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scriptedinkbyxim · 2 days ago

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Past the Finish Line: The Final Lap [CL16]

After heartbreak leaves her lost once again, (Y/N) finds unexpected solace in Charles Leclerc’s friendship. Through adventures and quiet moments, he helps her rediscover herself and the beauty of life. As their bond deepens, she learns that love can be gentle, joyful, and transformative.

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Sainz! Female Reader, Ex! Max Verstappen x Sainz! Female Reader, Sainz! Female Reader x Brother! Carlos Sainz, Sainz! Female Reader x Sainz! Family.

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Alcohol consumption, Talks of sex but nothing explicit, Pregnancy (not reader), Smut. This is LONG.

A/N: Hi, Xim here. Here is one of the alternative endings of "Past the Finish Line" short series. English is not my first language so apologies in advance for any mistake. I should've probably divided this in 2 parts. There won't be more parts.

Part. 1 | Part. 2 | Part. 3 | Lando’s Ending

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Some hearts didn't break all at once; they lingered, unraveling thread by thread until you stood bare, wondering how you'd lost everything without even noticing. (Y/N) had always imagined that moving on would feel decisive, like flipping a page or slamming a door. But it wasn’t. It was waking up back in her home town with no echoes of the past, only to realize that silence could be louder than chaos. It was standing in the middle of your own life and feeling like a stranger, as though someone else had written your story, and now you'd been handed the pen without instructions.

Madrid was beautiful—warm stone streets that basked under golden light, the scent of churros lingering near small cafés, and a city that pulsed with a rhythm unapologetically its own. People moved through its streets with purpose, laughing, living, thriving. She had hoped that immersing herself in this symphony would drown out the stillness of what she’d left behind. But it hadn’t. And that realization gnawed at her.

Madrid was supposed to represent freedom, yet here she was, caged by her doubts.

She was seated on the couch opposite by the window, arms crossed, watching the city unfold beneath her. The life she had with Max had once seemed infinite, like a story that would never find its final chapter. And when it did, it ended not with a dramatic conclusion but with a quiet disintegration. Eight years woven so tightly together had left their marks — not just on her heart but on her very sense of self.

The late afternoon sun filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden streaks across the polished wooden floors of her new apartment that bore the marks of a fresh start, yet it still clung to echoes of an old life. The golden hues of the Spanish sunset cast long shadows over her sparsely decorated living room. The furniture was minimalist and modern, but devoid of the personal touch that made a place feel like home. Long gone were the days of lavish Monaco views and Max’s meticulously curated spaces. Now, it was just her, a city bustling with life beyond the walls and an uneasy silence that seemed louder with each passing day.

Manuscripts, marked by hasty edits and half-formed ideas, lied scattered across the large oak desk by the window. A mug with remnants of cold tea sat forgotten beside them, its faint bitter aroma mingling with the crisp scent of the busy city air entering through the partially opened window.

Pushing herself off the couch she starts pacing in the middle of the room, barefoot and restless, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at the blank page on her laptop screen, its emptiness mocking her. A dull ache gnaws at the pit of her stomach—a feeling she can’t quite name but knows all too well.

Despite the quiet, her name was far from forgotten. The books she had written during her time with Max — stories drafted in the rare quiet moments between chaotic schedules — had finally seen the light of day. At first, releasing them felt like closure, a testament to creativity surviving under pressure. The drafts she'd tucked away while navigating his demanding world had been polished and sent into the world, gaining modest acclaim. But now, with nothing left in the drawer, she was left staring at blank pages, wondering if the well had run dry.

Her eyes flicker to the shelves lined with her books, tangible reminders of the words that once flowed effortlessly from her mind to the page. Words born from passion, heartbreak, and love. But now nothing comes.

She rubbed her temple, frustration prickling beneath her skin. Was her creativity dependent on being in love, even if that love had been turbulent? Max had always been a storm—thrilling, consuming, and impossible to ignore. The drafts she completed had blossomed in the eye of that storm, but now there was only calm, and her imagination wilted in the stillness.

(Y/N) sighed, eyes flickering to a framed photograph of her family on the bookshelf. Carlos' arm was slung over her shoulders, their smiles wide and carefree. Moving back home was supposed to be a new chapter.

Madrid hummed outside — the distant chatter of evening commuters, the rustling of leaves in Retiro Park not far from her building. Yet even this vibrant city seemed unable to spark something within her, she felt untethered, as though the story had ended, and no one had told her how to begin the next one.

Maybe she’d fooled herself into thinking love had nothing to do with her creativity. The thought gnaws at her pride, but deep down, she wonders if there’s truth to it. Eight years of love and shared dreams had fueled her stories. Now, without that intensity, without him, she feels hollow. It had been flawed, chaotic, and ultimately unsustainable, but it had shaped her in ways she couldn’t ignore.

Now, even after months, she wasn’t sure who she was without the scaffolding of that relationship holding her up. The books she'd published were proof of that. Stories born between Max’s races and media obligations had been completed only because she'd clung to something familiar when everything else spun wildly out of control after their breakup. Those books had been a testament to survival, but now she feared they were the only testament she'd ever have.

Her fingers traced the cool glass of the window as she closed her eyes, breathing in slowly. Love wasn't supposed to consume creativity, was it? But maybe it had. Maybe being in love—even a flawed love—had been a constant spark, lighting her imagination. And without it? She was adrift.

She shook her head, frustration bubbling to the surface. No, that couldn't be true, she couldn’t let those years define her. There had to be more within her, waiting to be untapped. She just didn’t know how to find it.

Her gaze drops to her phone on the coffee table, the screen dark. No messages. Not that she’s expecting any. The social invitations have long dwindled since she distanced herself from the F1 paddock and its orbiting social circles.

The thought of Max flickers uninvited into her mind. Not the heartbreak or the messy end but something simpler—a mundane morning memory and flashes of her life with him came unbidden — the way he knew her order without asking, the absentminded kisses when he passed by, the shared glances that spoke volumes.

“Two sugars, no milk,” Max had said with a smirk, handing her a perfectly prepared cup of tea. He had known every detail about her preferences without needing to ask. How she didn't like eggs (or breakfast in general), the way she hated loud chewing, her favorite obscure indie novels—he knew it all.

And now? She was sitting across from strangers on awkward dates who didn’t even knew her favorite color.

Her recent foray into dating had been nothing short of disastrous. One man had talked about cryptocurrency the entire evening; another had wrongly corrected her grammar during casual conversation, not knowing she was a published author. Each date left her more exasperated than the last. How could she possibly start from scratch when she’d been with someone who knew her so completely?

Then her thoughts shift briefly to Lando. Sweet, charming Lando, who had always been there as a friend. After Abu Dhabi, he had wanted more, offering solace and companionship. But it had been too soon—her heart too raw and fractured to entertain the idea of love again. She’d turned him down gently, grateful for his understanding. Now, seeing him happily moved on with someone else brought a bittersweet ache to her chest. She was genuinely happy for him, but it only highlighted her own stagnant state.

The sharp trill of her phone breaks her reverie. Y/N hesitates before picking it up. A text from her editor appears on the screen.

Any updates on the manuscript?

Her stomach tightens. She types out a vague response before tossing the phone back onto the couch. Pressure mounts like a weight on her chest, but no amount of staring at the blank page will summon the words.

The apartment feels suffocating. The neatly arranged furniture, the spotless countertops—it all mocks her. She needs air, movement, something to shake her out of this creative and emotional paralysis. Taking her jacket, she grabs her keys and steps out of her flat, the cold breeze brushing against her skin.

Her hometown thrived around her, beckoning her to move forward. (Y/N) wanted to answer that call, to find inspiration in the world again. But as much as she hated to admit it, part of her wondered if she was still waiting for something—or someone—to show her how.

There’s also a part of her that wants to escape, to run until she finds something—anything—that makes her feel alive again. She just doesn’t know where to start.

The kitchen at the Sainz family house was alive with the comforting hum of quiet conversations, the soft clink of silverware against porcelain, and the low, rhythmic shuffle of feet against the terracotta tiles. The aroma of freshly baked bread and sizzling meat wafted through the home, mingling with the faint citrusy scent of polished wood that always lingered in the air.

The house itself was warm, familiar, and steeped in history—a tapestry woven with laughter, loud debates over races, and countless family gatherings. Yet today, (Y/N) felt oddly out of place within it, like a guest in her own life.

She stood near the window of the living room, watching the late afternoon sun stretch shadows across the manicured lawn. Her mother, Mercedes, was bustling in the kitchen with the same fervor she reserved for holidays, even though this was just a casual gathering. Or so (Y/N) had thought. Carlos Sr. had his arms crossed, already assembling the dinner furniture outside, a portrait of patriarchal pride.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching them, as if caught between two worlds. She was in her childhood house, surrounded by the people she loved the most, but part of her still felt distant, untouchable. They had noticed it too, of course. Her parents always had a way of seeing through the cracks, even when she didn’t speak of them.

Her sister Anna flitted through the space like a hummingbird, effortlessly balancing conversations and helping with the setup. And then there was Carlos, her older brother, who had insisted on this gathering like it was some divine intervention meant to jolt her back to life.

"You can’t just keep hiding, hermanita," he had said over the phone, his voice tinged with concern. "It’s time to come back. The paddock misses you. I miss you."

She knew he meant well, but the idea of returning to the Spanish Grand Prix—facing the paddock, the whispers, the memories—felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, uncertain if the fall would break her or set her free.

Still, she had agreed to this family gathering as a compromise. Baby steps, she told herself. One evening surrounded by the people who loved her, even if their well-meaning concern sometimes felt suffocating. Eventually she decided on moving deeper into the living room, unable to avoid her parents’ gentle but insistent attention.

Her Father raised his eyes as she passed by, offering her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see the tenderness beneath. He’d always been perceptive, sometimes too much for her liking, but today it felt... different. There was a weight in his gaze that made her feel seen in a way she hadn’t been in months.

Mercedes wiped her hands on a dish towel, her movements fluid and sure, before looking up at her. “Sweetheart,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts, soft and careful as always. “How have you been feeling? Really?” Her tone laced with the same concern that had been in her eyes ever since (Y/N) had arrived at the family home, looking... hollow.

It was the way her mother asked—the concern in her eyes, the almost imperceptible line between her brows—that made (Y/N) shift uncomfortably on her feet. She knew what her mother was asking. She didn’t have to speak it aloud. The same question that had echoed in the silence of Mallorca, after the breakup with Max, had come back again, lurking like an unspoken shadow.

“I’m fine, Mum,” (Y/N) replied, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the same smile she’d been wearing for weeks now. A protective barrier, a shield to keep them from seeing the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, not here, not now. “Just working on some new ideas. You know how it is.”

Carlos Sr. looked at her over the rim of his glass, his expression both knowing and gentle. “You’ve always been a creative soul, cariño. We know. We’ve all been wondering how the new book is coming along.”

(Y/N) froze, the warmth in her chest suddenly turning cold. Her father’s words were simple and innocent, yet they cut through her carefully constructed defenses. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking toward the window. The question about her writing felt like a gentle prod, a reminder of the woman she used to be—a woman who poured herself into her work. But these days, her words felt trapped somewhere between her heart and her mind. How could she explain that to her parents? That the words wouldn’t come, that the inspiration she had once relied on now felt... foreign.

"It’s... it’s coming slowly," she said after a beat, her voice not quite convincing even to herself. "I’ve been... taking a break."

Mercedes moved towards her, a subtle concern creeping into her expression. She touched (Y/N)’s arm gently, her grip warm and steady. "A break is fine, but we’ve all seen how much writing means to you," her mother said, her tone soft but purposeful. "What’s really going on, hija?"

(Y/N)’s chest tightened at the underlying question. It wasn’t just about the book anymore; it was about everything that she’d been avoiding—her own brokenness. The world she had once found solace in, whether it was through the pages of her books or the comforting embrace of Max’s presence, had all crumbled, leaving her questioning if she could ever find that peace again.

She glanced at the gentle understanding in her mother’s face. It was almost too much to bear, how easily her parents could read her, how much they cared. She turned her gaze down to the floor, as if trying to avoid their eyes.

“I’ve… been trying to figure things out,” (Y/N) murmured, her hands wringing in the soft fabric of her blouse. “But I don’t have the same… inspiration. Not like I used to.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, then took a quiet sip of his wine. “Maybe it’s time to step out of that shadow, hija. We’ve been through this before. After everything with Max…” he trailed off, and she could feel the air in the room shift.

Her stomach twisted, and her throat tightened as her father spoke the name she hadn’t let escape from her lips in months. Max. So effortlessly woven into the fabric of her past, felt like a raw wound when it was spoken. It wasn’t that she hated him—she didn’t. But the memories of their time together, once so sweet, now felt tainted, stained by the ache of loss and betrayal.

“Dad…” (Y/N)’s voice was low, but the tension in it was palpable. She forced a smile again, as if to reassure them, but it faltered almost immediately. “Can we not talk about that right now?”

Mercedes reached out, placing her hand gently over (Y/N)’s. The touch was gentle, steadying. “Cariño, you can’t keep carrying this alone. We’re your family. We’re here for you, always.”

She blinked, her throat constricting as the weight of her mother’s words settled on her chest. She wanted to tell them everything, to confess how lost she had felt, how lonely she had become, but the words stuck in her throat. What good would it do them, to see their daughter broken once again? They had already seen the aftermath of her heartache. She couldn’t bring them back to that place.

“I’m not…” She shook her head, trying to form the words but failing. “I’m just… I’m fine.”

Mercedes squeezed her hand, her voice soft but insistent. “You don’t have to carry the world on your own. But it’s okay to lean on us when you need it.”

Her father’s gaze was gentle now, understanding. “You’ve been cooped up in this house for too long. It’s time to get out there again, to find your spark. You don’t have to have it all figured out right away. But don’t let yourself hide away.”

The conversation lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. (Y/N) didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she closed her eyes, briefly allowing herself to sink into the warmth of her parents’ concern. But just as quickly, she drew back, pulling away from it. The last thing she wanted was to load them more than she already had.

(Y/N) felt the heat of tears burning at the back of her throat, but she blinked them back. "I’m fine, really. I don’t want to worry you.”

The truth was, she didn’t want to burden them with her creative drought or the gnawing fear that maybe her inspiration had dried up along with her love life. They deserved to see her thriving, not grappling with existential questions about her identity and purpose.

Suddenly her siblings appeared, entering the intervention. Carlos walked over to her, his large hands settling on her shoulders with the kind of care only an older brother could provide. "We can see it," he said gently, his deep voice carrying the weight of years spent growing up together, understanding her. "We saw you when you came back from Hungary, and we’re seeing it again now. You’re not fooling anyone with that smile of yours."

There was a long silence, one where (Y/N) could only hear the steady rhythm of her own breathing, trying to collect herself. The weight of Carlos’ words hung in the air between all of them, both soothing and heavy. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He just wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone.

"Maybe... maybe you should go to the Spanish GP, you’ve never missed that race" Anna said softly, as though sensing the moment had come for something more direct, but still with an encouraging tone. "It’s been a while, (Y/N). And you’ve been away from the paddock for so long. Carlos needs you there. We all miss seeing you there."

(Y/N) bit her lip. It wasn’t the suggestion she’d been expecting. She’d been trying to avoid the very thing they were suggesting—returning to the world she had once inhabited with Max, with all the expectations and emotions that came with it. But as she glanced at her mother’s face, her warm, understanding eyes, she knew this wasn’t about the race. It wasn’t about Carlos either. This was about helping her reconnect to something real, something she’d always loved.

Her father nodded, as if confirming Anna’s words. "You’ve always had a way of making the world feel... lighter," he said with a small, knowing smile. "Maybe it’s time to find that spark again."

The words stung, more than she anticipated, and yet they held a certain kind of truth. She’d been hiding, cocooning herself in the aftermath of everything—Max, the breakup, the uncertainty. Perhaps it was time to stop running from it, to stop shutting out the world around her.

(Y/N) drew in a shaky breath, then nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. "I’ll think about it."

Her parents exchanged a look, one of silent understanding. Mercedes placed her hand over (Y/N)’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We’ll be here no matter what, cariño. Just... don’t stay hidden forever."

Desperate for an escape, (Y/N)'s eyes darted to the front door as the bell rang. "I'll get it," she said quickly, seizing the opportunity to flee the conversation.

She padded through the hallway, her sandals tapping softly against the tiled floor. The house hummed with the distant sounds of conversation. As she walked toward the door, she didn’t know that the moment she opened it would bring everything she had been trying to bury crashing back into her life. She was expecting a neighbor or maybe a delivery.

Instead, standing on the threshold was Charles Leclerc.

He looked different somehow—more rugged, perhaps, or maybe it was just the way time had softened her perception of him. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as though he’d driven with the windows down, and he held a bottle of wine in one hand, his stance awkward but charmingly so. His fitted button down linen shirt was paired with tailored beige trousers that hugged his lean frame.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to narrow, blurring everything but the man in front of her. Her heart stuttered in her chest, caught off guard by his appearance.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Charles shifted his weight, a sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Surprise?" he offered weakly.

(Y/N) blinked, trying to shake herself free from the spell. "I... I didn’t know we were expecting guests."

"Apparently, neither did I," he admitted, lifting the bottle slightly. "Carlos invited me. Said something about finally making good on his promise of cooking for me before his home race."

Of course, she thought wryly. Her brother had a knack for orchestrating situations without informing anyone of his grand plans.

Before she could respond, Carlos’s voice boomed from behind her. "Leclerc! You made it, amigo!"

Charles’s face lit up with genuine warmth as Carlos strode toward them, clapping him on the back with the familiarity of old teammates.

"You’ve kept me waiting for those burgers long enough," Charles joked, his Monegasque accent adding a melodic lilt to his words.

"Come on in, man. Don’t just stand there."

Carlos's presence broke the spell, and she finally stepped aside, allowing Charles to enter. As he brushed past her, she caught the faint scent of his cologne—clean and crisp, tinged with something subtly masculine.

Her fingers clenched at her sides as she tried to steady herself. It was just Charles, she reminded herself. The same Charles who had been a friend, nothing more. Yet the weight of their shared history — or lack of it — lingered in the air, unspoken but palpable.

As the two men exchanged playful banter, (Y/N) found herself retreating toward the kitchen, needing a moment to collect herself. Her mother glanced up from arranging a platter of grilled vegetables.

"Who was at the door?"

"Charles," Y/N said, keeping her voice steady.

"Ah, Charles. Such a lovely and handsome young man," Mercedes said with a smile. "It’s good to see him again."

She nodded absently, her mind still swirling. This gathering had just taken an unexpected turn, and she wasn’t sure how to navigate it.

When the gathering moved outside, laughter and conversation filled the space like a comforting balm. Carlos now stood by the grill, expertly flipping burger patties, his brow furrowed in concentration. The rich sizzle of meat met the crackle of flames as he turned to Charles, who lounged nearby with a glass of wine in hand, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been enduring a season of relentless competition.

The golden afternoon light stretched lazily over the expansive gardens of the estate, dappling the neatly trimmed grass and casting soft shadows beneath the ancient olive trees. The scent of grilled meat and vegetables lingered in the warm air, mingling with the earthy aroma of wild rosemary and lavender that fringed the garden paths. Birds chirped in the distance, their melodies blending seamlessly with the occasional bark from Olive and Piñón.

“See, I told you I’d make these burgers one day,” Carlos declared with a triumphant grin, his Spanish accent thick with pride.

Charles chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day. You’ve been promising me these since we first started being teammates.”

“Well, better late than never, no?” Carlos shot back, flipping the final burger onto a platter and gesturing for Charles to grab the buns.

“Touché,” Charles admitted, standing to assist. His white linen shirt billowed slightly in the breeze, now with the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms that bore faint tan lines from countless hours under the sun.

Nearby, (Y/N) watched them from a shaded corner of the garden, her arms loosely crossed over her chest. She hadn’t intended to linger, but there was something mesmerizing about seeing the easy camaraderie between her brother and Charles. For years, their rivalry had been palpable, a tense undercurrent in the paddock, but now that Carlos had moved to Williams, there was a genuine warmth between them that hadn’t existed before.

It was strange, seeing Charles here, outside the context of race weekends and press conferences. He seemed lighter, more grounded. And yet, there was still that familiar glint in his eyes — a mixture of mischief and sincerity that had always made him impossible to ignore. With one look at his piercing green eyes came the sudden rush of memories—the podium dedication he’d made to her at Abu Dhabi and his raw, heartfelt confession at Monza months ago, still engraved in her mind.

