#air handling unit system | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 1 year ago

Text

Breaking Point

Charles Leclerc x Ferrari!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc finally reaches his breaking point after the disaster that was the United States Grand Prix. Something needs to change … and that’s where you come in

“Again, again!” Charles’ voice rings out, echoing through the debrief room, “How can we mess this up? I was on pole!”

Fred Vasseur looks down, sighing, but trying to maintain composure. “Charles, it was a miscalculation—”

“A miscalculation?” Charles retorts, eyes blazing, “This has been a trend all season, Fred. It’s not a one-time mistake. It’s systemic.”

Carlos, looking uncomfortable, tries to chime in, “It wasn’t just about strategy, you know the car—”

“Oh, I know the car,” Charles snaps, “And it was built against my driving preference. But it’s not just that. It’s everything. The poor race strategy, the unnecessary swap, and now being disqualified as if my day has not been bad enough!”

Enrico Cardile, the team’s technical director, steps forward, “Disqualification was not anticipated. We followed the regulations to the best—”

“Enough with the excuses!” Charles’ voice cracks with emotion. The weight of the season, the betrayal he feels, finally makes him see red. “Every time there’s an excuse. We’re a team and yet somehow it feels like I’m constantly battling not just our opponents but Ferrari as well.”

A deep silence settles.

The head strategist, Ravin Jain, finally speaks up hesitantly, “We thought the one-stop made sense. The data suggested—”

“Data,” Charles interrupts bitterly, “The same data that led to a decision that every other team on the grid laughed at! Did the data also suggest swapping me with Carlos? Or was I being punished for being able to manage my tires?”

Carlos, despite himself, looks hurt. “I didn’t ask for the swap,” he mutters.

Charles takes a breath, looking at his teammate, “I know. It’s not your fault, hermano. But I need to trust the team’s decisions. And right now, I don’t.”

Sporting Director Diego Ioverno tries to mediate, “It’s been a tough season, Charles. Everyone is understandably stressed. Let’s sit down, review everything together, and find a way forward.”

Charles shakes his head, “That’s what we said last time. And the time before that. And the twenty times before that! Empty promises, meetings, discussions, and then what? Nothing gets done and there is another disaster waiting to happen.”

Fred tries one more time, “We’re as frustrated as you are. We’re a family. We’ll figure this out.”

Charles scoffs, “I can’t keep being let down and used. Not like this.”

The room falls silent once more, a heavy cloud of disappointment and tension hanging in the air.

Carlos reaches out, placing a hand on Charles’ shoulder, “Things will get better.”

Charles meets Carlos’ gaze, nodding slightly. But the fire in his eyes has not dimmed, “I need to believe in this team again. But right now ...” He pauses, “I have a call to make.”

He turns, leaving the room filled with introspective silence. The team is left behind, grappling with their own emotions, knowing that actions will always speak louder than words.

***

Charles steps out into the warm evening air, taking a moment to compose himself before dialing a number he knows by heart but hasn’t touched in months.

“Hey,” Charles’ voice is a low rasp, every ounce of weariness evident.

Then a pause, as he listens to the voice on the other end.

“Yeah, it’s me ... look, I know what I said earlier this season. About handling it myself.” He takes a deep breath, letting the weight of it all settle.

A longer pause, broken by Charles’ intermittent nods and “Uh-huhs.”

“Every race feels like it’s been one disaster after another. And it’s not just the car, it’s everything. I can’t ... I can’t keep doing this to myself.”

He listens closely.

“I told them today, laid it all out. But it’s like talking to a brick wall. They listen, they nod, and then? The same mistakes. Over and over.”

He shifts his weight, the sound of his shoes scraping on the gravel echoing softly.

“I know, I know I told you not to get involved ... but maybe ... maybe that was a mistake.” He sounds defeated, a man at the end of his rope. “I need help. Real help. Maybe it’s time you step in.”

Charles is silent, absorbing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

“No, it’s not about leaving the team,” Charles’ voice is earnest, desperate even. “It’s about respect. Trust. It’s about feeling like I’m not constantly fighting against the tide, not just against other teams but within my own garage.”

A long pause.

“What I mean is, maybe some changes within the team would be good. Fresh perspectives. New faces, perhaps. Somewhere I can trust the decisions, the strategy ...”

He sighs.

“I just want to race, you know? Without all this drama. Without constantly wondering if I’m being set up to fail no matter what I do.”

Another pause as he listens, nodding, lost in the gravity of the decision he’s about to make.

“Thank you. Really. Let’s talk tomorrow? Lay out all our options?”

There’s a moment of quiet, only the sound of his breathing, the distant hum of the circuit, the world slowly dimming around him.

“Thanks. Goodnight, Y/N.”

***

“Emilia,” you call out, and before a moment passes, your ever-efficient personal assistant is by your side.

“Yes, Y/N?” Emilia asks, perfectly poised.

“I need the jet prepared. We’re heading to Mexico City,” you say, voice steady and determined though inside, the turmoil from the phone call with Charles still lingers.

Emilia raises an eyebrow slightly, a silent question in her eyes. “Any particular reason?”

You sigh, looking away for a moment, reflecting on the weight of the legacy you carry. “Scuderia Ferrari needs my direct attention. I trusted them to handle things, but ... it’s clear that has not been happening.”

Her eyes flash with understanding. “Of course. I’ll have the jet ready. When do you wish to depart?”

“Tomorrow morning, early.”

She’s already typing into her tablet. “I’ll book you the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons. Will you be needing a meeting space there?”

“Absolutely,” you nod. “On Wednesday, before the Grand Prix. Organize for all team personnel to meet in the hotel conference room. And Emilia ... they are not to know the reason for the meeting or that I’m the one calling it.”

Her eyes gleam with a hint of mischief, “Mystery and surprise. I love it. Consider it done.”

A small, wry smile tugs at your lips. “Thank you. And can you make sure Charles knows about my arrival? But ask him to keep it quiet.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

You pause, taking a moment to consider. “Just one more thing. Make sure we have everything we need to review the team’s decisions and strategies for this season. Every little detail.”

Emilia nods. “Absolutely. Everything will be arranged as per your instructions.”

You take a deep breath, “Thanks, Emilia. This … it’s about preserving a legacy, and right now, that legacy is on shaky ground.”

She places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “If anyone can steer this ship right, it’s you.”

***

The door to the conference room opens with a low creak, and the room immediately falls silent. Everyone turns to see you entering, your presence commanding every ounce of attention.

“Good afternoon,” you begin with ice-cold authority. “Thank you all for meeting on such short notice.”

There are murmurs of acknowledgment but no one dares speak up.

“I’ve reviewed our performance this season,” you continue, pacing the length of the conference room, letting each word sink in. “And to say I’m disappointed would be an understatement.”

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat, eyes darting around the room. You lock eyes with him, “Fred, you promised change. But the only change I’ve seen is our team’s steep decline.”

“I understand your frustration,” Fred stammers, “We’ve faced challenges—”

You cut him off sharply, “Challenges? Every team faces challenges. What matters is how you overcome them.”

Several team members look down, uncomfortably shuffling papers and avoiding eye contact.

You turn to the strategists, “Your decisions have cost us dearly, time and time again. Your inability to read a race situation, to adapt, to strategize effectively ... it’s quite frankly appalling.”

One of the strategists, a middle-aged man named Roberto, speaks up defensively, “We did our best with the information we had.”

Your eyes narrow, “Your best? Tell that to Charles, who has been left out in the cold race after race.”

Moving on, you address the engineers and designers, “Our car has issues that should have been rectified at the beginning of the season. Yet here we are, still struggling.”

An aerodynamicist named Lucia, clearly agitated, stands up. “We’ve been working tirelessly, trying to find solutions.”

You level her with a gaze, “Then maybe it’s time we look for people who can find those solutions more efficiently.”

Lucia’s face reddens, “You can’t just—”

“Actually I can,” you interrupt, “And I will.”

Your attention turns to Xavi, Charles’ race engineer, who has been noticeably silent. “Xavi, your dynamic with Charles has not been the slightest bit helpful. His feedback, his needs ... they’ve fallen on deaf ears.”

Xavi, trying to defend himself, says, “It’s a two-way street. Charles can be difficult.”

You shake your head, “Charles is a world-class driver. It’s your job to bridge any gaps, not widen them. I checked and it turns out that constantly repeating we are checking like a broken record is not beneficial for race performance!”

Taking a deep breath, you make your announcement, “Effective immediately, Roberto, Lucia, and several other strategists, engineers, and aerodynamicists that a personal audit revealed as detrimental to team performance relieved of their duties. Xavi, you too are let go.”

