#and they laugh about it like they always do but Charles is now aware that maybe he actually does like Carlos

[alexturntable]

Charles being aware of all the memes about him and Carlos staring lovingly at each other is making me insane

[wordsinhaled]

Charles loves Edwin’s little lopsided grin and the flash of his teeth because it means he’s truly relaxed.

He loves the sharp arch of Edwin’s eyebrows and the way Edwin slants his eyes at him in fond exasperation.

He loves getting Edwin to scoff at him, cares gone until all he can focus on is holding in the undignified snort Charles is about to coax out.

He loves how each time he darts to touch Edwin with his fingertips, to just barely graze him, he gets a different little bit of him, there and gone again.

There and gone, the slope of one shoulder. A patch of Edwin’s bare arm, a little shock of warmth like nothing else Charles ever feels anymore. The wool of his blue slipover, which Charles can’t really know the texture of, but it looks soft and worn-in and cherished. Charles lets his imagination run away with him sometimes, thinks about curling his fingers in that soft-looking fabric and tugging Edwin flush against him, close, close, closer, as close as Edwin would allow.

How close would he allow?

He has to know, doesn’t he, at this point? He has to, he has to, he has to. Edwin’s not much for boxing, Charles is well aware. But he doesn’t get better no matter how often they spar, though he ought to be at least as good as Charles, by now. Charles has to wonder: is this more than just indulgence, to him?

Because Edwin is patient, so patient and only a bit incredulous, as each time Charles has got a new story, a new and ever-flimsier excuse. The mad driller, the brassed-off poltergeist, the reanimated pugilist.

C’mon, Edwin, he says, every time, in the end. And somehow, that always seems to do it.

Edwin stands there in his boxing gloves time and again, still as a stone at first and then pulled into reluctant, tentative, elegant movement by Charles’ glancing touch. He lets Charles have this, brilliant, generous friend that he is. Lets Charles circle him, goad him, skirt the shape of him, lets Charles look at him, look and look and look and—

It would be worse, Charles thinks, without the gloves. More pretty pieces of Edwin to spin Charles in circles round. Still, sometimes he imagines unlacing the gloves. He’d let them fall to the floor. He’d catch hold of Edwin and never let him go, catch the impact of Edwin’s bare hands against his own—each of his half-hearted strikes landing because Charles wants them to.

Sometimes Charles thinks Edwin might let him do more than other times, when they’re like this. And he doesn’t want for much. Just to kiss him once would be enough. To press their mouths together and take into himself Edwin’s surprised gasp, his sardonic laugh, his muffled noise of assent.

It crashes through him, the want, sometimes, like waves against a shore, so strong this is the only way to dull it. He wants so badly he jitters, and darts from foot to foot, and can only take in Edwin in fragments—each one settling inside him to form an echo of an ache called—

Love.

[inuyashaluver]

Can you do something about niamh charles captaining the chelsea game please :)

oh captain - niamh charles

niamh charles x reader

description: in which your girlfriend learns a new fact about you, one she wouldn’t let you forget anytime soon

warnings: suggestive

a/n: niamhy has me in a chokehold, thank you so much for the request, captain niamh is mwah, ily and enjoy!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, niamh, knew everything about each other. it wasn’t even an exaggeration, niamh was your lifelong childhood friend that you grew up with.

there wasn’t a minute where the two of you weren’t glued together and your closeness proved that.

that’s why it was so shocking for niamh when she figured out your weakness. the armband.

—

you and niamh met in school, stuck together from the time you were both 8. you were both relatively quiet and gravitated towards each other to separate from the chaos of everyone else.

it had been like that ever since, even the smallest bit of distance proving difficult for the both of you.

niamh was the one that actually got you into football, you always watched her practice and the girl would beg you to be an attacker just so she could get better.

you both quickly realised you were actually good and when you went to your family saying you were playing football with your best friend, they were pleasantly surprised.

little did everyone know how successful you and that special someone would be in the future.

there was always awareness for the two of you that you liked each other. everyone could feel the undeniable tension when the two of you would shamelessly flirt until you two got too shy and had to stop, only to pick it up a couple minutes later.

and so, at 18, niamh asked you to be her girlfriend during your weekly friday movie night.

“hiya” niamh smiles when you open the door, pulling you into a bear hug that nearly had you toppling over. “hi, niamhy” you giggle, giving her a gentle squeeze before dragging her inside.

“thief, i was looking for this,” niamh laughs, her hand coming up to tug the bottom hem of the hoodie you were wearing, her gaze lingering on your pink cheeks fondly.

“you left it here, so technically it’s my property” you say cheekily, pulling niamh by the hand to sit beside you on the couch. niamh laughs brightly, shaking her head amusingly as you smirk at her.

you both sit, fluffy blankets immediately envelope you and niamh, thighs brushing together gently as you sat beside her.

“your name is charles, then? something you’re not telling me?” niamh traces her finger over her last name on your back before she nudges your shoulder with hers, you giggle, nudging her shoulder back,

“hm, maybe we’re secretly related?” you tease, “oh god, i hope not” she breathes out, looking over at you and patting your thigh so you’d make eye contact.

the way she was looking at you made you feel incredibly nervous, her blue eyes boring into yours.

“well i was going to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight so not ideal if you’re a family member, gorgeous” niamh says simply, watching as your eyes widen in shock with a smile playing at your lips.

“what?” you try hard not to smile, clearly failing at the bright grin that takes over your features. “do you see my predicament? i really want to ask” she chuckles, smiling at you gently as you comprehend what was happening.

you take a deep breath, launching forward to pull her into a kiss, she gasps against your mouth, no ounce of hesitation showing as she moves her lips in sync with yours.

you smile against each other during the kiss, niamh’s hands cupping your cheeks while yours rested on the base of her neck, both of you gently running your thumbs over the skin.

niamh pulls away slightly breathless, smiling at you brightly, “is that a yes then?” she mocks, “hard no” you tease her, making her pull you towards her again for another kiss.

this one was much more passionate than the first. she pulls away again barely, “now?” the word brushing against your lips, “try again” you whisper, she pulls you into another kiss, one that made you feel light headed, feeling like if you stood you’d fall to the ground.

you pull away with a quick peck, “it was a yes the first time” you giggle, niamh gives you a firm kiss, “i know, baby”

—

you and niamh both played together at liverpool before the transfer to chelsea, the two of you unstoppable on the pitch. you and niamh expected the best from each other, the two of you asking for constant feedback to push harder.

you and niamh obviously had a lot on your shoulders but the only people you wanted to impress was each other, the giddy feeling of pride for one another feeling like a drug you both couldn’t drop.

niamh would be the first one to you when you’d get a goal, sweeping you up in a tight hug and kissing your cheek repeatedly.

“you’re perfect” niamh grins, her lips still lingering on your cheek as she pulled you to her, you tuned out everyone else in the group hug, the only arms you felt around you were your girlfriend’s.

whenever niamh would tackle someone well, her eyes would drift to you almost immediately, looking for your little nod or smile of approval, only pushing to get it again. she turned into putty around you, collapsing in your arms after each match with a homely smile.

“you played so well, my love” you grin, giving her a quick kiss before her face tucks into where your shoulder meets your neck. “you too, baby, almost too good” she’d tease, her arms wrapped tightly around you afraid you’d disappear anytime soon.

it was well known niamh was the clingier one in your relationship. not saying you weren’t because you most definitely were addicted to niamh, but this girl had to be touching you whenever she could.

you both got teased about it but it didn’t phase you, your solidarity with each other offering comfort that nothing else could.

—

you two still had your dedicated friday’s to your movie nights (like you didn’t have one almost every night). you were flat on your back while niamh lay on top of you, melting into your body when your hands raked through her hair, the gentle scratch of your nails against her scalp making it almost impossible to move.

you both had a game tomorrow and niamh insisted that you both had adequate rest before the match tomorrow.

niamh nuzzled into you gently, sighing happily when you placed a gentle kiss on her hairline.

“kill me now and i’d be okay with it” niamh moves her head to kiss your sternum before moving up slightly so her face could hover above yours.

“who would help me hide the body?” you smile up at her, tucking her hair behind her ear. niamh thought about it for a moment, almost too seriously, “well i would do it the best so maybe not” she teases, kissing you gently, you laugh against her lips.

“you’re so silly” you smile, she playfully bites the side of your neck, “you love it” she mocks, her hand running down your arm slowly until her hand interlaced with yours.

she hovers over you when you don’t respond, giving you a challenging expression until you laughed, “mhm, i do” you nod, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as you other one rests on her waist.

“ready for tomorrow?” she questions, moving to lay on her side next to you, prompting you to do the same, your hands interlaced in the middle of you.

“it’s just a regular game, just a little nervous” you shrug, your eyes tracing every detail of her face, making her stomach flip no matter how long you’d been together.

“you’re not getting lazy are you, baby?” she teases, you roll your eyes fondly, “never, love” you smile, puckering your lips for niamh to give you a kiss that she happily gave you.

you both chatted back and forth with the gentle hum of the movie filling the rest of the air, both of your attention solely focused on each other.

niamh knew she was captain for tomorrow, for the first time ever. she was about to tell you then and there because she received the text when you were in the shower but it slipped her mind once she started kissing you. you were always one to distract her.

—

the next day, you were weary of niamh’s sudden excitement, her being the one to drag you out of bed with a bunch of kisses distributed around your face and your lips.

she drove to the stadium excitedly, her hand gently squeezing your thigh every couple of seconds. you were truly confused, this match was important but not one that would have her reacting like this. she was up to something and you were gonna get to the bottom of it.

when you both made it to the change rooms, niamh pushed you towards aggie, making you fall into the blonde’s arms while niamh ran off to her cubby.

you didn’t see her hide the armband in her boot, making it look like she was just double checking everything when you looked at her in shock after recovering from falling.

you narrow your eyes at her when she approached, your arms crossed over your chest as you met in the middle.

“hi, gorgeous” niamh says smugly, holding her arms out to you and frowning when yours stayed crossed. “you’re up to something and i don’t like it, niamh”

a little pout was evident on your face, your eyebrows furrowed at niamh’s behaviour. “baby” niamh sings out, her hands moving to grip your hips as she pulled you a little closer.

“you’re so lucky i love you, niamh charles, honestly” you point out, making the taller girl grin and squeeze your hips gently. “i love you too, beautiful” she cheeses out, “don’t be mad” she teased, her arms wrapping around you to pull you into a hug.

you really tried to stay firm with her, still not understanding why she was being so secretive but niamh always managed to pull you out of an angry mood. she presses a kiss to your cheek, “you can’t stay mad at me forever, babe” kissing your cheek again, pulling you closer.

“niamhy” you groan before you break out into a smile, “stop it, i’m angry” you attempt to push her away but she only grips you tighter, her lips pressing against yours.

on instinct, your arms wrap around her neck and pull her closer, making her grin against you knowing you cracked, you pull away with a glare, “shut up” you grit, “okay” she grins, capturing your lips in another quick kiss before you both began to get ready for the match.

you were ready first, going to the mirror to do your final touches and came back to a sight for sore eyes.

there stood your girlfriend, looking beautiful as usual in her kit but something was different. a neon yellow band hugging her bicep with a big ‘C’ printed on it.

your breath hitched, you and niamh just looking at each other. your eyes dart around her body, taking in her appearance before settling back on the band. your mouth opened to say something but nothing came out.

niamh had a shit eating grin on her face, trying not to laugh at your reaction. “you alright?” she laughs, walking a little closer to you. you genuinely felt like you couldn’t breathe, not understanding why this was so mind boggling to you.

you weren’t sure how it was possible but she was even more attractive, the band giving her a confidence that was incredibly overwhelming and just overall jaw dropping.

you couldn’t even look her in the eye, suddenly going shy when she got close to you, seeing the way the band fit so well against her bicep.

“you’re captain?” you breathe out, eyes still trained on the band. “yes i am” she grins, her hand gripping your chin and tilting it upwards to meet your gaze.

“why are you all shy?” she teases, her other hand resting on your hip. “i’m not” you scoff, but your pink cheeks said otherwise. “sure you’re not, baby” she smiles, clearly enjoying this.

feeling a little brave, your hand made its way to her bicep, your thumb brushing over it with wide pupils.

“you look so good” you blurt out, almost regretting it knowing how much it would inflate her ego.

“who knew you’d like this so much” niamh says cheekily, watching as you gripped her bicep tighter. “calm down, charlsey” you grin, your free hand moving to the back of her neck to pull her into a kiss.

niamh could tell what you were feeling, the butterflies in your stomach clearly making its way into your kisses because it spread to her. you were both so giddy about this, you loving niamh in it and niamh loving your reaction.

“we need to line up” niamh pulls away, “your captain says so” she smiles, you couldn’t control the little noise that came out from the back of your throat, niamh was riling you up and you knew it.

although, clearly it was working because you couldn’t keep your hands off her.

“one more” you whine, pulling her into another kiss as you both neared the tunnel, “baby,” she breathes out against your lips, “they’re waiting” you kiss her again,

“don’t. care” you say between kisses, your hand planted on niamh’s cheek while the other roamed her left arm, squeezing the yellow cuff sitting there.

she grabs your face in between her hands, kissing you quickly before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the tunnel. your hand didn’t let go of hers when she led you to your spot.

you give her a pleading expression, she shakes her head fondly, a quick peck placed on your lips before she puts some distance between you. she would give into you in a heartbeat and conditions weren’t exactly ideal.

“later” she says firmly, squeezing your hand and walking to the front of the line. your heart eyes were evident from your spot, watching niamh’s every move as she talked to her mascot, she was the only one with one and it only made things worse for you. she was killing you. and she knew it. she loved it.

—

the game progresses, both you and niamh playing extremely well, managing to get yourself a goal. and when the celebration came, you smiled brightly at niamh before your eyes fell to the armband.

when she pulled you into a tight hug, she chuckled, kissing your cheek repeatedly with words of praise spilling from her mouth.

you were bright red when she pulled away, watching as she threw you a cheeky wink before she ran back to her position.

after the game was over, you both did your laps of signatures and photos, waiting for niamh as she pulled for interviews.

when she was done, she walked over to you painfully slowly and as soon as she was in reach, you dragged her into the darkness of the tunnel again, your lips finding her in an instant.

“why couldn’t i be captain earlier? look at you” she whines, the words quickly cut off with your lips pressed on hers again. you pull away breathlessly, your cheeks pink as you looked at her, feeling like you’ve kissed her for the first time.

you pull her down slightly so her ear was next to your mouth, “can you bring this home?” your hand snapping the band against her skin, making her jolt lightly.

she nods, kissing the tip of your nose with a smile. “i already had a spare one in my bag” she grins, running off to the showers to get you home as quickly as possible.

let’s just say, that armband has more positives than anything.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill, just pretend it’s you xx

liked by aggiebjones and 44,232 others

niamhcharles17: my fav girl with her fav thing in the world

view all comments

yourname: my fav girl

↳ niamhcharles17: tell everyone your fav thing

↳ yourname: no

niamhcharles17: @/yourname loves me in this armband

↳ yourname: traitor

↳ niamhcharles17: hottie

↳ yourname: what?

↳ niamhcharles17: what?

[predestinatos]

CHALLENGERS — CL16 & MV1 🏓

summary: the line between rivals and friends was blurred. and then you came. MINORS DNI!!!!

word count: 3.5k

tags: charles leclerc x fem!reader x max verstappen, implied cheating, flirting, them being horny boys, 3some vibes, heavily inspired by challengers.

warnings: smut (no sex but... everything else) dirty talking, cheating, cursing.

note: yes i've been obsessed with challengers and i thought the dynamics would look rlly fun on a fic!!! am 100% invested on making this a series! also i'm aware those are padel things in tbe picture but this is just for the cover aesthetics okay!

12:52AM

“You know I can beat him, right?” Charles’ voice sounded rough as he stood against the doorframe, confident smile spread across his lips, arms crossed against his chest, making his muscles stand out. You looked at him then, from your lying position across the hotel bed – one you shouldn’t be on – and shrugged. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

The defiance in your tone registered like a cold breeze across his skin, causing him to shiver slightly yet not break his demeanour as he moved towards you silently, lowering himself towards you on the bed now, face inches away from yours. “I didn’t know you still needed convincing.” Charles noticed how you licked your lips as you stared at his, how for a quick second you almost forgot what you were talking about as your breaths melted into each other. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed, both of you so silent it could’ve been a scene from a nature documentary: prey seducing predator, but which is which?

“You asked” you replied, refusing to break the distance first, wanting to prove that you were stronger than he thought, that he needed something from you which he couldn’t possibly get, not anymore at least. You looked at his eyes, its bright colour now so darkened by something close to thrill over what was going on in that moment, a thrill you wanted to suppress. “Just wanted to see how good of a liar you were” Charles bit his lip, smile now growing slightly. Maybe it wasn’t thrill. Maybe it was actual amusement.

“You’re unbearable” you said, now turning your face away from him, rolling your eyes at his sheer arrogance. “You want me” he got up from bed, taking off his t-shirt as he searched for his pyjamas. His back flexed with every movement, muscles stranding out in his glistening skin. He smiled knowingly, because although he could not see your face, he knew you were looking. He always knew.

“Brave of you to think so” you shot back, getting up as well, grabbing your bag from the small armchair placed in the corner of the room. Rushing towards the hotel door, his frame stood between you and it – the ability to breathe, the absence of guilt, the absolution of uncommitted sins. “See, you’re still a bad liar” his bare chest rose and fell in front of you and Charles wished he could say he wasn’t about to crumble before you but that wouldn’t be true either. His confidence was only partially real, for he did not have the strength to do more than this, to test you and push you only this far – part of him knew you couldn’t resist, but he was never entirely sure.

YEARS EARLIER

The country club was boring. You didn’t know why your family insisted on going apart from trying to prove how rich they were, something which got exhausting too quickly. Sitting at the table, you played with the olive in your martini as your dad talked about “business” and your mom laughed about something.

The sun warmed your skin as your bare legs welcomed the heat gladly, the only source of some amusement in that place. It was tiring. Your brain felt like it could explode from lack of stimulation. Minutes passed at the speed of years. You had to do something, quick, or else- “I’m going for a walk” you said suddenly, or a voice said, part of your brain who was even more tired than you thought. Your family stood, staring at you briefly before nodding and continuing their tasks, like robots who were well instructed to continue their mission but not used to abnormalities.

Max was sweating. We would feel disgusting, unclean, even, were it not for how focused he was on the game, on his friend – rival, for a few minutes – in front of him. The tennis ball travelled from his racket to Charles in something near to slow motion for him.

Charles was amused. He always was, for he loved playing almost more than winning. He loved getting under his friend’s skin, seeing how hard he tried to beat him while his careless attitude ate him with each hit he took. There was something god-like about his commitment, his seriousness, that Charles admired, if not even envied. He couldn’t care as much about things the way his friend did – he was passion, Max was reason. That’s the way they always worked, and you could see it in the way they played, hear it in the way they grunted as they hit the ball with their utmost force.

“Okay let’s take a break” Charles said, throwing his racket carelessly on the floor as he walked towards the end of the field, towards his water bottle. Max stood in place, looking at his friend, wondering if he looked as disheveled as him – dark hair glued to his skin, cheeks red and a constant frown on his face from the sun’s insistence on affecting them. “It’s 30-all! You can’t just ask for a break when it’s 30-all!” his complaints were dismissed with a shrug of shoulders. “I just did”

Max inhaled heavily, used to this behaviour yet not immune to how much it annoyed him, and on his exhale, he felt his friend’s hands on his shoulders, massaging them gently. “Relax, don’t be so tense all the time,” Charles whispered, slight irony laced in his tone as he buried his hands in his friend’s warm shoulders from the heat.

“Don't stop now, I was enjoying it” your voice broke through them unexpectedly, causing them to turn their eyes towards you simultaneously. Max stared at you, his eyes locked on your teasing ones. But it was Charles who spoke first, in an attempt to match your tone. “And who are you, exactly?” Though you answered his friend, your eyes remained on Max's green ones, on the shy smirk growing slowly across his lips. The hands previously on his shoulders fell across them, brushing his back and finally leaving him altogether, as if melting from the heat. He barely noticed. Maybe he didn’t notice it at all. “I'm Charles” he walked towards you confidently, leaning against the railing that separated the court from the bleachers, one eye closed in a permanent blink due to the sun. You got up, looking, for the first time, at the dark haired man closer to you. Moving slowly towards him as you climbed down the stairs, you felt his defiant gaze, so different from his friend’s yet equally as alluring to you. Now as close to him as you could, your hand on the railing, mere inches away from his arm, you spoke. “And your friend over there?” Charles looked back, as if trying to recall who you could be referring to, prolonging a moment unnecessarily, only to allow his arm to brush against your hand as he turned back towards you, head tilted. “Why do you want to know?” Max’s racket felt cold against his burning skin, the image of his friend's toned back and tanned neck directed towards you, with a short skirt and tight top, causing him to wonder if he was hallucinating, overheating, going crazy. “Charles, she wants us to play more.”

10:45PM

He liked watching you, how you moved so softly, hands caressing your legs as you applied mosturizer. It was almost religious, how your breath guided his unintentionally, how he forgot everything for a few seconds, maybe minutes, maybe hours.

He leaned against the bathroom sink as you placed your foot on top of the toilet seat to better access some parts of your skin you could not otherwise reach. You felt his gaze, still so similar to the one he first used when he first layed his eyes on you – the same intensity, mind over matter debate circulating through his mind as he analyzed every inch of your skin.

“I’m going to win tomorrow” Max said from behind you; a certainty in his voice that made you chuckle with something close to frustration. You muttered an ‘okay’ as you continued your movements, your bracelets clinking against each other. “I’m serious. You know I’m serious” he repeated, frustrated at your nonchalantness, at your dismissal of his convictions.

“Don’t be patronizing” you finally said, turning around as you spread the remains of the cream on your arms and hands. Though you were in underwear and he was clothed, he felt vulnerable in front of you. The ring adorning both of your fingers didn’t make your presence any easier to bear over the years, despite his attempts at pretending it did.

“What do you mean?” he asked, eyebrows now raised, turning his head to follow your frame which walked towards the hotel bed. “You know what I mean, Max” your voice was stern, your head always high despite you being shorter, as if he was the one who had to look up to you, though he hadn’t, not really.

“You weren’t like this with him” he looked down now, his profile outlined by the bathroom lights. You admired his attractiveness, his intentional care to be clean, precise, as close to perfect as he could. You admired how his expressions never oscilated between extremes, or at least how he managed to hide it so well if they did.