From the moment I met you, I wished you were single. I wished I had a chance to show you what you deserved, to make you happy in ways he never did. Because if you were mine, I would never take you for granted. Not for a single second.

Carlos caught sight of her and waved enthusiastically, polling her away from her thoughts. “¡Hermana! Come here, you have to try these. They’re my masterpiece.”

Reluctantly, she made her way over, her sandals brushing softly against the grass. Olive trotted alongside her, tail wagging happily.

“Masterpiece might be a stretch,” she teased, arching a brow as she approached. “But I’ll humor you.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it,” Carlos assured her, placing a perfectly assembled burger into her hands. “I should open a restaurant.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she quipped, taking a tentative bite. The burst of smoky flavor was immediate, and she couldn’t help but hum in appreciation. “Okay, I’ll admit — this is pretty good.”

Charles grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Careful, Dolcezza. His ego doesn’t need any more inflation.”

Carlos scoffed, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

As the conversation flowed around her, she kept glancing at Charles, his presence both familiar and disarming. There had always been an ease between them, a mutual understanding that didn’t require words. And yet, the events of the past year lingered in the spaces between their conversations — unspoken, but not forgotten.

At some point, Carlos excused himself to check on their parents, leaving her and Charles standing together beneath the olive trees. The breeze rustled the leaves above them, casting dancing patterns of light and shadow across the ground.

“So, long time no see” Charles began, cringing internally at his own words, “how have you been?,” his tone tentative but curious

She hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air. She had grown so used to deflecting, to offering rehearsed answers that kept people at arm’s length. But Charles had always had a way of coaxing honesty from her, his sincerity like a balm against her defenses.

“I’ve been… surviving,” she admitted quietly, her gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the garden. “It’s been strange, trying to figure out who I am without all of that.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully, his expression devoid of judgment. “I can imagine. Eight years is a long time.”

“Too long, maybe,” she murmured, her voice tinged with bitterness. “I keep thinking… What if I wasted all that time? What if I don’t know how to be me without him?”

“You didn’t waste it,” Charles said firmly. “You loved, you learned, and now you get to decide what comes next.”

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over her. “I’ve tried dating again, you know. But it’s been a disaster. None of them know me — not really. They don’t know how I like my tea or that I hate when people leave wet towels on the floor. It’s exhausting, starting over.”

Charles’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Starting over is hard. But it’s also freeing. You get to redefine everything.”

She let out a scoff. “I’m not sure I even know where to begin.”

There was a pause, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of her family. Charles’s gaze never wavered from her, steady and grounding.

"Maybe you just need a change of scenery," he suggests thoughtfully. "New experiences, new adventures." His tone is playful but sincere.

Y/N frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can come with me sometimes,” he said simply. “Let’s do things you’ve never done before. Adventures, experiences, whatever you need to rediscover yourself. No expectations. Just two friends figuring out life,” he offered, his voice gentle but resolute. “Let me help. Let me show you the world—no strings attached.”

(Y/N) hesitates, skeptical. "Charles, I don't need distractions."

"It's not a distraction. It's a chance to rediscover yourself," he counters gently.

She stared at him, disbelief flickering across her features. “You’re serious?”

“Completely,” he assured her. “I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I can promise you this — I won’t let you get stuck in the past. And who knows? Maybe you’ll even find some inspiration along the way.”

(Y/N)’s heart ached with a mixture of hope and skepticism. The idea was tempting, but it also felt daunting. She had spent so long retreating into herself after Abu Dhabi, afraid to face the world. Could she really step out of that shadow?

“I don’t know, Charles,” she said hesitantly. “What if I’m just… broken?”

He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not broken, (Y/N). You’re just in transition. And that’s okay.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. She bit her lip, torn between fear and the faint glimmer of hope Charles had ignited.

"You don’t have to decide now,” he added softly. “Take your time. Think about it. The offer’s open for you to take it.”

She nodded slowly, her mind swirling with thoughts. What exactly did Charles mean by that? Was he offering her the world — a chance to rediscover herself beyond the weight of heartbreak and lost years? Or was there a double meaning hidden in his words, a subtle invitation to take him, too? The idea lingered, unsettling yet alluring. Her heart clenched, torn between longing and uncertainty. There was something about him — the steadiness he offered without pressure or demand — that made the prospect feel less terrifying and perhaps even worth considering.

Her gaze flickered to him, standing there with his quiet confidence. She couldn’t deny how good Charles looked now, the late afternoon golden light catching in his tousled hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face and the warm sincerity in his eyes making it impossible to look away. He was devastatingly handsome, effortlessly so, but she shook the thought away. That wasn’t what she needed right now. Love and romance had only ever anchored her to someone else’s orbit, and she was desperate to learn how to stand on her own two feet again. No, this was about her — about finding her footing in a world that still spun without Max.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, the words laden with unspoken gratitude.

Charles nodded, trying to mask the nervous thrum in his chest. He hadn’t planned this proposition at all, when the words poured out of his mouth they did with anything but friendship in mind — or at least that’s what he told himself. She didn’t need a suitor, and he had no intention of becoming one just yet. But somewhere, deep down, he held onto the faint hope that maybe, someday, things could be different. For now, he wanted to see her smile again, to help her find joy in places she hadn’t dared to look. If that was all he could give, he would do it gladly.

“For what?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“For… being here,” she admitted. “For not giving up on me.”

Charles smiled, warm and sincere. “Always Dolcezza.”

As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the garden in hues of pink, lilac and gold, (Y/N) felt something shift within her — a tentative step toward healing, toward rediscovery. And though she didn’t have all the answers, she knew one thing for certain: Charles’s new friendship was a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to take that first step back into the world.

The Spanish Grand Prix weekend arrived cloaked in tension and nostalgia, casting shadows over (Y/N)'s resolve. The echoes of roaring engines and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber filled the air, stirring something deep within her. Long gone were the days when she walked these grounds with Max by her side, but the memories lingered like ghosts, clinging to the edges of her consciousness. The paddock buzzed with life — journalists, mechanics, and fans moving in a chaotic symphony. Headlines about her disappearance from the F1 world had swirled for months, masked by the temporary excuse of her book releases. But now that she was out of drafts, that facade no longer held weight.

Her family had convinced her of attending, rallying around Carlos as he embarked on a new chapter of his career with Williams. She couldn’t disappoint them, even if the thought of stepping back into this world filled her with trepidation. The familiar sights and sounds were both comforting and suffocating, each corner a reminder of what she had lost — and what she still hadn't found.

Slipping away from her family’s watchful gaze, she maneuvered through the bustling paddock toward the Ferrari motorhome. Determination fueled her steps; she had made a decision and intended to give Charles her answer. Their conversation at the Sainz family gathering a few days ago had lingered in her mind, a flicker of possibility in the midst of her existential crisis.

The motorhome loomed ahead, a sleek fortress of crimson and black. She took a steadying breath before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The hum of machinery and muted voices filled the space, but she was focused on one destination — Charles’s driver room. Her knuckles brushed against the door, but before she could knock, it swung open.

There he stood, shirtless, a towel slung casually around his neck. Drops of water clung to his skin, catching the light and tracing the defined contours of his torso. (Y/N)’s breath hitched involuntarily, her gaze wandering before she could stop herself. The toned lines of his abs, the faint trail that dipped lower —

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she whipped her head to the side, staring determinedly at the wall.

“Ah, désolé,” Charles said, clearly amused. “Didn’t expect visitors.”

“I—uh—didn’t know you were... busy,” she managed, her voice strained.

He chuckled, the sound warm and teasing. “You’re welcome to wait while I put a shirt on, but I won’t be offended if you enjoy the view.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, narrowing despite her embarrassment. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet you’re still here,” he teased, stepping back to let her in.

She turned her back to him, focusing on the framed photos lining the wall. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, but she willed herself to stay composed.

“I came to give you my answer,” she said, her voice steadier now.

Charles’s tone shifted, softening with genuine interest. “Oh?”

“I’ll do it. Your proposal, I mean,” she clarified quickly, avoiding any implications. “Just as friends, right? No expectations.”

There was a beat of silence, and she dared to glance over her shoulder. Charles had pulled on a shirt, but his expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise and something warmer.

“Deal,” he said, though the flicker of disappointment was almost imperceptible.

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, heart racing. “See you around, Leclerc.”

As she walked away, she heard his laugh echo down the hall, rich and genuine. Her lips twitched despite herself, but she scolded her wandering thoughts. This was about reclaiming her life, not falling for someone new.

The race itself came with a brilliance that matched the electric atmosphere of stands roaring to life under the blistering Barcelona sun. The atmosphere thrummed with tension and excitement, the grandstands a sea of colors waving flags and banners. The familiar scent of Fuel lingered in the air, mingling with the electric energy of thousands of fans who had come to witness the spectacle of speed and adrenaline.

The Williams garage was a sea of blue and white, her family buzzing with excitement. Carlos was in high spirits, determined to make his mark with his new team. Y/N stood among them, trying to soak in the positivity, her heart pounding in sync with the engines revving on the grid. The familiar thrill buzzed through her veins — a visceral reminder that no matter how much time passed, no matter how far she tried to run away, racing was in her blood. She was a Sainz, after all. Fuel ran through her veins. The roar of twenty engines was like music, each note vibrating through her bones.

Her eyes drifted to the grid as the cars lined up, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Carlos’s Williams gleamed under the Spanish sun, a blue-and-white beacon of determination. Her heart swelled with pride for her brother, who was ready to prove his mettle in front of their home crowd.

Further ahead, the scarlet Ferrari of Charles Leclerc sat poised, an emblem of precision and power. (Y/N)’s gaze lingered on him longer than she intended, but there was something magnetic about the way he carried himself — composed, yet fiercely competitive. He had pole position, and judging by the determined set of his jaw, he wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. Charles had always commanded attention, and today was no exception. His focused expression, the way he carried himself — it was magnetic. She shook her head, chastising herself for the distraction.

The lights went out, and the race exploded into motion. The deafening roar of engines filled the air as the cars hurtled toward Turn 1. She gripped the edge of the pit wall, her pulse racing as Carlos made a clean start, holding his position against a charging midfield.

Charles, meanwhile, launched flawlessly, defending his lead from a fast-approaching Red Bull. The battle at the front was fierce, every corner a test of nerves and skill. Her breath hitched as Charles defended aggressively into Turn 3, forcing Max Verstappen to back off. The precision with which he navigated the track was mesmerizing — a dance on the edge of control.

Lap after lap, the race unfolded with heart-stopping intensity. Carlos fought tooth and nail, executing daring overtakes and defending his position with the tenacity of a seasoned warrior. The Williams team buzzed with energy, their optimism growing with every successful move he made.

(Y/N)’s chest tightened with pride as Carlos surged forward, climbing the ranks with a calculated aggression that mirrored their father’s rally racing days. The Spanish crowd roared with every overtaking maneuver, their support palpable.

“Come on, Carlos,” she whispered under her breath, willing him to keep pushing.

At the front, Charles was locked in a strategic battle, fending off relentless pressure from the Red Bull behind him. The tension was unbearable, each sector split flashing on the screens like a countdown to chaos.

“Hold him off, Charles,” (Y/N) murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise.

And he did. Lap after lap, he maintained his composure, extracting every ounce of performance from the Ferrari. His lines were precise, his braking perfect. Watching him was a masterclass in control and determination.

As the final laps approached, the pit wall became a hive of nervous energy. Carlos was holding steady in P5, a remarkable feat for Williams, while Charles was on the brink of victory.

“Last lap,” a voice crackled over the team radio.

(Y/N)’s heart was in her throat as the cars thundered around the circuit one final time. Carlos defended fiercely against Kimi Antonelli’s Mercedes behind him, refusing to relinquish his position.

Up front, Charles crossed the line, taking the checkered flag with a triumphant roar from the Ferrari garage. The crowd erupted, a sea of red waving in celebration. (Y/N)’s breath caught as she watched him pump his fist in the air, his victory securing him a commanding lead in the championship.

Carlos crossed the line moments later, claiming a solid P5 finish. The Williams garage erupted into cheers, the team hugging and clapping in celebration. (Y/N)’s father, Carlos Sainz Sr., had tears glistening in his eyes as he embraced his son, pride radiating from every pore.

(Y/N)’s heart swelled, a lump forming in her throat. This was what racing was about — the triumphs, the struggles, the moments that made your heart race and your spirit soar.

As the podium ceremony commenced, (Y/N) found herself drawn to the spectacle. Charles stood tall on the top step, his smile wide and genuine. The Monegasque national anthem played, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for him.

But then Charles caught her gaze. The world seemed to blur as he winked, playful and confident, just as he had in Abu Dhabi. He lifted the winner’s trophy, signaling to it and then to her. Her breath hitched, her heart doing an involuntary flip. The underlying implication wasn’t lost on her, and heat crept up her neck.

Damn him.

The paddock was winding down as Y/N prepared to leave with her family, the adrenaline of the race still thrumming in her veins. Carlos's strong finish and Charles's victory were still vivid in her mind, their accomplishments filling her with a pride that was both fierce and bittersweet. Yet beneath that rush of excitement, there was a nagging weight — something unspoken clinging to her like the humidity in the Barcelona evening.

As they made their way toward the exit, she patted the pockets of her blazer and realized she had forgotten her airpods.

“I’ll catch up,” she told them, waving off her parents' concerned looks.

Her sister Anna raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Positive. It won’t take long.”

With a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, she turned back toward the garages. The corridors were quieter now, the frenzied chaos of race day fading into the hush of impending night. Shadows stretched across the pavement, mingling with the lingering scent of burnt rubber and sun-warmed asphalt.

She moved with purpose, her heels clicking against the ground, determined to retrieve her forgotten item and rejoin her family. But as she rounded a corner, her steps faltered, breath catching in her throat.

Max.

He stood just a few paces ahead, his familiar figure sharp against the backdrop of the fading sun. His stance was casual, hands tucked into his pockets, but there was a tension in his posture that spoke of years of high-stakes racing and battles both on and off the track. Beside him stood Kelly, her hand resting on her rounded belly, the fabric of her dress clinging to the unmistakable curve of pregnancy.

The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, gleaming like a taunt.

Time seemed to warp, stretching painfully as (Y/N) stood frozen in place. Her heart clenched, a visceral ache that she hadn’t felt in months. Her breath hitched, but she forced herself to take a steadying inhale. This was life now. Max was no longer hers, and she had no right to linger on what could have been.

Kelly noticed her first, offering a polite but wary smile. “(Y/N),” she greeted warmly, if a bit cautiously. “It’s been a while.”

She forced a smile onto her lips. “Kelly.” Her gaze flickered to Max, whose blue eyes held a mix of surprise and unreadable emotion. “Max.”

He nodded, his voice low. “(Y/N).”

The air was thick with unspoken memories, the kind that lingered even after months of distance. Kelly shifted slightly, her hand instinctively moving to her belly.

(Y/N)’s stomach twisted, but she forced a polite smile.

“It’s good to see you. Almost didn’t recognize you — you’ve been off the grid.” Kelly offered a warm, yet cautious smile.

“I’ve been... busy,” she answered vaguely.

“Yes, I get that. I’m almost due,” she said conversationally, her tone gentle but perhaps too aware of the weight of the moment. “We’re having a boy.”

She did the math without meaning to — nearly ten months had passed since that devastating breakup in Hungary. He must have been with Kelly not long after their relationship ended. Her chest tightened as the realization sank in — While she was drowning in loss at Mallorca, Max had moved on swiftly, almost immediately.

Her heart clenched again, but she schooled her expression into something resembling polite interest. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kelly said softly. “Well, I’ll give you two a moment.” She glanced at Max before excusing herself, leaving them standing awkwardly in the fading light.

Silence hung between them, heavy and oppressive. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, unsure of what to say. The last time they had spoken, emotions had run wild, raw and unfiltered. Now, there was only a strange hollowness where their bond had once been.

“You look well,” Max offered, his voice tentative.

“So do you,” she managed, her voice steadier than she felt but betraying a flick of bitterness.

They stood there, the weight of their history pressing between them.

He shifted on his feet, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting hers again. “I’ve seen the headlines about your books. It’s impressive, Y/N. I’m happy for you. You’ve always deserved success.”

There was a tinged irony to his words. He thought she had moved on, found success and fulfillment. How wrong he was, If only he knew, she thought bitterly. Her creative well had run dry, and inspiration eluded her like a phantom she could no longer grasp. But she wouldn’t let him see that.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I’m glad things are going well for you too. Kelly seems… wonderful.”

“She is,” Max admitted, though his tone was gentle, not boastful. “And I’m happy.”

There it was. The confirmation she hadn’t realized she was dreading. He had found happiness without her, built a new life with someone else. And while it stung, it was also freeing in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m happy for you too,” she said sincerely, even though her heart ached with the weight of those words. “You deserve it.”

Max’s expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his eyes. “We had good times, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. “But it was time to let go. We weren’t happy anymore.”

He nodded, as if accepting the truth they both knew but had never spoken aloud.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for. Take care (Y/N),” he said earnestly.

“You too Max. I hope you keep finding happiness,” she replied, meaning every word.

They stood there for a moment longer, the past finally settling between them like dust after a storm. There was no animosity, no bitterness — just closure.

As they parted ways, (Y/N) felt a strange sense of relief wash over her. Max was no longer hers, and perhaps he never truly had been, always focused on racing before anything else. Life had moved on.

Her steps were lighter as she made her way back toward the exit, where her family waited. But as she walked, her mind buzzed with thoughts — not of Max, but of the future.

The rest of the night blurred in a haze of music and flashing lights. Her siblings had dragged her to a club, determined to celebrate Carlos’s strong finish where she drowned her thoughts in drinks, dancing with reckless abandon. The ache in her chest dulled with each beat of the music, but it never fully disappeared.

By the time she stumbled back to her hotel, head spinning and heart heavy, clarity struck through the fog. A message from Charles lit up her phone:

Looking forward to our adventures. Let’s make them unforgettable.

Her lips curved into a faint smile. Perhaps it was time to let the past go and embrace whatever came next. Max had moved on, and now it was her turn.

And with Charles by her side, perhaps the world wasn’t so daunting after all. With that thought, she drifted into sleep, the Barcelona night stretching before her, filled with possibility.

He had been persistent but never overbearing. After the Spanish Grand Prix and her unexpected agreement to his proposal, they'd fallen into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth messages, planning adventures that had drawn her out of the numbness she'd felt for so long.

Through playful back-and-forth texts, Charles kept his promise, planning and curating a series of adventures meant to push (Y/N) beyond her comfort zone. Their conversations brimmed with excitement, teasing suggestions of daring escapades and quiet explorations alike. Despite his meticulous planning, Charles always left room for spontaneity — a gentle reminder that this journey was as much about rediscovering freedom as it was about seeing the world.

It didn’t take much convincing for Carlos, her ever-enthusiastic older brother, to jump on board with the idea. Thrilled to have his baby sister along for the rest of the season, Carlos welcomed her presence in the paddock with open arms, insisting that her infectious energy would be a good-luck charm for Williams. Between races, Charles kept his promise, inviting her to explore the world in between the chaos of race weekends.

Monaco, naturally, had to be their starting point — Charles’s hometown and the most iconic GP on the calendar. Once tainted by memories with Max, now revealed itself in a fresh light under Charles' guidance. From swimming in crystal-clear waters and hiking through hidden trails to discovering quaint cafés, gardens and cobblestone streets tucked away from tourist eyes, the quiet hum of the city beneath a golden sunset sparked her creativity anew became her new canvases of inspiration. Charles had a way of turning the familiar into something magical, making even the simplest corners feel new, showing her a side of the city she had never known, despite having lived there in the past for years. They wandered through markets brimming with vibrant produce, shared quiet conversations by the harbor, and laughed as they stumbled upon paths even Charles hadn't ventured down before.

Slowly, (Y/N) realized how different these experiences felt — Charles never dictated where they should go; he merely invited her, always giving her the choice. There was no pressure, no expectation. Just an open hand and an easygoing smile that made her want to say yes, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And with each step, she found herself not only rediscovering Monaco but also piecing together fragments of herself she thought she'd lost.

On Race day the streets of the principality buzzed with life, electric in the aftermath of Charles’s monumental win. His second victory on home soil had sent the principality into a frenzy, and celebrations stretched from the marina to the glittering rooftops of luxury hotels. Music pulsed from every corner, mingling with laughter and the clink of glasses. The scent of salt and champagne lingered in the air as she danced under the starlit sky, the glow of the city casting golden reflections on the water.