There are gasps around the room, the weight of your words sinking in. Roberto stands, fuming in anger, “You can’t just dismantle this team!”

You lock eyes with him, “I’m not dismantling. I’m rebuilding. And if that means letting go of every one of you who can’t uphold the standards of Scuderia Ferrari then so be it.”

Fred finally speaks up, “And what about me?”

You lean in, “Consider your position on very thin ice. I expect results. And fast.”

You straighten up, the room thick with tension, “Scuderia Ferrari is not just a team, it’s a legacy. My great-grandfather would be rolling in his grave to see what has been done to his beloved team. I will not stand by and watch it crumble.”

With a final, piercing gaze around the room, you pivot on your heel and exit with a flick of your hair.

***

You lean against the cool wall, taking a moment to gather yourself after the emotional intensity of the meeting. The hallway is quiet save for the distant hum of voices but soon familiar footsteps make their way around the corner.

“Charles,” you call out softly as spot the driver.

His green eyes, clouded with a mix of emotions, meet yours. “Y/N.”

“Are you okay?”

He hesitates, “I wasn’t expecting all of that.”

You nod, “It was long overdue. I should have intervened much sooner.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to process everything. “It’s ... a lot. I didn’t think you would actually step in like this.”

You sigh, “I hoped I wouldn’t have to. But my bisnonno once said that aerodynamics are for people who can’t build engines, and right now, it sure seems like Ferrari can’t do either.”

Charles chuckles dryly, “You have a point. It’s been ... frustrating.”

You gently touch his arm, trying to reassure him, “Enzo also believed that dreams become bigger, much bigger, to build a car that doesn’t slow in the curves, that flies without leaving the ground. I want that dream for you. For us.”

He looks at you, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. A car that allows me to race to my full potential.”

You nod, thinking of the iconic red car and its tremendous legacy, “I know. And we’ll get there. Remember, racing cars are neither beautiful nor ugly. They become beautiful when they win.”

A smile tugs at Charles’ lips, “I haven’t won in too long. I almost forget what it feels like.”

You step closer, “That is going to change. I’m here for the long haul. To rebuild, restructure, and reclaim the Ferrari legacy. Glory will be dressed in red once more.”

He nods and swallows thickly. “Thank you, Y/N. It means more than you know.”

You smile softly, “We’re a team. And I promise to do whatever it takes to see us on top again.”

***

Early that Friday at Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez, you gather the team in the garage.

“Good morning, everyone,” you begin. “I know it has been a whirlwind these past few days but I want to set the tone for this weekend.”

Fred, still adjusting to the new dynamic, nods silently from the back.

“We haven’t had the time to implement any physical changes to the car,” you continue, “But they are coming. For now, the difference will be about being smart … being strategic.”

Charles listens intently, his gaze occasionally drifting to the newcomers in front of him.

Speaking of the new additions, you gesture to the two people standing on either side of you, “I’ve brought on Marit Nilsen as our Principal Strategy Engineer and Claudio Segreti as Charles’ new race engineer. Not only are they exceptional engineers but also global chess masters.”

There are murmurs of surprise and interest among the crew. The world of Formula 1 and professional chess has rarely, if ever, intersected.

Marit, a tall woman with striking blonde hair, steps forward, “Chess is all about strategy, foreseeing the opponent’s moves and countering them. That’s what we’re here to do but on the track.”

Claudio, with his dark hair and deep-set eyes, adds, “Every move and decision we make will be precise. We’ll anticipate, adapt, and overcome.”

Carlos clears his throat, “So what’s the plan for free practice?”

You smile, “Today, we observe. We learn. We see where the car stands, where our strengths and weaknesses lie.”

As free practice commences, there’s a different energy in the garage. Marit, with her sharp analytical mind, quickly picks up on patterns, working closely with Claudio and Carlos’ engineer to ensure both drivers get feedback they need.

There’s a visible shift throughout the weekend. The team, rejuvenated by fresh perspectives, operates with a renewed vigor. And while the car may not have upgrades yet, new strategy quickly begins to make a difference like anticipated.

Qualifying sees Charles securing P3, an unexpected but welcome result. The garage is full of cautious hope but Marit and Claudio remain focused, already planning for the race to come.

Race day dawns and the tension is thick. You pull Charles aside, “Remember, things have changed. Believe in the strategy and the moves we make.”

He nods, “I trust them. And I trust you.”

As the lights go out and the cars roar to life, Charles delivers a performance that’s both calculated and aggressive. Every pit stop and every overtake is orchestrated like a chess match.

The race sees Charles finishing in P2 and Carlos in P4, a significant improvement from recent races.

The garage is a mix of tentative elation and relief.

Marit thoroughly reviews the race data, “This is just the beginning. Once the car upgrades are in place, the board will be ours.”

The sun sets on the Mexico City Grand Prix, but for Scuderia Ferrari, a new dawn is on the horizon.

***

“Fabiano Turati,” you muse, looking at the impressive portfolio before you. “Aerospace engineer, a key player in the development of hypercars for Agnellotti Motors, a professor at Politecnico di Milano. But never in F1?”

Fabiano, with salt and pepper hair and an air of quiet confidence, smiles slightly. “It’s not for lack of offers. I have just always believed in pushing boundaries outside of traditional paths.”

You lean back, intrigued, “So why Ferrari now?”

His eyes scan around the garage, “A challenge. An opportunity. A legacy to uphold. And, to put it simply, I think I can make a difference.”

You nod, appreciative of his candor. “We have three races left this season: Brazil, Las Vegas, and Abu Dhabi. Realistically, how much can we improve?”

You can practically see the gears in his brain turning, “In terms of complete redesign? Not much. But in terms of optimization and efficiency? Quite a bit.”

By the Brazilian Grand Prix, Fabiano’s influence is evident. While not a complete transformation, the SF-23 sports streamlined wings and a refined rear diffuser, maximizing what the current design allows.

“Initial feedback is good,” Charles reports after the practice session. “There’s a notable difference in the corners.”

Carlos chimes in, “The balance feels better.”

The improvements are evident, with both Ferraris finishing just off the podium. But Las Vegas poses a new challenge: a circuit unfamiliar to all teams and drivers.

“This is anyone’s game,” Marit says, examining the track layout.

Fabiano nods, “This weekend will be all about adaptation.”

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is an exhilarating rollercoaster. Charles fights for a podium finish, narrowly missing out but showcasing the SF-23’s newfound prowess, while Carlos secures a solid sixth.

As the season finale in Abu Dhabi looms, anticipation runs high. The Yas Marina Circuit will end the year with a test of Ferrari’s mettle.

Post-race, with both Ferraris finishing on the podium after avoiding a pile up that took out multiple opponents, there’s a sense of satisfaction but also of hunger.

“We’ve made progress,” Fabiano says as the garage winds down. “But next season, we’ll aim for a car that is not just evolved but fully revolutionized.”

You smile, “With you on board, I truly believe we can. The future is bright for Scuderia Ferrari.”

***

“Look at her,” Fabiano muses, admiration clear as the blueprint for the SF-24 is spread out before you both in your Maranello office.

“She’s a beauty,” you agree, tracing your fingers over the schematics. “If she performs half as well as she looks ...”

“She will,” Fabiano leaves no room for doubt. “We’ve streamlined the aerodynamics, enhanced the power unit, and made significant weight reductions.”

Carlos walks in with a grin on his face, “Is this the beast we’re taming next season?”

“That’s the plan.”

Charles catches your eye from where he lingers by the door. “It’s a fresh start,” he murmurs, approaching the table almost reverently. “I feel it.”

Over the following weeks, you rarely leave the factory other than to sleep and shower. You immerse yourself with the team, observing wind tunnel tests, joining strategy sessions, and even trying your hand with pit stop drills.

One evening, after a particularly long meeting, Charles finds you in the lounge, sipping an espresso. “Mind if I join you?”

You gesture to the seat across, “Of course not.”

He sits and just looks at you until you get the urge to fidget. “I’ve been thinking,” Charles begins, “About the changes, the car, and ... us.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Us?”

Charles smiles slightly, “You and I. We’ve spent so much time together these past weeks. I’ve gotten to know you, not just as Y/N Ferrari but as ... Y/N.”

You flush and not just from the hot coffee, “I feel the same. It’s been ... refreshing. Getting to know the man behind the helmet.”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, “There’s this great little place just outside Maranello. Quiet, hidden. I was thinking, maybe, dinner?”

Your heart skips a beat but you maintain your composure, “I’d really like that.”