“You don’t need me to tell you these things the way he does” you sighed. You had had this conversation, or something close to it too many times to count. “You have the girl, you have the championship, what else do you want, Max? You want me to constantly tell you you’re a winner, you’re a big fucking boy who’s so so good?” you continued, more aggressively than you perhaps intended, though it did not matter, not really, at least.

He looked back at you now, though he dare not move. His throat bobbed up and down now, and you noticed how his knuckles whitened slightly as he held the sink tightly. “Maybe I do” it was almost a whisper, the way he said it, trying to hide from the attention he so craved, his body manifesting more than he wanted to show.

You looked further down his body, to where your words seemed to affect him most, though he remained looking at you. You admired his silent boldness in contrast to Charles’ loud one. "I chose you, Max" your voice sounded velvety to him, almost driving him insane as he felt his cock hardening. He felt ridiculous. Maybe he was; his obsession with your approval was also an obsession with beating Charles' appeal to you. He might have won many battles but Max had won the war.

YEARS EARLIER

Charles was better - better looking, better skilled, and effortlessly so. Max thought all of this as he stared at the back of his friend's slightly burned neck, standing behind him in front of a bedroom door.

"Ok so, let's not fuck this up" Charles said, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a match. "She clearly wants us"

"Us?" Charles turned around at the question, incredulity written across his face. "Yes, us. Now which one she wants more... We'll find out"

Before he could protest at his friend's unapologetic confidence, the door opened. You stood there, oversized t-shirt being worn as a nightgown, smiling at the two boys.

Both of them frozen, lusting over you so obviously it was almost insulting, were you not turned on by the way their gaze explored your body. Charles had a signature smirk that did not care to hide where his imagination was roaming as he stared at your bare legs; Max, on the other hand, was overcome by a darkness that almost intimidated you, studying every inch of your body hungrily.

"You're just going to stand there?" you asked, half laughing, waking the boys up from their trance. They both rushed inside excitedly, causing you to giggle subtly. It was flattering, how much they seemed to crave your sheer attention.

“So…” you asked, moving to sit on the carpeted floor, trying to make them comfortable – which didn’t need much effort, as they seemed to make themselves at home promptly, Charles’ unbuttoned shirt exposing his chest to you, and Max’s own t-shirt was so tight it left little to the imagination.

“You liked to see us play” Max started, a newly found confidence reaching him, a smile matching it perfectly. Maybe you were the one to give it to him, your eyes landing on him as if daring him to speak, him specifically. Charles’ opened up a bottle of a cheap drink he found at the liquor store they had ran to just hours before, as they realized they might actually have a chance with you.

“I did” you answered with a nod, now looking at Charles, who offered you a glass, your fingers brushing his purposefully.

“So much that you wanted more” Max continued, so factual it could pass as arrogance – though it resulted in a blush from you. You admired his sudden calculated boldness, the way he brought the cup to his lips after saying those words, as if he had commented on the state of the weather.

“And you gave me more” you replied, trying to match his – maybe their – tone.

“Oh, we haven’t given you nearly enough” Charles now stepped in. He couldn’t help himself, not with you in front of him, not with the small room closing in on him as he felt your need grow along with his, along with Max’s, along with the cups and the drink and the sheets and the carpeted floor.

“You two do this a lot?” you asked, daringly, though the question had crossed your mind throughout the day. Was this enticing to them? Sharing a woman, pleasuring her together, driving her mad with their games, their touch and words?

They let out a soft laugh together, almost synchronized. They were both beautiful, though in opposite ways – Max’s features were hard despite his soft, quiet demeanor, while Charles’s were softer, more carefully sculpted despite his own careless behavior.

“What, go after the same girl?” Charles asked, looking at Max, who looked at him as well. They found it amusing and rather ironic, really. Everything was a competition to them, even if nothing got in the way of their friendship. What made you especially exciting was how they both wanted you, and how both of them were aware of that fact. They both know the game was on the minute you showed up, like a match they fought in the court.

Upon your nod, Max decided to speak up. He had to; it was somehow agreed and decided who would say what, an unspoken rule he seemed to have made with Charles but couldn’t quite remember. “No, not at all” he laughed, cup now empty as Charles grabbed the bottle and filled it some more.

“What he means is… You’re just that attractive” the brown-haired man spoke. Was he flirting with you, or were they both doing so, even if it came only from his voice? You couldn’t help but feel your whole body responding to how they looked at you, how they seemed to crave you with indescribable need.

“What about you two?” you asked now, blaming the alcohol – though you had barely drunk anything. Their eyes went from you to each other again, awkward and rapidly, as they blushed slightly.

“No, I mean… no we haven’t” Max said, causing a soft chuckle to come out of Charles, his friend’s shyness over the topic making amusing him. It’s not like they haven’t thought about it – not at all – but they hadn’t told each other this. This concept lived in their heads, and none of them dared to bring it up, though they had seen each other naked and crossed lines most so-called friends probably wouldn’t. But neither of them had the conversation about what it meant, or what it could mean, because they didn’t feel the need to. Not until now.

You shrugged it off, finishing your drink in a single gulp. Looking at those two men, you realized you couldn’t quite decide what to do next – you wanted to do so many things that felt too forbidden to speak.

You looked up at Max, his eyes so needy it made your blood pulsate in your veins, the certainty that he would do anything for your touch right in that moment causing you to shiver. Slowly, you moved towards him, his face so close to yours that he dared not move, not until your hands reached his neck and pulled him towards you, kissing him.

That seemed to shift something in him, his own arms holding you as if scared you’d leave, as if wanting to consume you all, taste all of you. His hand instinctively grabbed your waist, though you knelt on the ground and couldn’t – wouldn’t – go anywhere.

“Oh, fuck” Charles said, looking at the both of you. The sight should make him jealous, but it did quite the opposite. He felt aroused, more than he wanted to admit, watching Max controlling your body and movements, eyebrows furrowed from pleasure, as your own lips moved messily and erratic against his, not caring about how it looked. You were putting on a show for him as you savored all of Max – Max was simply savoring all of you, for he had forgotten his friend was even there.

You pulled away, however, now deciding you had to try the other man, who seemed to be in a state of pure bliss over you, your attitude, your movements. You barely moved towards him – you didn’t need to – as he rushed towards you his hand resting on your thigh and grabbing it tightly. He was more aggressive, more assertive and confident in his kiss. He didn’t let go of himself the way Max did, but then again he barely held himself back at all when it came to you.

Max was staring. He knew he was staring but he couldn’t look away. The sight was erotic, something out of his deepest, darkest fantasies – your hair being slightly pulled by Charles’ strong grip, your own hands on his cheeks as his tongue travelled across your mouth. Suddenly, his kissing went down to your neck, and you held him there as you looked directly at Max.

Just your look could have driven him insane, right there and then, but he wouldn’t let it happen. He was hungry for more of you, more of whatever was going on, wanted it to last as long as it possibly could. “Come here” you called for him, who obliged immediately.

At first, he mimicked Charles, but soon his mouth was on yours again and you felt both boys’ mouths on your body, the amount of sensations fogging your mind as you let them both consume you. You pulled Charles mouth to yours, joining the kiss you were sharing with Max. The three of you kissed – messily, sloppily, completely letting the primal, animalistic part of you loose.

You wanted to touch yourself. Wanted them to touch you, feel how wet you were, savoring all of you. You wanted them to touch each other for you – for your gaze, for your entertainment and fulfillment, the way they were doing so now, as you pulled away and watched their own mouths against each other.

Max was hard. He couldn’t think anymore, dizzy from the caresses he was feeling on his body, from the insanity of the moment, from everything and nothing. Charles was drunk – drunk on the intense rush flowing through him, from how hard he knew he was, from how fucking spectacular everything seemed in that moment.

You were in complete bliss. The two men before you were in absolute awe of you, yearning for you with fervent need, letting themselves go to the point where they even yearned for each other. It was time to stop it.

“Okay” you said, snapping both of them back to reality instantly. Both Max and Charles were shocked at how they felt nothing close to shame over the moment. In fact, they felt exhilarated, ready to keep going, to prolong the moment with each other, with you, forever. “It’s time to go” you continued, watching the glow disappear from their faces as they breathed hard, chests falling and rising rapidly. “What?” they asked in unison, something close to innocence returning to their faces.

“We’ll do this again, right?” Charles asked, getting up after you did, with Max following. He was aware that he was hard, his cock rubbing against the fabric of his boxers and shorts uncomfortably. And he was also aware that you were turned on, though he could only imagine how soaked you actually were – a picture that didn’t help his situation.

“Sure” you answered, seeing their gleeful faces one last time before adding, as you walked them to the door “one of you will. The one who wins tomorrow”, closing it on them before you could see the smile turn into a frown.

[sinofwriting]

PDA - Logan Sargeant

Words: 1,127 Summary: Logan and his girlfriend like PDA.

Masterlist | Support Me!

Alex watches as Logan, his new teammate, kisses his girlfriend, one of his hands that had been resting on her waist drifting down to her ass, before sliding into the pocket there and giving a squeeze and he can feel himself nearly choke on his drink. “Fuck,” he coughs and he can feel George slam his hand on his back once then twice.

“Alright, mate?” He nods, giving another cough before clearing his throat. “Yeah, just watching the rookie feel up his girlfriend.” He watches as George’s eyebrows furrow as he looks over at Oscar who’s sitting at the next table. “Other rookie.” George looks over at where he had and his eyes widen. “Jesus. They do know that they’re in public and we’re all here right?” He looks back over and face twists. They weren’t kissing anymore, but Logan’s hand was still in her one back pocket and his mouth is practically glued to her ear as he whispers something with a smile that Alex doesn’t think he likes one bit and dread for the rest of the season starts to fill him.

They both look away at the sound of Oscar’s voice. “They know.” “What?” Oscar tilts his head over to where Logan is and now the rest of the drivers that had decided to all go out together are looking at the couple. “They know they’re in public. I’ve known Logan for a couple years now. They’re always like this.” “Always?” Alex is hoping that Oscar is fucking with him, joking with him. “Always. They’ve been together like two years now?” He shrugs, “We all thought at Prema it was just the honeymoon stage.” Alex turns to look at George, horror in his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this.” “It’s just a bit of kissing, mate. You’ll be fine.” George pats him on the shoulder and he can see from the corner of his eye Max silently laughing. “She’s going to be traveling with us. Coming to all the races.” George’s hand drops. “Well, your fucked then.” Alex groans, dropping his head on the table with a loud thunk.

“You know, I think I like the american. He broke Alex.” Max says, chuckling and Alex is grateful when he hears the dutch driver let out an oomf. “Thank you, Charles.” “No problem. Though I do think it’s a bit funny.” Alex groans, letting his head drop back down when he had just started to lift it up.

“Seriously?” Charles shrugs, “I don’t understand why there is a problem. So they don’t uh, hold back in public. It is not like they are fucking. It is just a bit of kissing.” He then looks back at the couple and shrugs again. “And ass grabbing. Could be much worse.” Alex lets out a groan when the rest of the drivers make agreeing sounds.

“What’s wrong with Alex?” Is the next thing that he hears and immediately groans again at the American accent.

—

Logan was aware that most people didn’t like seeing him and his girlfriend together. Not because they didn’t like her or him or them together, it was more how they acted. Which Logan was absolutely unashamed about. If he wanted to kiss his girlfriend he was going to. If he wanted her in his lap, she’d be there. It didn’t matter how many fake gags his or her friends made or that time he got told off by Prema’s PR team to lay off because what if the press picked up on it?

The memory nearly made him scoff. Drivers got a bad reputation. If they weren’t knowing for fucking anything that walked, one night stands only, they seemed to be know for cheating on their partners. If not by press and fans than at least by other drivers and the like. Logan still struggled a bit with that part of being a driver. The way you’d see a fellow driver fuck someone and then a day later be bringing their partner around the paddock.

He would’ve figured that they’d be thrilled with a driver so into his girlfriend that he literally couldn’t keep his hands off her. Meant they had one less driver to worry about with a cheating scandal.

“It’s the european.” His girlfriend had said when he told her about it and the response had made him laugh in the moment, but he did wonder if there was some truth to it.

“You alright?” Her breath ghosts over the shell of his ear and he squeezes her hip. “I’m all good, baby.” He grins at her. “Just wondering when Williams is going to give me the talk.” She laughs and he can see Lando look over at them. “Any day probably.” “Probably.” He chuckles. He was surprised that after the first race he hadn’t gotten it. Didn’t mean he didn’t think it was going to happen.

Tilting his head up, he puckers his lips a bit and she immediately kisses him. His grip on her hip tightens when she pokes her tongue out teasingly, wishing that she wasn’t sitting on his lap sideways, but straddling him.

He’s about to move her into straddling him when Lando drops into the seat next to them. So he settles for pressing another kiss to her lips before turning his attention to the slightly older driver.

“You all good, man?” Logan’s grin widens at the way Lando’s nose wrinkles at the word man. Him and the other brits all acted the same way when he said it instead of mate. “Yeah, just thought I’d come over, get to know your girlfriend a bit since apparently she’ll be traveling with us.” His voice goes slightly at the end, clearly wondering if it was true. He nods, “yeah. Finally got her to quit that job of hers,” he starts to tease, laughing when she hits him gently on the chest. Lando looked at the two with wide eyes. “I did not quit my job for you.” She says to him before looking at Lando with a sorry expression. “Ignore, Logan.” He pouts a little at that, but keeps quiet. Not minding her taking over the conversation. He traces her name on her hip as she says it to Lando, before repeating her statement.

“I didn’t quit my job for Logan.” He snorts, but other than that, keeps quiet. “I quit my job so I could go full time with graphic design.” The other driver perks up a bit. “Graphic design, really?” “Yeah, I’ve been doing it for the past like five years.”

He somewhat tunes the two out as they start talking more about graphic design. Only really paying attention to her voice and the cadence of it, as he closes his eyes and relaxes.

---

Tagging: @gemofthenight @peachiicherries and also @yellowyoonglescibe & @heesvers who commented on my post when I mentioned wanting to write this.

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. spring and the lovely silence of growing things. minors dni. nsfw warnings under the cut. 7.6k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: oral (m receiving, rough), spit, hair pulling, drunk drunk drunk get crunk

��Goodnight Arthur,” you said, lingering behind as your family started off down the road in the opposite direction that he and his were. 

Your dress, long and linen, blows in the evening breeze and draws goosebumps to your skin. Your hands clutch your phone and a small purse, the cross body strap wrapped around your hand three times. Your ponytail sways with your hips when you walk. Turning to Charles, you nod, purse a smile. “Charles.”

“Goodnight,” he replies curtly, perfectly polite. 

“The two of you are still talking after a whole day together? Did Hell freeze over while we were out there?” Arthur laughs.

A strange silence, one that only you and Charles are aware of, swallows the lull of the cicadas in the streetlights. It’s early in the year for them, typically holding out on their spring song until a bit further into the season. Charles drags his feet on the concrete, drawing out every step to be a beat too slow. “Stranger things have happened,” he remarks under his breath, his middle finger picking at the cuticle of his thumb before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Have they?” Arthur continues to poke fun at the two of you, at the unlikeliness of a quareless evening. You’re surprised, too. Never would have guessed a few hours earlier that the evening would end up the way it had. 

(Five hours earlier)

He’s sulking and it's becoming pathetic. Every single thing about his body moves around the yacht like a kicked puppy, all sullen and blue and hosting another private-pity party. His sighs grow more and more dramatic, less and less patient with each moment that passes without someone feeling as bad for him as he feels for himself. 

You knew, maybe better than anyone, how fiercely competitive he is, how much pressure he carries on his shoulders. You'd seen the highs and the lows of it all, and despite the underlying annoyance that was Charles, you still wanted what was best for him. It’s just human nature to hope. 

This season has been beating him up, you knew, even if you didn’t follow it the way some of your friends did. Strategy has been shit, you’ve heard, luck somehow shitter. He’d talked such a big game before the start of the season, quietly confident and subtly cocky in a way that almost makes you believe he can predict the future. 

Usually, you would relish in his annoyance, but today you’ve found yourself feeling oddly concerned. You refused to let him ruin the beautiful day, ruin the moods of your siblings and his. It’s the determination to save the day that leads you to the yacht railing, feet away from his brooding, lost in thought expression. 

“You seem a bit off today,” you remarked, voice lades with a teasing tone, a poor attempt to lighten the mood. 

He glances up at you, a hint of a smile tugging on his lips. “You always have such a way of pointing out the obvious, don’t you?” He retorted, but his annoyance is all bark, no bite, softened entirely by the playful glint in his eyes. 

“Well,” you shoot back, minorly annoyed, massively amused. “It’s not everyday you look like a sulking child.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And always full of delightful compliments,” he replied, gaze lingering on your lips for a moment too long before he tears them away. 

You smirk, lean in a bit closer. “You love it,” you taunt.

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Oh, do I now?” He quips, leaning in just enough to make your stomach sink. You feign indifference to his words, but your body betrays you, leaning in a fraction closer. 

“I know you better than you think,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. 

He chuckled again, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine. There’s something so deflated about him. “Is that so?” He muses, breath grazing against your ear, making your pulse quicken. 

You take a step back, attempt to find some sort of composure. “Maybe,” you replied with a playful shrug, not daring to meet his gaze. 

He leans in, fills the space you’d just created, mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re always under my skin,” he admits, a hue of vulnerability in his voice leaving you unsettled. 

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. “You love the challenge, though, don’t you?” You countered, tone serious now, hinting at something more, something deeper. 

He hesitates, a flicker of emotion crossing his features before he masks it with a smirk. “Maybe I do,” he replied, voice low and suggestive. 

The conversation drolls on, seconds between your words filled with charged silence. The subtle dance of glances and touches only adds to the tension, and you found yourself unable to break away, to return to the rest of the family on the upper deck. No, no, you have a feeling you’ll be going lower, even, farther away from them and closer to some private silence. 

“Do you ever wonder?” he asks, voice soft and full of curiosity. You have no interest in entertaining his words. 

“I don’t,” you reply, trying to keep your tone guarded. 

His brows furrow, challenging you. “Really?” Charles questions, his skepticism evident. 

You shrug. “It’s just easier this way, isn’t it?” you retort, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. Bitter that he feels entitled to ruin something that’s working just fine. 

“Easier?” He echoes, curiosity evident as he leans in even closer. 

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you meet his intense gaze. “Yeah, easier,” you say, the words spewing out with a touch of frustration. “It’s just a game.”

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for any sign of vulnerability. You hope you’re talented enough to conceal them, that your secondary school drama class teacher taught you well. “You think it’s that simple?” he challenges, voice just painfully soft. 

“It’s not simple at all,” you admit, guard slipping for only a moment. “But it’s just what we do. It’s comfortable, in its own way.”

He nods, seeming to understand your reluctance. “So, what?” He asks, a trace of bitterness in his tone. “We just keep using each other whenever we feel like it?”

A mess of emotions swirls inside you as you meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe,” you remark, defiant. “But it’s better than facing the alternative.”

He seems to consider your words, the wright of your unspoken history. “You’re afraid,” he observes. Charles has called you afraid a million and one times in your life; from a ponytailed scaredy-cat to a selfish coward, he’s checked the box on every synonym. This time, though, his voice isn’t teasing or raging red. No, it’s surprisingly gentle. 

Your ears burn red hot. “I’m not afraid of anything,” you snap, try to push down everything just begging to boil over inside of you. 

He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. You ignore the jolt of electricity, the fact that a simple touch holds more meaning than any words the two of you could exchange. You’re annoyed, now. Annoyed with him and the longing you refuse to acknowledge. It’s a powerful cocktail that you don’t want to begin to comprehend. 

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Not with me.”

You heart pounds in your chest as you resist the urge to lean into him, to seek some fucked up sort of comfort in his arms. Instead, you push him away, maintain a safe distance. “I’m not afraid of you,” you say, voice horribly hushed. “I’m afraid of what this could become.”

He looks at you, some indistinguishable mix of emotions, of understanding and frustration and something else. “And what do you think this could become?” he asks, voice tinged with an edge of desire. 

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to his proximity. “I don’t know,” you admit, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. “But I don’t want to find out.”

He smiles like he knows something you don’t. It makes you crazy. “You’re always so stubborn,” he remarks, fingers moving from your hand to your jaw, brushing against your cheek. “Part of what drives me crazy about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, unable to tear your eyes away. The tension is palpable, unspoken words hanging in the heavy air. 

“I could help take your mind off things,” you suggest, voice low and suggestive. “Just for a little while.” 

He raises a brow, surprise evident in his expression. “Oh?” he replies, voice a mix of intrigue and amusement. You give him a playful smirk, leaning in a bit closer. You can play games, too. 

“I can be pretty distracting,” you tease, fingers moving to his arm, tracing circles on the linen covering his arm. 

He hesitates, you’ve got him torn. He says your name, attempts to steer the conversation back to the emotions you’re so clearly dancing around. 

But you cut him off, not willing to back down. “Please,” you sigh, your voice full of longing and playfulness. “Let me take your stress.”

He puts his foot down. Protests weakly. “We can’t just ignore this.”

For a moment, you consider pushing the issue further. Deep down, somewhere unexplored, you know that this isn’t the right time. So, you take a step back, move to walk away. Before you can take another step, his hand is on your wrist, pulling you back to him. 

His lips crash against yours in a fierce and desperate kiss, and you lose yourself in the intensity of the moments. The motions that have been building under the surface finally finds an outlet, and you can’t resist the pull any longer. 

You both give in to the passion, into the physical connection and the muddled emotions. It’s a moment of surrender, of letting go. For now, it’s enough. For now, you can avoid the conversation. 

You’re no more than a few steps away from the stairs, make quick work of them, of the lock on the door to the master suite. You didn’t even know the doors had locks on them. You hope they’re half as soundproof as they are expensive, but you doubt it. 

You’re already pawing for his cock, palming the chilly, half-damp material of his swim trunks before slipping your hand under the waistband, taking the fabric out of the equation entirely. 

You look up at him, look for his reaction, check to make sure that his eyes aren’t harboring some sick softness to them. The whole point of this is to get the softy shit off his mind, to leave him so satisfied that he doesn’t remember wanting to have that conversation with you, that he doesn’t remember how shitty his season’s going and how he’s latched onto something that doesn’t exist. 

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper into his mouth. “Anything.”