Charles was never far from her, his presence grounding even amidst the chaos. He had abandoned his race suit for a tight black shirt that clung to his lean muscular frame. His victory grin hadn’t faded, and every so often, their eyes would meet across the throng of people, a spark passing between them that neither dared to acknowledge.

Her body swayed to the rhythm of the music, heart thrumming with a mixture of exhilaration and the heady buzz of too much champagne. Charles had handed her a flute earlier, insisting on a toast, and she hadn’t stopped since. The warmth in her veins made her bolder, lighter.

At some point, their dancing had become closer, the line between friendship and something more blurring with every brush of skin. His hand lingered at her waist, hers resting against his shoulder. The world narrowed to just the two of them, the music fading into a distant hum.

Tentative touches became deliberate—a graze of wandering fingers, a fleeting press of hips. Their breath mingled as they moved, the space between them charged with unspoken tension. (Y/N) felt a heat rise within her, unfamiliar and thrilling. Her gaze flickered to his lips, and for a moment, she wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

But then the spell was broken.

“Hey,” a voice slurred from beside them. A man, short but broad-shouldered, stumbled slightly as he addressed her. His grin was too wide, his eyes glassy. “Wanna get out of here? My hotel’s just up the street.”

(Y/N) blinked, the daze of champagne clouding her judgment. The suggestion hung in the air, tempting in its simplicity. She opened her mouth, words teetering on the edge, but Charles stepped in before she could respond.

“I think she’s good right here,” he said, his tone polite but firm. His hand tightened around her waist, anchoring her.

The man’s grin faltered, but he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He stumbled off into the crowd, leaving a strange silence in his wake.

(Y/N) exhaled shakily, the reality of the moment crashing down on her. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “I think I almost said yes.”

Charles’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to explain.”

“No, I do.” She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s just… after Max, I don’t really know how to do this anymore. I mean, I’ve only ever been with him. Sexually, I mean.”

Charles’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “You don’t have to—”

“We started dating when I was sixteen,” she continued her drunken rambling, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “After we broke up, I just… I wasn’t sure how to approach that with anyone else. Even strangers.”

Her confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable.

Charles’s expression softened, his gaze warm. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Y/N. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your choices.”

She looked away, the sting of embarrassment creeping up her spine. “It just makes me feel... stuck. Like I missed out on something.”

He hesitated, then reached for her hand, his touch gentle. “You haven’t missed out on anything. And you’re not stuck. You’re figuring things out.”

She nodded, grateful for his understanding. But what she didn’t see was the flicker of something darker in his eyes—a primal instinct he fought to suppress. The idea of her innocence, her vulnerability, stirred something deep within him, something he knew he had no right to entertain. He clenched his jaw, silently berating himself. His role was to help her, not corrupt her.

“We should get out of here,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Walk it off.”

She agreed, and they made their way down the quiet path along the harbor. The water lapped gently against the docked yachts, their reflections shimmering under the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “For saving me back there.”

“Anytime,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Their footsteps echoed against the pavement, the tension between them easing into something calmer. Yet beneath the surface, something had shifted. They both felt it but neither spoke of it.

The days that followed were filled with new experiences—From snorkeling in crystal-clear waters off the Amalfi Coast to hiking through mist-shrouded mountains in Switzerland, each experience had been a step toward rediscovering herself and bringing them closer, their connection deepening with every shared laugh and quiet moment.

Skydiving marks a pivotal turning point. The rush of free-fall strips away her fears, and when Charles grips her hand in exhilaration after landing, their shared laughter feels louder than the rush of wind. And always, at the end of the day, she would say the same thing.

“Thank you, Charles.”

And he would smile, knowing that those two words carried more weight than she could ever express.

It was a slow burn, this thing between them—unspoken but undeniable. And neither of them was in a hurry to define it.

The build up tension eventually bursts one evening in Monaco. The sea breeze curled through the open terrace of her hotel room, carrying the scent of salt and lavender from the Mediterranean gardens nearby. The quiet hum of life in Monaco faded into the background as (Y/N) leaned against the cool iron railing, her gaze fixed on the shimmering waters below. Shadows danced across the cobblestones, mingling with the golden hues of dusk.

Her phone buzzed on the table behind her. Without looking, she knew who it was. (Y/N)’s lips curved faintly as she picked up the phone.

“Still up for tonight, Dolcezza?”

“I’m not sure I’m prepared to face whatever madness you have planned this time.” She half-joked through the phone.

“Madness? Moi? I was thinking something simple—just a quiet night by the sea. Bring a jacket. It might get cold.”

Her heart did an inexplicable little flip. His voice always carried that light, teasing tone, but beneath it was something steady, something that had become a source of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

“See you soon. Charlie”

She slipped into a light sweater, its soft fabric brushing against her skin, and made her way to the rendezvous point Charles had suggested—a hidden cove far from the bustling streets of Monaco.

When she arrived, the scene took her breath away. The cove was illuminated by lanterns Charles had strung up along the rocky outcrop, their warm glow reflecting on the gentle waves. A blanket was spread across the sand, complete with a small picnic basket.

“You really know how to set the mood,” she teased as he turned to greet her.

Charles grinned. “Only the best for you.”

Her pulse skipped. It was so easy with him—this banter, this comfort. Yet there was always an undercurrent of something more, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to confront.

They settled onto the blanket, the soft hum of the waves filling the space between their conversations. Charles poured them each a glass of chilled rosé, his fingers brushing against hers as he handed her the glass.

“To new adventures,” he toasted, his eyes gleaming in the lantern light.

“To getting out of my comfort zone,” she countered, clinking her glass against his.

They drank in silence, the wine crisp and refreshing. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from their favorite childhood memories to the absurdities of life in the public eye. Charles’s laughter was infectious, and she found herself leaning closer, drawn in by his warmth.

As the night deepened, the air grew cooler. (Y/N) wrapped her sweater tighter around herself, but Charles noticed.

“Here,” he said, draping his jacket over her shoulders. The scent of cedar and something distinctly him enveloped her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

He smiled, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze.“You've thanked me a hundred times,” he says softly, his voice tinged with warmth. “But I need to say it now — thank you for letting me share this with you.”

Waves lap gently at the shore, a rhythm that mirrors the pulse between them. Charles breaks the comfortable silence.

She turns to him, heart thudding against her ribs. “I think I needed this more than I realized.”

His gaze searches hers, steady and sincere. “I told you, you're not broken, dolcezza. You're just finding your way again. And it's beautiful to watch.”

Her breath catches, the vulnerability between them palpable. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the touch lingering. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface now crackled like a live wire.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice low.

“Of course.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

The question, once a source of frustration, now feels gentle and filled with possibility. So she laughed softly. “That’s random.”

“Humor me.”

She considered it for a moment. “It used to be blue, but right now?... I think it might be rosso corsa.” She whispers.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Good choice.” And then he laughs, softly with realisation, a sound that warms her chest.

The air thickened, charged with anticipation. (Y/N)’s heart raced as he shifted closer, his knee brushing against hers. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

She knew this was a crossroads. She could pull back, retreat into the safety of friendship, or she could lean into the unknown, take the leap she’d been too afraid to take.

Charles’s breath fanned across her cheek, warm and inviting. Her resolve wavered, and before she could overthink it, she closed the distance between them.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, testing. But then something shifted. The kiss deepened, fueled by the unspoken emotions that had been building between them. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing against her skin, while her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

Time seemed to stand still, the world fading into a blur of sensation. The taste of wine lingered on his lips, mingling with the heady thrill of finally giving in to what had been simmering between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, (Y/N) searched his eyes, finding a reflection of her own disbelief and wonder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words carrying a weight they never had before.

Charles’s smile was soft, his thumb tracing a gentle path along her cheek. “I think that one was for me.”

And perhaps it was. For love, for healing, for taking a leap into the unknown. They sat there, wrapped in each other and the promise of something new. For the first time in a long time, (Y/N) felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—no longer defined by the past but open to whatever the future held.

The air hums between them, electric and inevitable. Slowly, as though drawn by an unseen force, she leans back in. He meets him halfway, his lips brushing against hers. The kiss is tentative at first, testing the waters, but it deepens with a sweetness that speaks of promises and newfound beginnings.

And it started here, with him.

As the 2025 season progressed, so did Charles and (Y/N)’s relationship, quietly blossoming amidst the chaos of race weekends, media scrutiny, and the exhilarating highs and lows of F1. To the public, she was simply there to support Carlos, her older brother, cheering from the Williams garage as he fought for solid points finishes. But those in the know — a select, trusted few — were aware of the subtle glances, hidden smiles, and fleeting touches exchanged between them whenever they thought no one was looking.

Spending time with Carlos came naturally; he was her steadfast brother and protector, the anchor in the storm that the paddock could sometimes be. But she also found herself forming bonds with Charles's inner circle. Joris, his easygoing friend with a sharp sense of humor, and Andrea, his dedicated trainer with a heart of gold, quickly grew fond of her. They saw her not as an extension of Charles but as someone worth knowing in her own right. Unlike Max’s friends, who had once treated her as just ‘Max’s girlfriend,’ Joris and Andrea asked about her life, laughed at her witty comebacks, and genuinely enjoyed her company.

As summer break arrived in August, Charles proposed a plan: the first half with his family and friends, the second half with hers. “Balance, no?” he had teased, grinning that signature mischievous smile.

The first part of their holiday unfolded on a sun-drenched yacht along the French coast. It was the first time she would meet his family as his girlfriend, and nerves prickled under her skin as they sailed toward the gleaming vessel anchored off the shoreline.

“They’re going to love you,” Charles assured her, his hand warm on the small of her back as they stepped onto the deck.

His mother, Pascale, was the first to greet them, her embrace warm and genuine. Lorenzo and Arthur followed, their easy smiles dissolving any lingering tension. Even Charlotte and Jade, Lorenzo and Arthur’s girlfriends, welcomed her with open arms, immediately drawing her into their conversations.

Those days were filled with laughter, good food, and playful banter. Pascale watched with quiet contentment as (Y/N) fit seamlessly into their dynamic, her laughter blending effortlessly with the family’s joy. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Charles found himself alone with his mother, leaning against the railing as they watched Arthur and (Y/N) teasing each other over some inside joke.

“You’re happy,” Pascale observed, her voice gentle.

Charles smiled, his gaze softening as it lingered on his girlfriend. “I am.”

“She’s the one for you, isn’t she?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. She is.”

Pascale’s hand found his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Then hold on to her.”

The second part of the summer break took them to Costa Rica, where the Sainz family had gathered for their annual vacation. Charles joined them as “just a friend,” but Anna’s knowing glances and (Y/N)’s parents’ perceptive gazes told a different story. Her father, Carlos Sainz Sr., was particularly watchful, his protective instincts never far from the surface.

On the last night of their vacation, as the sun set over the ocean and a warm breeze rustled through the trees, Anna cornered her while their parents poured glasses of wine on the terrace.

“So,” Anna teased, her grin mischievous, “first Max, now Charles? Is this a pattern with Carlos’s teammates?”

(Y/N) groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “Please don’t start.”

Their father’s brows furrowed with concern. “Charles is a good man, though?”

“Yes,” she said earnestly. “He’s… he’s different. Good-hearted. I wouldn’t be with him otherwise.”

Carlos Sr. nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Even if you’re my baby girl, you’re an adult now. I trust your judgment.”

Their mother, Mercedes, chimed in with a playful smile. “Carlos is too blind to notice the way Charles looks at you, but a mother always sees these things.”

Heat crept up (Y/N)’s neck, but there was a warmth in her chest too — the kind that came from being seen and understood.

After the summer break, she continued traveling alongside Charles, her days filled with the thrill of races and the quiet joy of shared moments with Charles. But when the Azerbaijan GP arrived, she found herself unable to attend.

Charles had a disastrous race, and when she called to comfort him afterwards, his voice was strained, disappointment heavy in his tone.

“I just needed you there,” he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice tugging at her heart.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll be at the next one. Promise. ”

But Charles had never been one to wait when something mattered to him. The very next day, a knock at her front door in her flat startled her.

Opening it, she found Charles standing there, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, his expression both tired and determined.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathless.

“I needed to see you,” he said simply.

The city of Madrid pulsed with its usual rhythm, but inside the sanctuary of (Y/N)’s flat, time stood still. Curtains drawn to keep the world at bay, soft amber light from scattered lamps casting a warm glow across the living space, they existed in a bubble of their own making. Charles had arrived days earlier, seeking refuge from the relentless pressures of the championship fight. His usual composed demeanor had cracked under the weight of expectations, and she had seen the exhaustion lingering in his eyes the moment he stepped through her door.

She hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t need to explain.

They simply were, moving through the quiet, sacred spaces of her home with an ease that spoke of their deepening connection. Mornings were spent curled up on the couch, her head resting against his shoulder as they sipped coffee in comfortable silence. Afternoons drifted by with music playing softly in the background, their conversations meandering through light-hearted banter and moments of raw honesty.

And then there were the nights — when the world faded completely, leaving only the two of them.

Charles had always been tactile, his touch a grounding force. His fingers would trace absent patterns along her arm as they talked, his gaze steady and filled with something unspoken. She cherished these quiet moments, grateful that he didn’t push her away when the pressure mounted.

On one such evening, the air thick with the scent of rain from an earlier storm, (Y/N) sat beside him on the floor, their backs against the couch. Her hand rested atop his, their fingers loosely intertwined. The TV flickered with muted images, forgotten background noise to their hushed conversation.

“You’ve been quiet,” she murmured, turning her head to study him.

His jaw clenched, the flicker of tension evident. “Just thinking.”

“About the championship?”

He nodded, exhaling slowly. “It’s… a lot.”

“I know,” she said softly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to carry it all alone.”

His eyes met hers, the vulnerability there making her heart ache. “It’s hard not to.”

“You have me,” she reminded him, her voice firm despite the tenderness in her tone.

A faint smile curved his lips. “I know. And I’m grateful for that.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet filled with an undercurrent of something more profound.

That night, as shadows danced along the walls and the city hummed beyond the windows, something shifted within (Y/N). Love had always been a treacherous thing for her, tangled with fear and uncertainty. But with Charles, it was different — steady, grounding, a magnetic force that pulled her closer until resistance felt impossible.

She wasn’t afraid anymore. Not with him.

“I’m ready,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the soft hum of the night.

His brow furrowed in question. “For what?”

“To give myself fully to you.” Her gaze was unwavering, filled with quiet resolve.

Charles’s breath hitched, the weight of her words sinking in. “Are you sure?” he asked gently, his voice thick with emotion.

In response, she cupped his face, her lips capturing his in a kiss that spoke of love, trust, and a fierce determination to show him just how certain she was. The world fell away as the kiss deepened, their souls blending in a way that felt as if the universe had been leading them to this very moment.

There was nothing rushed, nothing uncertain. Only a shared love for what they were building together.

Their breaths mingled in the dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of rain and something deeper – the raw energy of love made tangible. Charles's fingertips traced delicate lines down the curve of her spine, memorizing every dip and rise as though she were the map to a world he'd only just begun to discover.

(Y/N)'s heart pounded against her ribs, not from nerves but from the overwhelming beauty of the moment. There was no hesitation, only the quiet surrender of two souls drawn together by something far greater than desire alone.

Soft whimpers escaped her lips as his kisses trailed from the hollow of her throat to the curve of her shoulder, each press of his mouth leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Her hands roamed across the taut expanse of his back, feeling the strength that lay beneath his smooth skin.

"Charles," she breathed, his name a prayer on her lips.

He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers, eyes darkened with lust but still gentle, always gentle. "I'm here," he promised, voice thick with devotion.

And he was. Fully present, fully hers.

Their mouths met again, the kiss deepening into something that spoke of trust, love, and a longing to give and receive without barriers. Time ceased to matter as they moved together, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both instinctual and sacred.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to him as waves of sensation coursed through her. His quiet groan reverberated against her skin, a raw and unfiltered sound that spoke of how deeply he felt this moment too.

Every touch, every breath, every whispered plea was a testament to their journey — from heartache and uncertainty to this place of unshakable connection.

There was a reverence in the way Charles held her, as though she were something precious, something fragile and infinite all at once. And she met him with equal tenderness, her touch a vow that she was no longer afraid to love, no longer afraid to be loved.

Their bodies moved as one, a seamless blend of giving and receiving, of exploration and certainty. Skin slick with sweat, limbs entwined, they surrendered to the moment, their souls blending in a way that transcended the physical.

As they reached the peak of their shared passion, (Y/N) buried her face against his neck, her breath warm against his skin. Charles's grip on her tightened, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions.

Their hearts beat in sync, the world outside fading until there was nothing but them, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated love. When the intensity ebbed, they remained tangled together, their bodies still pressed close, unwilling to break the connection.

Later, as they lay tangled in the sheets, their breathing slowing to a harmonious rhythm, Charles pressed a kiss to her temple. “I love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out unbidden but utterly true.

Emotion welled in her chest, too overwhelming for words. Instead, she whispered back, “Thank you.”

The unspoken meaning hung in the air between them — Thank you for loving me. Thank you for teaching me to love the world again. Thank you for never giving up on me.

They remained cocooned in their sacred space for the rest of his small break, limbs tangled together as they moved through her apartment with an intimacy that spoke of shared promises and future dreams. The outside world buzzed with tabloids and speculation, but inside these walls, there was only them.

Charles's laughter echoed through her flat, a sound she had grown to treasure. Blissfully unaware of the outside chaos, they spent lazy mornings in bed, afternoons cooking together, and evenings wrapped in each other’s arms.

But, as with all things, their idyllic bubble was not meant to last.

Carlos had remained blissfully unaware of their rendezvous as well — until he didn't.

The door burst open without warning, the clatter of keys echoing through the space.

“(Y/N)?” Her older brother's voice rang out, loud and insistent, muttering about forgotten golf clubs. “You here?”

Y/N’s heart plummeted as panic surged through her veins, realizing the situation they were in — her topless frame, straddling a shirtless Charles on the couch.

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling to grab the nearest blanket.

Carlos rounded the corner, his eyes widening comically as he took in the scene. His jaw dropped, words failing him entirely.

Charles, ever the composed one, cleared his throat, his expression caught between amusement and mild embarrassment. “Hey, mate.”

Carlos blinked once. Twice. Then his eyes narrowed. “No. Absolutely not.” Then pointing an accusatory finger at them. “What the hell is going on here?”

(Y/N) groaned, burying her face in Charles's shoulder. “Kill me now,” she muttered.

Charles's laughter rumbled against her, and despite the mortifying situation, she couldn’t help but smile.

Their little bubble had burst, but as she met Charles's gaze, filled with love and unwavering support, she knew one thing for certain — whatever came next, they would face it together.

“Carlos—” she started, her face flaming with mortification.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing, Leclerc?” Carlos cut her off, his tone a mixture of disbelief and overprotective outrage.

Charles raised his hands in mock surrender, though a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “I swear, this isn’t what it looks like.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “It looks like you’re corrupting my sister.”

“Well... then it’s exactly what it looks like,” He quipped, earning a groan from (Y/N).

“Mon cœur,” she warned under her breath, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.

“Mon cœur?,” Carlos arched his brow and threw his hands up in exasperation. “First Ferrari, now my family? Is nothing sacred?”

Charles stepped forward, his expression softening. “Look, mate, I get it. You’re her big brother and you want to protect her. But I’m serious about this. About her.”

Carlos’s eyes flicked between them, his protective instincts warring with something softer. “You’d better be.”

“I am,” Charles said firmly. “I love her. A lot.”

Carlos sighed, his shoulders relaxing. “Fine. But if you mess this up, I’ll—”

“I won’t,” Charles promised, cutting him off.

Carlos grumbled something under his breath before pointing a finger at (Y/N). “You’re still a menace for dating this one”

“But a happily in love menace,” she shot back, grinning at Charles, who squeezed her hand and gave her a tender kiss.

Carlos shook his head, muttering in Spanish as he walked toward the fridge. “I need a drink. Please get dressed, both of you.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Charles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That went... better than expected?”

And when Carlos finally came around, grumbling but supportive, (Y/N) knew they had turned a corner.

The Yas Marina Circuit gleamed under the relentless winter desert sun that loomed high over the Abu Dhabi circuit, casting a shimmering golden hue across the paddock, the race track pristine asphalt shimmering in the heat. Palm trees swayed gently in the dry breeze, a picturesque contrast to the storm of emotions brewing across the paddock. The air crackled with anticipation, as if the universe itself held its breath for what was about to unfold.

Abu Dhabi, the final race of the 2025 Formula 1 season, would crown a champion.