The winter in Maranello unfolds, and as the SF-24 takes shape, so does the bond between you and Charles.

Between brainstorming sessions and late-night discussions about optimal setups, there are stolen moments: shared glances, lingering touches, and dinners that stretch long into the night talking about anything and everything.

Carlos teases, “Seems like the new car isn’t the only thing igniting sparks.”

You roll your eyes but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. You don’t try to deny it. Why bother when you hope it might be true one day?

***

r/formula1

Posted by RaceRundown · 6 hours ago

First look at the SF-24! Thoughts?

RedFever · 6 hours ago

This could be the machine that keeps Ferrari at the top. Just look at those lines!

PitStopPundit · 5 hours ago

Getting major 2004 vibes from this. Could be a dominant year for the Scuderia!

***

You step into the air-conditioned motorhome, grateful for an escape from the Bahraini heat. Charles and Carlos, race suits unzipped around their waists, are animatedly discussing their first day of preseason testing with the SF-24.

“Last year, we didn’t have to sandbag because the car was, well … genuinely that slow,” Charles laughs. “But this time around ...”

Carlos grins, finishing his sentence. “This time, we have an ace up our sleeves.”

You nod, “Just remember, it’s only testing. We still have to see where we truly stand.”

The race weekend finally kicks off and the paddock is full of speculation. After a deliberately unimpressive showing during testing, no one expects Ferrari to be a front-runner.

Yet, when the lights go out, the SF-24 does not just impress …. it dominates. Charles takes P1 with Carlos not far behind in P3. And the world takes notice.

The next few races see a rejuvenated Ferrari. In Saudi Arabia, Charles and Carlos deliver a nail-biting duel with Red Bull, securing a double podium. Australia is a tougher battle, with Mercedes coming to form, but Charles clinches a respectable P4.

The Asian leg of the season has its highs and lows. In Japan, despite a torrential downpour, Charles masterfully handles the wet track to clinch the top step. On the podium, he points up at the sky and then shapes his fingers — first into a one and then a seven — a silent tribute to his late godfather and mentor.

However, China proves challenging and sees the SF-24 struggling unusually with tire degradation. But as Miami approaches, the team regroups and Charles takes a commanding win under the Florida sun.

Then comes Imola, the first of Ferrari’s home races.

As the sun shines brightly over the circuit named after your great-grandfather and grand uncle, you find yourself walking the track alongside Charles. The weight of racing on home soil evident in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” You check, sensing his nervous energy.

He looks at you and taking a deep breath. “Racing in front of the Tifosi at home always feel different. I want to make them proud.”

“No matter what happens today, they will be proud of you. The whole team will be proud of you. We’ve come so far.”

He smiles, visibly lighter. “Then let’s give them a race to remember.”

And it is nothing short of spectacular. Charles starts P2, but with determination and brilliant strategy, he overtakes Max in the final lap and secures a victory for Ferrari on home soil.

The roar of the crowd, the sea of red flags, the tears in Charles’ eyes as he stands atop the podium — you make a promise to never forget this moment.

As the sun sets on Imola, the Scuderia Ferrari team comes together, basking in their victory.

As Charles, champagne-soaked and beaming, pulls you in for a damp hug, it is clearer than ever that this season is only the beginning of a beautiful journey ahead.

***

“Norris is approaching on a flying lap. Make sure not to impede,” Claudio’s voice comes through crisp and clear over the radio during the dying moments of Q3 for the Monaco Grand Prix.

You can practically feel Charles’ concentration from where you’re seated on the Ferrari pit wall. The narrow streets of Monaco leave no room for error … Charles knows this better than most.

“Copy,” Charles responds, adjusting his position on the track just enough to give Lando the space he needs to pass while keeping his own momentum.

The clock is ticking and Charles needs a perfect lap if he wants to clinch pole position.

“Tires are feeling good. Pushing now,” Charles says, rounding the first corner with precision. The SF-24 dances around the iconic circuit, the roar of its engine echoing through the streets.

From Casino Square to the hairpin and through the tunnel, Charles’ driving is flawless. Every apex hit and every corner nailed.

“Final sector, Charles. Make it count,” Claudio encourages.

And he does. Crossing the line and jumping to the top of the timing board.

The garage cheers but there’s no time to waste. Tomorrow’s race is what truly matters.

***

Race day in Monaco is always special, but today, with Charles starting from pole, there’s an electric tension in the air.

“Lights out in ten,” Marit announces over the intercom.

Charles, already in the zone, simply nods.

And then he’s lined up on the front row.

The lights illuminate one by one. Then, in a heartbeat, they go out.

The race is on.

Charles gets a strong start, holding off challengers through the initial turns. The streets of Monaco are notoriously difficult for overtaking, so track position is everything.

“Maintain the pace. Tire management is key,” Claudio advises as the laps progress.

As the race unfolds, strategy becomes crucial.

“Plan to box in two laps,” Marit instructs through Claudio. With with Verstappen close on his tail, everything must be executed perfectly.

The pit stop is lightning-fast, the crew working in synchrony. Charles emerges just ahead of Max, who had followed him into the pits.

Throughout the race, Charles’ skill shines. He manages his tires, navigates the backmarkers, and keeps a razor-sharp focus.

The final laps approach. The team, the spectators, the entire Principality holds its breath.

The chequered flag waves and Charles crosses the finish line to takes his first home win. The elation, the pride, the sheer emotion of the moment is overwhelming.

“Monaco, Charles! You’ve won Monaco!”

Tears in his eyes, Charles responds, voice choked, “We did it! This is for Monaco. This is for Ferrari. Grazie mille. Merci beaucoup.”

The team gathers beneath the podium, celebrating their victory and the hometown here. Charles quickly sprays the two drivers beside him before aiming the bottle at the sea of red cheering in front of him and soaking his team in champagne.

He thinks back to how this weekend ended last season and let’s his elation wash away the years of dejected he faced before.

Things are different now.

***

“I’ve never seen Monaco come alive like this after a win,” you shout over the pulsating music in one of the city’s many upscale clubs.

Charles grins, leaning in closer so you can hear him. “It’s the magic of a home race victory!”

As the night turns to early morning, alcohol flows freer and the laughter grows louder.

The Ferrari team loves any reason to celebrate and they’re certainly making the most of the location.

Charles pulls you to a quieter corner of the VIP section. “Have you ever danced with a Monaco Grand Prix winner?”

You roll your eyes at the attempt at flirting but laugh as you accept his outstretched hand. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The two of you dance, losing track of time.

The world blurs around you. All that matters is the magnetic pull between you two which has been simmering for so long that it is threatening to overflow.

Charles pulls you closer, his lips brushing your ear. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”

You relish in the warmth of his breath against your skin. “What’s that?”

“I’m drawn to you,” he admits, eyes searching yours. “Not just because of tonight but ... there’s something between us. I feel it. And I think you do too.”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He hesitates before wrapping an arm around your waist, “Come with me.”

Without a word, you both exit the club, making your way to his apartment. The air between you is thick with anticipation but also vulnerability … openness.

Once inside, he gently pushes you against the wall, lips crashing onto yours. It’s passionate and intense, like a dam that has been waiting to break.

Charles pulls away slightly, “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you whisper, eyes locked with his. “But ... Charles, not just for tonight. I don’t want this to be just a result of a victory high or the Monaco night air.”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “I don’t want that either. This isn’t about the race or the party. It’s about us. I think it’s been about us for a while now.”

“Then why didn’t you say something sooner?”

He chuckles softly. “You think it’s easy, being around you every day, wanting to be close but maintaining a distance for the sake of professionalism? To spend every evening when we’re in Maranello sitting across from you at dinner and wishing that I could call it a date? But tonight,” he pauses, eyes searching yours, “Tonight felt different.”

You waste no time to draw him closer. “No more waiting then.”

***

Canada’s Circuit Gilles Villeneuve echoes with the roar of engines and the cheers of fans. Charles dominates the track, mastering the chicanes and the notorious Wall of Champions.

But the race isn’t straightforward. Mid-race, strategy suddenly changes when an unexpected rain shower soaks the track. However, the new strategy team you’ve brought in makes all the right calls and Charles takes the chequered flag.

In the Spanish sun, it’s a different story. The high-speed corners expose a slight flaw in the SF-24 which leaves Charles fighting valiantly but finishing third.

Despite the setback, you see determination in his eyes. “We’ll get them in Austria,” he promises.

True to his word, at the Red Bull Ring, he dominates. The SF-24 suits the straights and fast corners. Charles takes pole and leads every lap, building a gap that the competition can’t close. The victory feels even sweeter given the circuit’s name.