He whinges at your words, mumbles something to himself, cupping your jaw with his hands. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you roll your eyes, but then his thumb is on your bottom lip, firm and heavy. “This fucking mouth,” he grumbles. 

Your fingers wrap around his cock, big and thick and warm. You run your thumb over his head, smile at the precum pooling there, spreading it around and watching the way his face twitches. You play coy, look at him with your biggest, most innocent doe eyes.  “What about it?”

He rocks on his feet, moves himself ever so slightly through your hand. He either thinks you’re oblivious to it, or he’s completely clueless to his own actions. Either way, it’s hot, and you stroke him that little bit faster. “Wanna feel it,” he says, thumb still on your lip, sinking into your mouth, onto your tongue, pushing you down, down, down onto your knees. 

The floor is cold, but you don’t care, so are his swim trunks. It’s hard, though, like most floors would be, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises by nightfall. You pull his shorts down, dick bouncing out of the waistband, twitching while he steps out of the fabric, kicks it to the side somewhere in the tiny room.

As you look up at him, a myriad of emotions wash over you. This dance is becoming so familiar, and yet, you’re surprised each time by the intensity of it. Even though you’d offered yourself, you find a way to be annoyed at how he uses you like this, turns you into a vessel to vent his stress and frustration. The other part of you, though, is so fucking turned on. Completely and utterly satisfied by the fact that you have this effect on him, that you can make him forget about his troubles, even if just temporarily. 

His eyes meet yours, that same vulnerability still there. It’s a regular sight for other people, to be looked at like this by him. It’s not your normal, though. It’s rare, something that tugs on you, makes you wonder what he’s thinking, desire a level of understanding that goes beyond the physical. 

You push those thoughts aside as quickly as you can, remind yourself that this is all casual. That you and he, this is nothing.

You spit into your hand, stroke it over his cock until it’s hard and wet and just crying for you. Your tongue trails a long stripe, from the base of his shaft to the head, swirling around his most sensitive spot. You’ve found yourself growing annoyingly fond of the noises you can pull from him. It’s a game within a game, pushing the limits to find just how pained you can make him sound. 

His hands run through your hair, slow and smooth, gathering your hair into a soft ponytail. You move a hand to his, push it against your head as if to tell him–fuck me, Charles. Use me. 

“Wait,” he says, and you pull off him with a pop. 

“What?” You probe, irritated that he’s already got something to say. 

“You have to tell me if I hurt you.”

You smirk, bite the inside of your cheek like you’re working through a real head-scratcher, putting on your best sarcastic tone. “And how do you suppose I do that?” 

“I’m serious.”

Your shoulders recoil into a shrug, a laugh helplessly falling from your lips. “So am I.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, visibly apprehensive. This never would have been an issue in January, back when the only thing he did was be openly annoyed by you. No, it’s all different now. He’s got feelings, now, wants to fucking worry about you and care about you. It makes your stomach twist and turn and knot. 

You roll your eyes. This is ridiculous, how many guys out here are stopping a woman from letting them do whatever they fucking want. It can’t be more than him, it can’t. “For fucks… you’ll know if you’re hurting me.”

He nods. “But how… will I know?”

“I don’t know… I’ll punch you in the dick or something.”

He laughs, a direct juxtaposition to his words. “You are not funny.”

You shrug, scowl. “I think I’m pretty funny.”

“I don’t know why you would think this.”

You purse your lips, puff a breath of air out of them, and hold up a single finger, pointing to him. “Fuck you,” you laugh. “I’ll tap the back of your leg,” you explain, demonstrating the gesture. “Is that good enough?”

His hands move through your hair again, fix his carefully crafted ponytail you’d messed up. “Yes. Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, take his dick in your hand again and start stroking. “Can I…?”

He nods. “I’m not stopping you.”

“I mean… “ you mumble against his skin, “you just did but…” and then you take him again, hollowed cheeks and flat tongue. 

“Jesus, you are insufferable,” he remarks, and you laugh around his dick. It makes him shudder. 

You try to focus on the moment, on his fingers gently grazing over your skin, hands guiding your head with a mixture of need and  urgency. You gag around his dick, choking on the thick shaft as it fills your mouth so perfectly. “Putain, fuck, so good,” he groans. You’d smile up at him if you could. 

The ponytail he’d been so proud of was nothing but a knotted mess now, his fingers tangling in search of grip. You hope he forgets it’s you, that it’s anyone. That he fucks into your throat until your couching and gagging and spit drips down your face, tears prick at your eyes. You hope your throat hurts tomorrow, that you lose your voice and gargle salt water and he’s the only person in the world who knows why. You hope you have to tap out on the back of his thigh. 

You come pretty close, the way he uses you like a filthy toy. Everytime you think you’re about to break, he pulls off your mouth, leaves you heaving for air, wiping spit off your face with the back of your hand. He leans down to kiss you once, hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his lips. You hope he tastes himself, knows just how good it is, how content you are with your life’s purpose. 

“Pretty girl,” he says, and you hum against his dick. It’s not often you’re on the receiving end of praise from him. “Take me so good.”

You’ve learned to know when he’s close, exactly how his body reacts when it’s lost all sight of anything but finishing. His pace gets silly, all kinds of unsynchronized and messy. He gets really quiet for a minute, spends all of it fighting with himself before he finally accepts it, and then he’s loud. A mix of nonsensical languages and curses, of groans and hums and remnants of what sounds like it wants to be your name. 

He’s a mess, and then he’s holding your head as close as he can, your nose pressed against the muscles of his abdomen as he bottoms out, drains himself into the back of your throat with a breathy, pained groan. 

You swallow around him greedily, want everything he has to give, all his cum and all his whimpers. He thrusts in and out of your mouth a few more times, and then he’s pulling out completely, hands cupping your face, pulling you up to stand. He kisses you, hard, and you still haven’t caught your breath–neither of you have–but you kiss until you can’t anymore, until your lungs burn to be filled with something that isn’t him. 

His thumbs wipe your face, the spit from your lips and the tears from the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, back arching to lower himself to your height. 

You want to swat his hands away. Clearly, though, this is something he feels he needs to do. “Why?” you chuckle. “That was hot.”

He matches your laugh, but his is laced with uneasy concern as he continues to try to clean up your face, fixing your hair and kissing you again, this time all soft and sure. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” you pant. “You’re into it, though.”

You wonder if he regrets this, if he’s known all along the same way you have that this won’t end well, that it never would. His face mirrors yours, open mouth breathing and heaving chests and a mix of half a dozen emotions. You both know this is how it has to be, that anything more would be too complicated to manage. It stops you from the wonder. You hope it stops him. 

He sticks his head out of the door a few minutes later, after you’d ducked into the stall-sized bathroom and properly fixed yourself, untangled your hair and tied it back securely into a ponytail with the tie from your wrist. 

You laugh at him for it, push him out from behind and tell him to drop the high-schooler act. “Wait here,” he tells you, tries to close the door on you. He doesn’t hear you catch it, doesn’t turn back to see you following him up the stairs from a few steps behind. 

You’d wonder why he doesn’t hear your feet, but, if he’d just done to you what you did to him, your ears would probably still be ringing, all full and overwhelmed. 

“Charles!” Your Mom’s voice carries down the stairs just as his head appears on the second level. “You haven’t seen–” his ears blush bright red, head snapping back to you. Jesus, can we have some subtlety? “Oh,” your Mom laughs when she spots you a couple steps behind him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. Charles can’t look at you, he stares right past. “We were fighting, isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Oh?” She chuckles. 

Charles’ eyes snap to you. He nods. “First rule of fight club, you know.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth before you look back to your Mom. “What did you need, Mama?”

“Just wondering if you want a drink,” she says. 

“Only if you mix it strong,” you say, and your Mom is already setting off back towards the rest of the group on the top level. With silent understanding, you and he both fall back into your respective roles; the arrogant, fearless prick and the spoiled, bratty princess. It’s better this way. It’s better this way. 

“Well,” you chuckle, pat him on the shoulder as you move past him on the stairs. “Aren’t you just a blushing bride?”

The anticipation in the air is palpable, all of you here in Ricky’s parents’ apartment–an added guest this year in sweet little Chiara. You’ve all watched the race here since before Charles could imagine this being his reality, the balcony providing a perfect overlook onto the iconic circuit. The sun bathes the track in golden rays, like even Mother Nature knows that it’s going to be a historic day. 

Excitement crackles like electricity, sparking from person to person, igniting contagious grins and animated chattering. Your heart flutters with a unique blend of nerves and exhilaration, Charles’ undying Monaco optimism seeking into even your most pessimistic veins. 

Antoine sets up his camera on the balcony, is interviewing half of you for Charles’ next YouTube video. You steal glances of your friends the entire time, feeling strangely sentimental about all the love in the room. On the sofa, Marta bounces Chiara on her knee, absentmindedly shakes a rattle in front of the infant, eyes watching the pre-race coverage on the television. Ricky, on the balcony, the first interviewee, beams with pride watching them. The guys all buzz with excitement, half of them glued to the TV, the other half carefully pulling tight the zip-ties on the now infamous banner, anxiously awaiting the start of the race. 

You watch from beside Marta as the national anthem plays. She tickles Chiara’s feet, pulls little giggles from the baby’s lips. Your focus remains on Charles, though, his face on the screen. You don’t know how many laps you’ve seen him drive around this country, how many ups and downs he navigated in this sport, but you know that today feels different. You can see it etched into his features, the fire in his eyes and the resurgence in his confidence since Baku. It’s like he knows today is his day, that nothing can stand in the way, that the sun will shine on him and the champagne will spray. 

The engines roar to life, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You move to the balcony, can’t bear to watch the start from a screen, knowing that it’s one of the most crucial parts of the next seventy-eight laps. Your heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic revving of the cars, and the world around you falls away as you focus on the starting grid. The lights illuminate, they're out, and the race is on. 

Charles makes a picture perfect start, no. It’s better than that, better, because the crowd roars louder than you think you’ve ever heard as he catapults himself past Max and into the lead, and your breath catches in your throat.

He’s in control, navigating every corner and chicane with precision, never once giving into the pressure of the bullet behind him. Max tries, he tries and tries, to close in on Charles, but he holds him, defends his position with skill and tenacity that makes you attracted to a helmet, to the mind it protects. 

With each passing lap, you expect the crowd to die down, but they don’t. You find yourself rallying with your friends, joining into the country-wide chorus of voices and cheers. Every maneuver, ever inch he gains on Max, fills you with excitement and awe. He’s like a force of nature, a breathtaking sight. 

The laps wind down, and his lead over Max grows. You can’t help but let out a joyful whoop. He’s doing it. This is the day he shuts everyone up about the curse. Yesterday is the last day you get to tease him about it. The realization washes over you that he’s going to win at home, and your heart swells with pride.

The final lap approaches, and you hold your breath, moving inside, to watch the screen, to stare like your glare could will him to find an extra tenth. As he takes the checkered flag, a deafening roar erupts, reverberating through the streets. 

Your friends join in a celebration, hugging and cheering as if you’re the ones standing on the podium. Antoine is giddy behind his camera, and you’re sure half the footage will be unusable with shaky hands. 

You found pause in the celebrations to watch him get out of the car, all arms swinging and firsts clenched. He stands on the halo of his car, pointing to the Ferrar emblem on his chest, over his heart. He jumps off and moves to congratulate Esteban, only to be met with a hug from the other driver. Max joins them quickly, strong handshakes and hard pats on the back before any of them are taking their helmets off. 

David Coulthard is waiting for him. Charles makes him wait, gets his bracelets and his watch from Andrea before picking up his microphone. “Charles, congratulations on your stunning victory! How are you feeling right now?” Your fingers find your lips, cover your smile and laugh. Charles has no idea how he feels. 

“Thank you!” He grins, all young and dimpled, purely pure. If you didn’t know better, you’d think a giddy first-grader had just won the biggest race in the world. “I don’t know,” he laughs. “It’s just… wow. I’m on top of the world right now, to be honest.”

He looks so tired and yet so, so full of life. Like the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him up, all sweaty hair and balaclava lines. You want to kiss him, to trail your fingers along every indent in his skin. “You led the race from start to finish, and it was quite a battle with Max. Tell us about your strategy and how you managed to hold that lead.”

“It was definitely not an easy race,” he says, still smiling. You’re shocked he hasn’t lost his English yet, he always does when he gets over excited. “Max is a great driver and I knew he would not make it easy for me. Our strategy was to be aggressive from the start. I tried to manage my tyres. I think it all paid off in the end.”

“Your victory today makes you the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix since Louis Chiron in 1931. How does it feel to be a part of this historic moment?”

“It’s a tremendous honor. Louis is an inspiration to all Monegasque drivers, to follow his footsteps is truly special.”

“Fantastic, thank you, Charles. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you!” He says, holds up a thumbs up as he walks away and winks. Well, he tried to wink. The inability to do so might be the least suave thing about him. 

The screen transitions to the cool-down room, to Max talking Esteban’s ear off, lighting up with a smile when Charles enters. The camera focuses on Charles in the corner, setting his helmet and his towel down on the table in front of his name, drinking an entire water bottle in two gulps, opening another and taking up a conversation with the others. 

Joris snaps a finger in front of your face. “Sorry, what?” You ask, eyes snapping to him.

“I asked if you want champagne?” he chuckles. 

“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

When you look back, they’ve already cut to the empty podium, announcing Esteban’s third place finish to a loud applause. He celebrates like he won the thing, which you admire. Next is Max, who is met with applause, but it's noticeably less than the roar that follows when Charles’ name is announced. 

The room around you is half as loud as the rest of the country, laughing and screaming wild for Charles. Jo and Ricky pop open Champagne bottles on the balcony, send the corks flying to God only knows where, hastily filling up the glasses beside them and passing them out. 

Even from blocks away, where he is just a red dot, where your friends arms are over your shoulder sipping champagne and humming along with the national anthem, you feel a strange connection to him, something beyond the bickering and annoyance. Something beyond the sex, maybe. Something just… something happy, or proud, or just plain soft, maybe. Soft like his smile while he gets drenched in Champagne by the two others on the podium. 

(six hours later) 

Joris’ knowing glances didn’t escape your notice, and it made you uneasy. You wondered if Charles was crass enough, if he has been sharing secrets about your little arrangement. The thought of it sends a shiver down your spin. The idea of anyone glimpsing into the tangled web that is you and Charles now made you feel vulnerable and exposed. 

You sipped your drink, trying to focus on the chatter around you, but your mind just keeps looping back to him. His laughter, his smile. His very presence seems to pull on you, and it doesn’t help that you know he feels the same way, that he has for weeks now. You quickly brush away the thought each time, unwilling to entertain the idea of anything beyond the surface of your friendship. 

“You seem a bit distant tonight,” Jo remarked, voice pulling you back to the present. 

You force a smile, hope he won’t detect the unease that drenches your demeanor. “Just a bit tired, I suppose,” you replied casually, averting his gaze, staring into the bottom of your glass as you spun the clear liquor around. 

He didn’t push further, but the look on his face tells you he sees right through you, makes you feel that much more exposed. You take a deep breath, attempt to steady yourself, but the questions linger like shadows in the back of your mind. 

The night wears on, and Charles wears your eyes, a near constant sightline from you to him. It was easy to steal glances when he looks like that, when his easy charm and infectious laughter draws everyone in. 

You don’t dare confront the truth, not here, not now. It was easier to stay in the safe confines of what you knew, what you’d established, emotions locked away in a heart-shaped locket hung round your neck. 

The party shows no signs of winding down, and you need air. You slip away from the group, out the back door to the curb where all the smokers hide. You found yourself drawn to the quiet of it, where it was just you, your thoughts, and the smell of tobacco. 

With the distant laughter and celebrations faded into the night, you allow yourself to be candid, to admit the truth, if only to yourself. There was a part of you that yearned for something more, a part of you that longed to explore what might be with him. 

But he was right. You are afraid, you are. Afraid of what it means to let your guard down, to open up to the unknown. The vulnerability that comes with the admission is daunting, shit straight from a horror movie, like a trap. You were standing on a cliff, a dangerous precipice that threatened to unravel everything you’d sloppily built. This life is held together with bubblegum and toothpicks, it can’t stand the shake. 

So, as you stood there on the back step, you made a silent promise to yourself. A promise to stay safe, to guard your heart and keep your feelings hidden from him, from everyone. 

You returned to the party, unable to fully shake the weight of what gnawed on you. The cocktail of emotions was overwhelming, and you found solace in the bottom of a glass. Joris egged you on, kept the shots coming, and Marta made it more fun. 

However, as the alcohol flowed freely, your tipsiness quickly spiraled into something more intense. With each drink, your inhibitions crumbled into a reckless pursuit of distraction. Each shot pushed the turmoil down further. 

Marta slowed down first, opting to be cautious on her first “big night out” since having the baby. She could focus on the company and the laughter you feared. Joris started sober, too, tried to keep an eye on you the best he could, but you were determined to lose yourself to the moment. 

The music thumped loudly, and the energy of the party was infectious. You danced with wild abandon, uncaring of the curious glances and amused whispers that followed. The alcohol had stripped back any reservations, leaving behind a version of yourself you barely recognize, all carefree and daring and reckless. 

Jo tried to reason with you, to suggest you call it an early night, but you were having none of it. “I’m fine, really,” you insisted, slurring your words slightly. “Let’s do another shot!”

He reluctantly agreed, but the more you drank, the more erratic your behavior became. You danced with strangers, laughed loud and flirted shamelessly, trying to fill the void with temporary connections. Amidst the sea of bodies, you caught the eye of a handsome stranger. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a mischievous glint in his eye that instantly intrigued you. He moved with confident grace, and you were like a moth to a flame. 

He made his way toward you, playful smirk on his lips. “I couldn’t help but notice you across the room,” he said, voice low and alluring. 

You laughed, feeling the effects of alcohol emboldening you. “Oh, really? And what is it that caught your attention?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear as he mumbled, “Your smile. It’s as captivating as the stars.”

You blushed at his compliment, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. “Smooth talker, huh?” you teased, trying to keep up the playful banter. 

He chuckled, his finger lightly grazing the small of your back. “Only when I’m in the presence of someone this beautiful.”

You grinned, enjoying the flirtatious exchange. “You know how to flatter a girl,” you replied, heart racing at his touch. 

He leaned in even closer, the proximity between you sending sparks flying. “I can be even more convincing,” he said, voice low and seductive. 

You raised an eyebrow, playfully challenging him. “Is that so?”

He smirked, gaze never leaving yours. “Oh, absolutely,” he replied. “But you’ll have to let me prove it.”

A thrill coursed through you as the chemistry between the two of you intensified. You were well aware it was just a fleeting moment, a casual flirtation in the middle of a wild night out. But something about this stranger has ignited a spark in you, and you found yourself tempted to play along. 

The two of you danced together, the electric energy between you creating an intoxicating allure. His hands traced patterns along your waist. You get lost in the moment, in the music, in the touch of a stranger. 

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked, and you laughed. 

“No,” you replied, and abandoned your spot with him before he could protest any further. 

At some point, you stumbled outside for fresh air, feeling the world spin around you. The cool night air did little to sober you up, and instead, it only dueled your recklessness. You leaned against the railing, teetering on the edge between exhilaration and oblivion. 

Joris found you there, concern etched on his face. He calls your name, “Maybe we should call it a night. You’ve had enough.”

But you shook your head defiantly, a stubborn gleam in your eyes. “I’m not done yet,” you slurred. “I want more.”

He sighed like he knew it was pointless to attempt to reason with you like this, made you promise to stay put, told you he was off to get you another drink and he would be right back. 

As he left for your promised drink, you found yourself swaying in your shoes, the world around you still spinning. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gain some composure, but the liquor is taking it’s toll. When the door opened, you opened your eyes again, met with Joris–no drink, but with Charles in tow. 

You laughed. “Hey, Charles,” you slurred, grabbing onto his arm for support. 

He looked down at you, a mix of surprise and annoyance crossing his features. “Are you alright?” he asked, glancing around as if someone would magically appear to care for you. 

You ignored his question. “I want you to dance with me,” you demanded, tugging on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

He frowned, clearly not thrilled by the idea. “You’re drunk. Maybe you should sit down and take it easy,” he suggested, trying to lead you back inside, no doubt in the direction of a chair. 

“No,” you pouted. “I want to dance.” You didn’t care that you looked like a mess, or that your coordination was shot. All you wanted was to forget, to lose yourself in the music and the movement. 

Charles sighed, clearly exasperated, but let you tug him all the way back inside to dance. He keeps a cautious distance, as if he was worried you might fall over at any moment, which, granted. You very well might. You swayed and you twirled, laughing without regard for how ridiculous you looked. 

As the music pulsed through you, you were suddenly stuck with severe guilt. You were angry at yourself for getting so drunk, for losing control like this. You were mad at him, too, annoyed by his incessant need to attempt to care for you, for never just letting you be. And yet, at the same time, you were so drawn to him and his soft eyes, to the concern and frustration and the way he cared about you even when you pushed him away. 

The song changed. Something slower, more sensual. You dance closer to him and he hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do. You laugh, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense with restraint. 

“We shouldn’t…” he started to protest, but you silenced him with a kiss. It was messy and desperate, per usual, fueled by alcohol and unspoken emotions. He hesitates for just a moment before giving in, his hands finding their way to your waist. 

You pulled away breathless, looked up at him all defiant and bratty. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you whisper, and it comes out far more vulnerable than you intended, all squeaky and cracked. “I can handle myself.”

He looked torn, his usual composure slipping momentarily, before reverting to his usual ways.  “Someone fucking has to,” he finally spoke. 

You wanted to protest, to push him away, but the words all get stuck in your throat. Instead, you lean in to kiss him again, fingers tanging into his hair. In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to forget it all, to lose yourself in him and the way he made you feel. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Can’t believe I got your sloppy seconds,” he quips.

“What?”

“The guy who tried to take you home earlier,” he laughed. “Looked like a prick.”

“Oh,” you laughed. “Him.”

“Yeah, you really hit it off with him, didn’t you?” Charles said with a hint of sarcasm. You struggled to read if he was joking or if he was just barely keeping his irritation in check. 

You grinned, words still slurring. “Oh, you’re just jealous.” you shot back at him, leaning closer. 

“Please,” he scoffed. “Like I could ever be jealous of that guy.”

“You’re right,” you laughed, your body pressing against his as you stumbled slightly. “You just won the Monaco Grand Prix.”