There was an almost palpable tension in the air, a mixture of nerves and anticipation crackling like static electricity. The entire racing world was here to witness history, as three titans of Formula 1—Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton, and Max Verstappen—stood tied for the championship title. Three contenders stood on the precipice of glory. They were tied in points—a statistical rarity that had the world captivated.

Everything came down to this. One race would decide it all.

And she was by Charles’s side.

(Y/N) had never imagined returning to the paddock in this capacity, not just as Carlos's sister or a writer finding inspiration but as Charles’s girlfriend. Officially. Publicly.

Speculations about their relationship had swirled for months, fueled by cryptic sightings and fleeting moments caught by eagle-eyed fans. But today, there was no hiding. She was there for him, fully and unapologetically.

Charles needed her, and that was all that mattered.

The media frenzy had already begun the moment they stepped off the private jet. Camera flashes exploded, reporters clamored for interviews, and whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire. The speculations that had brewed for months were finally confirmed.

She had never seen Charles quite like this — his usual composure strained by the weight of what lay ahead. Yet, even amidst the chaos, he never let go of her.

(Y/N) stood beside him, her fingers intertwined with his as they walked toward the Ferrari motorhome. Despite the sweltering heat, a chill prickled her skin. His grip on her hand tightened, grounding her amidst the chaos of media day. Journalists swarmed, microphones thrust forward like weapons, but Charles navigated it all with a grace honed over years in the spotlight.

“Charles, how are you handling the pressure of this championship-deciding race?” one reporter asked, voice sharp with urgency.

He smiled faintly, though tension lingered in the corners of his eyes. “It’s a privilege to be in this position. I trust the team, and I’m ready to give it everything.”

During media day, (Y/N) stayed close, offering quiet support as Charles navigated interviews and press obligations. His calm demeanor masked the storm of emotions she knew raged beneath the surface, but every now and then, his thumb would brush over her knuckles, grounding himself through her presence.

At one point, a journalist asked him about the championship pressure and his life off-track blending with his career.

“And what about your personal life? There’s been speculation—”

The reporter’s question hung in the air, heavy with implication.

Charles's eyes flicked to (Y/N), who stood trying to blend into the background. But there was no hiding from the attention today. Charles' gaze softened despite the tension etched into his features. “I’m lucky to have the love of my life by my side on this journey,” he said simply, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotion.

The words lingered in the air, shimmering with significance. She knew then that no matter the outcome of this race, their story had already reached a place of triumph.

The statement echoed in her mind, leaving her breathless.

Love of his life.

Her heart fluttered, warmth spreading through her chest. Despite the nerves gnawing at her, Charles’s unwavering confidence in their relationship steadied her.

As they moved through the rest of the media obligations, (Y/N) remained by his side, offering quiet support. As they walked back toward the Ferrari motorhome, a figure caught her eye—Max Verstappen, standing by the Red Bull garage. He glanced their way, his expression unreadable, but there was no animosity, no lingering resentment.

It was strange how time had softened the edges of their shared past. Max had found his own happiness, now a devoted husband and father. And she... she had found something even more precious: peace.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They had both moved on, and in doing so, had found better versions of themselves.

Charles's hand tightened around her waist, drawing her back to the present. She smiled up at him, grateful for the love they had nurtured, steady and sure.

Later, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose, they found a brief moment of peace. Charles leaned against the railing of the motorhome terrace, the cityscape sprawling behind him.

(Y/N) joined him, their shoulders brushing. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

He exhaled, the weight of the day visible in the slump of his shoulders. “Nervous. But with you here... better.”

She smiled, touched by his honesty. “You’ve got this, Charles. I believe in you.”

He turned to her, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you, amore.”

As the final light faded from the sky, casting the circuit in shadows, (Y/N) felt a sense of calm wash over her. Whatever happened tomorrow, they would face it together.

Race day arrived with a crescendo of anticipation.

The grandstands roared with excitement, a sea of red Ferrari flags waving fervently with a palpable sense of electricity in the air.

(Y/N) stood with Charles in the moments before he suited up, their pre-race ritual unfolding in quiet intimacy.

His forehead rested against hers, eyes closed as he drew in steadying breaths. The roar of the crowd faded into the background, leaving only the sound of their synchronized breathing.

“No one deserves this more than you, mon cœur,” she whispered, her voice unwavering despite the butterflies in her stomach. “You’re Il Predestinato for a reason. Go show them what you’re made of”

A faint smile curved his lips. “Only if you’re here when I cross the finish line.”

“Always.”

The weight of the moment hung between them, heavy yet charged with possibility.

Charles pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead before stepping back, his expression fierce with determination. “For us.”

The race itself was a blur of adrenaline and chaos. Engines roared, tires screeched, and the tension was suffocating. (Y/N) sat with Charles’s family in the Ferrari garage, her hands clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Pascale offered her a reassuring smile, but even she couldn’t hide the nerves. Carlos had joined them after a devastating DNF, his attempt to overtake Lewis ending in a dramatic crash that took both drivers out of contention.

“He’s got this,” Carlos said firmly, his presence a steady anchor beside her. “Charles is the best driver on that track.”

(Y/N) nodded, though her heart raced with every lap.

The battle between Charles and Max was relentless, neither giving an inch. Overtakes, defensive maneuvers, and nail-biting near misses kept everyone on edge.

Her breath caught as Charles made a daring move, taking the lead with only a handful of laps remaining. The Ferrari garage erupted into cheers, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think until the checkered flag waved.

And then it happened.

Charles crossed the finish line, victorious.

The radio crackled to life, his voice breaking with emotion. “We did it... We did it!”

Tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face as she listened to his overwhelmed gratitude.

“And thank you,” Charles added, voice thick. “Thank you, dolcezza. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Her heart swelled, pride and love intertwining in a way that left her breathless.

"This is your moment. It's all yours, Charlie.” She managed to answer between sobs. "Go claim your victory. I’m so proud of you mon cœur.”

The Ferrari crew spilled onto the track, and she ran with them, Charles’s family and friends close behind. As he parked the car, time seemed to slow.

Charles sat there for a moment, helmet still on, the weight of his achievement sinking in.

For my father. For Jules. For the team. For (Y/N).

He removed his helmet, scanning the crowd until his eyes found her. Everything else faded away.

She reached him just as he climbed out of the car, and without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms. Their lips met in a kiss that spoke of triumph, love, and everything they had fought for together.

The cameras captured it all, but neither of them cared.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, tears mingling with her smile.

“Thank you,” he said, voice raw with emotion.

The podium ceremony was a blur of celebration. The Monegasque anthem played as Charles stood on the top step, the championship trophy held high.

He glanced down at (Y/N), his signature wink accompanied by a playful point to the trophy and then to her.

She laughed, heart full, and blew him a kiss.

Charles’s chest swelled with joy, the memory of last year flashing in his mind. How far they had come. How much had changed.

Subtly, his thoughts drifted to the engagement ring hidden in his luggage, a promise waiting to be made.

As the champagne sprayed and the crowd roared, (Y/N) reflected on her journey.

Before Charles, she had been lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty. But he had put her back on track, not by leading her but by standing beside her, showing her that love didn’t have to be a battlefield — it could be a haven.

He had taught her to stand on her own again, to rediscover the beauty of life.

And she loved him for it.

Past the finish line, there were only possibilities. And with Charles by her side, she was ready to keep discovering the world — and herself — all over again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N 2: For those who wanted a more concise endings, here is It how things Will have turned out If (Y/N) choose Charles. Now I want him to show mw arround the world and be my personal Monaco guide as well. Also Carlos obliviousness and his realisation are priceless. I thik this ending it's a little more realistic than the Lando's one, if my ex of 8 years left me I would be pretty upset too. I got a little bit carried away and this ended up being longer than what I had initially expected. I had the Lando's version direction clearly in my head so I just put it into words, but I didn't knew what to do with Charles, so I just kept writting untill I was satisfied. Still, I think I like this ending better. What is the one you prefere?

You can check Lando's ending here.

Love You - Xim

Tagglist:

@cmleitora

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nylauninterrupted · 2 days ago

Text

CL16 x Reader [The Vampire who Enjoyed Brownies]

before reading: I'm getting back into writing, so this might lack depth, please be patient with me<3 As for requests, you can still send them in, I'm just slow at working through them! Love, Nyla

summary: A handsome man moved in next door. After he introduced himself you two clicked, to the point where you'd often hang out after work. One evening you brought him brownies and came across a teacup with bloody residue in his sink...

content warnings: vampire!Charles, biting, descriptions of anatomy, mentions of blood, blowjob, smut smut smut, unprotected sex, dom!Charles, non proofread

word count: 3672

We've all heard of vampires. Vile, stealthy creatures, lurking in the shadows, craving, yearning for the blood of innocent humans. Their claws are sharp and twisted, making them perfect to ravage the human body. Their teeth are rotten and yellow, their fangs make them unable to close their mouth fully.

They (very conveniently) only come out at night, providing the best solution to children's curiosity, causing them to be scared to come out from under the covers, until dawn. At least in my day it worked, making the girls from the countryside frightened of even taking a step out the door after midnight.

Well, actual vampires are slightly different, from the tales we have been told before bed for centuries. They certainly do come out during the day. Their nails aren't exactly claw-like, most of them actually take care of them very well. Their teeth is like any other, the fangs appearing only when they feel the need to feed.

Vampires are more subtle than stories say, ravaging people's bodies by sinking their hands in their guts is a bit too messy for them. Not every vampire's goal is to kill the victim. Some are actually quite tame, choosing to find a lover that will understand their nature and feeding on them occasionally.

Animal blood is the trend right now, as morality and awareness of human emotion increased over the years.

It's a common misconception that vampires feed on blood only. In reality, they need different kinds of nutrition just like we do, just accompanied by a bit of hemoglobin. My boyfriend for example is a fan of brownies.

When a guy moved into the apartment next to yours, the one that had been empty for at least a couple of months, you didn't think much about it. Why would you, really?

You just got off work when he knocked on your door and introduced himself. His stance was a bit awkward and looked uncomfortable. It took a few minutes of chatting before his shoulders relaxed.

His name was Charles, and he was a bit older. He looked about twenty-seven, dressed in an elegant way, almost old-fashioned; you've only seen him wearing a hoodie once. Otherwise, his casual was most men's elegant. Which you appreciated, really; the turtlenecks, coats, and occasional necklaces complemented his beauty well.

You exchanged numbers, and all was well. The texts you sent to him were always sweet and polite. His responses were always punctuated, yet still quite charming.

Everything worked out fine between the two of you; you were a bit surprised to have a neighbour who took time to get to know you and wanted to spend time with you. You didn't mind really, especially considering your way to destress—whenever you felt on edge, you'd whip up some baked goods or some kind of dish.

It became your routine to send a quick text to Charles, proposing to have a bite. Although now, thinking about it, your choice of words was quite ironic.

So there you were, on a quiet and rainy Tuesday evening, knocking on your now favourite neighbour's door.

"I'll be right there!" His soft voice sounded from behind the door. You smiled to yourself, biting the inside of your lip a little. You found him very charming and felt comfortable around him, to the point where you looked forward to spending some time with him after work.

He opened the door, standing in front of you in some simple jeans paired with a white shirt and a long-sleeve beige polo over it. It looked simple, yet he wore it so well.

"Hi," he spoke, his smile audible in his voice. He enjoyed the evenings spent with you as well. More than you knew.

"Hi," you replied in the same manner, a smile forming on your face. "I made brownies."

His face lit up visibly as he looked at the plate of freshly baked brownies that you were holding. He smiled and looked back at your face, admiring it for a second or two.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, taking the opportunity to spend more time with you and get to know you better. He grew quite fond of you over these past few weeks.

"I'd really like that." You smiled and walked in. He closed the door behind her while you went to the kitchen and set the brownies down on the counter.

He clearly didn't expect a visit tonight; his apartment was a bit more messy than usual. You didn't mind, though; you smiled a bit at some unfinished work sitting on the table next to his laptop.

Just as Charles walked into the kitchen, you turned towards the sink. Seeing your movement, his eyes widened. He sped up, trying to take your attention away from it.

"No, wait..." he started, his voice filled with sudden desperation, just as you looked down into it. You saw a pretty teacup with some dark residue at the very bottom of it.

"Don't worry, your kitchen is not that messy," you replied reassuringly, thinking that he is just worried that you might judge him for the mess.

Just as he worried, you leaned a bit towards the sink, intending to wash the cup and help him out a little, when a metallic scent hit you. It was weirdly familiar, and something in your mind clicked as your fingertips locked on the teacup's rim.

You looked back at Charles and saw something close to fright in his expression. There was sheer anxiety present in his green eyes, making them seem darker than usual. He didn't try to stop you anymore; it was too late; you both knew that.

You brought the teacup closer to your nose, taking a whiff, to make sure that was the source of the smell. It was easy to identify the remnants of the liquid in it as blood. You couldn't mistake it for anything else.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. He half expected you to run by the time he opened them again. He didn't dare to hope for anything besides fear from you. But once he did open them, he found you still there, standing in his kitchen, with a teacup in your hand.

"It's animal blood," he spoke quietly, with a soft pleading to it. "I promise you. I can explain."

You turned around and started washing the teacup for him, without saying anything just yet. You didn't know what to say after all. It was hard to believe that your neighbour would drink blood. He wasn't a psycho, you knew that, which is why there was only one possible explanation for it.

"I'm... I need blood to survive." Charles admitted, watching you as you moved in his kitchen, "I am a vampire. I'm sorry."

You paused and turned back to look at him. You still didn't understand the situation; maybe you just couldn't comprehend it. But despite a reasonable weariness you felt, you also trusted your own instinct. And your instinct was that Charles isn't a bad person.

"Why are you sorry?" You asked, "It's not like it's your fault, no? I mean, I didn't find you sucking someone dry or anything; it's... It's just a teacup. With animal blood."

Charles looked at you with surprise, disbelief almost. He never would have expected this level of understanding from anyone. Anyone. Even though he considered you a friend and a good neighbour, he couldn't even imagine that you would be okay with what he was.

"You're... I didn't expect you to be... Okay with it. Not just like that." He spoke, looking at you with a newfound kind of fondness. Sure, you were cute before and your personality was great, but this... This sort of behaviour just made him like you more.

"So... do you only like blood and accept the brownies out of politeness, or are they actually enjoyable?" you asked, in an attempt to put him at ease

He read your intentions correctly and smirked a little, letting out a breathy, amused laugh, with slight relief in it as well.

"They are absolutely spectacular. I promise." Charles smiled, tilting his head at you, taking in the view. He couldn't get enough of you. Your smiles, words, all of it. To him, you were as beautiful and as important as the sun was to the moon.

"I expected you to run," he admitted, his eyes softening a bit as he kept looking in your eyes, while his shoulders began to relax slowly, the anxiety finally leaving his body.

"I like spending time with you too much to pass up on it just because of vampirism." You made a joke without much thinking, not realising how... intimate your words might have sounded.

"Oh, really?" Charles asked, a smirk appearing on his face once more. "You like me that much?"

You hesitated, looking away for a moment. You just found out that Charles, your handsome, sweet neighbour who you grew so fond of, also happened to be a vampire. And strangely enough, you didn't mind it.

'To hell with' it'—you thought.

"More than you know," you answered, your voice growing more serious and genuine, as you gazed back into his eyes again. Charles's expression changed in a similar way as yours; he understood what you were getting at.

"Do you have something to tell me?" He asked in a low, soft voice, taking a couple of slow, careful steps towards you, as if testing the waters for now.

"I don't know," you replied, taking a small step towards him as well. "How would you react if I did?"

Charles's eyes never left yours, not even for a second. It was as if you were the only thing that ever existed. Everything else just didn't matter in that moment.

"I'd be thrilled," he responded shamelessly, getting closer, their bodies very close to one another. He was now looking down at you, the height difference being more obvious, as you were in close proximity.

"Would you like to have a proper date with me?" you asked, deciding not to beat around the bush. You wanted him. You wanted him badly. "With the possibility of a relationship in mind."

Charles's face lit up as well as he took one last step closer to you, completely erasing the gap between you. He placed his hands on your arms, looking deep into your eyes.

"I would love that," he answered, smiling at you, "And can I kiss you?"

"Just kiss me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, as you used a hair clip to put your hair up. You gave him a knowing smile, making him a bit surprised. He didn't expect you to be that confident.

"While I would love to have you, I don't have any condoms at hand. I didn't exactly prepare for this." He murmured, walking closer and nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

"I was asking in case you would like to bite me," you laughed quietly, "but I guess sleeping together wouldn't be so bad either. I'm on the pill."

Charles opened his eyes and leaned away to take a closer look at you. His olive skin flushed just slightly; he looked embarrassed.

"Ah. Sorry, I didn't mean to..." He started speaking, not wanting to make you feel like all he wanted with you was sex.

"I know, Charlie," you interrupted him firmly. "I'm not worried about that. Besides... I wouldn't tell you about the pill if I didn't want to entertain your idea."

"Aren't you uncomfortable though? Having sex with a vampire, who could very well only want your body and blood..." Charles spoke, knowing how most people would perceive this situation.

"I know that is not the case. Besides... Even if it was, who says you'd be the only one getting something out of it?" You whispered, smiling faintly as you reached out to touch his arm. You began rubbing small circles on it, your eyes focused on him entirely.

"You're..." he began, eyeing your fingers for a second. "More confident than I imagined. I can't say it isn't a turn-on."

Your eyes were like little firecrackers, shining in the dimly lit kitchen. Your lips had a shade of raspberries from a lip tint you applied right before knocking on his door. You were simply breathtaking.

"Uh-huh." You smirked, getting even closer, almost touching his chest. "What else about me turns you on, then?"

Despite your bold words, your voice remained ever so gentle and soft, melodic almost. It was soothing and comfortable, a stark contrast to what was slowly turning into dirty talk.

"Your eyes are nice." Charles whispered, making the move to finally make your bodies touch. "So pretty... And so deep... I could get lost in them."

His touch grew confident as his fingers slipped under your shirt, and his large warm hands began massaging the slightly cold skin on your back, making you shiver.

"Don't get me started on your face," he continued in a low, husky voice. "Such a pretty little thing... So young, yet it feels like your beauty is eternal... I wonder what it would look like, twisted in pleasure..."

"You could always find out," you replied cheekily, playing with his small silver necklace. "I don't mind."

Charles eyed your fingers wrapped around the chain around his neck and gently grabbed your wrist before putting it close to his lips. Conveniently, your blouse had bell sleeves, so he had immediate access to your skin. He kept looking at you as he began planting small kisses, from your palm to your arm, getting closer and closer to you.

As his lips inched closer and closer to your neck, his hands found their way on your back again, only this time Charles swiftly untied your corset blouse before carefully sliding it off you, leaving your torso in only a bra.

"You smell delicious," he murmured, burying his head in your neck again. "So delicious... Is that vanilla I smell?"

"Yeah," she replied, and before she could say anything else, she let out a moan as Charles started leaving small bites on her, being careful not to go too far over her cleavage.

He wasn't about to make you walk around with a bloody neck, not to mention the damage he could potentially cause if he got too excited.

"Why... Why don't you bite me properly?" She whispered breathily, making him look up from her neckline.

"I have never bitten a human before," Charles answered calmly. "It can have some... side effects, you see."

"What... kind of side effects?"

"The kind that will make you beg me to fuck you. If I get too excited, my body will release an aphrodisiac," he replied, looking at you with slightly darkened eyes.

"Well... We did kind of seal the deal already, no? I'm curious how it'd feel, and I am sure you are as well."

"It's... We don't know each other well; I do not want to force you to have sex with me." Charles exhaled.

"Charlie, you have my consent before anything happens. You didn't bite me yet, and I am fully aware of the consequences of it. Don't you want to, just a little bit?"

Charles felt his restraints crumbling. He tried to resist, knowing how powerful the aphrodisiac was. But having your eager consent, thinking about the way it'd feel to sink his fangs into you... It was just too much for him.

He felt your blood calling, whispering to him. Your veins seemed to be pulsing. You didn't only smell delicious; you looked like it. Charles closed his eyes, feeling the faint scent of vanilla again.

Without saying anything else, he got closer to you, gently grabbing your shoulders to keep you in place. You did not move, standing there in anticipation as he examined your neck, pinpointing where your jugular veins were.

If he would bite any of your arteries, his healing saliva would not be able to stop the bleeding, killing you instantly. But he was attached to you and didn't want to cause you any harm, so he focused on finding the veins instead.

Charles took his time, examining your neck, before leaning in more and placing his mouth directly on it. Without holding back anymore, he sinks his teeth into your skin, causing a sharp but pleasant pain to shoot through your body, making you whimper in pleasure.