Silverstone proves challenging. There’s fierce competition, and while Charles doesn’t win, he’s involved in one of the most thrilling wheel-to-wheel battles of the season with Max Verstappen. They exchange positions multiple times, showing pure racing talent. In the end, Charles finishes a proud second after a photo finish.

The Hungarian Grand Prix tests the team. Tire strategy becomes paramount. The SF-24 shows vulnerabilities in the surprisingly sweltering conditions. Still, Charles’ impeccable driving and some cunning strategy calls earn him a place on the podium.

At the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Charles shines brilliantly. He conquers Eau Rouge and Raidillon like few can, making it seem effortless. The SF-24 feels perfectly balanced and he takes another win, smiling at the Ferrari flags waving high in the crowd as the Monegasque and Italian anthems play.

Through it all, you see Charles grow not just as a driver but as a leader and beacon of hope for the team and global fanbase. He is not just driving for himself or for Ferrari, he drives for everyone who believes in him.

***

The warm Italian sun pours golden light onto the expansive villa overlooking Lake Como. The water below sparkles, mirroring the sky. For a brief moment, the hectic world of Formula 1 feels miles away.

You’re lounging under an oversized umbrella, Aperol Spritz in hand, while Charles emerges from the pool, beads of water cascading down his toned physique.

“That swim was perfect,” Charles grins as he flops down beside you.

“You were in there for ages! Trying to turn into a fish?”

He shakes his head like a wet puppy, making you squeal as you try to escape the splashes. “Just preparing for our yacht trip. Besides, I have to burn off all those pasta dinners we’ve been having or else I won’t fit in the car by the end of the month.”

“The troubles of a professional athlete,” you laugh, “I’ve been indulging and I’m not even sorry.”

That evening, the two of you share a quiet moment on the terrace. Soft jazz floats from inside and cicadas buzz rhythmically.

“Remember our first race together?” Charles starts. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I never imagined we’d be here. But I am so glad that we are.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes reflecting the same heat you feel. “Me too. These moments, away from the track with you ... they’re special.”

The following week, you find yourselves on a luxurious yacht off the coast of Sardinia. Charles’ family and both of your friends are aboard. The sun decks echo with laughter, music, and the soft lapping of waves. There is never a quiet moment and you relish in the sounds of happiness.

As you stand by the railing, watching Charles and Joris race each other on jet-skis, Arthur slides up beside you. “So, how’s life with my big brother?”

You laugh, “It’s an adventure every day. But honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing. It’s wonderful. He’s wonderful.”

Arthur nods, “I’ve never seen him this happy, you know?”

You smile warmly, your gaze drifting to where Charles has somehow fallen into the water and is now splashing his friend. “He brings out the best in me, just as I hope I do for him.”

***

The gentle lapping of the Mediterranean waves seems like a distant memory as you find yourself in Zandvoort.

“Quite the change of scenery, isn’t it?” Charles chuckles, standing beside you as the sea breeze of the Dutch coast tousles his hair.

You laugh, “A bit but I’ve missed it. Nothing beats the excitement of a race weekend.”

And what a weekend it was. Charles, against all odds, comes out on top at Max Verstappen’s home race. The Dutch crowd offer begrudging respect as Charles takes the top step.

And then, Monza.

Monza is different. There’s an electricity in the air that cannot be replicated anywhere else. It’s the home race of Ferrari … the cathedral of speed.

“Do you know,” you tell Charles as you both walk through the paddock, “I used to come here with my grandfather as a child. This track ... it’s steeped in history. I’ve always loved it.”

“Winning here was like nothing else I have ever experience,” he reflects. “Let’s do it again. We’ll write our own chapter in history this weekend.”

Qualifying is a nail-biter. Charles pushes the SF-24 to its limits, dancing on the edge of control.

“How are we looking?” Charles checks in.

“You’re on provisional pole,” Claudio responds over the radio. “But push on the last sector. Max is close and getting closer.”

And push he does. Charles clinches pole with a margin that leaves no doubts about the capabilities of both the driver and the car.

Race day, the atmosphere is fever-pitched. The Tifosi, in their sea of red, wave their flags and banners, chanting Charles’ name like a prayer. As the lights go out, the battle rages. The strategy is aggressive, a one-stop that requires Charles to defend position in the latter stages of the race.

“Lap 45. Push now, we need widen this gap,” Claudio instructs.

The tires scream in protest as Charles further carves out a lead. But as the laps tick down, Verstappen and Piastri close in.

“Drive smart and hold them off. Four laps to go. You’ve got this,” Claudio urges him on.

Going wheel-to-wheel with Max through the Ascari chicane, Charles pulls ahead. The Tifosi roar, their energy and sheer will pushing him on.

“Last lap. Bring it home!”

And he does.

As Charles crosses the finish line, the crowd erupts. The track is soon packed with red as fans flood the track, surrounding the podium.

From the sea of faces, one voice stands out — yours, “You did it, Charles. Monza is yours.”

He lifts the trophy high, a tear in his eye, “We did it. This is for Ferrari … for the Tifosi … for us.”

***

The streets of Baku and the lights of Singapore both witness the magic that Charles and the SF-24 weave together. Two more wins, two more steps closer to the championship.

And then you find yourselves in Texas.

“Do you remember this time last year?” Charles asks.

“How could I forget? It was the phone call that changed everything.”

Charles laughs but there’s a weight to it, “For both of us. It was a disaster ... pole to sixth and then the disqualification. All because of...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, the mismanagement of the team a heavy shadow neither of you can forget.

“You’ve grown since then,” you point out gently, “The team has grown. Look at where we are now.”

He nods, taking a deep breath, “One year. So much has changed. From one of the worst days in my racing career to ... this.” Charles gestures around, to the revamped team, the transformed car, the very atmosphere of competence that permeates every corner of the Ferrari garage.

“I can’t believe we’re here,” he whispers, “The championship is within our grasp. Right back where it all went wrong.”

You take a moment to pull out your laptop and open a data sheet, “Here’s the breakdown. If Max gets P2 in both the sprint and the race, you need P1 in both. That’s how we seal the championship this weekend.”

Charles’ eyes scan the spreadsheet, “That’s ... a tall order.”

“But not impossible. Not for you and not for this team,” you assure him.

He chuckles again but it’s brighter now, “With you in my corner? I know anything is possible.”

***

The energy is electric when qualifying day arrives in Austin. You find Charles in his driver’s room, eyes closed in focus as he visualizes the track.

“You ready for this?”

His eyes pop open, determination burning in them. “Ready. Let’s show them what we can do.”

Qualifying unfolds in a blur of fast laps and bated breath. Charles pushes the limits, wrestling the SF-24 around the bumpy circuit.

“Time for one more lap. Give it your all here,” Claudio radioes through.

Jaw set, Charles squeezes all he can from the SF-24. Silence falls as he crosses the line … broken by cheers as his new lap time is set.

Pole position for the second season in a row.

Charles sheds his helmet and rips off his balaclava. “Yes! That’s how we start a weekend!”

The sprint shootout and race similarly see Charles launch cleanly from P1, building a gap early.

“Verstappen is matching your pace, don’t let him get within DRS range,” Claudio advises.

“Copy,” Charles responds, focused.

A late charge from Max raises tensions but Charles keeps him at bay, taking the chequered flag and the eight points.

“That’s the way to do it!” You shout as Charles enters the garage.

“Grand Slam in the sprint, now time for the main event,” he grins.

You rally the team Sunday morning. “Remember, the start is crucial. The car that lines up in P2 has led by the end of lap 1 for five years in a row. We need full focus.”

It seems like barely any time has passed before Charles takes his spot on the grid. Lights out, tires screeching, he holds the lead through the first lap madness.

“Nicely done,” Claudio praises. “Manage those tires now.”

The pit stop strategy is executed flawlessly. Charles takes his second stop, emerging ahead of a charging Verstappen.

“Ten laps remaining,” Claudio counts down.

Charles responds with measured confidence, “Let’s bring it home.”

In the closing laps, he is poetry in motion, hitting each apex and maximizing every straight. Max closes in but Charles is perfect to the millimeter.

“Charles Leclerc,” Claudio’s voice cracks with emotion, “you are the World Champion!”

Eyes wet, Charles radios in, “Yes! Yes! Yes! We did it! Thank you guys! This is unbelievable! Grazie, grazie mille, grazie a tutti! It’s been an incredible season with all of you. This is for the team, for Ferrari, for all the fans, and for everyone who has supported me. We brought it back to Maranello! I’m speechless ... grazie, thank you!”

