrassed at the fact that it made you giddy. How low have your expectations plummeted to?

From: Charlie ❤️ Ofcourse mon coeur Anything u need I miss u more

Evidently, to the ground.

authors note. i lowk made this fluffy screw me im in a happy mood😔😔

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mariahcarreyyy · 21 days

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congratulations on 2k 💙

📝 + charles leclerc x fem!reader + one where she recently joins motogp and he supports her all the time? fluff please, tysm! 🫶🏻🤞🏻

# 📝 send a prompt and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio !

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

To say you were nervous would be an understatement.

You had a few tells that were noticed by Charles in quick succession: bouncing your leg, standing up and pacing, picking at your fingernails, religiously repeating the warmups your physio had suggested prior.

"Mon amour, please sit down," Charles laments, his eyes darting back and forth from his place on your couch. "I'm getting nervous looking at you, and I don't even have a race this weekend."

But another race weekend for Charles doesn't compare to this, and all he says now only brings you a slight sense of false security. First race, first female rider, and your only chance to prove yourself to—well, to everyone.

Ignoring Charles' pleas only made you feel a bit guilty; instead, you occupied yourself with stretching and easing the knots in your shoulders. Fool-proof plan. Except for the fact that Charles has never taken 'no' for an answer a day in his life.

He stands up with an exhaled huff, grabbing your shoulders in the middle of your motorhome. "Stop it. There's no reason for you to be doing this."

"Did somebody hit you in the head? I have a race in, like, ten minutes, Charlie."

"Yes, and?"

The idiocracy from Ferrari must've seeped into his brain, but his lips parted again before you could reply.

"They wouldn't have picked you if they thought you were a bad rider," Charles murmurs, sliding a soft hand to cup your cheek. "Relax. Please."

You sigh, leaning into his touch and slightly rubbing your cheekbones against it. Meeting his eyes, you have to refrain from directly looking away; he looks at you so fondly that you consider ditching the race altogether and cuddling up to him instead.

A soft noise of agreement slips past your throat again. "Okay," you bite your lip when Charles grasps your wrist and leads you to the couch.

He presses a kiss on your temple, and for a moment, the worries abandon your thoughts.

authors note. i was a bit stuck on an idea for this but yeahhh im back to writingg (hopefully)

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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↳˗ˏˋi just wanna start this off with THANK YOU SO MUCH. throughout my life, i'd always loved writing and i was never given an outlet for that until i joined f1blr.

this community is one of the nicest, most welcoming, and positive ive genuinely ever been a part of. to think two thousand people read my works and said oh lemme follow this blog to read more is insane. thank you for the endless motivation and love.

a special thank you to a few blogs that always make me feel supported & appreciated on this silly little app @planete777 @piastrification @leclerced @scuderiahoney @norrisleclercf1 @lifeboredme @dilemmaontwolegs @daddyricsdollˊˎ˗ ↴

✧. ┊📝 send a prompt, dialogue piece, or song and a driver for me to write a short blurb or scenerio !

✧. ┊🦢 send me 3 drivers for a fuck/marry/kill !

✧. ┊🤍 send me a driver and I’ll tell you which love tropes i associate them with !

↳ ❝ [rules] ¡! ❞ . . . if 📝 it should fit into 1k words or less, specify whether fluff, angst, of smut, and is not limited to the provided prompts, dialogue pieces, or scenerios . . . if 🦢 or 🤍 do not feel limited to current grid drivers . . . lastly, have fun bbys!!

fluff prompt lists ; angst prompt lists ; smut prompt lists

fluff dialogue lists ; angst dialogue lists ; smut dialogue lists

fluff lists of songs ; angst lists of songs ; smut lists of songs

# this event will take place for a limited time ( march 2nd till april 2nd ) so don't shy away from participating <3

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mariahcarreyyy · 2 months

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fmk--- mad max, rbr seb, reputation era charles

# send me 3 drivers for a fuck/marry/kill !

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

😨😨😨

had to keep the emoji's big to rlly show my reaction to this yk.

okay um DAMN lets go with fuck rbr seb (i blame @norrisleclercf1 for making me a seb girly), marry mad max, and sorry rep era charlie🙈

#mariahcarreyyy . . . 2k celebration #fmk game #max verstappen x reader #sebastian vettel x reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader

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