#charles leclerc x original female character | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

Text

TEACHER'S PET PT.1 | CL16

an: what's this? a student x teacher fic LOLOLOLOLOLOL if my dad had loved me i wouldn't be writing shit this unhinged i promise x

wc: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of infidelity

The first time she'd caught him staring, she thought it was an accident. The second, merely a coincidence. The third, however, she knew it was on purpose.

It wasn’t something she wanted to think about. Not really. In a class of nearly a hundred students, it seemed absurd to imagine that his attention could be directed at her—out of everyone. But there was something different about the way his gaze lingered. The first time, she’d been bent over her notebook, pen poised between her fingers, when a prickling sensation crept up the back of her neck. Her body had responded before her mind could. She glanced up and caught his eyes on her—just for a second—before he turned away, resuming his lecture as if nothing had happened.

She told herself it was nothing. Professors scanned the room all the time; it wasn’t unusual. But the memory stuck with her, burrowing into the quiet moments of her day, resurfacing when she didn’t expect it to.

The second time, it was subtler, but undeniable. She was seated toward the middle, further from the front than usual. Maybe she'd subconsciously chosen that spot to test it. To see if it would happen again. As he paced through the lecture, hands animated in the air as he spoke about the History of French Art, his eyes swept over the students, pausing just long enough on her to make her heart lurch. This time, she held his gaze for a beat longer than she should have, curiosity flaring to life. But just as quickly, he looked away.

Coincidence, she’d thought. It had to be.

By the third time, it wasn't a coincidence anymore.

It was late October, the air turning crisp as the days shortened. Leaves fell in lazy spirals outside the tall windows of the lecture hall, a cold wind knocking against the glass in soft, hollow gusts. She had arrived early, settling into her usual seat—closer now, near the front, where she could no longer pretend she was avoiding it. He arrived minutes later, his leather satchel worn but polished, the faint scent of coffee trailing him as he passed. He was always well-dressed, the kind of polished professional that seemed to belong to a different era—dark, tailored suits, pressed shirts, cufflinks that gleamed subtly under the classroom lights.

She had begun to notice the details: the curls in his dark hair, the way he absently adjusted his watch while answering questions, the deliberate, measured way he spoke, each word chosen with care.

But today, she felt him notice her. Before the lecture even started, his gaze found her. It was a quick thing, just a flicker in her direction as he arranged his notes at the podium. Her heart tripped in her chest, but she kept her face impassive, pretending to reread the passage in front of her, though she couldn’t concentrate on the words. When he began to speak, the room seemed to shrink around them. The voices of other students faded into the background. She found herself hyper-aware of the space between them—the few feet that suddenly felt like miles.

His lecture today was slower, quieter. He paced less, choosing instead to remain near the podium, his voice steady but subdued. She could feel his presence even when she wasn’t looking at him. When she dared a glance up from her notes, his eyes found hers again, not lingering too long but long enough to send a pulse of heat through her skin.

She tried to focus on what he was saying—something about Paul Cezanne and the nature of his art—but the words slipped past her. Instead, her attention drifted to the curve of his jaw as he spoke, the way his lips barely parted between words. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he know how often she thought of him lately? How she’d started to dread the days without his lectures, without that strange, invisible thread of tension pulling tighter each time their eyes met?

As the class drew to a close, she felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Everyone else began packing their things, zipping bags and rustling papers, but she lingered. Just a little. Her fingers slowly gathered her notebook and pens, her movements unhurried, as if she had nowhere else to be. She watched from the corner of her eye as the last few students filtered out, leaving only the two of them in the now-silent room.

She stood, slipping her bag over her shoulder, ready to leave, when his voice stopped her.

“Miss?”

Her name sounded different on his lips. Softer. She hesitated, her heart picking up speed, and turned slowly to face him. He wasn’t looking at her, not yet. His hand was poised above the chalkboard, chalk still in his grip, but he seemed distracted. He wiped at something absentmindedly, as though the motion was only a pretext to gather his thoughts.

“Yes?” she asked, keeping her voice steady, though her heart was anything but.

He turned to her then, his expression unreadable, the lines of his face shadowed by the dimming afternoon light filtering through the windows. His eyes, though, were sharp, studying her with a quiet intensity that made her chest tighten.

“You did well today,” he said, his voice low but clear, as if they were the only two people in the world just then. “Your insights during the discussion—they were... thoughtful.”

“Thank you,” she managed, though the words felt distant, automatic. There was a strange heaviness to the air, as though it was thicker, pressing in around them. The space between them felt far too small, too charged with things unspoken.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Is there something else?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He held her gaze, and in that silence, something shifted. His lips parted, just slightly, as if he might say more—but he stopped. She thought she saw the faintest flicker of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished almost immediately.