In the garage, celebrations in full swing, you lean in with a laugh, “Don’t worry, I checked with the FIA — the plank is up to regulation this time.”

Grinning, Charles pulls you into a passionate kiss as the team hoots and hollers around you.

The World Champion smiles so bright he makes the Texan sun look dull in comparison.

You would do anything to make sure he feels like this every season. You will do anything to make sure he feels like this every season.

***

The winter sun casts a warm glow on Maranello as you walk beside Charles into the Ferrari factory. The off-season buzz of activity fills the air as the team prepares for next year’s challenges.

Charles looks at the sleek lines of the new SF-25 with anticipation. “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait to see what she can do.”

“This one’s special. She’ll be fighting for the championship again.”

“Yeah?”

“You heard me right,” you say with a smile. “I made you a promise. Last season was just the beginning.”

As Charles turns for a briefing, you spot Fred across the room. Your relationship has evolved and he now respects the authority you wield for the team’s benefit.

Approaching, you extend a hand. “I wanted to say, you’ve led the team well this past season.”

He grasps it firmly. “We share this success. Thank you for being the catalyst we needed”

You know there will still be challenges ahead. But Ferrari has been reinvigorated. Its racing spirit has been reignited.

That evening, Charles joins you on the terrace of the home you both share when in Maranello and wraps you both in a warm blanket to fight the chill. “Can you believe what a year it’s been?”

You shake your head. “It’s been a dream.”

He pulls you close. “The dream is just beginning and it’s a dream I hope we never wake up from.”

3K notes · View notes

zarsghost · 5 months ago

Text

For Better

Divorcing!Simon Riley x Reader, 3.4k

Warnings: crying, court system, cursing, depressive thoughts, angst with happy ending

Hi lovelies! Here is you poll winner Divorcing!Simon x Reader! I hope you enjoy!

The air feels stale and stagnant as you stare at the blank TV in front of you. Your own reflection staring back at you as past memories seem to haunt you through the screen. You and your husband, relaxing on the couch together while his arm rested behind you as you laid your head on his shoulder as you both watched a movie. The matching jerseys that you both wore while watching a Manchester United game with popcorn flying everywhere as you both cheered as your team scored a goal. Simon convincing himself that he wasn’t interested in the drama series that you were watching from behind his book only to ask questions later on and even complain at the screen when a character did something stupid, his book long discarded on the sofa cushion next to him. They only reminded you of what life used to be like. What it used to feel like when your husband was home. But at some point, these moments became a further and further memory the less and less you saw of Simon. There was always something that came up that took priority over you.

“There’s a lot of paperwork sitting on my desk, love.”

“They need me for a solo op.”

“Price needs me for a team up.”

“These recruits need someone to get their ass in line.”

It got to the point where he wasn’t even home for 24 hours before he was sent out again. You knew his job and how important it was. Not just in the military but to the entire safety of the world in most cases. The constant worry you felt while he was away made you wonder if he was alright. What if he wasn’t? How long would it take for them to contact you to let you know that something happened? You understand that Simon can’t always contact you to let you know he’s okay while he’s away in order to protect you. But sometimes you don’t even know that he’s home until he’s unlocking the front door. This constant edge that you’re pressed against has become something that is too much to handle. You just want him to be safe. You just want to tell him that you love him and for him to say it back. You just want to be able to hold him in your arms and know that he’s home and not going anywhere. A part of you was ashamed that you were feeling this way to begin with. You shouldn’t be feeling this way just because you weren’t able to spend as much time with him as you wanted.

Right?

You rubbed your hands down your face, sighing heavily as your mind raced through these thoughts on a constant loop. The sound of the front door opening pulled you from your thoughts as you lifted your head. You already knew who had entered considering the security just to get through the front door was what you might call ‘excessive’ but to Simon was ‘necessary’.

“Hi love.”

Simon walked into the open living room with his duffel bag in one hand as he padded his way over to where you were seated on the couch. He was wearing one of his signature balaclavas and gloves as he bent down to place a kiss on the top of your head before beginning to head to your “shared” bedroom. Through his mask. The mask that he usually took off as soon as the door was shut. It only meant one thing to you now.

He had to leave again.

You haven’t even seen your husband’s face in 8 months. 8 months you’ve been forced to look at that faded skull print when all you want to see is the face you married. 8 months of the only thing you were able to see were his eyes.

“You’re leaving again aren’t you?” You asked in a quiet voice, already knowing the answer.

Simon stopped in place as his shoulders tensed. He held his breath as he turned his head to look at you from over his shoulders. There were bags under your eyes and your hair was a mess like you had fallen asleep on the couch one too many times. A blanket was wrapped around you but it had slid off of one shoulder revealing that you were wearing one of his shirts.

He sighed, “Yeah. I just stopped by to get a new change of clothes before heading back to base.”

You nodded blankly as you continued to stare at your reflection in front of you. Simon took that as an opportunity to continue what he was doing as he disappeared into the bedroom. Your eyes stung as tears began to form, eventually sliding down your cheeks. Your fingers began to twist the wedding ring on your left hand as the metal seemed to feel hot against your skin. 8 months of this song and dance. Each time your excitement to see him home again flickering before being extinguished entirely. You wondered if Simon knew. If he knew what you were feeling, if he could see the change, if you could feel your pain, if you knew that he was the cause of it.

The sound of his footsteps got louder as he entered the living room again before pausing in front of the coffee table. You could hear him draw breath as if he was going to say something as he shifted his weight on his feet. You waited for him to say something, anything that would give you any hope that he still cared in some way.

“I’ll call you when I can. ‘M headed out.”

And with that he walked away. The sound of the front door opening and closing again resonated throughout the apartment. The final nail in your coffin. Your tears slid down your cheeks faster as you began to sob on the couch, clutching the blanket closer around you for any sense of comfort you could find in this moment. That night you began to look for lawyers.

2 weeks later…

Simon is sitting at his desk when a knock interrupts his thoughts.

“It’s me Simon. I’ve got yer mail.” A gruff voice said from the other side of the door.

“It’s open.” He replied before leaning back in his chair. He had a lot of paperworks to complete since he’s been pushing them off until the last possible day. Why do they need his report when they have reports from 4 other people stating the same thing? He thought it was stupid and a waste of his time.

Price walked in holding a small stack of envelopes before dropping them on his desk. A couple were invitations to military galas that he immediately threw in the trash but what caught his eye was a thick manilla envelope that had an unknown sender address. His eyes quickly glanced up to Price before opening it. He took the papers out and froze in his chair. The top of the stack papers read, “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage”. Simon felt the air in his lungs leave as the words began to settle and register in his head. Divorce? His love had filed for divorce? Price let out a choked gasp as he read the papers for himself.

“What have you gotten yerself into Simon?” His brows furrowed in confusion as he glanced up at his Lieutenant’s face. He knew something was going on the past couple of months when he realized that Simon was spending a lot of time on base rather than at home. He remembered Simon would practically disappear whenever they got home in order to be at home with you. Simon has you set as his lockscreen on his phone and he catches Simon staring at your photo when they’re away.

Simon was silent as he sat there, his mind reeling as to what brought you to this point but he knew. He knew he had officially pushed your boundaries too far. Hefelt something else in the envelope and dumped the remains on to his desk. The small sound of metal hitting wood was deafening to his ears as your rings bounced against the desk. Your wedding bands sat there gleaming as the overhead light refracted in the jewels that adorned your rings.

“I fucked up Cap’n…” he said under his breath.

Price groaned as he leaned against one of the walls in Simon’s small office, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can see that Simon, but what did you do?”

Simon reached forward to take the rings into his hands as his fingers moved them back and forth. He took a deep breath before letting Price know what he’d been doing.

“I- I don’t know why but whenever we get home, I can’t stand to see the look on their face when I walk through the door. I know I’m away a lot and with everythin’ happen’n in Urzikstan, we’ve only gotten busier. We’re away longer too. I know it’s been affectin’ them but I don’t know what to do. I haven’t been home as much as I said I’ve been. I’ve been sleeping here on base and only going back when I need to change clothes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Simon! No wonder they filed, you’ve been treatin’ em like this for how long now? You’re lucky they dealt with this for this long before getting to this point but I don’t blame them.” Price grumbled, angry at his subordinate’s actions. He was there at their wedding, watching as Simon had a smile on his face the entire day. He’d never seen him happier in the entire time he's known Simon. To hear this was straight up disappointing.

“You need to fix this before you lose them for good. Now.” Price ordered as he pushed himself off the wall.