The rest of the evening continues in much of the same way, with Charles having to play babysitter to a very drunk–and very handsy–you. He tried to keep his distance, to maintain some semblance of composure, but you made it hard constantly pulling him into your orbit. 

At some point, you find yourselves alone on a sofa, the noise around you fading somewhere far off. You were giggling about something, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know,” you said, “this is all your fault.”

He quirked a brow. “My fault? How do you figure?”

You Smirked, reaching up to play with a strand of his hair. “You’re the one who got me all worked up with that kiss earlier,” you said, voice low and teasing. 

His cheeks burnt bright pink. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, a poor attempt at sounding casual. 

“Oh please, Charles. You know exactly what you’re doing,” you said, voice taking on a more serious tone. “You’re always doing this, pulling me in and then pushing me away.”

“You’re fucking with me, right?” He scoffs, turning his head to face you, knocking your head off his shoulder in the process. “You’re the one doing that.”

You feel a pang of guilt at his words. You know he’s right, that tonight is just the next night of you sending him mixed signals. It’s been going on like this for months, but you don’t know how to stop, how to untangle the mess. “I don’t mean to,” you say softly, defenses dropping for a moment. “It’s just… complicated.”

He nodded. “I know,” he speaks quietly. “It’s just hard. Trying to figure out where we stand.”

You sigh, running your hand through your hair. “I know. I do.” You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging in the air. You wished you could say something, anything, to tell him how you feel, but all the words are stuck. Instead, you reach for his hand, intertwine your fingers and look up at him, big pupils in the dimly lit room. “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” you said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. 

“I don’t either,” he said, his thumb stoking your hand gently. 

The moment is interrupted by Joris, who appears from around the corner out of nowhere, looking half as annoyed as the two of you must. “There you two are,” he said, relief and irritation clouding his words. “It’s time to go,” he says, pointing directly to you. “You’ve had enough.”

You groaned, but you didn’t protest. You lean on Charles the whole walk to Joris’ car. 

As you arrived back at your apartment, he helped you inside and settled you into bed. He tucked you in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Sleep well,” he whispered, voice soft and tender. 

You smile sleepily, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You too,” you murmured. He turns to leave, but before he could go, you grab his wrist, holding it tightly. “Stay,” you said, voice barely audible. 

He hesitates for a moment, you can feel it in the air even with your eyes closed, can feel his heart beating in his wrist. Eventually, though, he gives in, slides into bed beside you. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you nuzzle into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. 

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled, words still pathetically sloshed. 

He chuckles softly, the annoyance in his eyes starting to fade. “Well, I am always warm,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood, to ease the awkwardness. 

You giggled, snuggling even closer to him. “You’re my human heater,” you said, voice filled with affection. 

As the minutes passed, you started to drift off to sleep, your breathing becoming slow and steady. You could see the struggle in his eyes as your lids grew heavier, the depth of care for you he tried so hard to hide. 

When you wake up in the middle of the night, hints of a sunrise beginning to push through the curtains, you find him still awake. He looked lost in thought, afraid, almost. Desperately, you wanted to reach out, to ask him what was wrong, but feared pushing him away more than anything. 

You settle against his chest, listen to the sound of his heart beating against your ear, feel yours match it. Finally, exhaustion catches up to him, his body relaxing as he drifts off to sleep. As you lay there, you can’t help your tired mind and it’s delusions of a future where you don’t have to hide your feelings, where you can be together openly and honestly, and then you’re falling back asleep yourself.

[sports-on-sundays]

hi hi hi!

i was wondering if i could request something where reader is arthur's best friend and he introduces her to charles. but then charles falls in love with reader first while reader has a partner and he confesses to her but she tells him she can't. and then a while later reader breaks up with her bf and charles shoots his shot again and she agrees to go out with him?

thank you sm 🫂

taken / CL16

Summary: Charles x female!reader - Your best friend's brother just so happens to have a thing for you. You just so happen to have a boyfriend.

Requested?: Indeed.

Author's Note: Did you read my mind? I was just thinking of an idea very similar to this one!

You're a little nervous to enter the Leclerc household. Not because you think they won't be just the sweetest people you've ever met- you're sure they will be, considering how Arthur turned out. No, you were just a little nervous to meet his older brothers. Particularly Charles.

You aren't even sure why. Maybe just because of his extreme fame. But Arthur is famous too... He races in F2.

But Arthur invited you to dinner with his family, saying his mother and brothers wanted to meet you, from all the good things he always said about you.

You had grinned and teased, "What sort of things do you say about me?"

And he had teased back, giving a playful smile, "I said you make the best fruit salad. That got them interested."

Now you sit in the passenger's seat of his car, a bowl of fruit salad sitting in your lap. Arthur pulls up to his house. "How you feeling?" he asks, shooting you a grin.

"Never better. Come on- I can't wait to meet your brothers."

"Aw, never mind my brothers! It should be my mother you're excited to meet!" He gets out of the car, and you follow, falling in step with him as you walk up to the house.

As you're halfway up the walk, the door opens, and Pascale Leclerc opens the door. "Bonjour Arthur et Y/n!"

You respectfully smile and respond back in French, "It's a pleasure to meet you!" You shake hands, and she holds the door for you and her youngest son.

"The other two are making a mess in the living room. I'm working on dinner. Why don't you join them?"

"Merci," Arthur smiles, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek, before leading you to the living room.

And there they are. Charles and Lorenzo Leclerc, lounging on the sofa. Both of them look away from the television when you enter with Arthur, and their faces brighten.

Charles stands up and shakes your hand. Lorenzo follows, doing the same thing. "Nice to meet you, Y/n," Charles chuckles, "Arthur has said so much about you."

"Oh, really? Other than my professional fruit salad making?"

Arthur cracks up as the elder Leclerc brothers give confused smiles. Arthur explains, "I never actually told them about your fruit salad-!"

"You liar!" you snap, giving him a playful shove.

Then the four of you settle down, and Lorenzo says, "So... You've ought to tell us about the fruit salad, then."

You shrug, your nervousness already dissipating. There's something about all three of these guys- they're just so natural, so sweet. "It's nothing much. Arthur just really likes this fruit salad I make." You roll your eyes.

"Really? Maybe we'll have to try it sometime," Charles smiles.

"I brought some for our dinner tonight!" you grin, meeting the man's eyes, which are nearly the same color as Arthur's- at least in this lighting.

"Oh, good," he nods.

The conversation continues like this for the rest of the night, and dinner is sweet. As the night goes on, your heart grows fonder and fonder of Arthur's family, just as it did when you first met Arthur himself.

Before you're about to leave, you ask awkwardly, "Oh! Uh, Charles, I was wondering..." The F1 driver looks up. "If I could, you know, get a picture with you. You know, so that once you become a world champion I have proof I met you." You are fully aware of how stupid this reason is, and are just avoiding the fact that you're totally the biggest Ferrari fan around.

Charles, laughs at this and starts to say, "Sure, we can-"

But his mother interrupts, "Come on, now. Charles isn't so special. Let me take a picture of the four of you. Give me your phone, honey." You hand your phone to her gratefully, and you stand for a picture, between Arthur and Charles, with Lorenzo on the other side of Charles. You feel Arthur's arm over your shoulders, and Charles' hand gently on your lower back.

After taking a few pictures, she hands your phone back, and you thank them, saying with a laugh, "Sorry if that made it awkward!"

Lorenzo says, "We don't mind," at the same time as Charles saying, "I'm used to it," at the same time as Arthur saying, "Yeah, Y/n, you made it super awkward."

The whole ride home in Arthur's car, you babble to him about his family and how sweet they are and this and that and the other thing. You find yourself especially mentioning Charles' name, though.

Arthur just listens as he drives, every so often putting in his two cents. When you make it to your house and he drops you off, you wave and get out. For the rest of the night, you can't stop thinking about the Leclerc's.

For the next six or seven months, Arthur invites you over a few more times. On this night, you're staying the night, because your house is having renovations on it. And probably because Arthur wanted some stupid slumber party or something, but was too cool to say it, as a grown adult man in his twenties. But facing it, Arthur totally has the heart of a stupid baby.

You could have just stayed in your home, but Pascale invited you over as soon as Arthur apparently mentioned to her that it was tough for you because of all the renovations.

Your boyfriend wasn't available to help you out because he had an accident about a workweek ago and has been in the hospital since. He's going to have to undergo surgery for a fracture. It hurts you to have to be away from him, but you have responsibilities, and have been staying with him, getting nearly no sleep, for the past four days. You boyfriend understood and even pushed you to let yourself go home, assuring you he'd be fine.

The whole Leclerc family has been warming up to you, but especially Charles, it seems. He often gives you nice comments on your looks and praise on your sweet personality.

Now you sit on Arthur's bed in his mother's house, on your phone. He's just gone to take a shower, leaving you by yourself. You believe that the only other person home is Pascale, who you assume is in bed by now.

You feel a shiver at the cold air conditioning, so you slip off Arthur's bed and walk to the corner of the room, grabbing a hoodie hanging on a hook, assuming it's Arthur's and knowing he wouldn't mind you wearing it. You pull it over, instantly feeling warmer as the soft cloth rubs against your cold arms and the scent of men's cologne fills your nose. It's a little big on you, so feels like a warm cozy blanket, almost.

At the growl of your stomach, you quietly slip out of Arthur's room, figuring you'll go unnoticed and be back on Arthur's bed before he ever knew you left his room. You head to the kitchen on soft feet. I'll just grab a little something from the fridge. You gently push open the door to the kitchen, but stop dead in your tracks when your eyes settle on the man standing in the kitchen. Charles looks up from the eggs he's making on the stove, and your eyes meet.

"Oh... Hey, Charles," you smile softly, awkwardly stepping into the kitchen. "Why are you here...?" You don't think before you ask that question.

He chuckles. "I'm sorry. Why are you here?" But the smile on his face is sweet. "Arthur mentioned you were staying over for the night offhandedly. I figured maybe I'd drop by."

You nod slowly, feeling a little awkward.

There's a soft smile on Charles' face as he looks down at the food he's making. You watch as he transfers his eggs onto a plate. "You look cute in my hoodie, by the way. Where'd you find it? I've been looking for that one all over; I swear."

"Oh, God," You can't help but feel embarrassed. "It was in Arthur's room- I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'll take it off n-"

"No, it's fine," Charles says quickly. "I haven't seen that hoodie in months. Not sure why it was in Arthur's room, but I don't mind. In fact, you can keep it if you want..."

"Oh, well, I don't know about that, but..." You trail off, not exactly sure what you were going to say next anyway. You glance to the refrigerator as you feel another pang of hunger in your stomach.

Charles seems to notice this and says, "Want some of my eggs? Here, I'll split them in half." He grabs a plate.

"Well I wouldn't want to take your food," you quickly say. "You made that for yourself."

But Charles shrugs, handing you the plate. "I made myself too much anyway. This will be enough." He leans against the kitchen counter and starts eating, so you shrug and stand next to him, starting to eat your own food.

"Thanks, Charles. This is good." It's really not good. Kind of bland and the texture is weird, but you don't complain. You're just happy he's feeding you.

"You're welcome," he says softly, staring out. His eyes are glazed over as if there's something bugging him. You're about to ask about it when he suddenly turns to you, that look gone from his eyes and replaced with a much brighter one. "Hey, Y/n." He speaks in an overly casual tone, and a little quickly. "I know you've probably figured this out by now, but I was just wondering-" He hesitates, and finished with a little smile, "Next Wednesday night, are you available? Sorry it's a random day- my upcoming week is pretty full, but..." He trails off, apparently deciding he's rambling too much now, and just looks at your face, waiting for an answer.

Only now do you realize how close his face is to yours. Only now do you see his constant sweet comments were more like flirting. Only now you notice the look in his eyes is less like the one of an older brother, and more like the one of a man who's interested. This shocks you. While of course you can't deny he's extremely handsome, and while of course you can't deny you're kind of a huge fan of his, and while of course you can't deny he has one of the sweetest personalities ever, it's never honestly really crossed your mind at all that he could like you in a way like that. And you know why this is. If you didn't have a boyfriend, you're sure you'd already have a huge crush on Charles by now. It would be a classic 'being into your best friend's hot older brother'.

But you feel so such feelings now. You swallow, meeting his glimmering eyes. "Are you asking me out?" You just want to be sure.

His face brightens, his little dimples showing with his smile. He nods. "Exactly."

You blink and look down. You carefully choose your words: "I'm very flattered, Charles. Thank you. I'm afraid I'll have to say no- You must not know that I already have a boyfriend."

Charles looks over and opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly the need wells up within you to quickly add, "I mean the reason why I'm not staying with my boyfriend tonight while so many of the rooms in my house are getting renovated is only because he's in the hospital right now so regularly I'd be doing that but you know he's gone so I was gonna just stay in my half-done flat but then Arthur and your mum suggested-"

Suddenly Charles very gently cuts off your anxious rambling, placing a hand on your arm, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Y/n. Sounds like... a lot's just kind of coming done on you, huh? I've been there. I... I'm sorry for bringing that up... you know, asking you out and all. I had no idea; I swear." He genuinely looks like he does feel bad for it.

"Oh, it's okay, Charles..." Your eyes meet his, and you can't help but realize how much of a sweetie he really is. "Thanks... It's fine. You didn't know. I just- yeah. Thanks for understanding. You probably know how it is- sometimes in hard times it's nice to just have a few people that have got your back." You hesitate, before finishing in nearly a whisper, "Honestly, Charles, you and your family feel like... You're all so dear to me. You're starting to feel more like home than my own family." Your own family who don't have your back right now, while the Leclerc's do.

He smiles and gently gives you probably the softest hug you've ever received. It's short, and he pulls away quickly, saying with a soft smile, "I should have assumed you have a boyfriend already. I can't imagine a woman as beautiful as you not." He winks.

You smile softly, staring at the kitchen floor. There was something about that hug... Just so needed. It was so comforting. Arthur is good at comforting too, but in a different way. He's not a hug type of guy. He just jokes and distracts and keeps your mind off your troubles. You weren't expecting such a sweet hug from Charles just now.

You chuckle and look back up to meet his eyes. "You are not smooth, you know," you tease, although in all honesty, he kind of is.

"Alright," he nods, clearly enjoying a little bit of teasing, "you keep telling yourself that."

Then Arthur comes in, saying, "Y/n, there you are! Let's go to my room; I'm done showering. I have some funny sh*t to show you."

You walk away with Arthur, but can't help but glance back at at Charles. He attempts at another wink, but ends up pretty much just blinking. You chuckle to yourself.

"What?" Arthur asks.

"Oh, nothing. Just your brother."

About three months later, Arthur stands up from the sofa in Charles flat when his phone starts ringing. "I've got to take this," Charles' younger brother comments, walking out of the room. He shuts the door to the hallway behind him. Charles really doesn't care and is about to take out his own phone and start scrolling, but his ears perk up when he hears his brother say, "Hey, Y/n. What's good?"

Charles knows he shouldn't, but can't help himself from listening to Arthur's half of your phone conversation, which is: "I'm good. Any reason you called?... What is it?... Oh, I'm sorry, Y/n. How are you taking it?... Oh? Why?... That's good, Y/n. The last thing you need is a broken heart, huh? Then I'd have to fix it up for you... No, I didn't mean it like that!" Arthur laughs. "...So, how's it feel to be a single woman again?" Charles' eyes stare at the door, his heart involuntarily beating faster. "...No, no, Y/n! That's not what I meant! Gosh, why do all the things I say sound so obnoxiously flirtatious? I'm not even trying to sound like that... Oh, yeah, I don't... Okay, hah... Oh, I'm just hanging out with Charles... No, no, he didn't. I'm out of the room. I know sometimes you have personal things to say... Why do you sound disappointed?... Oh, right, sorry... Alright, bye bye, Y/n... Bye." As soon as Charles hears the phone beep and the doorknob to the room starts to turn open again, he stares down back at his phone, trying to calm his nerves as best he can. He'd feel terribly bad if he knew Arthur had known he was eavesdropping.

"Who was it?" Charles asks, trying to sound as natural as possible, at the same time as trying not to sound obnoxious or nosy.

"Oh, just Y/n," Arthur says, and quickly moves on with another topic of conversation. But the whole time, Charles can't stop thinking about you.

There was no way you weren't going to be going to Abu Dhabi with the Leclerc boys. So here you are, Sunday race day, on the paddock for the last F1 race of the season.

Suddenly, though, you feel a distinct touch on your arm, different from all the other people bumping into you from around. You turn to that direction and fix your eyes on Charles Leclerc.

Oh God. Why is your heart suddenly racing like this? It's been about three months since cutting it off with your now ex-boyfriend, and pretty much the day after that, a little seed of liking for Charles that you had been keeping from nourishing for all this time sprouted.

It's like it's been an underlying feeling you've had for... Well, probably over a year now. And even before that, you certainly had a little fangirl crush on him; no doubt about that one.

His hair, which is in need of a little trim you think (not seriously bad) is slightly messed up, and he has the sweetest little shine in his honestly quite lovely eyes. He's recently shaved, and his little dimples are so defined right now in the outdoor light of the late afternoon. You can't help but notice how his defined jawline turns into his strong neck, and how broad and strong his shoulders are. And on top of it all his tight fireproof defines his pecs so clearly you-

God, why are you checking Charles out like this?

"Y/n?" Charles asks, "Did you hear me?" Apparently, you'd been so taken away by his appearance (which is literally how he looks pretty much every race weekend...?) that you hadn't even heard him the first time.

You blush. "Oh, right, sorry. Yes?"

His lip twitches, and he seems to study you now, before leaning close and saying as soft as possible while still having you hear, "I was wondering... When we get back to Monaco, could I take you out to eat? It's just that I heard you broke up with-"

"Yes," you blurt, and kind of want to slap yourself. Just a little bit.

But his face lights up at your seemingly extreme willingness. "Really? So do you feel the same way?"

"Well," you put a teasing smile on, "I'd have to know how you feel about me first before answering that."

"You know..."

"Then say it."

"Well, I have feelings for you."

"Well, then maybe I have feelings for you, too." Your heart is pounding.

"So that means you'd like to go out to eat with me?"

You smirk softly. "I guess it does."

You open your door, wearing your best. Charles insisted on bringing you to a very nice, expensive place. You weren't so sure- that's not quite your type of environment- but agreed to it.

And, well, he looks amazing.

He wears a fitting black tuxedo, dress shoes, and a lovely smile on his face. Lovely dimples.

But he says, "Oh my God, Y/n." Intense feelings briefly flash in his eyes. "That dress... those shoes... your makeup... your hair. You look... gorgeous."

"Oh, stop," you murmur, smiling softly, looking away.

"Well, then, princess," he takes your hand in his, gently in his and kisses it, before walking to his Ferrari with you, still holding your hand. Despite how cheesy and cliché this really is, you can't help but be charmed.

He opens the car door for you and you get in. He shuts it and when he starts driving, takes your hand in his again. "Y/n," he says softly, "I'm going to make this the best date you've ever experienced and treat you like the princess you are."

[pitinthelanepages]

La Route Vers Toi

summary: moments where charles leclerc found himself having questionable feelings for his best friend, you, since he was seventeen.

pairing: charles leclerc x best friend! reader

word count: 4.5k

genre: romance, angst, drama

a/n: please be aware that this piece of writing mentions death but it isn't the focus of the story. it is mentioned to show how the characters deal with loss and the grief and sadness that comes with it. if it's upsetting to you. i advise you not to read it. thank you!

gif credit to @countingstars-17

Charles was seventeen when he had realised something was awfully wrong with him. It was a Friday night, and he was sitting on the couch with his best friend, you, watching a low-budget Christmas movie. The main reason to do that was so that both of you could point out the mistakes and get a good laugh out of it. Just like how you did once in a while when you finally had free time.

However, on that particular night, his eyes kept wandering to you, who was sitting next to him with your legs tucked under you. He couldn't help but notice the way your long lashes brushed against your cheek when you laughed, or the way your full lips curled up in a smile.

It was then that he realised he had been feeling this way for a while. He had always thought you were beautiful, which, of course he would think because you were his best friend. He couldn’t just think you are not beautiful but now he found himself drawn to you in a way that he couldn't explain and now, it’s not out of the reason that you were his best friend. He just didn’t know what that meant, not yet.

He couldn't stop noticing the small things about you, like the way your jet black hair fell in soft waves around your face or the way you absentmindedly twirled a strand of hair around your finger.

As the movie continued, Charles found himself growing more and more restless. Instead of pointing at the screen of the TV before him and bursting out in laughter before saying something awfully mean about the movie, he went still, as if he was frozen. 

He tried to focus on the movie and ignore the flutter of his stomach when you placed a hand on his arm, but it was impossible. He found himself studying your hand instead, how it’s so much smaller than his. How it would fit perfectly in his-

A hand appeared in front of his eyes before he heard the fingers snap. “Charles? Are you even listening?” you asked, a frown taking over your features.

Charles snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at you. "Uh, sorry. What were you saying?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I said this is so bad it's good," you said with a chuckle, pointing at the screen.

"I can't believe they even made this," Charles replied, shaking his head in amusement but also relieved that he could finally distract himself from thinking about you.

"Look at that CGI," you pointed out as the poorly rendered reindeer flew across the screen. "It's like they didn't even try."

Charles snickered. "And the acting! It's like they picked up random people off the street and put them in the movie."

You couldn't help but giggle at his comment. "I bet we could do a better job than this."

"Definitely," Charles agreed, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We should make our own Christmas movie."

You couldn't help but grin at the idea. "With reindeer that actually look like reindeer?"

"And actors who can actually act," Charles added with a chuckle.

At one point, you paused the movie and got up to make some popcorn. Charles watched you as you moved around the kitchen, admiring the way you moved with such grace and ease.

When you returned with a bowl of popcorn, you plopped down on the couch next to him and resumed the movie.

As the movie went on, the jokes and laughter continued. Charles found himself feeling more and more comfortable in your presence, like he could truly be himself around you. He couldn't help but think about how lucky he was to have you in his life, as both his best friend and someone he was starting to feel more for.

Finally, the movie ended, and both of you collapsed on the couch in exhaustion from laughing so hard. Charles turned to you, a wide smile on his face.

"That was so bad," he said, shaking his head.

"I know, right? I can't believe we actually watched that," you replied, giggling.

Charles leaned in a little closer, feeling a rush of courage. "You know what wasn't bad though?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours.

"What?" you asked, looking at him with a quizzical expression.