He took small sips of your blood, careful not to overwhelm you with the amount he is taking. After all, he was feeding on animal blood, and he did not require much more. As the warm liquid filled his mouth, he couldn't help but let out a satisfied hum, gripping your shoulders a bit harder.

With every sip, his fangs releasedthe aphrodisiac directly to your veins. You felt your body gradually get hotter, making you want to take off the rest of your clothes.

Charles thoroughly cleaned your neck from excess blood, healing it partially in the process, with his saliva. He looked at you and immediately noticed the change in your eyes.

"Take off my bra, Charlie," you whispered, looking at him with your slightly widened shiny eyes. "Don't be shy."

"Trust me, darling, I am not being shy," he murmured, unclasping your bra with more ease than you would yourself. "Do you want to do it in the kitchen, or would you prefer my bedroom?"

"We will probably be more comfortable on a bed," you giggled, playing with his shirt. Before you said anything else, Charles gave you a nudge, guiding you to his bedroom. He pushed you on the bed, sliding his polo off his body, followed by the white shirt.

You stared shamelessly at his stomach and bare shoulders, admiring them. He let out a light-hearted scoff and looked at you with a smirk. He unbuttoned your jeans and was about to get his trousers off as well when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Let me," you whispered, unbuttoning his trousers and sliding them off while biting your lip a little at the sight of the prominent bulge in his pants.

You finally took off your unclasped bra completely, letting your breasts out of the squishing undergarment. You did not take your eyes off him while taking his pants off as well, exposing his member entirely.

He watched you as you took it in your hands and examined it. You looked up into his eyes as you began massaging it, making him hiss slightly. You smiled and took it in your mouth, sucking on its tip, making Charles throw his head back in pleasure and grip your hair.

He could not help but push into your mouth, wanting to envelop his cock whole with your warmth. And you let him, relaxing your throat. Before he could come, he pulled out, panting slightly.

"Not yet." Charles whispered, stroking your face, "Should I make you scream, sugar?"

Before you could respond, he pushed you back on the bed and crawled on top of you, looking down at you as if you were his prey. His large hands massaged your sides as he gazed at you tenderly.

"Please, Charlie," you answered quietly, "I need you right now."

"You sound beautiful like that." Charles grinned, "Asking me so nicely..."

His hands reached down and grabbed your panties, snatching them off you, though he was careful enough not to rip them.

He began rubbing the outside of your pussy, building up the tension in your whole body. You started to whine, which was a sign for him to put his finger in.

Finally, he dipped it inside, massaging your clit, before adding another one. He brought you to a climax in a couple of moments with his skilled fingers.

You panted, looking up at him, as he loomed over your shaking body. Charles smirked again and leaned in, kissing your lips, nibbling on your lip a bit.

"Do you enjoy this?" he whispered. "The thought of a blood-drinking monster, ravaging you, taking whatever he wants?"

You whined breathily, squirming underneath him, desperate for more of the bliss he could provide her.

"Use your words, Sugar," he whispered. "What is it that you crave?"

"You," you whined, trying to catch your breath. "Only you. I need you to make me feel good."

Charles kept looking you in the eye, his orbs practically gleaming with satisfaction.

"I'll make you feel good." he spoke "I can't bear seeing you beg for too long. You're just such a sweet little thing..."

His voice trailed off as he positioned himself directly at your entrance. You shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the sensation you were about to experience. You did not doubt his ability to make you feel good. In fact, a part of you was wondering if you could even take it.

You found your answer when he began thrusting into you, before he picked up on the speed, practically pounding into your clit.

Your whimpers got louder; he let out a couple of breathy moans as well. You couldn't help but enjoy the way his low, melodic voice could twist into such pretty sounds.

As the last moan escaped his mouth and you both finished, Charles pulled out of you, looking down at you tiredly. Before he could say anything, you pulled him down on top of you, burying your head in his neck.

You both remained silent for a while, simply enjoying each other's presence.

"Did you try the brownies?" you whispered, making him grin.

"That's a funny question to ask, right after we've had sex." Charles responded, looking down at you with his little grin, "I did; they were delicious. Maybe we could have some for breakfast tomorrow?"

"You want me to stay?" you asked, almost surprised.

"Darling, if I could, I would never let you go," he responded, pulling you into a warm hug, as he buried his face in your hair and breathed in your scent once more.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #formula one x reader

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weekendlusting · 2 days ago

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A TALE OF FAME

pairing ꪆৎ charles leclerc x ahaana patel ᥫ᭡. f1 driver x bollywood actress au

chapter ꪆৎ 3

summary ꪆৎ she's everything, and he just drives.

note ꪆৎ no hate to any characters used in the story, none of what i write reflects on how they actually are. all my love, happy reading.

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Charles Leclerc sat in his hotel suite, fingers drumming impatiently against the glass of whiskey in his hand. He wasn’t even drinking it—just swirling the amber liquid in the dim light of his room, as if the motion itself could steady his thoughts.

Alex was late. Of course, she was. She had a way of dragging things out, prolonging the inevitable, believing that if she held on long enough, reality would bend to her will.

He heard the sharp knock at his door and exhaled slowly before getting up to open it. Alex stood there, all too put together—her blonde hair in effortless waves, her lips curved in a knowing smirk, like she already thought she’d won whatever game she was playing.

“Chéri,” she purred, stepping past him without waiting for an invitation. “Miss me?”

Charles shut the door and ran a hand through his hair. “Sit down, Alex.”

She turned, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh? We’re being serious now?” She strolled over to the couch, sitting with the grace of someone who still thought they held all the cards.

Charles didn’t sit. He remained standing, arms crossed, his jaw tight. “I told you this was over.”

Alex let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she crossed her legs. “And yet, you called me here. Mixed signals, don’t you think?”

“I called you here,” Charles said, voice measured, “because you don’t seem to get it. We are done, Alex. Finished.”

Her smile didn’t waver, but something flickered in her eyes. “Are we?” she said smoothly. “Because I keep hearing your name next to mine. The media still calls me your girlfriend. You haven’t exactly rushed to correct them.”

Charles clenched his fists. “I shouldn’t have to. We broke up. You just refuse to accept it.”

She leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm. “Or maybe you’re just confused. Maybe this—whatever this little tantrum is—will pass, and you’ll realize that I am the only woman who truly understands you.”

Charles let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tantrum? You think I’m throwing a tantrum? Alex, I am exhausted.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it quickly. “Exhausted of what?”

“Of you!” His voice rose, exasperation lacing every word. “Of the mind games. Of the manipulation. Of the constant need to control everything, including me.” He pointed at her. “You think if you show up enough times, if you insert yourself into my life over and over, I’ll just—what? Change my mind?”

Alex’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t have to insert myself into your life if certain people weren’t trying to replace me.”

Charles exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And here we go.”

She stood, arms folding as she stepped closer to him. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Charles. That little actress you’ve been parading around—Ahaana.”

Charles’s eyes snapped to hers, his posture stiffening. “Ahaana has nothing to do with this.”

Alex scoffed. “Please. You think I don’t see the way you looked at her that day?” She stepped closer, voice dripping with venom. “She is nothing. She’s a novelty. A shiny new toy for you to play with. And once the excitement fades, you’ll realize what I’ve always known—you and I are inevitable.”

Charles’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “You are delusional, Alex. And actually fucking crazy if you think that Ahaana has anything to do with this.”

Her lips curled. “Am I?”

“Yes,” he snapped, stepping forward, closing the space between them. “I have never—never—been more certain about anything in my life. We are over. I am breaking up with you. I don’t love you. I don’t even like you.”

She inhaled sharply, but before she could speak, Charles continued.

“You want to know why? Because I see you now. For who you really are. You’re not the woman I fell for—you’re a version of her, twisted and bitter, clinging onto something that doesn’t exist anymore.” He exhaled harshly. “You’re right about one thing. I do look at Ahaana differently. Because she isn’t like you.”

Alex’s face twisted, her hands curling into fists. “She will never be me.”

“Thank God for that.”

The silence between them was thick, charged with something dangerously close to hatred. Charles had never wanted to hate Alex—had never even imagined he could—but looking at her now, seeing the pure, unfiltered malice in her eyes, he realized he might be close.

She straightened, lifting her chin. “You’ll regret this.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I won’t.”

She stared at him, something almost desperate flickering across her features, before she masked it with indifference. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.”

Charles said nothing. He just watched as she turned, her heels clicking against the floor as she stormed toward the door. But before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“This isn’t over,” she said, voice eerily calm.

And then, she was gone.

Charles stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.

But then he exhaled, shaking his head, as if shedding the last remnants of whatever hold Alex had on him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

Meanwhile not too far away,the hotel room was bathed in soft hues of twilight, the warm amber glow of the setting sun spilling through the sheer curtains. Ahaana sat curled up in a chair by the window, her phone resting idly on the armrest. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of a coffee mug, long gone cold. The day had been uneventful, yet her mind was anything but still. The ghosts of the past lingered in the shadows, whispering doubts, tugging at old wounds she had worked so hard to forget.

India.

Film city.

Even the thought of it sent a strange chill through her veins. It wasn’t fear—not exactly. It was the weight of something unfinished, something unresolved, lurking in the corners of her memory. The industry that had once been her playground had also turned its back on her when she had needed it the most. And yet, here she was, being offered a way back in.

What the fuck is happening? She sighed to herself, rubbing her temple.

The phone buzzed suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. She glanced at the screen, expecting yet another half-hearted PR email or a message from her manager. But instead, a name lit up the display, and for the first time that day, she felt something shift inside her.

Varun Dhawan.

She hesitated for only a second before answering. “Hello?”

“Finally! Madam has answered my call.” His voice was light, teasing, filled with the familiar warmth that had always made her feel like home.

Ahaana huffed out a small laugh. “Hi, Varun.”

“Hi, she says. That’s all I get? After ignoring me for days?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“Really? Because Karan and I were starting to think you had developed some severe phone phobia. Should we be concerned?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Me? Never.” His tone dropped slightly, losing some of its playful edge. “Ahaana, you know why I’m calling.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she did.

“You and Karan are relentless,” she muttered, leaning back against the chair.

“Because we believe in you,” he countered immediately. “And because we know you still love this. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She exhaled slowly, staring out at the dimming sky. “It’s not that simple, Varun.”

“Yes, it is.” His voice softened. “You were born for this, Ahaana. And you know it. Whatever happened before—”

She stiffened slightly. “Let’s not talk about that.”

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his next words carefully. Then, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t let the past dictate your future. You’re not that person anymore.”

She wanted to believe that. She really did.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know. And we’re still your people, Ahaana.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She had spent so long pushing everything away, convincing herself that she didn’t need anyone, that she had forgotten what it felt like to have people who cared. People who wanted her back.

Then, before she could respond, another voice chimed in from the background. “Has she said yes yet?”

Karan Johar.

Ahaana let out a small laugh despite herself. “Karan, are you eavesdropping?”

“I don’t eavesdrop. I supervise.”

Varun snorted. “He’s been pacing for the past ten minutes, by the way. I think he might actually combust if you say no.”

Karan’s voice came through again, a touch more serious this time. “Darling, you’re a star. Stop dimming your own light.”

Ahaana stared at the city skyline, a myriad of thoughts swirling inside her. But for the first time in a long time, the hesitation didn’t feel quite as heavy. Maybe Varun was right. Maybe Karan was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

She inhaled deeply, a quiet moment of clarity settling over her. Then, she spoke.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence. Then Varun whooped so loudly she had to pull the phone away from her ear. “YES! Ladies and gentlemen, she’s back!”

Karan’s relieved sigh came through the speaker. “Finally. I was this close to staging a full intervention.”

Ahaana laughed, shaking her head. “You two are impossible.”

“And you love us for it,” Varun quipped.

She did. More than she cared to admit.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

The gang had game nights far too often then they'd like to admit, Max and Kelly were ofcourse there, Ahaana was there, Carlos and Rebecca joined, Lando somehow always inserted himself in even though everytime he cheated and got himself uninvited. Even Alex Albon and Lily joined them from time to time, but couldn't make it this time and Charles was with them for the first time ever.

The night was young, but the energy in the room felt like the start of a Grand Prix itself—fast, loud, and filled with the potential for absolute disaster. The gang had gathered in Max’s hotel suite for a game night, and true to form, it had already descended into chaos.

“I’m telling you, Lando cheats,” Ahaana declared, pointing an accusatory finger at him as he smirked from his spot on the couch. “There is no way you won that round fairly.”

Lando, lounging back with all the ease of someone who had just scammed his way into victory, dramatically placed a hand on his chest. “How dare you? I am an honest man.”

“Honest, my foot,” Kelly interjected, shaking her head. “Even Charles saw it, didn’t you?”

Charles, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, blinked. “Huh?”

“See? He wasn’t even paying attention,” Lando scoffed. “Probably too busy thinking about how free he is now that he’s finally dumped his psychotic ex.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Rebecca, who had been stacking poker chips, froze mid-motion. Max, who had been snickering at Lando’s misfortune, raised a brow. Ahaana, who had been preoccupied trying to figure out how Lando had managed to win five rounds in a row, looked up.

“You finally did it?” Carlos leaned forward, grinning. “You actually told Alex to get lost?”

Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “It was not exactly smooth.”

“Of course, it wasn’t,” Max said. “She’s like an overly attached leech.”

Kelly winced. “Oof. Harsh, but fair.”

“I don’t even want to know the details,” Lando said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Actually, no. I do. Tell us. In detail.”

Charles groaned. “Why are you all like this?”

“Because this is the most entertainment we’ve had all season,” Rebecca quipped. “Now spill.”

Charles rolled his eyes, but he recounted the story of his final conversation with Alex. The room responded accordingly—with gasps, laughter, and a few muttered curses aimed at Alex’s name. When he finished, Ahaana just shook her head, unimpressed.

“She’s delusional,” she said simply. “Absolutely delusional.”

“I would’ve paid money to see her reaction when you told her it was over,” Max admitted, grinning.

Charles smirked. “It was… satisfying.”

“Okay, enough about the she-devil,” Lando said, stretching. “Let’s get back to the game before Ahaana starts accusing me of cheating again.”

“You do cheat,” she said without hesitation.

“I do not—”

“Lando, you have a history of cheating at literally every game we’ve ever played,” Max said, unimpressed.

“I prefer to think of it as strategic improvisation.”

“Strategic bullshit,” Rebecca muttered.

The next hour was filled with absolute mayhem. There was yelling. There was a near-brawl between Carlos and Lando over an Uno reverse card. At some point, Kelly got so frustrated she threw a playing card at Max’s head, which only made him laugh harder. Charles, for the most part, found himself entertained just watching it all unfold.

Ahaana, in particular, seemed to come alive in the chaos. Her laughter was light, effortless, and every time she rolled her eyes at Lando or tossed a witty remark at Max, Charles found himself watching her just a little too long.

“Alright, alright,” Ahaana said, throwing her hands up in surrender after another brutal loss. “I need a break before I throw Lando out the window.”

“Jokes on you,” Lando said. “I’d land gracefully.” To which Max snorted.

Ahaana got up and stretched, and that’s when she casually dropped, “Oh, by the way, I officially start shooting for Jigra in 17 days.”

The room went silent.

“What?” Max was the first to react, blinking.

“You’re actually going back?” Lando added.

Rebecca gasped. “Finally! You’re returning to the big screen!”

Ahaana smiled, a little softer this time. “Yeah. It’s time.”

There was a beat of silence before Max, ever the older brother figure, crossed his arms. “Are you sure?”

She looked at him, understanding the weight behind his question. “I am.”

Max studied her for a long moment, then exhaled. “Alright. If anyone gives you trouble—”

“I know, I know.” She grinned. “I’ll call my attack dog Verstappen.”

He smirked. “Damn right.”

After a long round of jenga and then stuffing their faces in food, the last slice of pizza appeared on the table, and the room instantly went silent, all eyes locked on it.

Ahaana leaned forward, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Well, look who’s in the spotlight now.”

Carlos didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been eyeing that slice for the last ten minutes.”

“Oh, please,” Ahaana shot back. “You just noticed it now because it’s the last one.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re really gonna fight over pizza? This is an all-time low, even for you.”

“Shut up, Lando,” Carlos grumbled. “It’s mine.”

Max chuckled from the side. “This is gonna be good.”

Ahaana picked up the slice like it was some sort of prized possession. “I’m just saying, I’ve had a long day. So I think I’m entitled to this.”

Carlos shot up from his seat, but Ahaana held the slice just out of reach, her smirk widening. “Nice try.”

Max shook his head, watching the two of them. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

Ahaana, sensing victory, took a deliberate bite of the pizza. “Too slow, boys.”

Lando leaned back, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

Later that night, after the raucous energy had settled slightly, Charles found himself watching Ahaana from across the room. She was laughing at something Lando had said, her head thrown back, eyes crinkled in amusement. The dim lighting softened her features, casting warm shadows over her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

He didn’t know when it started, this quiet admiration of her. Maybe it was when she first walked into his life with that effortless confidence, like she belonged in every room she entered. Maybe it was when he realized she wasn’t just sharp-tongued but also deeply, frustratingly kind. Or maybe it was moments like this, when she wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just laughing, existing—and yet, she managed to pull his entire attention like a force of gravity.

There was something in the way she carried herself—unapologetic, bold, yet with an underlying grace that was hard to ignore. She was an enigma, a storm and a lull all at once. And he was starting to realize he liked that about her. A little too much.

“Are you staring at Ahaana?”

Charles nearly choked on his drink. He turned sharply to see Max smirking at him, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he denied, a little too quickly.

Max hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. And I’m a level headed person when angered.”

Charles groaned. “Can you not?”

Max chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh no, mate. I definitely can.”

Across the room, Ahaana caught his gaze, a small, soft smile playing on her lips. Charles smiled back but quickly looked away because he was scared his blush would be way too evident, but the warmth on his face lingered and Ahaana caught it anyway, chuckling a bit at the very handsome man, which Charles heard.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

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ᝰ.ᐟ third part! hope you guys like it!

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tags @seonghwaexile @bookishprophecy @justadesirebel @peterholland04 @bakingpiastries @ricciardosheart @mikefaistgf @sp1rl @charlesgirl16 @leila-030304 @uhcalli @blahblechblah @phobiccneel

comment to be added to taglist

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sophsbookstore · 20 hours ago

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Floral Encounters

Charles Leclerc x Florist!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Word count: 1340

A/N: lmaoooo i've been gone for a really..really long time…but guys we are so back! New year, new fanfics that need to be written. Requests are still very much open if you have anything you wanna see, sorry for the absence and happy reading!! <33

The little flower shop nestled on a quiet street in Monaco was a peaceful haven among the hustle and bustle of the city. Inside, the soft scent of roses and lilies mixed with the gentle hum of classical music playing from an old speaker in the corner. The owner, Y/N, was behind the counter, arranging the last few bouquets of the day. She loved her shop, the routine of it, the way it allowed her to be surrounded by beauty every day. But most of all, she loved the chance encounters—those small moments where someone new would come in, buying flowers for loved ones, or sometimes for no reason at all.

It was a Tuesday afternoon when he first walked in.

Charles Leclerc.

He had been a familiar face on the streets of Monaco for years, though Y/N had never had the chance to meet him. She had seen him in passing at a café or two, but nothing that could spark a conversation. She couldn’t say she was a huge fan of Formula 1, but she knew enough to recognize the man who had become a hero to so many in the city.

He stepped into the shop, the doorbell chiming as it swung open, and for a moment, Y/N was taken aback. She quickly composed herself and flashed him a friendly smile.

“Hello, can I help you with anything?” Y/N asked the man in front of her

Charles paused for a second, as if processing her presence. His green eyes flicked over the shelves filled with flowers, before landing on her. His lips curved upward in a small, charming smile.

“I need a bouquet,” he said, his accent thick but easy to understand. “Something... for my mother.”

Y/N nodded, stepping forward to guide him. “We have a variety of roses, peonies, maybe some tulips... what’s the occasion?”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to find the right words. “No real occasion. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”

The simplicity of it made Y/N’s heart flutter a little. He wasn’t here for a birthday or an anniversary. Just because. That kind of thoughtfulness was rare. She tilted her head slightly, studying him for a second before offering a suggestion.

“Well, if you’re looking for something elegant, I’d recommend a mix of white roses and lilies. They’re classic, timeless.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching as if he was amused by the suggestion. “Timeless, huh? I like the sound of that.”

Y/N gave a small laugh and picked out a few stems, expertly arranging them in a hand-tied bouquet. “The lilies symbolize purity, and the roses... well, they symbolize admiration and love. Perfect for a mother, don’t you think?”