Simon could only nod as he heard Price leave his office, slamming the door shut as he did so. But Simon couldn’t bring himself to care, his focus still on the rings in his hands as his own still sat snugly on his finger.

The courtroom smelled like wood, dust, and musk from the amount of people that’ve been in and out of this room. Of course Simon couldn’t just sign the papers and have it been over.

No, he wanted to go to court to settle things officially and with you present. Considering that you were still technically a military spouse, you had the benefit of getting a military lawyer to defend your side of the proceedings. Simon sat alone on his side as he chose to represent himself. The judge was reading through the paperwork to make sure that all the information was correctly filed and in order. The bailiff watched over the room since he had to be there. You and Simon nodded whenever he asked either of you a question to confirm said information. The judge took his glasses off before addressing the two of you.

“Now, is this a mutual decision?”

“No”

“Yes”

You looked towards Simon as your answers overlapped one another. The judge sighed and rubbed the sides of his nose before proceeding.

“Okay, I’m going to explain what is to happen if the petition is accepted, alright? Mrs.Riley, after the proceeding, you will have 30 days to acquire new health insurance since you’re currently filed under Mr. Riley. I understand that you live off base Mr. Riley so you will have to live on-base full time after 14 days. Mrs. Riley, you will have to turn in your military ID and apply to receive a civilian ID. As any normal divorce hearing, being a former spouse, you will be able to claim up to half of Mr. Riley’s retirement pension as well as alimony from Mr. Riley until that time. You will still have access to military offered services though. Are there any questions?”

“Is there any way that they can stay on my health plan after this? I know it’s a pain to find another physician with new insurance.” Simon asked the judge.

The judge’s response was lost on you as you looked at your almost ex-husband. He knew how much you struggled to find a good physician under your insurance before you were married and after finally having one that you liked now, the fact that Simon was still advocating for you even now. He had been respectful before the proceedings had begun, asking how you were but you knew he was asking since he was nervous. Before today, this was the first time that you had seen each other since he came home to get clothes. He was wearing a black medical mask since he couldn’t wear his balaclava so you actually got to see more of his face. His eyes looked tired as if he hadn’t been sleeping well for a while. He had actually pulled a comb through his hair so it looked presentable. It reminded you when you had first started seeing each other. His skin looked paler, which his skin already was really pale but he looked almost sickly pale. It has concerned you but you forced that feeling down as you remembered why you were there. You remembered the missed birthdays, the missed anniversaries that you spent alone with only memories to keep you company. Your mind raced back and forth.

A nudge brought you out as you realized that you had spaced out in the middle of court. Your lawyer looked at you before subtly pointing with his eyes to the judge who waited for you, expecting a response.

“I-I’m sorry your honor, could you repeat that?” You asked timidly.

“I asked if you had any questions.”

You shook your head, “No sir.”

He nodded. “Do you have a final answer? Do you wish to proceed with the petition?”

You looked between Simon and the judge, knowing that your lawyer was also looking at you. They all looked at you as they waited for your response. Your breathing picked a little as a wave of panic started to set in. Is this what you really wanted? Did you really want to be separated from Simon more than you already were? The judge could tell that you were struggling to come up with a definite answer as your mouth opened and closed repeatedly, trying to say something. Anything.

“I call a 5 minute recess,” The judge announced before tapping his gavel. “Mrs. Riley, can you come here please?”

You stood up from your chair as you flattened out your skirt, glancing at Simon as he got up to leave the room along with your lawyer. The bailiff walked out behind Simon. You approached the stand as you looked up at the judge.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a soft voice.

“I-I….I don’t know.”

“Do you still love him?”

You nodded as you fiddled with your fingers, your left ring finger feeling empty.

“Then why file? Is there something else?”

“No, just… I can’t stand to think what could happen to him when he’s away. He’s halfway across the world and I don’t know if he’s okay. I barely get to see him anymore. I barely get to see his face and talk to the man I married. I just want my husband back.” Tears slipped down your face as you cried before the judge. He handed you a tissue before lacing his hands together.

“Have you talked to him about your concerns before this?”

You shook your head again, “I haven’t had the chance to talk to him at all. I’ve barely seen him in 10 months until today.”

The judge let out a small sigh through his nose before speaking, “And what happens after this? Who does he have waiting for him when he comes back? Who is making sure that he stays safe and grounding him while he’s in the field? I know his position and I’ve read his file. The things he has to do aren’t for the ordinary. He’s SAS for a reason Mrs. Riley.”

You look up at the judge with blurry eyes. You knew that he’s military but you thought he was exaggerating about not being able to contact you. You didn’t know he was SAS.

The judge continued, “It seems to me that he still very much cares for you. Most people that I see in these situations are yelling at each other, demanding things left and right from the others. Your husband has made many attempted negotiations to make sure that you’re taken care of even though he understands that it won’t be him that takes care of you anymore. He’s signed over his retirement pension to you as well as alimony. I’ve never seen someone do that. He also made sure that you didn’t have to move out of your apartment since the lease was in his name.”

Your husband did all that? Was that what he was going through when you space out earlier?

You begin to cry more as it seems to come into place in your mind. He’s been trying to take care of you even during this whole process. He hasn’t fought the lawyer in the initial discussion. He advocated for your benefits on your behalf which was why he brought the case to court. He’s still the man you fell in love with.

The doors open behind you, signaling that the 5 minutes is over with. You turn to walk back to your seat as Simon goes back to his. His brows furrow in concern as he sees your red watery eyes. His hand lifts a bit to try and comfort you but quickly decides against it.

The judge waits for everyone to sit before tapping his gavel again.

“Recess adjourned. Court is back in session. Now, Mrs. Riley, your husband has let you decide what to do. Would you like to proceed with your initial decision?”

The air stills as everyone waits for your answer. Your eyes stare right into Simon’s leathery brown ones.

“No.”

The judges nods and taps his gavel. “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage denied on the account of the defendant resigning claim. Court is now adjourned.”

Simon stares at you in a state of shock and confusion. You thank your lawyer as he gathers his things and says his goodbyes. The judge leaves with the bailiff following closely behind him. This leaves just you and Simon. You look at your now still husband with a soft smile. What you didn’t expect was for him to practically rush at you as he crushed you in a massive hug. His arms wrapping around you so that one pressed against your waist while the other cradded the back of your head. His face buried into your neck as he took you in. Your own arms wrapping around your shoulders while you kept him there. No words needed to be said to convey the emotions that the both of you were feeling. Simon swayed slightly side to side as he held you before pulling back to see your face. His rested his forehead against yours as your hands slipped up his jaw to remove the mask.

“Hi Simon”

“Hello love”

He kissed you passionately as you both embraced the other. The feeling in your chest confirming that you made the right decision.

“I’m so sorry love. I got too wrapped up that I didn’t see that you were hurting. I’m so sorry that you felt like you had to do this. I promise though, never again love. Never.” He kissed you again before squeezing you tight as he spun you around. You giggled into his ear as he did. A sound Simon didn’t know he would miss so much.

“Let’s go home love. I have some makin’ up to do.” He smiled as he lifted you in his arms bridal style as he walked out of the courtroom, hoping to never have to be back here again.

The two of you were cuddled on the couch. His arm was around you as you slotted yourself right next to him, your head resting on his shoulder. Your rings were back on your finger where they should be and you had no plans to remove them. This time the reflections couldn’t see you as the news played quietly in the background.

“A biking Austrian was hit by a rogue bus in freak accident. Coroner states that the biker shouldn’t have been wearing a t-shirt over his head.”

You were happy. Simon was home and he was safe. This is all you wanted and all you’d ever need.

Thank you so much for reading! I had this thought for this while I was at work and knew I wanted to write this! I will still be posting Jackpot pt.2 soon so for anyone waiting on that, don't worry! There is also something else in the works in regards to this fic, can anyone guess what it might be? *wink wonk*👀

Don't forget to like and reblog :)

Or leave a comment…I like reading them☺️

Also let me know if you find anything that needs an edit, I was super sleep deprived when I wrote this I probably missed some stuff

#call of duty #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #it's 3 in the morning

237 notes · View notes

literallymechanical · 3 months ago

Text

Breeding blankets for fusion reactors

So, barring a few ambitious projects involving helium-3, fusion reactor power plants will use hydrogen isotopes as fuel: a 50/50 mixture of deuterium (hydrogen-2) and tritium (hydrogen-3). Deuterium is very stable and relatively abundant, as far as these things go, and can be extracted from ordinary seawater. Tritium, however, has a half life of just over 12 years, so it doesn't occur in nature.