"This. Just hanging out with you. It's always the best part of my tiring weeks of training," he said, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

You smiled at him, and for a moment, Charles thought he saw something more in your expression. But before he could fully process it, you leaned in and gave him a warm hug.

"I feel the same way, Charles. You're the best friend I could ever ask for," you said, squeezing him tightly.

Charles felt a pang of disappointment, his face falling. But he pushed it aside, what mattered is having you beside him for now. The two of you stayed on the couch for a while longer, talking and laughing until the late hours of the night.

Charles was nineteen when he had lost the most important person in his life, his idol, his father. The world had come crashing down on him, leaving him in a sea of grief and sadness. It was as if someone had pulled the rug from under his feet, leaving him stumbling in the dark.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, but the pain never went away. To the world, he was a strong young boy who had won the Formula 2 race in Baku just four days after his father’s demise. However, the grief had become a part of him, a constant companion that he couldn't shake off. Everywhere he went, he saw reminders of his father. The sound of a car engine, the smell of gasoline, the sight of a racing track, all brought back memories of the times they had spent together.

Charles sat on his balcony, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline. The sun had just set, casting a golden glow across the city. He didn't move, didn't speak. He just sat there, lost in his thoughts.

As you approached him, you could see the sadness etched on his face. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he turned to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to be so distant."

You shook your head. "It's okay," you said, taking a seat beside him. "You don't have to apologise."

Charles sighed deeply, and you could feel the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "It's just...it's hard, you know? Losing someone you love."

You nodded, knowing that there were no words that could ease his pain. "I know. But you're not alone, Charles. I'm here for you."

He looked at you then, his eyes searching for something. "Thank you," he said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. "You don't have to do anything alone. That's what friends are for."

Charles leaned his head back, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath. "I know," he said. "It's just...sometimes it feels like the weight of the world is on my shoulders."

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. "You don't have to carry that weight alone, Charles. I'm here for you, always."

He looked at you then, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you," he said again, his voice choked with emotion.

You sat there with him, the two of you watching the city lights twinkling in the distance. You knew that you couldn't take away his pain, but you could be there for him. And in that moment, that was enough.

In those dark moments, when Charles felt like he had no one left to support him, you were there. As his best friend, you stood by him through thick and thin, offering a shoulder to cry on and a listening ear whenever he needed it. You never judged him for his tears or his anger, but rather held him close and whispered words of comfort and encouragement.

It was in those moments that Charles realised just how important you were to him. You were his rock, his safe haven, his confidante. Without you, he didn't know how he would have made it through those dark days. You gave him hope and reminded him that he was not alone.

Charles is twenty-five years old and things aren't exactly going his way. Actually, things are only going downhill. The 2022 Formula 1 season started off well for him, but lately, everything seems to be going wrong. His car has been malfunctioning, and he's had to retire early from the last few races. His team wasn’t exactly the best at their job, in fact, they were nowhere near descent and his confidence is at an all-time low.

Adding insult to injury, his girlfriend recently broke up with him. They had been dating for a while, and Charles thought things were going well. But then things somehow didn’t work out for them. They were adults with two very different lives and priorities after all but Charles couldn’t help but be devastated. It’s like the world was punishing him for some godforsaken sin he had committed without knowing. 

He's been feeling lost and alone, with no one to turn to. You have been busy with your own life and job, and he doesn't want to burden you with his problems. But as he sits on his couch, staring blankly at the wall, he can't help but feel like he needs someone to talk to.

Just then, his phone buzzes. It's a text from you. "Hey, how are you doing?"

Charles hesitates for a moment before typing back, "Not great, to be honest. Can we talk?"

You reply immediately, "Of course. I'll be there in 20 minutes, let me finish this meeting."

And you do keep your word. You arrive at his apartment in about thirty minutes, the apartment door opening to reveal a Charles who has lost the glow of his face. You can sense the pain through his eyes. 

"Hey, what's going on?" You ask, concern evident on your face as you frown.

Charles takes a deep breath before starting to speak. "My season's going terribly. My car's malfunctioning, I keep crashing, and my girlfriend just broke up with me. I don't know what to do," he shrugs, doing a terrible job at playing nonchalant because you know him too well and can see through his facade before anyone else.

You nod, sighing. "I'm sorry, Charles. That must be a lot to handle." 

"I just feel so lost," Charles says, his voice cracking. "I thought things were going well, but now it feels like everything's falling apart."

Honestly you have a lot to say but Charles doesn’t seem to be in the mood to take advice so you place a hand on his shoulder, knowing what he needs at the moment is comfort. "I know it's tough, and what I am about to say is gonna sound toxic but you can't give up. You're a talented driver, and more than that, you have worked too hard to be where you are right now, Charles. You know I have witnessed you going through it all, don’t you?"

"But it feels like nothing's going my way," Charles says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so tired of all of this."

You look at him with concern. "Have you talked to anyone on your team? Maybe they can help you with your car."

Charles shakes his head. "I don't want to seem like I'm not capable of handling things on my own. Plus, they are the last people I would wanna talk to right now knowing how they’ve been recently." He mumbles, his head on his palm. 

"Charles, you don't have to do everything on your own," You say firmly. "It's okay to ask for help when you need it. You have people who care about you and want to see you succeed."

Charles looks at you, his face softening. "What would I do without you?"

You smile at him. "You don't have to worry about that. I'll always be here for you, no matter what."

Both of you sit there in silence for a few moments, with your arm around Charles' shoulder. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Finally, Charles speaks up again. "I'm sorry for burdening you with all of this. You have your own life and your own problems."

You sigh, here he goes again. “Charles, please. Why do you have to make things awkward by saying these, huh? I’m your best friend for a reason. Stop saying sorry,” You huff, looking annoyed to which he chuckles, his voice resonating in the living room of his quiet apartment. 

“There you go.” You say, smiling as you poke at one of his dimples. “Here is the actual Charles who is back.”

Charles rolls his eyes before pushing you by the shoulders, playfully. “You’re so cheesy, eww.”

Later that night, Charles lies in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with thoughts. The conversation with you had helped him feel better, but it had also brought up some confusing feelings.

He has always known that he cares about you deeply. You have been best friends since forever, and you have been there for him through his good and bad times. But now, he wonders if there could be something more than just friendship between you two.

As he lies there, he can't help but wonder if you ever thought of this possibility. He has never been good at reading people, but he has always thought that there is something more between you two.

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. This is not the time to be thinking about this. He has enough on his plate as it is.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the feeling that something has changed. He can't stop thinking about the way you had looked at him earlier, the concern evident in your eyes. He can't help but wonder if there is something more behind that concern.

He sighs, turning over onto his side. He knows he should talk to you about this, but he is scared of ruining the friendship you two have built over the years. He doesn't want to risk losing you, but at the same time, he can't keep these feelings bottled up inside forever.

As he drifts off to sleep, his mind still filled with thoughts of you, he knows that he will have to confront his feelings sooner or later. But for now, he will try to push them aside and focus on getting his life back on track.

Charles is sitting on his couch, lost in thought, when he hears a knock at his door. It's late, and he isn't expecting anyone, but he gets up to answer it anyway. As he opens the door, he sees you standing there, completely drenched from the rain, tears streaming down your face.

Despite the tears streaming down your face, Charles can't help but notice how beautiful you look in that moment. The rain has matted your hair to your face, your nose and lips are red and swollen. The vulnerability in your eyes makes his heart ache, and he wishes he could do something to take the pain away. He doesn’t remember the last time he has seen you like this before, so raw and exposed, and it makes him want to wrap his arms around you and hold you close.

Without a word, he pulls you inside and closes the door behind you. You collapse onto his couch, still crying, and Charles sits down next to you, unsure of what to say.

"Hey, it's okay," he says, brows pinched together in concern, placing a hand on your shoulder. "What happened? Why are you crying?"

You take a deep breath before answering. "It's him," you say, your voice shaking. "He's left me for another girl. I don't know what to do."

Charles feels a pang of anger and sadness for you. He knows how much you care for this guy and how much you have invested in the relationship. But he also knows that he hasn't been the best friend to you lately, too wrapped up in his own problems to notice yours.

"I'm so sorry," he says, squeezing your shoulder. "That's terrible. Do you want to talk about it?"

You nod, wiping away tears. "I just don't understand how he could do this to me. We were so good together. And now he's just gone, with someone else."

Charles listens as you talk, offering comfort and support where he can. As you speak, he realises how much he has taken you for granted as a friend. He has always known that you are there for him, but he has never fully appreciated just how much you have given to him.

He stares at you, noticing yet again how even with tears streaming down your face and your clothes drenched from the rain, you still look so breathtakingly beautiful. 

"I'm sorry," he interrupts you, voice laced with guilt. "I should have been there for you more. I've been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I haven't been a good friend to you. And that's not fair."

You look up at him, surprised by his words. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it," Charles says, looking you in the eye. "I should have been there for you more. You've always been there for me, and I haven't done the same for you. And I'm sorry."

Tears well up in your eyes again.. "Thank you," you say, leaning into him for a hug. "I don’t think that’s true but saying that means a lot to me."

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you close. In that moment, he realises that he doesn't just care about you as a friend. He cares about you as something more, something deeper. And as he holds you, he wonders if he will ever muster up the courage to tell you about it.

But for now, he will focus on being the friend you need. Because that's what you deserve, and that's what he should have been all along.

Charles doesn't know how to react when he finds his phone buzzing at the odd hour of 3 am. He rubs his eyes and squints at the caller ID. It’s you. He can’t help but frown. You have always been the more responsible one out of you two. What could have caused you to call him this late at night?

"Hello? Are you okay?" Charles asks, his voice deep and hoarse from sleep.

"Chaarlessss!" You slur into the phone. "Dude, I am at this stupid club… and I have no idea where the exit is," you giggle into the phone as if it’s something funny.

Charles’ brows pinch together in concern, his heart sinking at the sound of your voice. He can tell from the background noise that you are drunk at a club and making little sense.

"Okay, turn on your location so I can come find you," he says patiently, trying not to sound disappointed. How down bad did you have to be for a man to react like this? He can’t help but let the wave of sadness wash over him. You must’ve liked the guy a lot.

You do as you are told, and Charles quickly gets dressed and heads out to the club. When he arrives, he can hear the thumping bass from outside. He soon finds you sitting slumped against a wall, looking lost and dishevelled. And yet at a time like this, he can’t help but notice how pretty you look, even in your current state. Your hair is a mess, but your eyes glimmer in the dim light of the club.

"Hey," he whispers, gaze softening, kneeling down next to you. "Let's get you out of here."

He helps you up and leads you out of the club, shielding you from the flashing lights and thumping music. He carries you in his arms at one point to settle you into the passenger’s seat safely, and gets into his Ferrari before speeding back to his apartment.

You are still talking nonsensically, but Charles tries to listen only to fail because he can’t understand a single word coming out of your mouth. His chest feels tight at witnessing the person who usually gave him words of encouragement and strength, being a mess herself.

Once he arrives outside his apartment, he turns to find your eyes barely open. "Hey," he says, nudging you gently. "You alright?"

You mumble something incoherent again as your eyes are unfocused. Charles sighs, realising he has to carry you again.

"Come on," he whispers, crouching down beside you. "Let's get you to bed."

You don’t seem to have the energy to protest as Charles carefully lifts you into his arms. He can feel the weight of your body against his chest, and he adjusts his grip to make sure you are comfortable. He walks to his apartment with calculated steps and then to his bedroom, being careful not to jostle you too much. You lean against his chest, your head lolling to the side during the process of him carrying you.

Once he arrives in his bedroom, he carefully sets you down on the edge of the bed as he kneels down in front of you before gently beginning to remove your shoes, one at a time. He can see that you are struggling to keep your eyes open, and he knows that you could fall asleep any moment.

With your shoes off, Charles stands up to run his fingers through your hair in an attempt to untangle the mess. He has known you for long enough to know you are a control freak who would hate waking up with tangled hair, and he wants to make sure you are comfortable. He can feel the softness of your hair against his fingers as he gently brushes through the knots.

Finally, when your hair is smooth and soft, Charles gently guides you back onto the bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. You look up at him with bleary eyes, a small smile on your face.

"Thanks." you hum, before your eyes close.

As he is about to leave, he feels a hand wrap around his wrist. He turns to find you looking up at him, a sad smile playing on your lips as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

"He told me I have been in love with you and not with him, that I don't know," you mumble, your words slurring together.

Charles's heart skips a beat as he stares at you, frozen in disbelief. He has always suspected that his feelings for you ran deeper than just friendship, but he has never allowed himself to entertain the thought that you might feel the same way about him.

"What?" he whispers, leaning in closer to hear you better.

Your eyes turn glassy with tears as you shake your head slightly. "Do you know how mad I was? I was more mad than upset because I knew he was right the moment he said those words. Him leaving me for another woman feels deserving," you say, your voice filled with emotion.

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly, reaching out to wipe away your tears with his thumb. "You don't have to worry about him anymore. You're here, with me."

You look up at him, your eyes shining in the dim light of the room. You reach out and touch his cheek, your fingers warm against his skin.

"I know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I'm glad I am."

A warm sensation spreads through his chest. He can’t believe that this moment is finally happening, and he wants to savour every second of it.

"Me too," he whispers, kneeling down before he runs his hand through your hair gently. He contemplates for a moment as he stares at your long lashes to your plump lips, wondering if he should kiss you or not.

“What?” you frown, pouting your lips in the process. “I know what you’re thinking. What’s stopping you?”

He smirks, amused at your growing confidence. “That you’re drunk…? And that, you might not remem-”

“Shhh. I am drunk enough to confess but not drunk enough to forget all of this by tomorrow. This is done purposefully for a reason,” you place a finger on his lips while winking at him. 

He gasps, “Oh wow! Amazing! Elaborate what that means or you’re not getting the kiss.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so annoying. What I mean is that I knew I would never have the courage to confess to you unless I am drunk but not blackout drunk so that I’d forget everything by the time I wake up. Happy? Or do you want me to say I love you again?”.

Without hesitation, Charles takes your face in his hands and leans in to kiss you. His lips soft and tender against yours. He can feel you responding eagerly to his kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

Your tongues tangle as his hands slide down to your waist, pulling your body against his. He can feel your curves press against him, and he savours the sensation of your warmth and softness.

As you kiss, Charles can’t help but feel like he is finally where he belongs. He has spent so many years pining for you withouting even knowing, hoping and praying that you would one day see him the way he sees you. And now that you have, Charles feels like he is on top of the world.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, and he feels you moan softly in response. The sound sends shivers down his spine, and he knows that he never wants this moment to end.

But eventually, you pull away, your breaths coming in short gasps. Charles gazes down at you, his eyes sparkling with love and desire.

"I never want to let you go," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion.

You smile up at him, eyes crinkling to signal how happy you are. "You don't have to," you reply, your hands still resting on his shoulders.

Charles leans down to kiss you again, his lips tracing a path down your neck as feels you shudder. You have waited so long for this moment, and now that it is here, Charles knows that he is never going to let it slip away.

[foggieststars]

hear me out. sebchal family friends fic with uni student charles. seb is friends with charles’ mother maybe? even better if the age gap is more rancid than usual. they fuck in charles’ childhood bedroom during the christmas party when they’re drunk on wine. and of course the whole mentor mentee thing they have going on.

When Charles takes him by the wrist, Seb doesn't even think to ask where he's being led. The music is too loud, and the wine's gone to his head, and the way Charles winks at him sends something spinning through his bloodstream.

"Charles, where are you going?" Pascale calls from the doorway. "It is nearly time for cutting the cake."

"Yes, maman," Charles calls back, fingers tightening around Seb's wrist. "I am just giving Seb his present. It will only take a moment." He pronounces Seb the same way he has since he was 14, when Sebastian first met Charles, the second son of his thesis advisor. Seb-uh. Soft, French, exaggerated.

Pascale opens her mouth to argue, when one of the many children in attendance lets out a loud shriek from the living room. It's followed by a terrible crash, and she disappears in a whirl of blonde hair.

When Sebastian looks back at Charles, he's smiling, eager and wild.

He leads Seb into his room without a backwards glance, and Seb lets the door swing shut behind them. His room looks much the same as it did the last time Seb was in it, helping Charles over the summer break with his university project. A Ferrari banner hanging above his bed, photos of his friends and family tacked up on the walls.

Charles rummages through the drawer of his bedside table, and Sebastian can't help but admire the almost aristocratic tilt of his head. The defined profile of his nose, his chin. His mouth.

Charles turns around with a present in his hands, a box wrapped in silver paper. There's a golden ribbon tied around it, and Charles plays with it, twisting the ribbon through his fingers before he holds it out for Seb to take.

"I feel bad," Seb says, feeling ill-at-ease. "I didn't bring anything for you."

Charles laughs, gestures Seb down onto the bed. Seb perches on the very edge, well-aware of the way Charles' knee is pressed firmly against his own.

"That's okay," he shrugs. "You gave me so much help with my courses this year. I would never have made it through without you."

"Charles," Seb chastises. "You know that's not true. You're very intelligent. You just need to apply yourself more."

Charles ducks his head, a blush appearing faint on his cheeks. He shrugs. "Open it, then."

Seb does as he's told. He pulls on the end of the golden ribbon, neatly untying the bow. He slides his finger beneath the edge of the wrapping paper, tape coming unstuck.

He can't hold back a smile when he slides the box from its wrapping. Inside is a pristine miniature of the F2004, an even tinier Michael Schumacher behind the wheel.

"Do you like it?" Charles asks eagerly. "I noticed you didn't have it, when I was in your study. It's the only Schumacher championship car you don't have."

Seb feels a thrill run through him at Charles' words, one he really shouldn't be feeling. This is Charles, the same Charles who Seb has known since he was 14. It doesn't matter that Charles has been paying attention - that Charles noticed something that small.

"Thank you," Seb says, tilting the box to look at it from every angle. "This is really thoughtful, Charles. I used to have one, but it got damaged when I moved house. I've always meant to replace it."

Charles beams at him. "Well, now you don't have to!" he says, eagerly. "Look, see - I got the one with the Marlboro rear wing, because, well, obviously..."

Seb watches Charles chatter away, pointing out small details about the car. He nods along, unable to tear his eyes away from the shine of Charles' lips.

What is he doing? Sitting on a bed with a 20-year old he's known for 6 years half in his lap, letting him get closer and closer, hands brushing against Seb's own when he turns the box to point something out. It doesn't matter that Charles has a crush on him, that he's a legal adult now. Charles has had a crush on him for years, a childish flight of fancy. It's nothing Seb's ever paid attention to, and certainly nothing he should act on.

"Seb?" Charles asks, pulling him from his thoughts. "Are you okay?"

Seb's still staring at his mouth. "What?" he blinks, shaking his head. "Yes, yes. I'm fine. Thank you for this, Charles, really."

Charles shrugs again, blush spreading to the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad you like it."

"Of course I do," Seb says, and then - "I'd like anything you thought to give me."

Idiot. Stupid, foolish, idiot.

Seb sees the way Charles' pink tongue darts out to wet his lips, the way something in his eyes lights up. This is dangerous ground he's stumbled onto. He needs to tread carefully.

"Shall we - I think your mother will have a conniption if we don't get back in time for the cake." Pascale would have a conniption if she knew what Seb was in here thinking about doing to her son, more like.

Charles hesitates, teeth catching on his bottom lip. "We could," he offers. "But you didn't give me my present yet."

Sebastian's blood freezes in his veins when Charles moves closer, shifting so that their legs interlock.

"I thought you said I didn't need to get you anything," he protests weakly.

"I lied," Charles retorts, soft and low. "There's something I want. Something only you can give me."

There's a mirror hanging on the wall, over Charles' shoulder. Seb catches a glimpse of his own face in it. He looks old, tired. Too old to be in here, doing this, with someone as young as Charles.

"Charles, I really don't think --" and then he's cut off, by the harsh press of Charles' lips against his own. It's sloppy and uncoordinated, their noses bumping together, teeth clashing.

Seb draws back, and Charles makes a low, wanting noise in the back of his throat. His pupils are blown wide, a thin circle of green around them, and he's urgent underneath Seb's hands. It's not an excuse for what Seb does next.

And then Charles says, "Seb, please," - and the last, wavering strand of his self-control snaps clean in half.

He tangles a hand in Charles' hair, freshly washed before the party and left to softly curl, and brings him in slower. The meeting of their mouths is gentler. Charles tastes like red wine and spearmint from those candy canes he kept sucking. He smells of something faintly smokey and rich, probably from the body spray Seb saw on the nightstand. It gets into Seb's nose, into his mouth, somehow, until the whole world smells like smoke. He moves under Seb's hands like a wild thing, wriggling into his lap, knees on either side of Seb's thighs. Seb can feel the hard line of his cock pushing against his stomach, even through the denim of his jeans. It's a sobering reminder of his youth, his relative inexperience.

When they come apart, Charles' lips are kiss-bitten and his face is flushed. A small whine sounds in the back of his throat. He looks sweetly eager, moving in Seb's grasp like he can't help himself.

"You like your Christmas present?" Seb asks, and Charles snickers. It's a pleasant sound.

"You're telling me that's all there is to it?" Charles pouts. "I'm disappointed."

Seb squeezes his waist, no idea when his hands came to settle there. "I'm going to have my hands full with you, aren't I?" he asks, and Charles preens, bringing a hand up to thread his fingers through Seb's grasp.

"I really, really hope so."

[unknownmystery22]

ONE OF YOUR GIRLS -Charles Leclerc

Summary: Where he loved the idea of her love not her. Warning: Angst pure angst, toxic relationship, asshole charles

A/N: inspired by One of The Girls By THE WEEKEND

Charles Leclerc the man he was, his charming smile and the gorgeous eyes that no one can resist. And you are no exception. Inspite of knowing his playboy ways and his lack of comitment you found yourself attracted to him.

You being a part of media knew each driver well and were close with most of them due to your genuine questions and how you always refrained from asking about their personal life. The drivers all had taken a liking to you and all looked forward to do interviews with you, inspite of you being a recent joinee.

Lewis Hamilton your idol and your grid family was the first notice your attraction towards the Monagasque "Careful there Y/N, dont go and fall in love with him now" he said laughing but also being concerned. You just shook your head.

Charles Leclerc himself didn't make it any easier for you always complimenting you and doing small gestures which others would consider as friendly but your naive crush took it to heart. The way he would bring your favourite coffeee each time you interview him or the way he ensures you have a ride home or the way his eyes light up whenever speaking to you.