He leaned against the counter, watching her work with an intensity that made her feel a little warmer than usual. “Sounds like you know your flowers,” he said with a grin.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” Y/N replied, her fingers moving with practiced precision as she wrapped the bouquet in parchment paper. “You get to learn a lot when you’re surrounded by them every day.”

When she was finished, she handed him the bouquet. “Here you go. I hope she loves it.”

Charles took the bouquet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment, sending a small jolt through her. He didn’t pull away right away. Instead, he looked down at the flowers, his expression softening.

“I’m sure she will,” he said quietly. Then, as if thinking of something, he added with a teasing smirk, “You’ve made this a bit hard to top. Do you take requests?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”

“I might need you to help me with another bouquet next week,” he said, his gaze lingering on hers just a little longer than necessary. “But... this time, it might be for someone special.”

Y/N grinned, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’d be happy to help,” she said, her voice lighter now, more playful. “Maybe I’ll even throw in a little extra flair for someone special.”

Charles gave her a wink and turned toward the door. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said with a laugh before leaving the shop, the bell above the door ringing again.

The days turned into weeks, and Charles kept his word. Every time he raced in Monaco or elsewhere, he would come into the shop, often with a similar request. Sometimes it was for his mother, sometimes for a friend, and sometimes, he hinted that it was for someone else entirely.

After a particularly thrilling race where he finished second, Charles returned to the shop, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. He was still wearing his racing gear, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how different he looked outside the car—his intense, competitive energy replaced with something a little more... relaxed.

“Back for more flowers?” Y/N asked as he entered, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

He nodded, though there was a certain hesitation in his usual confident stance. “Yes, but this time, I’m celebrating something special.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, walking over to him. “Oh? What are you celebrating?”

Charles paused, glancing around the shop as if to gather his thoughts. Then, his gaze landed on hers, and a flicker of something unspoken passed between them.

“I’m celebrating getting to see you again,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, but hearing it now, in such a direct way, made it feel like something new.

Y/N smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. “Well, that’s a good reason to celebrate.”

He grinned, stepping closer to the counter. “I think so.” He leaned in just a little, lowering his voice. “What do you think? Another bouquet, just to make it official?”

Y/N considered him for a moment, her fingers brushing against a vase of lilies nearby. “I think you’re getting pretty good at this... but how about we make it even more official?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What do you mean?”

Her smile widened, and she set down the flowers she was holding. “How about you let me buy you dinner?”

He blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback for a second. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. “You’re asking me out?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Y/N teased, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Charles chuckled softly, his eyes not leaving hers. “Not at all.” He leaned forward just a bit more, his voice quieter. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

Y/N’s heart raced, but she didn’t let the excitement show too much. “It’s a date, then,” she said with a wink.

The dinner was set for a few days later, at a small, intimate restaurant by the harbor. Charles showed up in a simple button-up shirt and jeans, looking effortlessly handsome. They shared stories over a bottle of wine, laughing at each other's jokes and enjoying the easy, warm atmosphere between them. The night ended with a stroll along the water, hand in hand, both of them silently agreeing that it was the beginning of something new.

Charles looked at Y/N, his expression soft. “You know, I’ve been to Monaco many times, but I think this is the first time I’ve really felt like I’m home.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “Well, I’m glad I could be a part of that.”

“I think you’re going to be part of a lot of things in my life,” he said, his voice sincere.

She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, her heart full. “I’m looking forward to it, Charles. I really am.”

And as the stars twinkled overhead, they both knew that this was just the beginning.

#charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #Charles Leclerc x Florist!reader

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goldsbitch · 3 days ago

Text

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 7, part 2 - A bit of a bad boy

It's no coincidence Cruel Summer came out that year...

or - ✨ Austria 2019.✨

word count: reasonable warning: hard racing

Two entire races go by before he gets so much as a glance from Charles. In both of those, Charles ends up ahead of Max. It feels like getting personally kicked in the balls. Max plays the PR game the best to his abilities and self-control, but behind the scenes, it's a total mayhem. Anyone who questions him about anything receives a snapshot answer. He hands out sarcastic comments like Halloween candy. The only time he laughs is when he beats Daniel in their little video game nights.

The first week, Max loses all remaining inhibitions and keeps blasting Charles' phone up with calls and texts. Unhinged amount of advances, jokes and random questions. No reaction.

The second week, he goes radio silent and tries to get hold of Charles around the paddock. He never goes looking for other drivers after the race, especially when they get to stand on the podium and he doesn't. As always, restraint regarding Charles never comes as easily. However, the Monegasque is always two steps ahead of him.

Alas, finally, they end up next to each other in a post-qualifying media pen in Spielberg. Max is not subtle about trying to catch Charles' eye. For a brief moment, he does. It turns his stomach over immediately. Max searches Charles’ face like it holds an answer, some kind of hidden message buried beneath the surface, but there’s nothing. Not a flicker of hesitation, no softness, no ghost of the Charles he used to know. They used to share a look that would say it all. No trace of that now.

His expression is cool, unbothered, a perfect mask of professionalism. The same way he looks at a journalist asking a pointless question, or a sponsor he doesn’t particularly care about. Detached. Uninterested.

Max wants to do anything else than be swamped by useless questions now. Not when he's eating crumbs in the form of overhearing Charles' voice. He has to force himself to even look at the journalist standing in front of him, let alone take in what she has to say. Charles, on the other, does not seem to share this problem. His voice is passionate, excited and his words land like a punch in the face. Max can't see it, but since he'd studied Charles from every angle possible, to be able to picture his smile clearly, just based on the tone. It's the nonchalant, I'm-the-world's-sweetheart smile that always works on everyone. Max is secretly present on social media, he has seen the fan edits of his - well, not boyfriend apparently.

"Charles, you seem to be on a great run of form lately, have you and the team at Ferrari found good rhythm after the unfortunate Monaco Grand Prix?"

Max has heard many things on that topic from the restless Reb Bull strategists. All of them flaunting ideas and theories around, none of them realizing what Max knew. That the magic fuel Charles is running on is spite. He asks the journalist in front of him to repeat the question, while he focuses on Charles' answer.

"Ah, you know how it is...The start of the season has been challenging. Changing teams, new environment...All of this takes time to process. But, I am stronger than ever. I've cut away all unnecessary distractions keeping me from being locked in on the target and pulling me to the wrong direction. With the amazing team I have - I am finally recognizing myself in the mirror after few strange months."

Charles must know that he can hear every word coming out of his mouth. Max's blood boils and freezes at the same time. He doesn’t react. Giving away anything more seems like a direct pathway to hell.

He stands there, nodding absently to whatever the journalist in front of him is saying, his mind busy with reading in between the lines, Charles' words echoing through the media pen like a fucking death sentence.

Distraction. That’s all he's reduced him to. His heart beats like it's about to go to a fight. The realization settles in his stomach, cold and heavy. He tilts his head slightly, just enough to catch Charles in his peripheral vision.

He’s still talking, crafting the perfect story. His posture is easy, he's leaning closer to the reporter than one probably should, his voice is smooth and warm. It has the word likable written all over it.

It's hardly a surprise that the reporters eat up every single sentence he says, playing up to be the golden boy everyone wants him to be.

And maybe he is. Charles keeps getting better and better at this - playing the part, giving people what they want. He’s charming and sharp, smart enough to be a goddamn PR dream but ruthless enough to keep them all at arm’s length. Except he wasn’t like that with Max.

No. With Max, he was real. Unfiltered. Messy. The kind of Charles who picked fights just to feel something, who grabbed Max’s face like he couldn’t breathe without kissing him, who pressed his forehead against his in the middle of the night and whispered things he could never say in the daylight. The kind of person who acted on what his heart desired, instead of what reason demanded. That's not the Charles standing next to him.

Something inside Max cracks. It doesn’t come in a rush - it settles, careful and slow, a icy coldness spreading through his chest.

Fine.

If Charles wants to erase him, to pretend he was just a mistake, Max will make him remember. Not with words. Not with apologies or late-night texts, stupid fucking phone calls or dangerous public driving.

Tomorrow, on track - where it’s just the two of them, where he can't pretend or avoid him endlessly. Charles will feel exactly what happens when you try to push Max Verstappen away. If he wants to pretend Max was just a distraction, Max will remind him that distractions don’t just disappear into thin air.

"It's great to be on pole, but points are tomorrow. But of course, the idea of a first win is something you can't not get exited about," he hears the last part of yet another one of Charles' speeches and this time he smiles. Time to prove everyone wrong. Make the damn strategists happy for once again.

It's hell. Pure, unfiltered hell. Charles arrives in Maranello in a state of a complete breakdown. He was running on some sort of manic fuel the whole Monaco drive. All was somehow bearable - until Max stopped chasing behind him. The absence of his headlights in rear-view mirror worked like a bomb detonator. He is a crying, miserable mess the whole drive. One time he has to stop over, because his breath gets stuck in the lungs and it sets his head into a dizzy spin. He collapses onto his bed in the small Maranello safe house and spends the night fighting terrifying nightmares.

After losing the next day by being glued to his phone, waiting for Max to call for one more time, he decides he can't take that anymore. He missed his chances. Ran away, fucked up everything and tired Max out. He knows him - if he stopped calling, he stopped caring. Charles can't bare himself to get to be the one to make the desperate move, especially after he let so blatantly known that he's totally under Max's spell. He cried in front of him. Nearly begged - but who knows, the whole conversation is becoming a blur, like an old tape wearing thin from being rewound too many times, the sound glitching, words distorting until they barely make sense anymore. So, the first evening after the fight, he blocks Max's phone number. This way, he can still hope that he is trying to reach him and he does not have to stare the unbearable truth in the face. That Max does not, in fact, call anymore.

He completely drowns himself in work. His trainer has to remind him to eat, even though the thought of food makes him sick. He's floating around, allows the team to handle him about and keeps his focus on racing exclusively. Because, that is the only means of communication with Max he's got left. On track, nothing changed. They still cruise around each other, expertly read each other's moves and for once, it all works out in Charles' favor.

The irony of him finally getting a grip on racing when he feels like he'd rather jump under the car instead is not lost on him.

The first step into the paddock after their fight feels heavier than it should. No matter how much he tries to shake it, there’s still a glimmer of hope that he and Max can fix this. But hope, in all its twisted absurdity, only makes him avoid Max more. Because, if this is suppose to be the end, he wants prolong this uncertain period as much as he can. His own misery is becoming the only thing he has left from Max and if that is the truth, he will cling on it. It's him and Max. Any reminder of that is better than nothing.

Red Bull ring. Half of the grandstand is covered in eye-searing orange, the other in signature deep blue that keeps haunting him. They are all waiting for him to fail. He can't. If he has to suffer, because of his feeling towards the Dutch driver, so should everyone else. No matter how mellowed down their devotion to Max might be compared to his own.

It's scorching hot. As is should be in hell anyway. Charles is sitting in his car, front row providing a clear view to the task ahead. Beat Max on track. It's like he can't see any other of the remaining eighteen cars. Lights out and away we go. The all familiar noise of roaring engines makes his ears hurt. His reaction is perfect, almost divine. He launches forward, sliding through the first turn like a man possessed, and when he glances at his mirrors, Max is gone. Buried in the chaos behind him, swallowed by his own mistakes. A chuckle bubbles up in Charles’ throat, raw and breathless, nearly manic again. This is what he wants. Him being able to prove that he is sharper, better and faster when giving as similar chance as Max. Not only that. To himself, and in extension Max too, he needs to prove that he can exist without Max fucking Verstappen.

He flies away, leaving the rest of pack behind. It's only in lap two where he figures out that Max fell five places down. There is a momentary wave of sorrow, one intrusive idea about Charles wanting to be the only to beat him, regretting that other drivers are doing so too. But they're both on their own. Max would never share this sentiment towards him. Whatever Charles is doing must be working, because it looks like he got into Verstappen's head. He's slowly extending the lead, keeping Bottas in a safe distance, far enough no DRS.

Ten and few more laps later, he notices Max working way up the field quite effectively. He keeps calm, because with every car Max passes, Charles makes up a second on Bottas.

Max's got the fastest lap now. Charles is managing tires, bracing for the future. Pit stop - the one thing he truly fears - gone right. He's in a completely calm and periodic rhythm, none of the cars providing a real challenge. He prays to the gods of racing for no mechanical failure this time. Destiny owes his at least that. Give him the right tools, he won't ask for help when all it lies on is his own abilities. He's making his way through the traffic, lapping cars and occasionally looking behind his back at Verstappen fighting Bottas. And after few more laps of this routine - Max is the first car on his tail. Charles expected nothing less. He digs into everything he has - not only in him, but in the car as well. The whole race was just a prep for this moment. Barely four seconds. Max is faster, a fact his dearest fucking engineer feels the need to point out, as if he couldn’t see it himself. But quick math tells Charles he should survive this. 3,8. 3,6. For Charles, there really is no other car on the track than Max's. The others are just annoying little gravel stones, hitting his visor and robbing Charles of clean air. A half of a second is lost only by having to cruise between them. He tries his best to stay cool. One final wish goes towards his tires.

He gives it all. Five final laps and the gap is dangerously close to one second. He spends what feels like two years stuck between Pierre, who's suppose to let him through and Max who is closing in on him. Two Red Bulls. Please, Pierre. This is the first time Charles regrets not telling his friend about the love affair. He knows Pierre is instructed to make it as hard as possible for Charles to get through while keeping it all legal.

"Verstappen behind, one second."

"Leave me alone."

And then - it's on.

It's like he can feel Max breathing down his neck. The DRS is inevitable. Max is inevitable. Charles defends for his life. He forces him to have to go around the outside, off the racing line. Turn 4 is the Achilles heel and Charles survives the first time they pass it through.

But he knows Max. Understands the way he moves, instinct in perfect symphony with logic, calculating every weakness...No stone left untouched. Why should Charles be the exception. He remembers the way he looked at Charles the first time they kissed - half a dare, half a warning. It's the way he uses his touch - firm, yet gentle - to bend Charles into whatever shape he wants.

On the next lap, Charles watches his mirrors, waits for the lunge. This time Max doesn’t go for the outside. No, this time, he comes from inside, slicing through the turn with an aggression Charles thought he was ready for. It’s all so quick, just like their fallout.

The wheels are millimeters apart. Charles tries to force him wide, but Max refuses to back off. Of course he does. Max has never learned when to let go. Never knows when to stop taking.

And then, it comes again.

Max is right there, alongside him, closer this time, pushing, forcing. Charles grips the wheel tighter, body locked in, blood roaring in his ears. He doesn’t lift. He doesn’t yield. Max doesn’t either.

A nudge. A shove. Space shrinking into nothing. Everything slows.

He’s back at the Monaco apartment, late at night, Max’s voice low against his neck. “If I have to take a win from you, will you ever kiss me again?” Charles had laughed, breathless. “You already take everything from me.”

Charles barely registers the moment his tires leave the track, but he feels it. The smudge of gravel beneath him, the split-second loss of control, the sheer force of what Max has done.

Max’s fingers curled around his wrist in a hotel hallway, yanking him back to the room before they could be seen, grinning like it was a game. "You can’t get enough of me," Charles had scoffed. "Give me all you have, Charlie," Max hummed in between kisses.

The back of Max’s neck in the early morning, hair still damp from post sex shower, heartbeat steady under Charles’ hand. "Would you ever crash into me?" Max had asked once, drowsy, barely awake. Charles had said no. Max had never answered.

The car snaps back into control just before he spins. Charles feels it all in his arms, his whole body resisting the centrifugal pull. No. It takes him half a second to realize what just happened. The next half is spent knowing, with absolute certainty, that it wasn’t fucking legal. Max robbed him. They have to make him give the place back. Charles grips the wheel so hard it might break, breath coming short and sharp. His visor feels suffocating, the heat pressing in from all sides. He should have known. Should have known Max would take everything.

He genuinely can't remember the rest of the race.

Just like that, it's over, he's getting out of the car and his own disbelief is preventing from believing any of this is real. His mind stayed back somewhere around Turn 4 and he's having something he thinks others describe as out of body experience. He understands there are words coming out of his mouth, but no one is in control of them. They roll of automatically and he's only aware that most of them are about the stewards having to have a look at the move.

He is painfully aware of the cameras in the cooldown room. That is the only thing grounding him and not flying into a shout festival with Max. The words he has reserved for this man are intended for him and his ears only. Survival mode kicks in and he tries to ignore him as much as he can.

He'd prefer getting punched instead of having to stand on this podium. Any attempt from people trying to congratulate is met with a face one does not forget. Max's smile is impossible to ignore, bright and shamelessly arrogant, the kind of grin that demands to be seen. Mercilessly cuts through like a knife.

Charles sees the way Max points at the Honda logo on his race suit, exaggerating the motion, playing up the moment. A distant memory flickers in. Charles remembers when Max came home one day, irritated after yet another Red Bull PR lecture about mentioning Honda at every possible opportunity. Max had rolled his eyes, complaining about contractual obligations, flapped himself on the couch and refused to talk. So, Charles came up with a game, with hopes of turning the mood around. Say it so much they beg you to stop. He still remembers Max’s mischievous smirk, the way they looked at each other every time he did that. Now? It feels like Max deliberately twisting the knife he shoved into Charles' guts. As if Charles isn't standing right there, watching it all, bleeding out behind a forced expression. Max took it all. No one would be mad or surprised if he hadn't won today. It means he did all of this on purpose. Inflict as much as he possibly can. Something he appears to be very good at.

Someone puts the dreaded Dutch anthem on and every note drags on and on. Charles stares to the deep hills, avoiding the crowd below. His nails pressing so hard his racing suit he’s surprised there isn’t blood between his fingers. This is the sound he will die to. The tune that will crawl inside his skull, rot there, and play on an endless loop. If there’s a god waiting for him at the end of it all, this is what they'll hum as the gates get shut in his face.

Max is right there, right fucking there, barely an arm’s length away, standing taller, chest out, sweat still clinging to his skin like it’s something to be proud of. Charles doesn’t dare look at him. Doesn’t trust himself not to flinch, not to break. The heat between them is unbearable, suffocating, a reminder that not long ago, Max had pressed against him in a different way. The hand he now had to avoid from accidentally brushing against is the same one that used to grip Charles like he was something for Max to own.

He knows Max doesn’t even think about that. Not now. Not while he stands here, grinning like he was made for this moment, swimming in the praise from crowd that loves him, while Charles stands frozen beside him, barely holding himself together.

The anthem swells, the final few notes longing out like they’re mocking him, and Charles forces himself to swallow, forces the bile back down his throat. He knows it's over. Deep down inside, he stopped hoping for stewards standing by him. Another mistake and he looks down the crowd. Roars of people suffocating him, stealing the air directly from his lungs and among all of those, one face stands out. Everyone is looking at Max, apart from this person, who's unmistakable smirk reminds him so scarily of the smirk he used to love. Jos Vestappen is unashamedly staring down at him, even though he's several meters below him. For the first time, he sees the resemblance between Max and his father.

He calls himself stupid about fifty times. The door for Max would not have opened if he hadn’t allowed it. He got burned once. It can’t happen again. Things have to change. He has to change. The champagne tastes like a spoilt milk, Charles does everything in his power to get out of the podium stand as quickly as possible. He will go on to the stewards with his team, even though he knows the battle is lost. If there is one thing he is grateful for, it's the crying Honda spokesman, that wiggles in between him and Max for the final photo. Charles is spared of the final blow - feeling Max's cruel hands on his back again.

The come down of emotions is quick. He did it. Snatched Charles' first victory right from his hands. Celebrated so loudly, encircled Charles so efficiently he was sure he must be getting claustrophobic. Killer instinct called upon him and he gave in completely. Charles can't rely on ignoring him. He won't go away without a fight, without destroying him. Max is hardly a sappy dreamer, but all of today feels like it was written long time ago and he was just following the script. Charles is sitting by his right side during the press conference - exactly where he belongs. There is an evil joy Max feels from having him so close during his first win of this season. Charles has no choice but to endure every second of it. Weeks of silence, of trying to erase Max from his life, and yet, here they are. No matter how hard he tries, he can't escape him.

The questions roll in. "How does this win compare to the ones he's had before?" Oh, he has many words he can't say out loud. The reported receives some basic technical summary, but what he really wants to say - scream, shout to the world - is that this win feels sweeter than any candy, he's reclaiming his strenght back and Charles can try as much as he can, but Max proved today that he won't back down.

"When did you start to think the win was possible today?" Easy. Once the door shut behind Charles when he ran away. When his smug smile started to haunt Max in every waking moment. When he heard the words, his former lover, calling him a mere distraction.