Fortunately, you can use your fusion reactor to synthesize its own tritium fuel, via the transmutation of lithium-6. You use the powerful neutron flux from the fusion plasma to “breed” tritium in lithium, extract it, then feed it back into the reactor. The figure of merit for this process is the tritium breeding ratio (TBR), which is simply the ratio of tritium bred to tritium used. The goal is to get a TBR substantially greater than 1.

This figure shows the physics of tritium breeding, where neutrons from the deuterium-tritium fusion plasma are absorbed by lithium, which then splits into helium and tritium. [source]

Generally speaking, most concepts for tritium breeding involve wrapping a lithium “breeding blanket” around the outside of the reactor, with as few gaps as you can manage. A deuterium-tritium reactor is constantly generating fast neutrons. You want to keep as much of that emission as possible inside the breeding blanket, for both tritium and power generation.

There are a few different ideas for breeding blanket designs, several of which are going to be tested on ITER, the massive reactor being built in France. One concept is a thick sheath of lithium ceramic that surrounds the vessel, either as solid slabs or pebbles. As tritium breeding occurs under the blanket, water or liquid helium is circulated through it, cooling the lithium and potentially extracting heat for electricity generation.

While such a blanket might be relatively “simple” (lol) to build, there are some pretty fundamental challenges. Neutrons will penetrate most materials with ease, and it might be tricky to extract tritium that's been bred deep inside of solid lithium. Ideally, you could do the extraction without pause, even as breeding is ongoing. For some designs, though, you have to cycle out breeder units for harvesting as they get a full load of tritium.

Another concept is “liquid breeding." This concept uses a molten mixture of metallic lithium and lead, or a lithium salt compound like FLiBe (fluorine-lithium-beryllium). The liquid would be pumped through a “breeding zone” around the vessel, where the neutron flux is thickest. The tritium will then be continuously extracted from the breeding fluid as it flows back out. As part of the process, you can run the hot liquid through a heat exchanger, heating water to power a steam turbine.

Liquid breeding does raise some prominent engineering challenges. Hot, molten breeding fluid will be very hard to handle – not just because of the heat, but also because you're trying to pump a massive quantity of viscous fluid into a very tight breeding zone. Moreover, molten lithium-lead might react explosively with air. If your breeding system springs a leak, you’ll have a serious mess on your hands!

It’s still unclear which of these breeding strategies will bear fruit. From conception to implementation, there are still a lot of unknowns! Both liquid and solid breeding will be conducted in France, and a number of private fusion companies have plans to breed tritium in their machines as well.

#fusion #engineering #science

215 notes · View notes

hitechair · 6 months ago

Text

Aircon Repair Shop Melbourne - Hitech Air Solution

Hitech Air Solution is the leading Aircon Repair Shop in Melbourne. Trusted professionals for AC servicing, AC repair, gas refill & AC installation. Schedule now!

0 notes

rizlowwritessortof · 8 months ago

Text

Waiting for the Real Thing

Yes, after one episode, I did it. I wrote a Russell Shaw fic. I know.

You can't serve in the same unit with somebody without getting pretty close. She managed to survive around him until a couple of years ago. And when she hears about their brother-in-arms troubles, she heads that way to help out. Of course, Russ beat her to it. And now she just can't make herself leave without seeing him.

Pairing: Russell Shaw/OC (Andi)

Word Count: 2759

Warnings: A little angst, a little smut, a little more angst and some fluff thrown in here and there for good measure 🙂

Dividers by the always amazing @firefly-graphics

Andi hesitated a moment before knocking. She could still walk away, pretend she hadn’t ‘accidentally’ found him. She’d be better off. At least her heart would be.

She knocked anyway.

He opened the door cautiously, eyes quickly taking her in, then scanning the area before landing on her again. His smile widened slowly, and he stepped back, gesturing with a tilt of his head for her to come into the room.

She couldn’t help grinning back at him, waiting for him to put his gun on the table before he grabbed her into a bear hug that she answered with equal enthusiasm. “Hey, Russ.”

He moved back, beaming into her face. “What the hell are you doing here? It’s been – what – two years?”

“Almost. How are you?”

Russell pulled out a chair and gestured for her to have a seat. “I’m good. Well, my arm’s a little sore, but I’ll live.” He handed her a beer from the mini-fridge and sat down across the table from her. “So seriously, what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

Andi opened her beer and took a long swallow. “Heard about Doug. Of course, by the time I got here, you already had it taken care of. Stopped by his place, he told me where you were staying – I just took a shot that you were still here.” She nodded towards his arm. “I heard you caught a bullet. Did you see a doctor?”

Russell rolled his eyes a little and nodded, answering with a cheerfully gruff tolerance. “Yes, mom, I saw a doctor. Antibiotics and everything, don’t worry. ‘Course I went through Horizon, the locals get all bent out of shape when there’s a gunshot injury.”

“Good. I know how you are. I can just see you still out on the job, wailing on bad guys with your one good arm.” She let her smile fade. “So you met up with Colter. How’d that go?”

He smiled. “Good, I think. Cleared the air some. At least he doesn’t still think I killed our dad.” He leaned back in his chair, those candid green eyes of his taking her in. “It’s really good to see you, Andi.” He took a swig from his bottle. “So what are you up to these days?”

“Actually, I’m heading to Fort Worth. I start a job there next week. I’ll be running system security for a computer software company down there.”

Russ gave her that crooked, disarming smile that never failed to make her heartbeat pause for a second. “You always did have that sexy nerd thing goin’ on. That’s awesome, really.” He sat forward, bracing himself on his forearms. “Think you can handle that, sitting behind a desk all day?”

She smiled back at him. “Hell, yes. I’m ready for a quiet life. I’ve had enough gunfire and chaos to last me the rest of my days.” She rose to her feet and tossed her bottle, helping herself to another beer. Russ nodded as she waved it at him, and she grabbed one for him, setting it in front of him as she sat down again. “What about you? When are you gonna give it up? You’ve been talking about opening that little brewery for years now.”

“I’ll get there someday. I don’t know, if I’m not in the middle of somethin’, I just get – antsy.”

Her expression grew more serious, and she looked down at the table. “Yeah. Gotta keep moving – because if you hold still long enough, you might get attached to something. Or someone.” She opened her beer and took a long pull, setting it down and still avoiding Russell’s eyes when he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Andi.” His voice was soft, barely audible, and he reached out to put a calloused hand over hers. “You have every right to be pissed at me for taking off like I did.”

She shook her head. “We never made any promises. I just thought, after that few days – I don’t know. I thought we had something. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.”

He took hold of her hand, and she looked up at him, the expression in her eyes sending a stab of guilt through his chest. “We did have something. We do. I just – I know I’m fucking bad at this shit.” He ducked his head down a little, peering up into her eyes. “We’re okay, right? You mean a lot to me, I don’t wanna lose – well, whatever the hell this is.”

A smile crept onto her face, and she shook her head. “You and those damn puppy dog eyes. Yes, we’re okay. We’ll always be okay.” She shifted in her chair, partly as an excuse to pull her hand away. There was only so much actual contact she could take without losing what little control she had around him. “So, tell me about what happened with Doug. And with Colter.”

He began to talk, filling her in about the mission to save their friend and his reunion with his brother. His voice always struck a chord down deep inside her, made her feel like her soul was attached to him in some way, and the warmth it sent through her helped soothe the dull ache of longing that it inflicted in almost equal measure.

She was still laughing a little at his description of his exploits with his brother as he headed to the fridge for more beer. He opened hers and set it down in front of her, asking his question as he sat down. “So – is there somebody waiting for you down there? In Fort Worth?”

She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised, a little surprised at his query. “Um – no. Nobody.” She avoided his eyes as she returned fire. “How about you?”

He chuckled a little, a crooked smirk on his lips as he answered. “I make do here and there. I’ve pretty much always had to just make do.” The smirk faded as he looked into her eyes. “Except with you. You’ve always been the one they can’t live up to.”

She bit at her lip thoughtfully, glancing away and then meeting his green eyes head on. “Yeah, and you’re the one I never should have said ‘yes’ to,” she said softly.

Russ ducked his head with a rueful smile. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.” It was quiet for a minute, then he laughed softly. “Hey, remember that time in Kabul?”

Andi joined his laughter, nodding. “Yep. I was so much smarter back then.”

“Smart-ass. Yeah, and mean. Hurt a guy’s feelings, sayin’ shit like that. Not to mention the knee.”

“That was an accident.”