You really thought you had a chance and he did nothing to deny that or make you question your thinking about him. You just wanted him in your life if not possible as a significant other, at least as a friend. You were friends and Charles always confided in you always. Charles always made you feel like the most special girl he made you feel like you were his everything.

Max and Lando well aware of your feelings towards him. Always motivated you to tell him your actual feelings

"C'mon Y/N he never speaks to a girl more than a week if he isn't intrested in them" Lando said

"Atleast you would not keep having expectations, schatje. Just tell him" Max said

How wrong they were !

One fine evening you and Charles were hanging out in his house were you came to the topic of how you prefer your significant other to be. You thought this was it this the only shot you have. You did just that you confessed how much you like him. As soon as you confessed Charles kissed you. It was the best fucking kiss of your life. It was everything and all you ever asked for.

Everything was perfect for a while. Him hugging you, holding your hands, cuddling and going on dates. Few drivers noted the changes and were all happy for you. you too were glowing. You should have known NOTHING LASTS FOREVER.

Soon you noticed how he was never affectionate towards you in public but you brushed it off thinking he wanted to keep it private, that didn't bother you much. But when he randomly going out or partying without you knowing, flirting with other girls it made you question what you really had.

You confronted Charles about this and what his answer just made you more confused.

"What are you my girlfriend ? we are just trying thing out Y/N. I am not in space to commit right now just give me some time".

That must have been it but no, you loved him way too much to let him go easily. You stayed with him hoping things would get better and you will be a happy couple.

Things just got worse from there, he was not as open as before he slowly started ignoring you but you still held on to tiny hope you found here and there.

Others weren't oblivious to the situation though you tried not to let it show. They all noticed how you seem so down always and have fake smile on.

Lewis and Max confront you one day. You break down in front of them and for the first time you let your feeling out. You told them everything about how insecure you feel, how you feel like you are the problem, maybe if you were better or that you are being overdramatic.

"You are the strongest person I know, love. He does not deserve your love I know it is not easy to let go of him right now, but you need to he is slowly sucking the life out of you. It is better to be alone than in bad company." Lewis explained.

"You deserve to be in relationships that make you feel seen, heard, and valued. You dont have put up with his shit, schatje" Max added on. "We will be with you every step of it".

It took you time but soon enough you were done you had no more tears to cry or fucks to give him. You just said to him that you are done with him but he didnt take it seriously cause this was the cycle falling out and him convincing you and you falling right back.

"Dont I too deserve to be loved by someone ?" you asked

"I love you, Y/N. I will start taking you seriously" he tried.

You shook your head "You dont love me Charles you just love the idea of me being in love with you. You love the idea of a person living solely for you. You love that you could pick me at your worst and drop me at your best"

With that you walked out and cried for him yet in the end it hit you that all you will be is

.........ONE OF HIS GIRLS.

[adventuringblind]

If You Don't Want the Truth, then Don't Ask

Oscar Piastri x Autistic!Reader

Genre: fluff

Request: kinda...? People want more of this content, so who am I to deny them? My requests are open! Please don't hesitate to send me ideas!

Summary: One thing that Oscar loves most about her is that she's always honest. Unfortunately, it seems not everyone has learned that.

Warnings: Media being toxic, the reader gets frustrated at not understanding human behavior

Notes: written in third person

Masterlist

Oscar had fallen in love with her honesty. He never had to guess at her opinions on things or dance around subjects himself.

It was a reprieve from always being coached in media to finally not having to filter himself.

Anyone who had gotten close to her knew one rule she had: if you don't want an honest answer, then don't ask.

She struggles communicating with vocal tones. People often mistake her opinion for being judgemental. It makes her feel unable to speak up for herself. It was never her intention to cause problems. She was just saying her truth.

Emotional communication is even more difficult. She always manages to say the wrong thing. Oscar didn't believe this and felt comforted when she talked him through the truth of the day. But if she was struggling with words and emotions, she opted to communicate via physical touch.

She'd developed a code for human behaviors she didn't quite understand.

When charles was upset about a race, she hugged him. When Oscar was smiling, she kissed his cheek. When Max was being lectured by his father, she stuck her middle finger up at Jos. When Lando couldn't eat his food, she gave him one of her snacks that he also liked.

It became more natural to the grid the more she did these things.

Unfortunately for the fans and the media, they hadn't figured it out. It was ridiculous in everyone's minds how they never learned their lesson.

A picture started circling the internet once of her kissing Lando's cheek after an amazing race. She knew it was a happy moment but was too overwhelmed to deal with words. Oscar knew she did this to anyone she was comfortable with and knew she was loyal. She'd expressed repeatedly why she loved him and not Lando. Oscar only laughed as she went down her very pointed list of reasons why Oscar was better. Earning a pout from the Brit.

The fans started calling her all sorts of nasty names. It hurt her a little, but Oscar even more. He'd expressed multiple times to his fans not to involve her in drama.

Race weekend got a bit awkward. Journalists wanted to ask the two questions. Oscar was quick to deny them attention and left for free practice.

The nerospicy femal, however, was not as lucky. Somone found her hiding in the garage.

"Are you aware of the photo going around social media right now?" The female reporter asked her.

She hesitated for a moment, trying to find her voice. "Yes." The reporter waited a minute for her to elaborate only to receive silence.

She clears her throat. "Do you have any thoughts about it? Are the rumors true?"

She stares again for a moment. "I think you people are bored and want to pick apart someone else's life instead of your own."

It was the reporters turn to stay in silence. "That may be true for some." She fumbles. "But the concern of the fans is that you'll have a negative effect on the McLaren racing drivers."

"I think the fans you speak of are niave then. Not every human being is the same. I'm in love with Oscar, not Lando, as simple as that. Just because my affection looks different doesn't mean I'm doing anything wrong." The girl shrugs her shoulders. Simply stating a fact of herself.

The reporter leaves in silence. No other words were shared between them.

Oscar saw the article the next day. They were getting ready to head to the track for FP3 and qualifying. "Have you seen this article?" He asked.

"No, what article?" Oscar flips his phone to her. The reporter from yesterday had written an article about their conversation. Interestingly enough, it was exactly what she had said. The journalist was impressed with her honesty and approach to toxic rumors.

Oscar kissed her cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

~

The next time it happened was during an interview in the fan zone. She'd been standing off to the side with the other McLaren staff who follow them around. She likes listening to the fans ask the boys questions.

Then a fan asked a question about her. "Oscar, why is your girlfriend mean to the reporters?"

Both Oscar and Lando rolled their eyes. "She's here right now if you want an honest answer." Oscar smirked.

It was terrifying when Oscar and Lando were waving her up to the stage. She waited for the approval of the staff and security before exchanging seats with the Australian.

He looked so please she was up there. "The fans want to know why you're so 'mean' to the reporters, as they put it." The two boys were laughing hysterically now.

"I personally don't think it's mean. If they don't want an honest answer, then they shouldn't be asking questions." She shrugged. "Is there a specific time you're referring too?"

"When the vouge journalists asked if you were hiding something because you wear loose clothing."

Lando perked up instantly. "This is one of my favorite moments. We went out and got her favorite dinner after this to celebrate."

"Firtly, the reporter had no business asking that. I don't like it when my clothes feel weird and I was already overwhelmed so I wore what I thought was comfortable." Oscar put his arm around her. A hint of pride edging its way across his features. "Secondly, the didn't put the whole story. The reporter asked if I was pregnant, and then when I said no, he proceeded to ask me if I was wearing anything underneath."

"The comeback is the best part."

"I was confused why he asked me this, so I asked if he had anything underneath the hideous mask he was wearing. Then he called me rude." She frowned, but the fans were enjoying the story.

Oscar glances at Lando. "You should tell the next part."

Lando is still chuckling from the last statement. "I was coming around the corner and heard her say that, then I couldn't stop laughing. So obviously I joined in as well."

The other two were shaking their heads at Lando in exasperation as he continued. "When I came up next to her, she asked why he would ask something like that. It's a pretty common question between us, so I explained why he did it and why he shouldn't do it."

"Then he insulted him some more."

Oscar finishes out the story and also laughs at this point. "Most of the things in the article were what Lando said. The others were what she did say. Including asking if this was his way of flirting and turned him down on his advances."

She always missed social cues, and she'd heard some of the drivers flirt by asking what someone had on underneath their clothing. It was a genuine assumption.

Oscar found it most amusing as Lando recounted the story for the first time that evening. She had looked mildly dazed, frustrated, and confused. Oscar took the time, in between laughing, to explain some of the nuances she didn't understand. Including why they were laughing so hard.

~

Next came a conversation with Zak.

The boys were doing media things, so he'd started to try and make conversation with her.

He was a person who did not understand that she's autistic and communicates different then he was expecting. Normally, Oscar or Lando was here to help things flow, but now she was going to need to swim on her own.

"Have you been enjoying Monaco?" He asked.

She played with her fingers to help her brain stay present. Something she often did to stim when she didn't want it to be noticeable. "It's cozy when it's not race weekend. I think the race has made it crowded."

He looked a little surprised. "Do you not like crowds? I thought you did since you come to most of the races."

"Seeing them is fine. Being trapped in them is difficult."

"That's a little odd of a perspective, don't you think?" He laughed. "I feel like you either enjoy the crowds or you hate them."

She didn't understand what he meant by that. Didn't she just say what she thought? Why was he asking the same question? "Factually, I think you can enjoy seeing a crowd, like on TV, and also become claustrophobic when in one."

He didn't know how to respond. The staring became awkward for him as he tried to respond. She just waited. Assuming he had now understood her point. Then he came up with an excuse as to why he needed to duck out of the conversation.

Zak asked Oscar about it later. To which the Australian internally face-palmed. Then, he proceeded to explain the unspoken role.

Zak apologized the next day if he made her uncomfortable. She just looked between him and Oscar. Hoping for an answer as to how he could've done that.

It took a while, but they finally got their. Now Zak goes to her if he ever wants an honest opinion on something.

~

The most recent time actually hurt her. She spent days inside her and Oscar's room. Struggling to eat, sleep, and communicate.

She was lucky that Oscar was around to help her through this. His frustration almost overwhelming his own mind.

Two weeks ago, they had been in Silverstone. It was an amazing race, and she felt happy that she got to share it with him.

She had been making friends with the other WAG's around the paddock. So when Oscar was pulled away, she went to find someone to hang out with until they finished.

She found Kika and Lily in the Williams hospitality. It was warm in the building, so when she sat down with them, she decided to get comfortable and took off her sweatshirt.

Her shirt that day was not the usual baggy t-shirt and jeans. Today's she was wearing a crop-top that showed her stomach, but she felt cute and confident, and Oscar complimented her on it the entire morning. He said she looked good when she's comfortable and that's what matters to him.

Her body was not the ideal body type that meets the standard beauty criteria. Frankly, she didn't care.

She's healthy. She's comfortable. Oscar has said daily that he loves her as she is.

She wasn't expecting the fans in hospitality to ask her anything about it.

When she got up to get water, a few young women approached her. This had happened before, and she assumed they wanted to ask about Oscar or know of they could get a picture with him.

She assumed wrong.

"How come you're not wearing what you normally do?"

"Because I felt comfortable in this today."

"I think the other style suits you better. Don't you think?"

"I don't have a style. This is just comfortable."

"Is this because Oscar likes it better?"

"No, he likes it when I'm comfortable."

She was trying to keep up. All the questions flying at her rapidly. The music was reverberating off the wall. The hospitality staff were cleaning and packing.

Her head started to spin. Her hands flew up to cover her ears. She was going to cry if she didn't get out.

She was thankful the Kika and Lily noticed and got her out of the area. Blocking anyone from speaking to her and ignoring those who tried to stop them.

They ran into Oscar on the way to somewhere quiet. He immediately placed his hands over hers to try and help block out more sound until he could get her to her headphones.

Kika and Lily explained what happened. The females asking her questions were not understanding why she was giving them the same answer. Their intentions were unknown, but it was obvious she looked uncomfortable and cornered in that moment.

So he led her away into his driver room and told her she could lock the door and he'd come get her when it was time to leave. She obliged, turning off the lights to help her senses.

She curled up in the corner and soothed herself until Oscar came back.

Someone had taken a video of the encounter, and people started asking questions about her. Why does she do the things she does? It didn't make any sense to them. It made her frustrated because they made her out to be an alien on her own planet.

Her body couldn't take it anymore. She stayed in her corner with the lights off and shut out the world.

Except for Oscar. He sat in the dark with her. They ate meals on the floor. He helped her bathe in the dark. She felt so lucky to have found someone who understands and cares as much as he does.

His PR team was trying to do something about the video. It wasn't right for it to be posted, and McLaren was doing what they could, but It wasn't enough.

So Oscar took matters into his own hands. He decided to answer all their questions. With her permission, of course.

She cried when she read it. He was happy that she felt safe enough with him to let herself unmask, but he wanted her to be able to unmask anywhere. They were taking a step in the right direction, and they both ate comfort food that night.

Instagram story message because idk how people do SMAU's: "I want to take a minute to address the video that was posted about my girlfriend recently. My girlfriend is Autistic, meaning that things can become overwhelming easily. You might not understand everything she does, but you don't have to. She is her own person and has her own life. What she answers to questions is her truth. If you don't want an honest answer, don't ask the question.

-Oscar

[more-mara]

carcar soulmates - oscar knows, carlos doesn't

love ur writing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ahhh tysm anon 🫶 Hope you enjoy!

Soulmates were stupid. This whole system that the word was built on made Oscar feel sick, knowing that in the end, he didn't have a choice about who he would spend the rest of his life with. A stupid mark on the back of his hand that would dictate who his 'true match' was.

The stupidity was staggering in Oscar's mind, knowing that once he made physical contact with his 'one true love' the mark that somewhat seemed to resemble a crescent moon would glow. He hated the thought of it, it felt so childish, like something out of a kids book.

He wasn't going to buy into it, no matter how much everyone around him tried to force him.

"It's kinda cute, don't you think?" Lando asked, inspecting his own mark that was still a dark colour, no glow in sight. He smiled, a little thing that would usually go unnoticed as he traced the slightly risen edges of the crescent shape.

"No? Not really" Oscar deadpanned, patting the sweat from his face with a towel.

"But- It's romantic Oscar!" Lando exclaimed, a slight whine to his voice. Lando was always like this when it came to the whole soulmate thing, he was totally obsessed with finding 'the one'. It was comforting Oscar supposed, that at least somebody could be happy no matter who they ended up with. Oscar couldn't help but smile knowing that it was Lando of all people who would find his happy ever after no matter what.

"Sucks that we aren't soulmates, mate" Lando said, bumping himself against Oscar's side and seeing that the mark on both of their hands remained unchanged. Lando frowned a bit, as if he expected it to actually glow. Oscar didn't even want to explore that possibility.

"You wish" Oscar joked, nudging him back.

Despite what everyone thought, Oscar did know who his soulmate was…Carlos. It had happened by accident, Carlos had been rushing somewhere that Oscar didn’t even have the chance to question him about after he bumped into him, forcing Oscar into a tumbling mess on the ground. Carlos had sent him a half hearted apology before running off and Oscar almost had a heart attack when he saw the glow on his hand. He covered it immediately, his heart starting to pound in his chest. No one could ever know, not even Carlos.

-

Oscar had taken all means necessary to avoid touching Carlos- not that it would be difficult. Despite the fact that Carlos was usually a very affectionate and touchy person, he and Oscar were not very close so often when Carlos greeted Lando, Fernando, Charles or anyone that he deemed as a close acquaintance with a squeezing hug, he would just flash Oscar a small smile before butting into the conversation.

But it was proving difficult- staying away from Carlos. Perhaps it was the knowledge of them being soulmates that had Oscar feeling drawn to the older driver. Suddenly, Oscar couldn’t even go an hour without having Carlos on his mind in one way or the other.

He hated clubbing at the best of times, but watching Carlos leaning over the bar, hand caressing Charles’ shoulder as he whispered something in his ear that had Charles practically folded over laughing was making his chest pang with something that he couldn’t quite place.

His legs were moving before he could stop them as he sidled up beside Charles, getting in Carlos’ line of sight. Charles drunkly threw his arms around Oscar, pulling him into an awkwardly placed hug from the angle they were standing at.

“Ah it is my son, look Carlos, do you see the resemblance?” Charles slurred, his accent thicker now that he had been drinking quite a bit. Carlos stared at Oscar with a firm expression.

“Is everything alright?” Carlos asked, voice neutral as he took another sip from his drink, clearly confused about why Oscar was suddenly standing in front of him. Oscar himself had maybe had a few too many drinks aswell.

“Y-yeah, all good,” He stuttered, suddenly all too aware of how beautiful Carlos actually was- his big brown eyes staring quizzically into Oscar’s own.

“Okay, well if everything is fine then-“ Carlos said, eyes flicking back to look over at Charles who was practically hanging off Oscar’s back. Oscar suddenly became all too conscious of Charles’ presence.

“Right, um…yeah, sorry,” Oscar said, turning to say a brief goodbye to Charles before crossing over to the other side of the club to lean against the coolness of the wall. He could still see Carlos from where he stood but soon he wished he couldn’t.

He watched how Carlos leaned closer to Charles, bridging whatever distance was between them to plant a hand on the side of Charles’ face, the other on the dip of his waist as he drew him into a slow, sensual kiss. Oscar swore he stopped breathing when he watched it, his heart feeling like it had been stabbed and left to bleed out as he watched his soulmate kiss someone else- someone that wasn’t him. Oscar felt sick suddenly, storming out of the club where he bumped into Max who immediately looked concerned when he saw the tears streaming down Oscar’s face. Fuck, Oscar didn’t even realise he’d started crying.

“Oscar? Are you okay?” Max asked, voice at a comforting level as he ran a hand up Oscar’s arm. Oscar almost sobbed as he flung his head onto Maxs shoulder, startling a shocked gasp from Max who probably hadn’t expected there to actually be something wrong aside from the usual drunken drama.

“I can’t do this, I- I can’t watch him with someone else,” Oscar whispered as Max rubbed soothing circles on his back.

“Who? What are you talking about?” Max asked, his frown tight knit in confusion.

“Carlos…he’s my soulmate,” Oscar admitted, his head swirling with so many emotions and thoughts that he couldn’t even think straight.

Oscar only wished that the words he heard next had come from Maxs mouth

“I am what,” A voice said, loud and in disbelief- when Oscar looked up from Maxs shoulder, he saw Carlos standing before him, mouth agape and eyes wider than Oscar thought was even possible.

Well shit.

[sunny44]

Secret love

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Leclerc!reader

Warnings: Charles is a jerk, Carlos surgery and other things.

Summary: Carlos and Y/n are dating and Charles is not aware about it, unless he knows.

Continuation “Stubborn”

We were lying in his bedroom on his house in Monaco, naked, and I had my head on his chest while he traced imaginary circles on my back.

"You know we can't hide forever, right?" He says, and I grunted in frustration.

"Don't ruin the moment," I say, burying my face in his neck and he laughs.

"I'm serious."

"Who says we can't?"

"I did."

"But you were also the one who said that hiding made the sex even hotter."

"And it does, but we can't keep your family in the dark about this."

"And why not?"

"Because I don't want to keep mine in the dark either," he says, and I sigh. "I know your brother probably won't approve or he'll freak out, but I don't want to have to restrain myself from kissing you just because we're in public."

"I know, but I'm sure he'll freak out and I'm not in the mood to deal with him."

"Okay," he says, getting up and putting on his underwear.

"Carlos," I sit up in bed, covering myself with the sheet.

"I'm going to take a shower," he says, heading to the bathroom but stopping before entering and looking at me. "I respect your decision, and I always will, but that doesn't mean I won't be hurt or disagree with what you want."

I sighed, lying back down as he entered the bathroom. I grabbed my phone and saw messages from Charles, but I ignored them.

Carlos and I always got along well, but initially, there was nothing special about our relationship. Until something changed, and I couldn't help but notice how attractive he is. So we started getting involved, and it's been 5 months now, and a week ago he asked me to be his girlfriend.

I understand that he wants to introduce me to his family, and I want to meet them, but the moment that happens, I know soon my family will also find out and I'm not ready to deal with Charles.

I got up and went to the bathroom, and he was still in the shower. I entered with him and hugged him from behind, feeling him hold my hands.

"I want whatever you want. If you want me to meet your parents, if you want me to stay with you in Madrid or anywhere else." he turned to face me. "I want anything as long as it's with you."

"I know your brother is difficult and super protective when it comes to you, and I'm pretty sure he won't like me dating you at all, but I'm tired of hiding around when all I want is to hold your hand in public, kiss you when I got a podium, or hug you when I have a bad race."

"And I want all of that with you too." he smiles and kisses me.

"We can go to Spain and have dinner with my parents and my sisters." He strokes my face. "Charles won't know, and then we can decide how to tell him."

"Sounds like we have a plan."

...

I got home and took off my shoes, putting them by the door, and took off my coat.

I heard footsteps coming towards me, and Charles came over.

"Where have you been? I called you several times, and Mom said you've been out since yesterday."

"I went out."

"And where did you sleep?"

"Why were you looking for me?"

"I wanted to know if you're up for skiing together this weekend?"

"No, thanks." I started walking to the kitchen, and he followed me.

"Why not? You love skiing."

"Because I don't feel like being a third wheel for you, Lorenzo, and Arthur."

"Oh, come on, you always hang out with us."

"Yeah, that's why I know it won't be fun."

"Okay then. But anyway, what did you do last night?"

"Why are you so curious, just leave me alone."

"I need to know if you went out with someone."

"I did go out with someone."

"And who is he? I want to know if he's good for you."

"He is, and you don't need to know anything."

"Just tell me it's not Pierre."

"Ew, no. He's like a brother to me, and isn't he dating someone?"

"Oh right, I forgot." I sat on my bed, and he was still following me. "But anyway, who is it?"

"Ugh, you're so annoying, leave me alone."

"I need to know if he's right for you."

"You don't need to know anything, and you don't need to approve anything."

"Of course I do."

"I never evaluated any of your girlfriends, so you won't do it to me."

"But I'm your older brother, and you give your opinion about my girlfriends either way."

"It's because you're a jerk."

"Hey, why am I a jerk?"

"Because you use the same stupid excuse about focusing on your career and Ferrari and then you show up dating your ex's friend."

"Alex wasn't even Charlotte's friend, you're only saying that because you don't like her."

"Good thing you know." I said, getting up. "And Arthur is another jerk, the only one who's decent is Enzo."

"Okay, seriously, let's not argue about my relationships again."