Next question is aimed at Charles. General, basic, nothing out of the order. He steals one glance. A thunder of a feeling he can't name properly shoots through him. His bloodshot eyes, purple lips and hands with practically no nails left on them scream the truth louder than anything else. It's the moment Charles finally speaks, his words rolling out of his tongue when Max's heart stops. It is probably unrecognizable for the crowd of journalist in front of them, but he knows this tone. It's the utterly broken one. His words make sense, it's composed and measured, but the accent creeps in and gives away all. Just like it did whenever Charles felt unsure about their love affair. His voice is soft, too soft for a post-race fatigue. Max has to put his head down, to hide behind his cap for a moment. He hears Charles gulp and surprisingly it's that what breaks Max. Numbness descends over him. Next question is aimed at Valtteri and for once, he's glad.

Max sinks in. He tries to stop the guilt from drowning him. For once, this is a battle he can't win. The darkest worry Max always had about himself is that he it too ruthless. Can't see the line until he's way past by. Cruel, calculating monster, that will destroy anything or anyone standing in his way. Suddenly, he find himself regretting it all. His move was over the top, but he can't admit that now. This wasn't racing anymore, this personal vendetta, childish anger spree, because Max can't have what he truly wants. Maybe it's sadly better this way. By forcing Charles to hating him, he will make sure he stays far away from him. Max knows he'd crumble apart, had Charles given him any inclination that he wants him back. That man could probably ask for anything and he'd give it to him. Max is not strong enough to resist Charles. He's also just proven how much of a selfish dick he can be when things don't go this way. The reality of him coming to the conclusion, that Charles hating him instead of loving him might be safer and better option for the Ferrari driver is a hard pill to swallow. Max had spent years perfecting the art of fighting for every inch, of clawing his way to the top no matter the cost. And now, sitting here, drowning in his own victory, he wonders if the cost this time was too high. Max knows his actions today bought him all the time in the world to wallow around this idea. Because, it's obvious Charles can't stand him anymore. He finally sees Max for what he is. His father's son.

Another question, particularly snarky one comes at him and Charles together and something inside Max takes over. He's saying words, explaining the nature of his specific overtake and it takes him everything he has to prevent his voice from shaking. He ends up defending himself again, but the doubts flood his consciousness. Charles finally throws in a sarcastic comment, calling the move illegal, and something ugly inside Max likes it. If Charles has to hate him, let it be like this - spiteful, angry, not distant and indifferent. At least anger means he still cares, even if it’s in the worst way possible.

He will forever admire Charles for being able to sit through this, so strong and still.

We never gave up, he hears himself saying. His only hope is that Charles won't give up too.

"Charles, do you feel like this one has been stolen from you?" Yes. Obviously. Once again, Max questions the sanity of everyone in the room. Another punchy note about the legality of the overtake and Max revels in it.

"Will you stop being the polite driver you are?" Is this the first time people watched Charles racing? A polite driver? The menace that would rather have them crash into the barrier than get overtaken? The driver Max had to pull out his dirtiest trick only to get a chance on getting in front of him?

"On track I'm a bit of a different person than in the car." Max has never disagreed with something more in his life.

------- @chezmardybum @biancathecool

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uniquexusposts · 2 days ago

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Her || Charles Leclerc

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff Story type: novel Part: 32/? Word count: 1848 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

WARNING: 18+ content, reading this chapter is your own responsibility if you're a minor

Chapter 30. I Came. I Saw. I Conquered.

As Matilde and Charles continued walking to the hotel, their steps fell into a comfortable rhythm as they returned. They ended up in a deep conversation about the race; not the technical part, but more like the fun part and the happenings around the race. It was so deep that they forgot to go their own way when arriving at the hotel. Matilde walked with Charles to his room while they exchanged words.

Charles opened the door of his room and stepped inside. Immediately, he spotted his wallet on the desk. He grabbed it and turned around. "Got it, let's- oh."

Matilde stood close to him, which he did not expect, and the same went for her. She could feel his breath on her skin, and goosebumps started to form on her arms. They were standing a few centimetres apart.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking into his eyes. I should go to my own room. I don't even know why I walked with you here."

"Yeah," Charles agreed, but he kept looking at her.

For the first time, he noticed a small mole under her eyebrow and a little scar on her chin. His eyes almost hypnotised Matilde. They were green, but she also saw specks of blue and gold. And his lips. His lips were so kissable. It took her back to last week, when they kissed in Amsterdam. They both hadn't mentioned it, and now she couldn't stop thinking about it. She wanted to feel his lips on hers again, she craved it. Matilde slowly placed her hands on his chest, and she moved them towards his neck. Charles followed her every move, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. When her arms were draped around his neck, she gently pulled him towards her, and she pressed her lips against his. Charles instantly grabbed her waist and tugged her closer to him.

Then, Matilde realised what she had done, and she shyly pulled herself back. She even took a step back and stared at Charles. She bit her lip and observed his face for a reaction; he was smiling. It was a similar smile to the one he showed this afternoon after the race.

Charles confidently stepped forward and placed both his hands on her cheeks. "Thank god," he whispered, putting his lips on hers again. He felt her smile against his lips, making him smile as well.

He took some steps back, pulling her with him towards his bed. When he felt the back of his knees hit the bed frame, he turned them around and gently lowered Matilde onto his bed. Charles crawled towards her and he kissed her again, this time he deepened the kiss when his hands found her cheeks again and he caressed her lovingly. Matilde responded by tangling her fingers into his hair and she pulled him even closer, she wanted to feel every single part of him. A moan escaped Charles' lips when she tugged on his hair, and they finally broke apart. His forehead rested against hers, and Matilde's chest heaved because she was trying to catch her breath.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her. He leaned back and tilted her chin with one hand so that she had to look at him.

"Yes," she answered determinedly. "Do you?"

He chuckled softly. 'Yes. God, yes."

She smiled, and she tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Take it off, please."

"Only because you asked so nicely," he said, and he attempted to wink.

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off in one go. She couldn't take her eyes off his upper body. She slowly lifted her hands so that she could caress his toned pecs and abs. Charles smirked and he slid back, he was now standing in front of the bed. He kicked his shoes off and unbuckled his belt. Quickly, he stepped out of his pants and then his eyes were focused entirely on the woman lying in front of him. Matilde whimpered. Charles's eyes were hungry, and she longed for his touch. Plus, she felt overdressed. It felt like he was reading her mind, because he placed his hands on her ankles and he took her shoes off. Then, his hands moved to her calves and he gently grasped them. His hands slid up further along, and he pushed her dress up. When he reached her thighs, he squeezed the soft skin and kissed her inner thigh.

"Charles," she moaned; one hand was tugging his hair while the other clutched the duvet.

She felt him smile against her skin, and he continued kissing her. His head disappeared under the fabric of her dress, and he nibbled on her thigh while also making his way further up. She could feel this hot breath against her skin, and his nose nudged the damp fabric of her panties. Matilde whimpered, which gave Charles even more confidence. He savoured the sounds that she made, and he pressed a kiss just above her panties. His fingers skimmed over her thighs, brushing her sensitive skin with a touch so soft, it left her trembling. She arched her back slightly, her body responding immediately to his touch. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties, and he slowly slid them down her legs. His head appeared again from under her dress, and their eyes locked.

The intensity in his gaze made her shiver.

He dipped his head again, and he pressed his lips to her bare skin. She moaned, and she pushed up her hips, desperately wanting more. He chuckled against her, and without a warning, he teased her with his tongue. She gasped and her fingers tightened in his hair, she pulled him closer, and Charles sucked her clitorus. He savoured every reaction he drew from her and his hands grabbed her thighs even more firmly, he held her steady as he moved with precision. Her breath hitched, her moans and gasps growing louder and desperate. She barely couldn't think. His tongue flicked in just the right way, sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her body, her legs were trembling.

"Charles," she gasped, her voice barely audible.

Just by hearing her whisper his name, she made him push even further. He shifted slightly, and with one hand, he trailed up her body, his fingers brushing over her waist and higher until he reached the zipper at the back of her dress. He pulled it down, undressing her slowly. Matilde lifted her arms to help him. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath. Charles pulled the dress off her body, leaving her in her bra. His eyes darkened with desire as he gave her an one over, he took in every curve and every dip of her skin.

"You're so beautiful," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Before she could even respond, Charles towered over her again, and he kissed her. His kiss was hungry, and Matilde could only comply. She tasted herself on his lips, which only heightened her arousal. Matilde wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer, she needed to feel him against her. Charles groaned in her mouth as their bodies were pressed together, she felt his hard dick through his boxers. He moved his hips, grinding against her bare pussy and he teased her with enough pressure to make her squirm, but not enough to satisfy the burning desire between them. He stopped grinding, and gently pushed a finger inside of her. She gasped and moaned, urging him to continue. He happily obliged. He added a second finger in preparation, and the sound of her moans and groans was music to his ears.

"Tell me what you want," he told her. He was panting, and he could barely hold himself back.

"You," she answered, her voice soft but clear. "I want you, Charles."

Charles let out a chuckle, satisfied that she said that. "I want you too."

He quickly pushed down his underwear, his body was fully exposed to her. Then, he reached behind her, unclasping her bra, and he tossed it aside. For a moment, he paused. He wanted to remember this moment and he took in the sight of Matilde, she was trembling beneath him and looking up at him with lustful eyes.

"Condom," she remembered, and she looked at the nightstand. "I have one in my bag."

Charles nodded, reached into the purse and grabbed a condom. He opened the package and put it on. With a careful tenderness that made her heart swell, he positioned himself at her entrance. He kissed her softly, his forehead resting against hers as he pushed into her, slowly, allowing her to adjust to him. She gasped at the sensation, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Matil..." He couldn't finish saying her name of the sensation he was feeling. "You feel so good," he breathed a few seconds later, and he stilled for a moment.

"Don't stop," she begged.

She tightened her grip around his waist again, urging him to move. He began to thrust, slow and deep, and his pace was steady, but each stroke ignited more desire. She arched her back, and he aimed for another angle, which resulted in more moans. She could feel the pressure building, her toes curled, and she knew she was close. Her nails scratched his back, and she lifted her hips to help him. Every movement, every sound and every touch was electric, their bodies were in perfect sync as they lost themselves in each other. Based on her breathing and her moans, he knew she was close to orgasm. He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. She felt the pressure building, and she was close to her release. She cried out his name, her body trembling beneath him.

"Charles, I'm close," she gasped.

"Come for me," he whispered in her ear, and he kissed her again.

She felt his hand move, and a second later, he massaged her clitoris to help her come. All of that together shattered her; her climax was washing over her in waves. Her body was clenching around him as she moaned his name. He was in awe, and it brought him over the edge. He moaned her name as well, and he placed her forehead against hers. Their bodies were shaking in the aftershocks of their shared pleasure. They stayed like that for some time, tangled in each other, breathing heavily and unevenly. Charles kissed her face softly before pulling out and rolling to the side. He grabbed her hand, and he grinned at her with a smile. She smiled as well, and she snuggled into his side. Her heart was still racing. Neither spoke for a while, and neither did they need to. The silence between them was comfortable, warm and pleasant.

Finally, Charles broke the silence, his voice a soft murmur. "I've wanted to do this for so long."

The corners of her mouth curled up. "Yeah. Me too."

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris

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jessicaloons · 2 days ago

Text

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince:

Chapter 10

Masterlist - Previous - Next

The Heartbreak Prince

"Arthur, I don’t have time for this. Who ever Lindsay is, Maman knows what’s she’s doing…" Charles’s groaned, waving at the sea of fans that were waiting for them at the Whitleburry Hall hotel close to the track.

"Lauren. The girls name is Lauren." his little brother retorted, waving at some girls screaming his name.

"Whatever. It’s not something I need to think about as well, okay?" the Ferrari driver smiled at his fans, signing pictures of himself and taking selfie after selfie, when the security guards waved him in he looked at his brother, who waited together with Joris for him "Also, why are you so interested in Larissa?"

"Lauren! Are you even listening?" Arthur sighed frustrated, leaning against the steel wall of the elevator.

"Honestly? No. I don’t. Like I said, I have other things on my mind." the older Leclerc scratched his chin.

"Oh, whatever…"

"Why does this bother you so much?" Joris asked when they left the elevator, looking for their rooms "Since when are you this interested in your mother’s business?"

"I’m not! It’s just-… it was the way she said the name? The way she smiled? I don’t know, I’m just curious…" Arthur sighed and Charles patted his shoulder.

"Listen, whoever Leonore is, Maman will know what she’s doing. So can we now please focus on this weekend? Yeah? I need a good weekend, you as well… so stop thinking about some girl you’ve never even met and start focusing on your job…"

"FUCKING HELL, HER NAME IS LAUREN!" Arthur spat out, pushing his brother’s hand off his shoulder, entering his hotel room "You’re doing this on purpose!" and with that he slammed the door shut.

"That was childish…" Joris rolled his eyes and Charles nodded.

"It was…"

"Not him, you! Oh don’t look at me like that! You were riling him up on purpose!"

"I swear I didn’t. I just don’t have time to remember irrelevant things!" he unlocked the hotel room and put his stuff down "I’m in no position to think about other things then the race weekends ahead and how I can thank my mother to take care of Ava this much. And if Maman hires someone to help her out, I honestly shouldn’t question it. She’s the reason why I can still have my career while being a single father…"

"Maybe you should offer her to pay the-…" Joris began but Charles interrupted him.

"I should pay the salary of Lynette!"

"Oh now you’re messing with me as well!" his best friend threw a pillow at him and Charles caught it laughing.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about… can we focus now on Silverstone?"

"No water. No radio. No car that’s doing what I want. What a shit show…" Charles muttered underneath his breath when he got out of a van at the airport and grabbed his bags, waving at some fans at the fence.

He sighed, the weekend was a disaster with a mediocre qualifying and then a bad race with a 5 second penalty for speeding in the pit lane and a disappointing P7 at the end. He wanted to leave. He had to leave.

"It wasn’t the best of weekends, that’s for sure…" Joris nodded, taking his bags.

"The only good thing about this weekend was that it was the penultimate race before the summer break…"

"Yeah, I think you never needed it this badly…"

"I just want 3 weeks with Ava in the sun, far away from camera’s, fans and all of this." the driver nodded towards some screens that showed the race highlights.

The two men followed the airport hostess to their secluded terminal where another surprise waited for them.

"I know that look…" Charles began, looking at the red head in front of him.

"Charles, there is a problem…" Silvia said slowly, her eyes wary "There’s no easy way to say this, but your jet… it’s not here. You have to take a commercial flight… and the next one available is at 6:25 am."

Charles was too stunned to speak. Her words hit him like a freight train. 6:25 am?

"What?" was all he mustered to say, taking a deep breath.

"The jet is not here. You have to fly commercial."

"Are you serious? What do you mean the jet is not here? And isn’t there an earlier commercial flight? Like tonight maybe?" Charles looked at Silvia with wide eyes.

"The booking wasn’t confirmed… and now the jet is booked for a different flight…"

"I have to be at home tonight, Silvia. My mother is leaving early in the morning and I told her it’ll be just fine! I can’t miss this flight!"

"Well, technically you’re not missing your flight… also, you’re not the only one who has to go back ho-…"

"But no one else has to be at home because their mother can’t watch their daughter forever!" Charles whisper shouted frustrated, his mind racing. Always when he thought a weekend couldn’t end worse, life was showing him just how worse it really could be, now that he stood in the little terminal for private jets, with no way to fly back home "Fuck!" he let out frustrated, typing away on his phone.

"I don’t know what else-…" Silvia began when Charles shook his head, walking away to call Lorenzo.

"Charles?" a voice behind him made Charles flinch, turning around to look at Max "You okay, mate?"

"Of course, an amazing weekend with an amazing end, no?" he pressed out, not in the mood for more unnecessary conversation.

"Umm-… sure. I overheard-… well who didn’t? You weren’t speaking quietly. Anyways, if you have to be in Monaco this urgently, you could fly with us? I have two seats left?" the Red Bull driver offered and Charles cocked an eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, yeah, it’s not the first time we share a jet, it’s been a while but… yeah you know, I don’t know why you have to be in Monaco, but your voice tells me it must be important…" Max replied, tilting his head.

"It really is. I- umm… I promised my mum to be at home tonight. She needs me…" the Monegasque driver said vaguely and Max nodded.

"Alright, then come on, you and Joris can join us."

"She’s amazing. She helps me so much… I can now fully divide my time between the salon and my gorgeous granddaughter… leaving for the convention tomorrow was also only possible because of her!" Pascale raved about her new assistant while feeding Ava "Best decision ever to hire her."

"I didn’t even know you were looking for an assistant and now you constantly talk about her?" Arthur asked, looking up from his tablet.

"Constantly? She’s here now for what? A month? A little more?" Pascale rolled her eyes "Also, I wasn’t looking for an assistant, it was more coincidental, you know? She got a haircut, we talked and et voila I hired her… and she’s doing such an amazing job! She manages the whole salon on her own! I just have to come and cut some hair and then I can leave already because she took care of the rest…"

"As long as she’s a help for you…" Arthur shrugged, right when Charles walked in, hair still damp from his shower.

"Who’s a help for who?" the older Leclerc brother asked, gently kissing his daughters fingers.

"My new assistant-…" his mother began but got interrupted by her youngest son.

"L-a-u-r-e-n… you remember? Maman is raving about her for the past weeks now…"

"You hired a new assistant?" Charles asked, ignoring his brothers eye rolling while sitting down next to her, watching her feed his daughter.

"Yes, it was all really spontaneous. I gave her a haircut, we talked, and then I hired her and believe me Charles, she’s amazing. A hard worker, sweet and charming to all my clients, always polite. She’s a quick learner, amazing with her hands… and don’t let me start on how beautiful she is! She could be a model for sure…"

"Oh yeah? I might have to visit you then in the salon…" Arthur wiggled his eyebrows, earning a slap on his upper arm from his mother "Ouch! What was that for?"

"You have a beautiful girlfriend yourself. Behave!" she replied and then turned slightly to her other son "You on the other hand…"

"Stop. No. Don’t do that, Maman!" Charles rolled his eyes, groaning. He was too exhausted for this. It was the middle of the night, he was tired, frustrated from the weekend and not in the mood for his mother’s attempts to meddle with his love life. He knew her all too well. How she always eyed up his girlfriends, saying him that she wasn’t the one and frankly she was right every single time, but it wasn’t something she had to know.

"Don’t do what?" his mother asked innocently.

"You’re not setting me up with your new assistant-…"

"I wasn’t! I just said that if someone wanted to come over and get to know her it should’ve been you. The single one." Pascale shrugged her shoulders, cooing at her granddaughter.

"Single father…" Charles replied, sighing.

"I don’t think that would be a problem for La-…"

"See! You want to set me up with her. No. Not happening. I have Ava and my career. That’s all I need."

"I didn’t say-…" Pascale began but then shook her head "Whatever, Charles. But just so you know, you would love her. You all would, I for sure am. That’s all I’m saying."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Alright, now that you’re here, I can go home and have some sleep before I have to get up and leave." Pascale leaned over, laying Ava down in her father’s arms "I’m glad we didn’t have to stick to plan B…"

"I am able to take care of her!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Sure you can…" his mother patted his arm "Now come on, you have to drive me home."

"Fine." he got up as well, gently stroking his nieces arm "Good night, little Ava. Charles." he winked at his older brother who smiled lazily, watching his daughter fighting off the inevitable sleep.

As soon as his mother and brother left, Charles got up and laid Ava down in her bassinet, his own tiredness and exhaustion slightly taking over. He pulled the bassinet next to his bed and laid down, watching his daughters every little movement.

"Good night my pretty little princess. Daddy’s here now…" he whispered, before he fell asleep almost immediately.

Charles woke up from Ava’s crying and whimpering. Worse than anything he ever heard before. He was up in an instant, switching on the bedside lamp.