“Sure, it was,” he teased. “Guess I left you alone after that, though, so – mission accomplished.”

“That was back before I knew you so well.”

“We did start off a little rocky.”

They reminisced through the rest of their beer, then Andi stretched and stood up. “I’m gonna borrow your little boy’s room, and then I want to look at that bullet wound before I go. I’m guessing you haven’t changed the dressing today?”

“Haven’t gotten around to it,” he hedged, and she shook her head.

“Yeah. I figured. Be right back.”

She walked out of the bathroom just in time to see him peel off his t-shirt. “Bad idea, this was a bad idea,” she mentally scolded herself, then squared her shoulders and went to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “Pretty sore?” she asked as he grimaced a little at the movement.

“It’s not too bad. I’ve had worse.”

“I know. I’ve bandaged them.”

“Well, I know you’ve got a more gentle touch than Colter, so I’m glad of that.”

She laughed, perching on the edge of the bed beside him and repositioning his arm to examine his wound. “I’m gonna clean this up a little, then I’ll wrap it for you again before I take off,” she said, grabbing an alcohol wipe from the first aid kit sitting beside them. He winced as she worked, as carefully as she could manage. Then she applied fresh gauze and wrapped his bicep again, trying to ignore the feelings that touching him were stirring up inside her. “There. That should hold you for a day or two. If you’re careful in the shower.”

She raised her head, and the look in his eyes made her pulse skip. “Thanks,” he said softly, and she nodded.

“You’re welcome.” He was still staring at her, so she busied herself putting the supplies back into the kit, until he leaned a little closer, breathing her name. He reached to brush her hair back from her neck, and she felt goosebumps bloom all over her body as his fingers touched her skin.

“Andi. Stay tonight.” He nuzzled his face into her hair. “Please.”

She leaned her head into his, her voice barely there when she finally spoke. “Damn you, Russ.”

He pulled back, letting his hand move to the back of her neck as he brushed his lips over hers. “That’s a yes, right?”

Andi laughed softly. “Yes, that’s a yes.”

He made a triumphant little face that made her giggle, then whispered, “Thank God,” before he kissed her for real.

He felt warm and solid beneath her hands as they roamed the muscular expanse of his back, his scars beneath her fingers a violent history, a unique braille that only those who have lived that life could read. She knew a lot of those scars intimately, had lived through them with him, had survived those events at his side. Remembering how close they had come to not making it home made this moment all the more intense, and she clung tightly to him as he laid her back on the bed.

He finally raised his head, her lips reluctantly parting from his, and he reached for the hem of her shirt, bracing himself on his good arm to help her work it up and over her head. She rolled slightly to give him access to her bra, and that joined her shirt on the floor as she laid back. His eyes roamed over her almost reverently before he bent to kiss her again, her breasts crushed to his chest as he rolled to his back, holding her close.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he muttered against her lips, then groaned as she sat up, his erection trapped underneath her. She grinned, circling her hips against him before moving down to straddle his thighs as she reached for his zipper. “Bad girl.”

“Or is it - ‘good girl?’” she teased, laughing softly as he sighed in relief as she unfastened his jeans. “Feel better?”

“Feels okay. Could feel better,” he coaxed, and she slipped her fingertips into the waistband of his boxers.

“Such a whiner.” She pulled his boxers down and playfully swatted the side of his hip, waiting for him to lift up so she could pull them down to his knees. She bent to kiss the head of his cock before sucking it gently into her mouth, humming as he threw his head back into the pillow, swearing softly. She worked him deeper and deeper, finally sucking hard as she pulled off to look up into his glassy-eyed gaze. “I missed you, too.”

He moved quickly, grabbing her by the shoulders and flipping her to her back again, hands busily unfastening her jeans, bending to suck a nipple into his mouth and teasing at it with his tongue. She buried her hands in his hair, back arching a little at the sparks of pleasure he sent through her. He tugged her jeans and panties down, leaving her for a moment to rid her of them completely and finish kicking his off as well. Then he crawled back up between her thighs and dropped a kiss to her mound, looking up with a wicked grin before moving down further.

God, he remembered every tiny thing that drove her mad, and in no time he had her writhing beneath him, her hands gripping his hair as she begged and called his name again and again. She flung her arms wide when she came, and before she stopped pulsing and shuddering, he moved up and pushed inside her to the hilt.

“Jesus, fuck, Russ!” she cried out, clutching wildly at his shoulders as he buried his face in her neck, holding himself in deep and riding out her orgasm. When she finally began to relax, he kissed the soft skin of her neck and throat, then finally her lips, their breath gently mingling as she calmed.

“Goddamn, that was amazing,” he whispered, and she smiled drunkenly up at him.

“You’re tellin’ me.” She shifted her hips a little, moaning softly. “You feel so good, baby.”

“Yeah? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he murmured into their kiss, and she smiled.

“You’re so full of yourself,” she teased, and she felt his lips curve into a grin before he lifted himself up to look down at her.

“What a coincidence, so are you.” She giggled, then gasped as he drew back and drove deep, rocking into her with a relentless, delicious rhythm that stopped them both from speaking coherently. She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting each thrust, clinging to him tight as their moans and sighs filled the room. She came hard, digging her nails into his back as her muscles seized, and after a few more frantic strokes, he joined her with a loud moan.

She held him, fingers combing through his hair as they laid there recovering, determined to enjoy every second they had together. She could deal with the reality of after when she left tomorrow. He stirred, his breath warm on her neck, his lips gentle as he kissed her there. “You are staying the whole night, right? So we can do that again?”

She smiled. “Yeah, I’m staying all night. You’re so needy.”

He chuckled, nipping at her before moving to roll to his back. “When it comes to you, I am.”

She didn’t bother reminding him that he could remedy that situation. That conversation was a hopeless circle, so she ignored the thought and rolled to her side into his waiting arms.

He was quiet the next morning, watching her dress as she readied herself to leave. She was avoiding his eyes, and he felt that familiar pang of guilt that he lived with every day for the pain he knew he brought her. Someday – someday he’d get to the point of being able to live with himself without escaping into dangerous, adrenaline-filled missions, but he had no right to expect her to be there when he did.

He crawled out of bed, pulling on his boxers and walking up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. She leaned back into him, a reluctant sigh escaping before she turned to face him. “Well, I guess I should hit the road. Long drive.”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, then bent to kiss her softly. “Sure you’re okay to drive? Not like we got a lot of sleep last night.”

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Worth it. I’ll probably get a room somewhere partway, don’t worry about me.” He smiled back, kissing her again, this time until she finally put a hand to his chest and pushed away. “Okay. Gotta go.” She turned to grab her jacket, slipping it on as she moved towards the door. “It was really good to see you, Russ.”

“Great seeing you, too. Just be careful.” She nodded and opened the door, turning back as he spoke again. “Next time I see you, you’ll probably be with some great guy you’ll meet down there, all happy and settled down.”

She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, her gaze lingering on his face one last time. “Nah. I’m not much for making do. I’ll probably just keep waiting for the real thing.” She raised a hand in a little wave and headed out the door, and he stood staring at it for a time before turning away.

After a long, hot shower, he stood at the bathroom counter removing the plastic he had wrapped around his arm to protect his bandages. He looked up and met his reflection’s gaze in the mirror, and they stared at each other for a few long seconds before he frowned at himself. “Fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered, hitting the switch to turn off the light and leaving the room.

Tags for my lovelies:

@saenalife @deanscarlett @jensensgotyoudean @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog

@geeklibrarian @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mrswhozeewhatsis @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sleep-silent-angel

@darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5

@melanie451 @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean-blog

@savingapplepie-eatingthings @kittenofdoomage @masked-maiden42 @lean-mean-deanwinchester @ericuhlorain

@undecided-garden @ceeceewinchester @typicalweirdbookworm @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit @youtoldalie

@tanithlowisabamf-blog @deandoesthingstome @jxackles @nerdwholikesword @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic

@kreweofimp @gabavaldman @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @darkx143 @disassociativedogma

@ioanashalala @jencharlan @deansthirstblog @dorky-and-i-know-it @mischief-maker1

@winchestersandwordprocessors @percussiongirl2017 @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @torn-and-frayed

@sandlee44 @wingedcatninja @evansrogerskitten @emoryhemsworth @peaceinourtime82

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @sarcasmqueen74 @maliburenee @mrsjenniferwinchester @yeehawbitchs

@emily-winchester @hobby27 spnbaby-67

#waiting for the real thing #russell shaw fic #angst #smut #a little fluff #i have no idea how to make tags work #fucking thank you tumblr

124 notes · View notes