We had argued before, not speaking for about two weeks. I have nothing against Alex; she's kind, but Charlotte was like a sister to me, and the way Alex entered our lives shortly after he and Charlotte broke up, I hated it. Not to mention the fact that she pushed in the beginning to be my friend, which ended up making me not like her.

My brother's relationships are none of my business, but as a woman, I think it's ridiculous that he gives these same excuses about Ferrari only to show up with someone else shortly afterward.

"Well, I'll go back home and see you at the next race then."

"See you later, and have a good trip."

...

I was at the airport in Spain, and I told him he didn't need to pick me up since he's well known here, and picking up his teammate's sister at an airport where people know him is a bad idea.

So he came to pick me up, but he was in a car with tinted windows so dark that I couldn't see it was him, and I was also covered enough so no one could see me.

"Hi, love." I got into the car and kissed him.

It had been a few weeks since we last saw each other.

"Hi, love.”m he replied and kissed me again. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too." I rubbed our noses together, and he laughed.

"I missed this too."

"That's good because there will be a lot of it in the next few days."

We're going to Mallorca, where his family spends their holidays, but since there's a race next week, we'll only spend the weekend before heading to Austria.

"My parents are excited to meet you."

"That's great, it makes me less nervous."

"Don't be nervous, they'll love you. And my sisters too."

The rest of the way was silent, but a comfortable silence. Carlos spent the whole way with his hand on my thigh, making me feel my heart race even more when he parked the car at their house.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just nervous."

"Everything will be fine," he looked at me, and I gave him a quick kiss. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"I love you too," I gave him another quick kiss and we got out of the car.

We grabbed our bags and went into the house, and I could hear several people talking at once, and I didn't understand anything, so they were probably speaking Spanish.

"Good morning, everyone," he says, and everyone stands up to greet us. "This is my girlfriend Y/n."

"You're beautiful," his mother smiled and hugged me. "Carlos spoke very highly of you."

"Thank you," I smiled.

“You remind of me of someone.” She says.

“I’ll guess that I remind you Carlos teammate.”

“Actually yes, you looks like Charles.”

“I’m his younger sister.” She looks surprised. “I’m basically his feminine version, we look a lot.”

“Wow, that’s surprising.” I smiled.

“A good surprising I hope.”

“Of course.”

“She showed me a photo of them when they were younger and they were basically twins.”

“What’s the age gap between you two?”

“Charles is 26, I’m 24 and Arthur my young brother is 23.”

“You all grew up very close.”

“Yes, and I also have a older brother, his name is Lorenzo. He’s 35.”

“You must missed having girls around.”

“Yeah, it was just me and my mom surrounded by boys.”

After chatting a lot, Carlos and I decided to go to our room.

"My brother knows I have someone." I said, sitting on the bed, and he turned to look at me.

"Does he know about us?"

"No, he just knows I have someone."

"Okay, do you want to tell him?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "At the same time that I want my family to know, I also don't want him to know."

"Well, let's enjoy our weekend and worry about that when it happens."

"Okay," he came towards the bed and climbed on top of me.

"Now I just want to enjoy the company of my girlfriend alone until I have to share you with the others."

"Hmm, I like the sound of that," he smiled and kissed me.

…

The weekend went by extremely fast and we were on a plane now heading to Austria. My brothers were there, and Carlos and I were going together.

When we arrived at the hotel, my brothers were coming out to the exit and saw us together.

"What are you two doing together?" Charles asked.

"We came on the same flight." Carlos replied.

"I thought you were in Spain and would come from there to here."

"I had to go to Monaco first."

"Ah, okay," I sighed in relief. "Come on, you're going to share the room with me."

"Did you come alone?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." He picked up my suitcase. "Bye, Carlos, thanks for the help."

"You're welcome," he smiled and followed Charles to the room we were in.

"There's only one bed, so..."

"No problem." I said, putting my bags in a corner.

"Were you and Carlos sitting together on the flight?"

"Not technically, but I convinced a guy to switch seats with me."

"Do you like him?" If I hadn't controlled myself, it would have been obvious how shocked I was when he asked.

"He's nice."

"That's good that you have a boyfriend; I wouldn't want you and him to have something."

"And why not?"

"We're on the same team, even though we're friends, we're always competing, and Carlos isn't the best boyfriend in the world."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because he ended a long-term relationship just to be with some model." I sighed.

"You're the last person who should be talking about being a good boyfriend."

"Why are you defending him?"

"It's not about defending; it's about saying that you can't judge someone by their relationship choices when you yourself don't know how to make them." He went silent. "And you know that's true."

"Whatever, let's all go out to dinner."

"I'm tired."

"That wasn't a question."

"Ugh, fine." I said, going into the bathroom to take a shower.

I got ready and we met up with my other brothers. When we arrived downstairs, I saw Carlos dressed up, and obviously, I had to disguise my reaction.

"I invited him; he was alone," Charles said to me.

"Oh, that's great."

"Why are you suddenly excited?" He asked after noticing my change in mood.

"Because I'm hungry and happy that you're going to pay."

"Who said I'm going to pay?"

"I did. You earn way more than I do."

"Haha."

I managed to sit next to Carlos without making it obvious that I wanted it to happen. We ordered dinner, and while we waited, I felt his warm hand on my leg.

"So, how are you guys feeling about this weekend?" Lorenzo asked the two Ferrari drivers.

"I think it all depends on how the car performs on the track, but I'm trying to be optimistic." he said, and I put my hand on top of his.

"Yeah, let's see if we can get on the podium." At that moment, our food arrived.

...

After dinner, we talked for a while longer until we went back to the hotel. Obviously, I wouldn't be able to sneak away to Carlos's room since I was sharing a room with Charles.

After I removed my makeup and put on comfortable clothes, I texted Carlos to meet me in the pool area.

"I'm going for a walk; are you going to sleep?" I asked Charles, who was already lying down.

"Where are you going?"

"Just walking around a bit, exploring the hotel. I won't be able to do this once we start going to the Paddock."

"Oh, okay, I'm going to sleep. Take the room key."

"I got it, call me if you need anything." He agreed, and I left the room and went to where we had arranged to meet.

"Hi.” He whispered, hugging me around the waist.

"Hi." He kissed me, and I smiled in the middle of the kiss.

"You have no idea how hard it was to see you in that dress and not kiss you."

"You also looked very handsome in that outfit." He smiled. "It's always nice to see you in clothes that aren't Ferrari, I think Charles is the only one worse than you."

"Oh, come on."

"Seriously, you guys have no sense of style."

"Okay then, I'll leave it up to you from now on what I'm going to wear."

"If it's up to me, you won't wear anything from now on." He laughed.

“Whatever you say.”

"I can't stay too long." I said to him, who grunted.

"Alright, we'll see each other tomorrow then." I agreed. "Are you going to wear my shirt?"

"Your dream." He smiled. "Do you have a spare one?"

"Seriously?" He asked surprised.

"Seriously."

"I do. Let's go get it." We went to his room, and he grabbed a shirt from his suitcase and handed it to me. "Thank you."

"Are you sure you want to wear it? I know I want everyone to know about us, but I don't want you to feel pressured into it."

"I know, but I realized just now that we've been meeting in secret like two teenagers in a forbidden relationship. We hold hands under the table at dinner and all because I'm afraid of my brother's reaction." He looked at me. "I don't want to hide my love for you; it's not something I'm afraid or ashamed of."

"Whatever you want, I'll be happy." He cupped my face and kissed me.

"I love you." His eyes sparkled. "I love you so much, and I want you to always know that."

"I love you too, my love." I rubbed our noses together, and he laughed.

"Well, we have to sleep now because tomorrow is going to be very busy."

We said goodbye and went to our rooms to sleep. I took off my clothes, brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas, and lay down.

"Are you okay?" He asked sleepily.

"I am, you can go back to sleep." He gave me a kiss on the forehead and fell asleep again.

...

The next day, I woke up alone and saw a message on my phone from Charles saying he had already left and others from Carlos.

Carlitos 🌶️

Carlitos 🌶️

Good morning, Hermosa

I’m already heading to the track, and I’ll see you later

Don’t feel pressured to wear the shirt; if you don’t feel comfortable, wear something else

Love you

Me

Good morning, my love

I'm still thinking about the shirt

But don't worry, if I wear it, it's because I want to

Love you more and see you soon

In the end, I decided not to wear the shirt today but on race day, and since today was just practice 1, I decided to do that.

When I arrived at the paddock, people were taking photos, but they seemed more focused on me than usual, and when I got to the garage, I could see the anger in my brother's eyes.

"Is this serious?" He asked me angrily . "Carlos, seriously? And you even had the nerve to lie to my face all this time."

"Charles, calm down," Lorenzo held his arm.

"What's going on?"

"What's going on is that you're sleeping with him," he said loudly, and some people looked.

"Hey, lower your voice," Lorenzo once again reprimanded him.

"Seriously, I don't understand your problem, judging me all this time for my relationships while you were doing this."

"I don't understand what's happening?"

"You're dating Carlos?"

"Yes," I said loudly what I had been afraid to say for a long time.

"Then he was the guy you were talking about that day?" Before I could answer, Carlos showed up.

"What's going on?"

"You son of a bitch." Charles tries to lunge at him, but some mechanicsll and my brothers hold him back. "You were here all this time pretending to be my friend, and behind my back, you were sleeping with my sister, seriously?"

"I'm not just sleeping with your sister, I like her. Actually, no, let me correct myself, I love her."

"Yeah, sure, your ex heard the same thing for 8 years until you dumped her."

"Can you stop?" He looked at me. "Just stop."

Everyone went silent, and I just shook my head and left there, I went straight back to the hotel and cried the rest of the day curled up in bed until I fell asleep.

I woke up to noises in the room, and it was Charles pacing back and forth, and I could see the anger in his eyes when he saw that I was awake.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing my things, I'm not going to stay in the same room as you."

"You don't need to, I'm going back home." I said getting up.

"You're not going to stay to watch your boyfriend's race?"

"Can you stop?"

"And why should I? You're a liar, you and him."

“I decided not to tell you, not him.”

"It doesn't matter to me who decided or not; he shouldn't even be with you in the first place." He looked at me. "You're only 24, and he's turning 30, you're at different points in your life, do you really think he's going to want to be with you for long?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Because we're always traveling, meeting new people. Do you really think that when he's alone, there won't be thousands of women chasing after him?" I held back my tears. "Do you really think that when he's drunk after a race and some model comes onto him, he'll resist? Do you really think he won't end up sleeping with her, and you'll be the pathetic girlfriend who was cheated on by a Formula 1 driver?"

"Tell your girlfriend what you just said to me, Formula 1 driver." I stepped closer to him. "Soon your girlfriend will have such big horns that she won't even fit through the door."

"You have no right to talk.” He says angrily.

"I'm a much better boyfriend than him, and I don't date my teammates' sisters."

“Stop making things about you Charles.”

“I’m not making things about me.”

"Yes you are. Do you know how hard it is to be related to you? How hard Enzo, Arthur, and I had to fight for some attention in this family?”

"That has nothing to do with the situation."

"Yes, it does. You always find a way to make things about you. Why can’t you just see that I’m happy with him? Is it so hard for you to let me be happy?" He doesn't say anything. "Things always were and always are going to be about you, how you wanted to do go-karting, how dad was always helping you and never had time for me, how your career affected Arthur’s career, how mom didn’t go to my college graduation because it was your F1 debut. Do you see how it is? You're always in the spotlight in the family. Enzo is the first child, so he is special, Arthur is the youngest, so he gets a lot of attention, and you are the superstar. And what am I? I'm the one who always is put to the side, and for the first time in years, I'm happy and you’re still making about you"

"Then why are you here fighting with me instead of just ignoring what I think is best for you and going after him?"

"Because you're my brother. I’ll always put our family above my happiness and even though you're an idiot, I still love you, and I still care about what you think of me." I wiped the tears from my face, and he fell silent. "And I shouldn’t care since I’m no one to you."

"Y/n…"

"No. You made it very clear that I'm just a slut for Carlos to sleep with until he finds someone better." I shouted in his face. "I never treated you disrespectfully, regardless of the stupid decisions you make daily, and at the first opportunity you had, you treated me like a nobody instead of your little sister."

I grabbed my suitcase and left. I wasn't really going to Monaco because there were no flights and I didn't want to be alone at this moment, so I went to the only place where I would really feel safe.

"Hey, don't cry." It was the first thing he said when he opened the door. "It's going to be okay."

"I'm sorry." My voice came out low and faltering.

"You didn't do anything wrong to apologize to me for." He hugged me tightly.

"I need to because my brother shouldn't have said those things to you." He grabbed my face and made me look at him.

"I don't care about anything he said to me, and I don't care at all about what he thinks of me. What I care about is that he hurt you over something that's none of his business."

"Can we not talk about him anymore, please?" And once again, I was crying.

"I'll prepare a bathtub for you, okay?" I agreed and sat on the edge of the bed while he went to the bathroom.

We stayed silent the whole time; he prepared the bathtub, tied my hair up in a bun, helped me with my clothes, and my body relaxed as soon as it touched the water.

"Do you mind keeping me company?" He smiled and took off his clothes, sitting behind me.

"You know I love you, right?"

"I know, and I love you too." He kissed my forehead, and we returned to silence.

I think we stayed for about 20 minutes until the water cooled and then we got out, got dressed, and went to bed to lie down.

"Everything will be okay if you're willing to continue, your brother will accept it over time." I agreed with him.

"I hope so because I don't know how it will be if he hates me forever."

"He doesn't hate you, he's just upset."

"How do you feel about this weekend?" I changed the subject.

"I think it’s okay."

"Is there any problem with the car?"

"It's not that, it's just that I've been feeling a bit strange." I got up quickly.

"What do you mean strange? You’re sick and here I am lamenting over my idiot brother." I put my hand on his forehead and saw that he was a little warm.

"I'm fine, I’m just a little warm.”

"Okay, but if you feel anything different, let me know." He agreed, and I lay down again for us to sleep.

...

Carlos woke up unwell today; his fever was high, and he didn't seem very well, but he was insisting on going to practice.

"You have to stay and rest."

"I'm fine; it's just a fever."

"It's not just a fever; this could get much worse later."

"Hermosa." He held my hands on his face. "I'm fine; everything will be okay."

"Just promise me you'll take care of yourself and not push beyond what your body can handle."

"I promise." He gave me a peck on the lips and smiled. "Are you sure you'll be okay here alone?"

"I'm more worried about you than me, okay."

"I promise to come back as soon as possible and not to overdo it."

"Okay, I love you."

"I love you too." With that, he left.

A few hours passed, and I saw that a strange number was calling me, and for some reason, I decided to answer.

"Hello?"

"Is this Y/n?"

"Yes."

"This is Roberto Merhi."

"Oh, hi, is everything okay?"

"I'm here to talk about Carlos; his fever got worse and he was taken to the hospital to do some tests, and in the end, he'll have to undergo emergency surgery to remove his appendix, and before he went, he told me you were his girlfriend and asked me to call you."

"My God, which hospital?" I asked, already putting on my sneakers.

"I'm parking in front of your hotel and we'll go together."

"I'm coming down."

The trip to the hospital was horrible; I only knew that he had to have surgery, but I didn't know if he was already having it, if he had already done it, or whatever was happening at the moment. The only thing I knew was that I needed to see him.

"Hi, you have a patient here named Carlos Sainz, and I'm his girlfriend."

"Your name, please?"

"Y/n Leclerc." She agreed.

"He entered surgery 10 minutes ago, but it's a simple procedure, so if there are no complications, he should be out in at most an hour."

"Thank you."

"You can wait in the waiting room."

The waiting time was agonizing ; Roberto and I stayed there waiting for news.

"How did you two meet?"

"Well, it was at the Paddock; we always got along well, and I often come to see Charles race, so we got closer, and here we are."

"I bet your brother doesn't know or doesn't like it." I laughed.

"He didn't know until yesterday, and he doesn't like it today." He laughed too. "It's complicated."

"I can imagine."

"Miss Sainz." I stood up as the doctor arrived.

"Yes?"

"He's doing well, the surgery was a success, and he was asking for you."

"Thank you." I went to the room, and he was lying there, smiling when he saw me.

"Hi, love.”

"Hi." I went to him, and he took my hand. "You promised you wouldn't strain yourself."

"Don't make me laugh." He said, already laughing.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I've been opened up and closed again."

"Stop joking."

"I'm fine, obviously, it still hurts, but the doctor said I'll be fine."

"I was so worried when Roberto called me."

"I didn't mean to worry you."

"I know you didn't, but I worry anyway."

"Come here." He shifted to the side, and I lay down with him.

"I love you." I felt him smile since his face was against my head.

"I love you more."

"Excuse me." We looked at the door and saw Charles there with a balloon. "Can I come in?"

"Come in." Carlos said, and I got up from the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

"I could be better, obviously, but I'm okay."

"I brought a balloon." He handed him a helium balloon.

"Congratulations on motherhood?" I asked.

"It was the only one available." Carlos laughed.

"Thanks."

"Can I talk to you?" Now he asked me.

"Depends, will we be civilized?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right back, okay?"

"Can you bring me some water later?"

"Of course." I smiled and left the room.

"I'm really sorry for everything, I was an idiot, and I shouldn't have meddled in your relationships, and I also shouldn't have talked to you like that." He said. "It's just that you're my little sister and I can't stand the fact of someone having access to your heart to the point of being able to break it."

"Charlie, I love you for wanting to protect me, and I know your intentions are good, but the way you handled the situation hurt me." I wiped a tear. "I know you don't like the idea of me dating your teammate, but I love him, and we're not just fooling around, it's serious, and I don't need you to like it, just to respect my decision."

"And I do respect it." I agreed. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know, and I love you too, Charlie." He hugged me tight. "I'll go bring the water."

"Okay."

"Are you staying longer, or are you leaving now?"

"I'm leaving now; I just came to see you guys. I still have to race tomorrow."

"Oh, right. I would go and watch, but..."

"It's okay; you have many races to watch. Don't worry about me, just take care of him."

"Bye, Charlie."

"Goodbye, Y/n." He leaves, and I go back to the room.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, drinking the water.

"Now it is." He smiles, and I turn on the TV and lie back down on the bed with him.

[sunlitlemonade]

YOU WATCH F1 TOO?!?!?!?!???????!?? RAHHHHHHHHH🏎🏎🏎🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 can we plz get thoughts on drivers 👀🥺🙏🫣🫣🫣🫦

anon i know you sent this sometime around suzuka but that last emoji made me laugh every time i tried answering this. as for the drivers......... sigh. I'm swinging a very bedazzled bat at a swarming hornets' nest. pray for me.

under the cut because i yapped a LOT. also. uh. possible slander. so like.

Red Bull Racing

Max Verstappen: starting off strong here with my favourite guy of all time. He's Inevitable™. He's fast. He's amazing. He's sweet and blunt and gorgeous and I want everything good for him. He's phenomenal, he moves me, he makes it's so easy to root for him and yet, it's incredibly taxing to be a fan given the British bias in F1 journalism and the fandom, not to mention FIA occasionally losing it's goddamn mind.

Sergio 'Checo' Perez: I'm actually so fond of him. His recent performances leave more to desired, I know, but fuck if he isn't the funniest mf around. Also it's simply a matter of time when he gets back in form [the bias is STRONG here I'm aware]. Also he's an extremely good second driver because I for one think he knows how to handle a team built around his teammate. I don't think any other driver on the current grid would have gelled with Max and Red Bull's structure [and strategy to win] the way Checo has.

Ferrari

Charles Leclerc: Il Predestinato. Saint Leclerc. Curse bearer and curse breaker. He's made to be a dream. He can make the hopeless hope. I know I said Max is generational talent but we're quite lucky to be in this era where we have not one, but TWO generational talents because Charles..... this guy..... you have to be blind to not see the sheer talent and insanity this man holds. Ferrari get your shit together istg. I need a Verstappen - Leclerc WDC fight. IT WILL BE GLORIOUS.

Carlos Sainz: *cough* ok, so, I wanna start off by saying I do think he's a chill guy off-track, ok? I really do think that. He's funny, quick, hot [ofc]. As a driver though. I just. He's good --not as good as F1 media wanted you to believe after his win in Australia and the circumstances surrounding it [WDC material??? Any GP winner now is considered WDC material??? ok]-- but he whines A LOT and I would actually prefer if his aggressiveness on track is directed less at his own teammate and more on their opposition? That would be cool. Plus sometimes he forgets it's not 'yippee we are all friends haha' all the time and inevitably fires up when someone serves cunt on track and he's bearing the brunt of it. I call it the Mclaren syndrome if anyone is interested.

Mclaren

enough said [ignore the shit quality i grabbed the first template i could find sjskdjfke]

Mercedes

George Russell: HES SUCH A HILARIOUS DIVA!!!! WHO DOESNT LOVE THIS GUY?? He's so entertaining and fun and he is a very good driver! I feel like we still have yet to see all he can achieve and I am very excited to see what happens next.

Lewis Hamilton: Legend. I truly have nothing else to add. Forget his fanbase, forget his tunnel vision when it comes to winning [and this applies to almost every driver, most of all my favourite ones lol], he's seven time world champion for a reason. Since we're asking for my opinions here though, I'll tell you this: anytime he wins I'm happy enough to see it [though I will forever want to see my favs on P1], any time he doesn't I don't care much, if he has a bad race I will give it less notice- basically, he exists in the periphery of my vision. I have been in awe of him for years and admire him but I cannot call myself a fan. One thing I can't help but obsess over is how cunty and unapologetic he is [which is also something that I love about Max].

Alpine

Esteban Ocon: He's a good driver, he's grinded hard to be here in F1 and I love to see it. Also, he's geek! In my books, that's always a plus.

Pierre Gasly: He's actually one of the most unremarkable drivers on the grid currently. Like there's nothing wrong with him and every time he pops up in interviews or whatever he's fun to see but that's about it? Honestly he seems like a cool guy, a driver okay enough but doesn't stand out much to me in anyway skdjhsjd

Sauber

Valtteri Bottas: THE MOST UNDERRATED DRIVER EVER MAYBE????? I love this dude and I'm hoping he can get something better than the tractor he has this season, as unlikely as it is.

Zhou Guanyu: Again, he's a nice enough driver and I really enjoy his vibe but he's crawling on the track in the tractor Sauber cooked up and I don't really know what to think of him beyond what I have stated.