"Hey my little angel, what’s up?" he cooed at her, gently scooping her up, her tears dampen his shirt "Hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter baby girl, hmm?" he patted her back gently, rocking her in his arms "Are you hungry?" he got up and made his way to the kitchen, preparing a bottle, all while Ava cried and whimpered into his chest. He never heard her cry like this before, his heart braking with every new sound from his little girl and when he 10 minutes later sat down with her, trying to feed her he had to learn that it wasn’t the bottle she wanted "Fresh diaper then?" but again, not what was wrong. Charles sat in his bed, rocking Ava who got squirmier with every second, her little sobs making her tiny body shake, which made Charles heart clench "What is it, Ava? Hmm? You’re not hungry, your diaper is clean. What do you need baby girl?" he turned her a little, so he could look into her eyes, tears staining her face. She was pale. But her nose and cheeks were red. Her hair felt like it was a little damp. Charles gently stroked her cheeks and he thought they felt warmer than usual. But was it a fever? Or was it now from crying that much? Charles checked his phone. It was 5:46 am. Ava was awake over half an hour earlier than usual as well "We should try to sleep a little more baby girl… let’s put something on the TV and then try to sleep a little more…" Charles scooted into the middle of his bed, propped up a little against the headboard so that Ava could sleep on his chest, pillows on his left and right in case he fell asleep that Ava was safe. Then he put her down on his thighs and took off his shirt, remembering what the nurse told him the night Ava was born, and put her back on his chest, pulling the blanket over them "Look at that. A nice documentary narrated by David Attenborough… with his soothing voice, we’ll be sleeping in no time…" Charles cooed at Ava, gently rubbing circles on her back. And he was right it didn’t take long for her to fall asleep again. Not her peacefullest one, but she slept. And with her finally settling down, Charles followed shortly after. But not for too long. From the moment Ava woke up an hour later her crying got worse. Her tiny sobs sounded as if she was having a cold and Charles wondered what he should do. When he was having a cold he drank hot tea, took some medication and that was it. But what was he supposed to do with Ava? He grabbed his phone, already dialling his mother’s number when he hung up. His mother was already on her way to the convention and he knew she would turn around immediately. He had to figure it out himself. So he googled. But the results were all too different. Too many different opinions on what to do and he was confused. He was rocking Ava in his arms, pacing back and forth in his apartment, when he called Enzo, asking for help from Charlotte but his older brother told him that she wouldn’t be home for the next couple of hours.

"What’s wrong with her?" Enzo asked, sensing his brother’s distress "I can be at yours in 10 minutes?"

"She’s just not calming down. I tried to feed her, she’s not really eating much. She’s changed, so that shouldn’t be a problem, she can’t be tired because she doesn’t want to sleep. And… she feels a little warmer than normally? She’s a little sweaty… I don’t know what to do? I’m feeling like Maman would know what to do, but I can’t call her. Not when she finally, after years, does something for herself again!"

"Charles, maybe you should go and see a doctor?" Enzo suggested "I can drive you there?"

"I don’t even know who her doctor is…" Charles whispered "I have no idea… Maman took her to the doctor the last times…" he felt like the worst father on earth.

"It’s at the children ward at the hospital. Get ready I’ll pick you up in 10."

"It’s okay, baby girl, we’re going to see a doctor, you’ll be fine. Just fine…" Charles whispered, looking outside the car window, checking where they were "Just a little longer, Ava."

"Almost there." Lorenzo said, looking into the rearview mirror, seeing his brother’s pale face, jaw tightened "5 minutes…"

"You hear that? Almost there, little princess." Charles gently stroked Ava’s cheek, feeling her warm skin "Almost there…"

"I’ll drop you off and then I’ll head to the airport picking Charlotte up… and you let me know what’s up with Ava, okay? And when I have to pick you up…" Lorenzo said.

"Yeah…" Charles mumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt the moment his brother stopped in front of the hospital.

He got out of the car and opened the boot of the car, taking out Ava’s stroller.

"Here you go…" Enzo gently laid his niece down "It’s going to be alright, little Ava." he cooed at her, pulling the blanket over her "Call me, whatever it is, if you need me, don’t want to feel so alone, just call me, okay?" he then said to his brother, hugging him "It’s going to be okay, you hear me?"

"Okay… yeah…" Charles replied "And thanks for driving us… I’m not sure I would’ve been able to drive safely…"

"It’s okay. Now go inside…" Lorenzo patted his back and Charles nodded, pushing Ava’s stroller to the entrance, through the doors to the front desk.

"Hi, umm- I need a doctor, no, my daughter needs a doctor, she’s restless and she feels hot and sweaty and I don’t know what to do, the temperature is rising I think? My mum- she umm, she was here before with Ava, my daughter…" Charles stammered, looking at the nurse who smiled at him.

"Okay, so your daughter’s doctor is here at the children’s ward?" she asked and he nodded "Okay, do you know where the children’s ward is? No, okay… follow the rainbow coloured line on the floor, to your right…" she pointed at the different coloured lines on the floor and Charles nodded.

"Thank you." he replied and walked off, following the line through the hallways until he arrived at a glass door, children’s ward written in colourful letters on it "We did it, baby girl, just a moment… they will help you…" right when he wanted to push the door open it sprang open and an older looking nurse walked out, looking at him.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Umm yes-… this is Ava, my daughter, she umm- she needs a doctor, she’s sick I think…" Charles said and the nurse cocked an eyebrow, looking into the stroller.

"Ava? So you are Ava’s father, I was wondering when we would see you here…" she said, nodding towards the front desk inside the children’s ward "Go on in there…"

"Umm- okay." Charles was a little confused by the icy tone of the nurse but he couldn’t think too much about it, walking to the front desk "Hi, my daughter needs a doctor. She’s restless and cries a lot, she didn’t sleep much, doesn’t want to eat and she feels warmer than usual… I think she has a cold…" he explained to the nurse behind the desk and she got up immediately.

"Alright, please follow me…" she brought them into an examination room and helped Charles with getting Ava out of the stroller, taking off her jacket, right when the door opened again "Could you please fill out the paperwork with Mr. …?"

"Leclerc… I’m Charles and this is Ava…" Charles replied and the nurse nodded.

"Alright, can you please help Mr. Leclerc with the paperwork?"

"And Ava?" he asked, his eyes widened.

"Don’t worry, Mr. Leclerc, the doctor will be here shortly, I’ll take care of her, and as soon as you’re done with the papers you’ll be back with your daughter." the nurse smiled and he nodded "It won’t take long, don’t worry. And I’m here, taking care of Ava."

"Mr. Leclerc, would you please follow me?" the other nurse lead him outside and Charles followed her hesitantly "Don’t worry, she’s in really good hands. I just need you to fill out these documents, you can sit down there…" she pointed at some chairs lined up at the wall of the hallway and Charles took the clipboard and sat down, scribbling away.

Charles hands were a little shaky, he never liked hospitals, too many people did he lose in one. But for Ava he had to be strong, push the negative thoughts away and focus on her wellbeing. When he was done with the paperwork he looked up, but the nurse wasn’t sitting behind her desk and he looked to the left, where two women walked up to him.

"Mr. Leclerc? Hi, I’m Cleo Bernoit, this is Marianne Goulard, we’re from the CPS in Monaco…" the blonde woman began.

"CPS?" Charles interrupted, looking confused between the two women.

"Child protective services…"

"What? Are you kidding me? Why?" he was at a loss of words, confused and scared.

"Someone called us after the incident with your daughter… it’s a standard procedure. Mandatory." the red haired woman, Marianne, said "And since we have an office here in the hospital, we just want to check in quickly."

"You see, you’re a single father with a demanding job. We’re just here to make sure that everything is alright." Cleo added and Charles swallowed hard.

"Umm- okay… but it wasn’t really an incident? I just wasn’t sure what to do and couldn’t reach my mum, that’s why I brought her to the emergency room…" he mumbled, his hands gripping his thighs tightly, knuckles turning white "She was restless, cried and felt a little warmer then usually. I couldn’t calm her down. So yeah, I thought taking her here would be the best."

"I see. Does this happen more often?" the blond woman asked.

"That she’s restless and cries and I can’t calm her down? Or what? The slightly higher temperature?" Charles was confused.

"No, that you need to check in with your mother, regarding your daughter’s health." the redhead said.

"What?" he was taken aback "What do you mean?"

"Ava is your daughter. You’re the one responsible for her and-…"

"I know that she’s my daughter and I’m responsible for her. But she’s also my first child, I don’t know everything about babies yet and before I make a mistake I check in with my mother, who successfully raised three kids-…" Charles began, his voice wavering with emotions.

"We know that Mr. Leclerc. It’s just… we’ve been notified that for the last two check-ups, it was your mother who brought Ava in. Not you." the redhead said and Charles eyes widened "And when Ava got her second round of vaccines a month ago, it was also your mother who brought her in again…" she continued.

"Yes. Because I had to work. And while I’m being away working, my mother takes care of her granddaughter. Is there a problem with that?" he said.

"Mr. Leclerc. Ava is your daughter, she’s not even three months old but you are more interested in travelling the world then-…"

Charles had enough. He got up from his seat, his hands balled into fists, breathing heavy.

"I am not more interested in travelling the world than being with my daughter. It is my job. I am a Formula 1 driver. Travelling the world is my job. I am a single father who is more than grateful that his mum takes care of his daughter while he’s away, working. Excuse me, but I want to see my daughter now." his voice was dangerously low, his anger and frustration palpable.

He walked away towards the nurses station, already typing a message out for his mother.

"Hi, can I see my daughter now?" Charles asked the nurse who smiled at him, taking the clipboard from him, looking it over.

"Let me just check if you didn’t forget anything and then we-…" she began.

"No. I want to see her. Now." his voice louder than intended.

"No, of course not, Mr. Leclerc, follow me…" the nurse got up from her seat and gestured for Charles to follow her, down the hall.

"Thank you-… I didn’t want to get loud and be rude. I was just-… I’m just scared and frustrated… I shouldn’t have let it out at you…" he stammered but the nurse just smiled at him.

"It’s okay, it’s your first child, that’s normal." she patted his arm and stopped in front of a door, knocking gently "Dr. Richefort? I have Mr. Leclerc here, little Ava’s dad, can we-"

"Of course, of course, come on in, Mr. Leclerc!" an older man waved Charles inside and he hastily walked in, his eyes immediately on Ava in a little bassinet on the table, the other nurse holding out a teddy bear to her "Everything is alright with your little one. Just a little fever and stuffed nose, nothing out of the ordinary, that happens sometimes."

"She’s okay?" the young father whispered, his eyes rooted on his daughters face "Nothing serious?"

"Nothing serious. Nothing a warm bath in a little steamy bathroom can’t cure. Close all windows and doors, start the shower with hot water and let some steam build in the room, that’s perfect for her nose and lungs. I gave her some syrup to calm her down and reduce the fever, I wrote that one up for you to get as well as something for her stuffed nose." Dr. Richefort said and he was relieved, cupping Ava’s cheek who was smiling lazily, playing with the doctor’s stethoscope now.

"I can take her home?" Charles asked, looking up.

"Of course, I don’t see any reason why not. Just get her medicine and give her something of the syrup before bed and she should be perfectly fine in one or two days. You’re good to go." the doctor nodded to the nurse who grabbed Ava’s onesie from a stool helping Charles getting her ready.

His eyes didn’t leave Ava’s face for one second, his heart racing. As soon as his little one was safely in her stroller and the Doctor handed him the prescription for the pharmacy, the nurse showed him the way outside.

"Can I ask you something?" Charles had to know "Why did you call the CPS?"

"CPS? They were here?" she stopped, looking at him "Why?" she seemed genuinely confused opening the door for Charles and the stroller.

"Yeah… they said it’s mandatory, after all I wasn’t with Ava for her last check-ups and that because my mum was taking care more of her than I am…" he almost whispered and the blonde woman thought for a moment before she sighed, shaking her head.

"Angelique… the head nurse. She’s one of the older nurses here. Very settled in her way of thinking and how families are supposed to look like. Single parents? God no! Worse, a single father? Who works? I bet it was her. She’s the one who does the administrative stuff like that… I’m very sorry that she called them…"

"The older nurse who opened the doors when I arrived?"

"I didn’t see, but yeah, that could be…"

"Am I on their watchlist now?" Charles asked when they entered the foyer of the hospital "Now that they looked into my-no Ava’s file?"

"I wish I could say no… but the truth is, now that you got their attention, they will have an eye on you… I’m sorry. I’ve seen you with your little girl and I think you’re doing a good job…" she said genuinely and Charles mustered a tiny smile.

"Thanks… have a nice day." he walked out of the door, waving the nurse goodbye.

As soon as Charles was outside he put on his shades and a baseball cap, hoping that no one would recognise him. He made a mental note to call his lawyer later on, not sure if she could do anything about the CPS and also the fact that he was here today. Ava was sleeping in her stroller and he decided a nice little walk would do them some good. Some fresh air. He also knew that Ava slept the best in her stroller, the slightly bumpy sidewalks rocking her gently in her stroller, making it perfect for a nice long slumber. Like that he could also stop at the little pharmacy that was far off the usual busy streets of Monaco, getting Ava’s medicine.

Charles decided to make a little stop at the harbour, enjoying the sun, calming down his nerves. His mind was racing. The fact that someone called the CPS on him was bad enough, but to think that because of that, all the hard work to keep Ava safe and a secret were for nothing was worse. He tried his best to be at home with her as much as he could. Took it upon him to travel in between races back home where he usually would just straight fly to the next race. Even if it was only for a couple of hours, he didn’t miss a single chance to see her if possible. Was it ideal? No. He knew that. He felt it. He missed her. Every single minute he was gone, he missed her like crazy. But he couldn’t ask his mother to travel with him around the world so Ava could come with him. His mother had her own life and it wasn’t fair to ask that of her. She probably would agree, she would sacrifice everything for her children and now granddaughter. Charles leaned back, sighing.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he mumbled when Ava stirred in her stroller, waking up crying "Hey, baby girl, it’s alright… all good…" he gently picked her up and held her close to his chest, rocking her slowly "It’s all good my little princess…"

But it wasn’t. Ava’s cries were getting louder, making Charles trying desperately to calm her down. He looked up in the sky once, sending a prayer out for anyone to help him.

"It’s the sunglasses, you know?" a gentle voice commented, making Charles flinch, he didn’t notice that someone was sitting on one of the other benches.

"Sorry?" he asked confused.

"Lose the sunglasses, yeah and maybe the cap too…" a pretty girl replied, her eyes shining "She wants to see you, but she can’t…" her beautiful smile almost made Charles heart skip a beat.

"Umm-… just… just take off the sunglasses and the cap? It’s that easy?" he cocked and eyebrow but did as told after he looked around for a moment, making sure that no one else was around.

"I mean, it could be… it’s worth a try, now she can look at her dad, sees that you’re looking at her too… that you’re here for her." the girl explained and Charles nodded slowly, looking down at Ava.

"I’m here, Ava. It’s all good…" he smiled at his daughter, kissing her forehead, when she seemed to calm down a little.

"Or she’s just hungry or needs new nappies…" the girl continued and Charles looked at her.

"So you’re just throwing out some guesses? You’re not some kind of a baby guru?" he chuckled a little and the girl shook her head "What a shame, I could’ve used one…" he mumbled and she looked at him "Sorry… it’s- it’s been a short night. And a way too long day…"

"No need to apologise. I know how you feel…"

"You have one as well?" the young man looked at her with big eyes, sounding surprised "Sorry! I shouldn’t have said it like that… it’s just you look quiet young? I mean not that it’s bad to be a young mother! It’s great, like you know… I think I better just shut up…" he groaned, shaking his head and the girl had to stifle a laugh.

"I mean I am young. But not too young… but no, I don’t have one… I worked with some tho…" she replied.

"You worked with babies?"

"I‘m a paediatric nurse…"

"Padric what?" Charles was confused, tilting his head a little.

"Paediatric nurse… kids… I was trained especially for kids and did some hours on the new born ward…" she explained.

"Oh! Wow! You’re more than qualified to give some advice then…" he looked at her "You’re here on vacation?"

"No… I moved here actually… just a couple of weeks ago, still trying to get used to everything…" the girl replied and he nodded.

"Don’t worry, not all Monegasques are as lost as me and need help from a pretty stranger…" Charles said and then blushed, the moment he realised what he just had said out loud.

"Oh- umm… it’s alright… don’t worry…" the girls cheeks were turning red.

"I- I should go… I have to put her down soon…" Charles carefully laid his daughter in the stroller next to them and put his cap and sunglasses back on "Thanks for umm- for the help…"

"Sure. If she’s still a little grumpy later on, you should try a warm bath…" the pretty girl got up as well "Umm-… bye."

"Yeah-… umm bye…" Charles turned around and pushed the stroller in front of him before he stopped again, turning a little "Oh and welcome to Monaco."

"Thanks." she smiled back at him, making Charles heart definitely skip a beat.

"I’m Charles, by the way. Maybe I’ll see you around some time, Monaco is almost like a little village." he chuckled and she nodded, turning around, walking away "Well now I need to see her again…" he mumbled, cooing at Ava "She didn’t tell me her name."

"Charles?"

"Hmm?" he blinked looking at his mother "What?"

"What happened then?" she asked and he was confused for a moment, the smile of the pretty stranger in the back of his mind "You left the hospital and then? Did you hear from the CPS again?"

"No. Not yet… I mean it’s just 2 days ago, no? I didn’t give them any reason…" Charles sighed.

"You must’ve been scared, after they jumped at you like that?" Pascale patted his arm and he sighed.

"Yeah… it was scary… but yeah I mean, it’s like this. I can’t change it, not now at least, I’m leaving for Spa in an hour…"

"The most important thing is that Ava is healthy. She’s all good, you took care of her just like a good dad would. The rest we’ll figure out." Charles’ mother smiled at him and he nodded slowly "Okay, there is something else? Since I’m back your thoughts seem to drift away every now and then? And you have this smile on your face? What happened? You’re going from worried to happy and dreamy in a heartbeat?"

"Hmm? What?" Charles looked at her, scratching his beard.

"You don’t even listen to me? What happened?" Pascale cocked an eyebrow and he averted his gaze immediately, looking at Ava "You can’t even look me in the eyes?"

"I don’t know what you mean…" he replied, a soft smile on his lips, when he thought back to the girl from the harbour "I’m just happy that Ava is all good… and now I should check that I packed everything…"

"No, I know you… there’s something else… it’s almost like…" Pascale began, when Joris plopped down next to her on the sofa.

"It’s almost like he has a crush on someone. I know that smile, almost a little dumb... and the fact he can’t look us in the eyes when we ask him what’s going on? How he changes the topic? Charles met someone…" he chuckled and his best friend groaned, although he began to blush slightly "And now look at his face! He’s blushing!"

"You really met someone! And that someone must’ve left quite the impression on you… I mean, look at you!" Pascale grinned, although she was a little disappointed that she couldn’t introduce Lauren earlier to her son "Who is she? Where did you meet her?"

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I met her once. After the hospital, I don’t know her name, or anything. She helped me with Ava. She was amazing. But that’s it. I don’t have a crush. Or anything like that, okay?" Charles said but his mother and best friend just exchanged glances and he knew that he shouldn’t have said anything "Can we please leave it be? I have one last race before the summer break. Let me focus on that and then after you can annoy me again?"

"Oh you can bet on it…" Joris laughed and Pascale nodded.

"I can’t wait to hear more of it…" she added.

"Alright, now let me enjoy the last minutes with my little princess before we have to leave."

Lauren swiped the floor clean, when the phone rang and Pascale answered the call, smiling while speaking in a soft voice. The young girl continued with cleaning the mirrors and wiped the console tables underneath, storing away the cleaning utilities as soon as she was done.

"La porte de derrière est ouverte... D’accord."

Lauren thought for a moment, trying to translate what Pascale had said.

"The backdoor is open." Pascale said, looking at the young girl "You tilt your head and poke out your tongue, when you’re trying to translate what was said…"

"Oh…" how embarrassing.

"You’ll finally meet one of my sons, Charles is coming over. " her voice was always filled with love and pride as soon as she mentioned one of her sons, it made Lauren’s heart swell, hearing her talk so fondly and adoringly of her sons.

But at the same time it also stung a little, making her miss her mother even more.

"Charles? He’s the youngest?"

"Middle."

"Oh, okay." Lauren nodded, storing away some bottles, when a breathtakingly handsome young man, stepped out of the hallway, a young man Lauren knew from somewhere.

"Charles, come in, come in. I want you to meet Lauren-…" Pascale switched to English, making her son cock an eyebrow.

"Your new assistant you can’t stop talking about?" he chuckled and Pascale nodded, he then followed his mothers look and as soon as his eyes landed on Lauren his whole face lit up, something his mother noticed, making her grin "It’s you! The girl from the park!"

"You two know ea-… wait? The girl from the park? OH! The girl from the park!" Pascale made big eyes, a big smile spreading on her face.

Charles blushed immediately, but he wasn’t alone, Laurens eyes widened and her cheeks were turning red, he was talking about her?

Chapter 10 - I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! Life was messy, hectic and really a lot these last weeks and I didn’t want to post something only okayish. It finally happened. Lauren and Charles officially met ♥️ now the real party starts hehehe

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

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