Aston Martin

Fernando Alonso: Anyone who has a problem with Mr. Alonso has a problem with me. This is a strict Alonso Stan account, I do not take criticism and idc what anyone else has to say about him. He's a legend, he's an icon, he's the spirit of F1. I'm quite literally obsessed with him. You know what. Max is the Only One for me BUT if Fernando happened to win a 3rd title........... Did you know that Adrian Newey was recently acquired by Aston Martin [MAKE IT HAPPEN NEWEY].

Lance Stroll: idc. truly idc. some hate this guy, some love him. im at the camp of idgaf. just complete indifference.

Haas

Kevin Magnussen: If you've noticed anything by now, it's that I love love love track terrors. Not the stupid bitches who divebomb everyone all the time and start barking when it happens to them. Nah, the ones who race. I fucking love them. I love Kevin. Hoping against hope that he gets a seat somewhere next year, I will miss him so much. He's incredible to watch. God. I will actually miss him so much. Fuck.

Nico Hulkenberg: Another underrated driver, he's actually quite skillful and entertaining to watch. I just wish he had better luck like 😭

VCARB

Daniel Ricciardo: I miss him. His performances had waned and yeah, it had been time for him to go but I will still miss him and idk man I will admit I wasn't his biggest fan a while back, which had hurt because at some point, years back, he was the main reason why I watched the sport at all. But he had slowly wormed himself back in my heart and fuck. His last race actually made my chest clench ngl. He was absolutely amazing.

Liam Lawson: Consider me sat. I'm SO curious to see how he performs. We know he's got potential but just how far can he stretch?

Yuki Tsunoda: How many times have I used the word 'love' already? I'm sorry but what else can I say? I genuinely love this fella. He's so good and exciting to watch on track and also, plain funny. I wish for everything good to happen to him.

Williams

Alex Albon: infatuated with his billion dollar smile. Now that that's out of the way let me also just say HES SUNLIGHT INCARNATE, also I COULD LISTEN TO HIM YAP FOREVER. Idk I'm actually really happy for him because he seems to be flourishing at Williams and I mean this in the best way possible: he shines at a midfield team. [Also, note me saying he's sunshine doesn't negate just how fucking sly & sassy he can be. I adore that about him.]

Franco Colapinto: MY BELOVED. I perk up like a sunflower under the sun when I see him. He's such an intriguing driver. I detect hints of track terrorism abilities brewing here and cannot wait to see more of it. Also! He's so refreshing to listen to. I know like 80 percent of the grid is no-nonsense and transparent but man idk how to say this. He's a fucking comedian. Not a thought that has any sort of filter at all in that pretty little head of his. Just. No PR training at all here.

Logan Sargent: This boy. He did not deserve even a smidgen of what he had to tolerate. I actually detest the collective treatment from the fandom and his own fucking team that he had to constantly weather. I hope whatever racing division he advances to, he fucking demolishes. I hope he has so much fun winning. I miss him and his reserved smiles.

Special mention:

Oliver Bearman: I mean he raced twice this season, I can't skip over him just like that. Anyways, he's a BABY [< girl who's half a year older than him sjedhbwje] and I WANT HIM TO DO GOOD. He's done relatively well till now in the limited time on track [in F1] we've seen him, we'll have to wait and watch how he does next year. This F2 season for him has been... eh but like I get why.

[crueisummer]

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝓒𝓛16

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

chapter summary: You surprise Charles at a race, and he wins and asks you to be his girlfriend.

playlist: ♫ gorgeous ♪ delicate ♬ i think he knows ♡ you are in love

author's note: Part 3!! I had a lot of ideas coming in with this one that's why it took so long xD Hope you guys like it! In my imagination, Max DNF and Charles won in Austria LOOOOOL jk. Anyway, thank you so much for all the support &lt;;3

word count: 3.1k

disclaimer: All characters and events in this story, even those based on real people, are entirely fictional.

            𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬

01:35 ━━━━●───── 02:53 ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılı ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮

While sitting on the couch in your living room, engrossed in writing a song with a guitar on your lap and a notebook in front of you, your concentration was interrupted by the FaceTime ringtone. Glancing at your MacBook on the coffee table, you saw Charles' name and immediately answered the call, greeted by his gorgeous face.

"Hello, cheri," Charles greeted you as you set aside your guitar. He settled onto the bed, his head bouncing with a smile, and you couldn't help but laugh. Observing his wet hair and the towel around his neck, you deduced that he had just finished showering after receiving your text about being available for a FaceTime call.

"Aww, is my baby tired?" You teasingly remarked, knowing he preferred terms of endearment over his name.

"Very," he replied with closed eyes, his smile still present.

"I watched the qualifying today, and you did amazingly! P2!" You exclaimed with enthusiasm, as if you were the first one telling him his position, even though he was well aware.

"Merci, bébé. I was thinking of you while racing," he winked at you.

"No, you weren't," you playfully rolled your eyes, aware of his flirtatious nature, yet blushing at his words. Adding, "What time is it there?"

"It's about 9:30 pm here."

"3:30 here."

"Were you writing?" He inquired, noticing the guitar beside you.

"Yeah, just a bit. I've only figured out the guitar part for now," you shrugged.

"Can I hear it?"

"Sure." You reached for the guitar and played the chords for him.

"That sounds amazing. I'm sure you'll come up with the lyrics soon. You're like a genius," he complimented.

"Charles, please. You're going to inflate my ego," you jokingly responded, strumming the guitar. Suddenly, memories of the night you and Charles first met flooded your mind, and the lyrics began to form. Setting the guitar down on the couch, you quickly grabbed your notebook and pen, eager to jot down the lyrics.

"See? You're already writing it down," he smirked at you, shaking his head, secretly thinking, You are so talented.

As you caught up with each other, you suggested that Charles turn off the lights in his room, leaving only the lamp on, and make himself comfortable. About thirty minutes later, he was starting to doze off. Whispering a soft "good night" to him, he responded with a gentle smile and mumbled it back. You watched him sleep, waiting for him to enter a deep slumber before ending the call, recalling how last time you had accidentally woken him up by ending the call too soon.

Now, gazing at his peaceful expression, you wished he could always be like this. He had confided in you about the pressure he was currently facing—falling behind in points compared to last year, ranking 6th in the driver standings, and the heightened attention on him as they returned to Austria, where he had won the previous year—all while aiming to secure a podium win that would mark Ferrari's 800th. Last week, he finished P4 and was disappointed not to make it to the podium, and all you could do was offer comfort over the phone since you were in New York.

It had been four months since you and Charles had met, and you both agreed to take things slow. As part of that decision, you chose not to accompany him to the races. However, when he finished P4 last week, you couldn't help but wish you could be there to hug and support him.

"Please be here," Charles whispered, surprising you. He seemed to be sleeping already. Is he sleep-talking?

You responded softly, "Hmm, Charles? What did you say?"

"Here," He whispered again, and that single word was all it took for you to grab your phone and message your manager that you were heading to Austria. Once you were certain Charles had fallen into a deep sleep, you ended the FaceTime call and made the necessary arrangements. You packed your suitcase, booked a private jet and pilot, secured accommodation and transportation in Austria, all timed to coincide with Charles' arrival at the paddock.

Upon your arrival, Kika and Pierre joined you, handing over the VIP pass. The media immediately began taking photos, unsure of your identity but capturing the moment just in case you were someone significant. Your attire—a black tank top and skirt, a red Ferrari leather jacket, red Jordans, black sunglasses and Charles' Ferrari cap—made it evident that you were there to support a certain Ferrari driver.

"Charles says he's in the motorhome. He's asking why I'm asking where he is," Pierre said, looking up at the two of you, waiting for your response.

"Hmm, if you tell him you have a surprise, he might suspect something, and we don't want that," Kika contemplated aloud.

"Um, just tell him you need him to sign something," you suggested, pointing to the cap you were wearing.

"Wait, are you two official?" Pierre asked you.

“No, not yet.” You smiled sheepishly at them as they expressed their surprise.

“Wow. I bet he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend before the day ends,” Kika said confidently. “I would bet all my money on it.”

“I know he's been planning it for a while, but the surprise might be the cherry on top,” Pierre added, while Kika linked her arm with his and rested her head on his shoulder.

You laughed at their reaction as Pierre led the way to the Ferrari motorhome. You pondered silently, realizing that it didn't really matter whether you were officially a couple or not yet. Charles had been patient, waiting for you to feel comfortable with him, and you both agreed to take things slow. But lately, you couldn't help but feel that both of you were ready for a committed relationship. So, why continue waiting?

A few employees were present, but there were no fans or media in sight. Kika took out her phone to record the moment, and Pierre called Charles, instructing him to come outside. With Pierre on your left and Kika on your right, you stood nervously in the middle, removing your sunglasses and cap to make it easier for Charles to recognize you. You waited for about a minute until three figures wearing red emerged from the building. Charles was the first one out, scanning the surroundings, and when his eyes met yours, his face lit up.

"Y/N?"

"Surprise!"

Grinning, you rushed toward him, and he reciprocated by opening his arms, embracing you tightly. Laughter filled the air as Charles stood there, slightly confused but delighted, while you savored his scent and held onto him. In your imagination, you had envisioned this surprise and his reaction countless times, but nothing compared to the reality of hugging him.

The three people around you laughed and gushed at the sight, and eventually, you pulled away slightly, keeping your arm loosely wrapped around his as you smiled and greeted him with a simple "Hi."

"What? How? When I fell asleep last night, you were still in New York!" He exclaimed, his eyes widening with astonishment. His confusion was undeniably adorable.

"Yeah, but you were sleep-talking, practically begging me to come here!" You replied, creating some distance between you and Charles, placing your hand on your hip. He didn't appreciate the space and closed the gap, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, kissing the side of your head, as you faced your three friends, who were playfully teasing Charles.

"He begged you to come here!?" Carlos shouted in amusement.

"Just say you're happy she's here!" Pierre exclaimed.

“Wait, you guys are in a call while sleeping?” Arthur teased.

"For crying out loud, just kiss her already so I can turn this off!" Everyone turned their attention to Kika, who was still recording the entire interaction. Except for Charles, who gently placed his hand on your chin, guiding your face to look at him. As you turned to meet his gaze, his lips were already in close proximity to yours. He closed the gap between you and gave you a brief but tender kiss before pulling away.

Shortly after, Kika and Pierre bid their farewells, and you hugged and thanked them. Charles then introduced you to Carlos and Arthur.

"Ahh, so this is the famous 'Y/N' that Charles has been talking so much about!" Carlos remarked, smiling as you both stepped back.

You giggled and playfully asked, "Oh really? What has he been saying about me?"

"He's always bringing you up in conversations! Saying things like 'Did you know Y/N is like this...'" Arthur began, imitating Charles as the four of you shared a lighthearted moment.

"Shut up, mate! Go! Don’t you two somewhere to be?" Charles exclaimed, playfully shooing Carlos and Arthur away. They pretended to be offended but waved goodbye as they left. Charles then took your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours, and led you into the motorhome.

Curiosity filled Charles' expression as he guided you through the motorhome. "Seriously, how did you get here? Wha-?" he began to ask, but you interrupted with laughter, explaining most of it.

As he showed you the different rooms, you waved and greeted the staff. The motorhome had offices where people were working, tables and chairs in the middle, and stairs at the back. Charles led you up the stairs, pointing out the kitchen, and at the top of the stairs was the second floor, where his driver's room was located.

His room was small, with a closet on the left, a small desk beside it, and his bed on the right. You sat on his bed while he closed the door behind you. Commenting on the size, you remarked, "Well, this is bigger than what you described."

"Still, I don't like hanging around here," he chuckled, joining you on the bed. You looked at him, and he couldn't help but smile. "I still can't believe you're here. Did I actually sleep talk last night?"

“Yes! You whispered, ‘be here’ twice and I don’t know, it felt right for me to get here as soon as I can,” you explained and shrugged at the end. Charles' smile didn't fade.

"Can I kiss you now?" he asked softly, and you nodded in response. His lips were warm and soft as they met yours. They parted slightly, allowing your tongues to intertwine. The gentle tickle of his breath beneath your nose, his fingers gently combing through your hair—every sensation was heightened as you breathed each other in.

Charles firmly grasped your hips, urging you to settle onto his lap as he shifted back on the bed. Your bodies pressed against each other with passion, breathing heavily as your lips locked together. The taste of your shared breath lingered, accompanied by the feel of your combined heartbeats. With a slight fumble, he managed to remove your jacket, and his lips trailed a series of small kisses along your neck, leaving a trail of pleasure in their wake.

"Charles, you're going to leave a mark," you whispered breathlessly, reveling in the intense sensations evoked by his kisses.

"That's exactly what I want, my love," he replied in a rough, raspy voice. You entangled your hands in his hair and tugged gently, prompting him to withdraw and admire his handiwork. He looked at you, breathless, your lips reddened and swollen, your hair tousled, and a vivid red mark adorning the left side of your neck—a visible symbol of his possession.

Charles was about to speak when his phone suddenly began vibrating in his pocket. He reached for it and leaned against the headboard of the bed. Finally feeling your fatigue from the long flight, you put your head on Charles' chest and wrapped an arm around his stomach, closing your eyes and finding comfort in the rise and fall of his chest against you. You were almost asleep when you heard Charles bidding the caller goodbye.

"Babe, I have to go to the parade now. Do you want to stay here and take a nap?" Charles asked, running his fingers through your hair as you nodded.

"Okay, I'll be back in 30 minutes tops," Charles says, making a move to leave. At first, you resist, but knowing he'll get in trouble if he's late, you let him go. He kisses you on the forehead goodbye, and you're already fast asleep before he's out of the room.

"Y/N, amour. Wake up," Charles says, planting kisses on your face and arm to gently wake you up. You stir and open your eyes, and he smiles at you. "Sorry to wake you up, but you're going to watch me win now."

You laugh at his cockiness and ask him if you have time to freshen up. He nods as he changes into his racing suit, and you grab your makeup bag and retouch your makeup. Once you're both finished, he tries to lean in for a kiss, but you stop him, reminding him of your lip gloss. He groans and kisses your forehead instead. Holding your hand, he leads you outside the motorhome.

"I'm going to be busy now. Will you be fine with Arthur?" he asks, taking a sip of water while his hand remains intertwined with yours. You nod, assuring him you'll be okay.

"Are you sure? You can ask Kika to sit here with you, though," he suggests, concerned about your comfort.

"Charles, don't worry. I'm a grown woman. I think I can handle spending time with new people," you laugh, teasing him. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Kika would want to stay and support Pierre."

Once everything is settled, the two of you enter the garage. Charles greets everyone while holding your hand, and you wave at them. He shows you to your seat next to Arthur. Charles introduces you to Joris and Andrea, who are sitting beside Arthur, and then he leaves for a brief team meeting.

As you observe the garage, Joris asks if this is your first F1 race.

“First race and first-time surprising Charles.” You smile at him, and he tells you he’s going to show you something. He tilts his camera to you, and you see a photo of Charles at his apartment, smiling while looking at his phone.

“He was texting you, by the way.” He says and you blush, asking him to send you a copy of the picture. He nods and adds, “You know, I’ve never seen him smile like that.”

“Bullshit. You probably say that to all the girls he brings here.” You joke and chuckle at him.

He raises his arms and says, “Hey, I don’t have any reason to say that to you in the first place. So, trust me when I say that he’s never looked at a girl like that, ever.”

Arthur then chimes in, saying he's never seen Charles talk about someone so much, especially to his mother.

Your eyes widen. He told his mother about me? You try not to show any emotion as you ask Arthur, “What has he said about me?”

“I’m pretty sure all good things. I know she doesn’t like to judge before meeting someone, so she’s been asking Charles to invite you for dinner, but he said the two of you are taking things slow, and I think she really liked that.” Arthur smiles at you.

“Charles hasn’t had a good track record when it comes to dating, and Maman tries not to interfere; but you know.” Arthur adds and nods his head, and you did too. Charles previously told you about his two previous relationships and how fucked up everything started and ended.

You're interrupted when Charles approaches your group. He takes you to the side for a moment of privacy. He informs you that he has to go to the grid and asks if you're sure you'll be fine.

“Charles, I’m fine, okay? Now, good luck out there.” You smile at him and pat his chest.

“That’s it?” He says frowning. He turns to his side and taps his cheek. You laugh at him and gently held his jaw, tilting his face to kiss him gently on the lips.

When you pulled away, you whisper to his ear, trying to copy his accent, “Good luck, amour.”

He grins like a kid and replies, “I have my good luck charm right here.”

During the race, you wear a headset to listen to the communication between Charles and his engineer. Arthur explains the race terminology to you, and you enjoy watching the pit stops. When Charles briefly takes the lead and Carlos follows in second place, everyone in the garage celebrates, and you join in. Not realizing the film crew on the garage and zooming in on you celebrating until you saw in one of the screens. You stopped jumping and blushed, realizing there were cameras here and that you’ve been made by the media.

As Charles crosses the finish line first, Arthur and the others grab you and run from the garage to the barricades. Charles parks his car, stands on it, and raises his fists in triumph. The lot of you cheer for your driver. He removes his helmet and balaclava and was just about to hug you when you grab his cheek and kiss him passionately on the lips. You felt him get taken aback but he kisses back instantly. The crowd around you cheers, and Charles pulls away and smiles at you. He goes on to shake hands with Arthur and others before preparing for his interview.

After a few minutes, they step up on the podium, and you watch as Charles gets handed the trophy and he raises it. He looks around and locks eyes with you. He winks, and you make a heart gesture with your hands. He laughs and shakes his head.

You're glad you came to surprise him, knowing in your heart that you're ready for the next step in your relationship. While you had agreed to take things slow, you knew he had been patiently waiting for a sign that you were ready to start a new relationship.

As night fell and you found yourselves on the balcony of your hotel room, gazing at the starry sky, a feeling of familiarity washed over you. Charles lovingly wrapped his arm around your waist, resting his head on your shoulder as you look back at the day and think that your spontaneous decision to support him at the race was a clear indication of your feelings, and he knows it.  

Finally, Charles finally asked the question he had been longing to ask all day, "Will you be my girlfriend?"

A smile adorned your face as you turned to face him, his arms still embracing you. Without hesitation, you kissed him and replied, "Yes."

taglist: @notleclerc @elegantnighttragedy @buendiabebeta @i-have-no-idea-of-who-i-am @fangirlika @akahalloween31

[6emo6zombie6]

RDR fem!relationship/sexual headcanons pt.2

Got some shower thoughts and had to write them down, this time for Charles, Javier, and Sadie. My last headcanons were received very well so I hope this one is as good! :)

Charles:

The sweetest and most gentle boyfriend ever. He’ll smile at you and blush whenever you walk into the room.

Enjoys taking you on long, calm horse rides. Usually, you end up cuddling on some beach or somewhere in a big field.

Loves when you play with his hair or swoop it over his shoulder so you can press kisses against his neck.

Always petting your head for some reason, whether you’re sitting in between his legs by the campfire or if you’re huddled in his cot together, he always seems to be petting your head.

Hand holding!!!!! This man will always hold your hand, he enjoys it especially if your hand is smaller than his (which, let’s be honest, it probably is).

Never stops smiling after you kiss him. It doesn’t matter if it’s a soft peck on his jaw or a long, passionate kiss, he just can’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day.

~~~

Very slow and gentle, he doesn’t see why sex should be rushed.

He tries to hide it, but he’s actually super needy. He can’t help but get hard quickly, even if you’re just making out.

Super into sleepy sex. He loves seeing you sleepy and needy for him, completely under his mercy as he fucks you gently. He doesn’t mind in the slightest if you wake him up and ask him if he can help you out.

“You’re too horny to sleep? Aw, baby, let me take care of that for you.”

Not specifically into public stuff, but the two of you undoubtedly have fucked around in the woods a couple of times.

Always too shy to make any noise at first, but you’ll have him groaning and whining as soon as he warms up to you.

Obsessed with your thighs. He’ll fuck them or have his head between them if he can.

Ashamed to admit that he likes some light bondage every now and then.  

Sadie:

It initially took her a while to warm up to you, even If she fell in love from the first time she laid eyes on you.

Always laughing at your jokes, there isn’t a second that she thinks you’re unfunny or boring.

She loves that little sparkle in your eyes when she gives you a gift, so she’ll make sure to get you a shiny new ring or necklace every so often.

Always showing you off. She’ll make a smooth comment on how amazing you look every so often, causing all of the people at camp to look at you.

Always takes you along to bars, her arm either around your shoulders or your waist to make sure you don’t get hurt.

Offended by people who assume the two of you are just friends, you’re her girlfriend and everyone needs to know.

Definitely beats people up if they try to either flirt with or annoy you.

Loves it when you get clingy, she has all the attention in the world for you.

~~~

Not ashamed in the slightest to make out with you in public.

Hickeys and scratches are her other ways to show everyone whose girlfriend you are.

Always grabbing your boobs when nobody’s looking.

She’ll whisper dirty things into your ear while you’re doing your daily chores just to watch you get embarrassed.

Lets you ride her thigh whenever.

Does the knee thing, no doubt.

Very spontaneous when she wants sex, usually she’s pushing you into your tent with little to no words. You never have reason to complain though.

Not always rushed with sex, but she has her moments. Usually, she isn’t aware of how fast she’s going, just focused on making you cum.

 Javier:

Definitely the type of guy to kiss your hands.

Loves it when you wear his clothes, he’ll somehow always find a way to offer you his jacket.

Always calls you “Mi amor,” “Mi Corazón,” “Cariño,”… Etc.

Writes songs for you on his guitar.

Helps you practice playing guitar if he’s got time.

Loves sitting in between your thighs or laying his head between them.

Weirdly likes It when you touch his arms and trace his muscles.

Likes carrying you—it doesn’t matter what reason, and he’ll just make one up if there is none. He’ll carry you to your tent when you’re drunk or when you’re tired, if not, he’ll carry you to your horse like a princess.

Always worried if you’re too cold.

~~~

I’m telling you right now, this man for sure has an oral fixation. He’s always pushing his fingers into your mouth and making you suck them.

Blowjobs!! He’ll take them in any way, as long as his cock is in your mouth.

Enjoys pulling your hair.

Bends you over anything he can.

Absolutely goes wild when you sit on his lap and grind your hips against his bulge.

Always manhandling you while you’re making out.

Starts out slow and sensual during sex, then ends up getting rough and making you cum multiple times.

Prefers if you’re more bratty or confident during sex so he can try his best to bring you down.

Very vocal during sex, whether it is grunting and moaning or talking to you in Spanish.