“No,” he said, his voice even again, controlled. “That’s all.”

She nodded, a quiet acknowledgment, though the air still buzzed with what had not been said. And as she turned to leave, she could feel the weight of his eyes on her once more, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

The library was unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon. The familiar scent of old books and polished wood mingled with the faint hum of the heating system as they walked through the aisles, the muffled sound of footsteps against carpet the only break in the silence. She and Logan had come here to study—a common enough ritual for them when end of semester exams loomed, the weight of expectations pressing down like a lead blanket.

He slid into the chair across from her, his laptop open before she even had the chance to settle her bag down. Logan was efficient like that, practical. His blond hair was tousled from the brisk wind outside, and he gave her an easy, absent smile as he booted up his computer, already lost in his task list for the day.

"Ready to drown yourself in more French Literature?" he asked, his voice warm but distracted.

She nodded, though her mind was elsewhere. The conversation with Professor Leclerc still echoed in her head, like the ticking of a clock she couldn't silence. Her fingers itched with the memory of his eyes on her, that unreadable expression, the way he'd spoken her name as if it carried weight, like he knew something she didn’t.

She forced herself to focus, pulling out her notebook and the folder with her most recent assignment—an analysis of La Liberté guidant le peuple painting by Eugène Delacroix. She'd thought she’d done well, putting in extra hours at the library and wrestling with the dense material until it finally clicked. But when she unfolded the paper and saw the red scrawl at the top, her stomach sank.

52%.

Her breath caught, heart thudding uncomfortably in her chest as she stared at the number. Not even a C, but a D. How? She skimmed through the feedback—detached but firm in Professor Leclerc’s familiar handwriting. Unclear analysis. Lacking depth. The words felt like they were meant to hurt, stinging more than they should have.

Logan looked up from his screen, noticing the shift in her expression.

"Everything okay?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his brows furrowing in concern.

She hesitated for a moment, then turned the paper around to show him. He glanced at the grade, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Ouch," he said, though his tone was still light, casual. "That’s rough. I know you spent ages on that."

"Yeah..." she muttered, unable to stop the flicker of frustration and disappointment from colouring her voice. She clenched her fists, crumpling the edge of the paper slightly as the words replayed in her mind. Lacking depth. The phrase stung more than the grade itself. What had she missed? And why did the criticism feel so much more personal than it should?

"You should talk to him," Logan said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Go to his office hours. You might be able to make a case, ask for extra credit or something."

She stiffened at the suggestion, the knot in her chest tightening. "I don’t know. He’s... strict about grades. I doubt it’ll change anything."

Logan shrugged, looking back at his screen. "You never know. Worst case, you get some feedback on where you went wrong. Best case, you convince him to give you another shot."

Her pulse quickened. Convince him. The idea of sitting in that small office with Professor Leclerc, discussing her work, his gaze on her again—it was unsettling, but not in the worst of ways. The very thought made her stomach twist in a way she couldn’t quite define, a mixture of anxiety and something else. Something that felt wrong but pulled at her nonetheless.

Logan looked up again, catching her hesitation. "Seriously, it’s no big deal. You’re one of his best students—he’ll probably just tell you what you need to fix. Maybe offer extra sessions or something."

His words felt innocent enough, completely unaware of what the suggestion stirred in her. Extra sessions. The thought sent an unexpected jolt through her. Her mind flashed briefly to the quiet, almost charged moments in class, the way Professor Leclerc’s voice dropped when he spoke directly to her, the way he lingered a little too long when he passed her desk.

She forced herself to shake it off. This was ridiculous. There was nothing going on—nothing she could even explain. She had a boyfriend who cared about her, who wanted her to do well, and all she could think about was how it felt to stand in that empty classroom, her professor’s eyes on her like she was the only one who existed.

"Yeah... maybe," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out tight. She stared at the grade again, her mind a swirl of confusion, frustration, and something she didn’t want to name. "I’ll think about it."

Logan smiled at her encouragingly, leaning forward to squeeze her hand briefly. "Don’t stress. You’ve got this."

She returned the smile, but it felt thin, forced. As he went back to typing away at his notes, she couldn’t help but glance again at the feedback on the page. The red ink stared back at her, cold and unforgiving. But even more than that, the thought of confronting Professor Leclerc, sitting in his office alone, weighed on her in a way that made her throat tighten.

Could she really face him after everything? Would he look at her the same way he did in class? Would he push her in the same subtle way he had before, or would it be worse, with the closed door and the quiet of his office wrapping around them?

She knew she should go, knew Logan was right—it was just about the grade. It was practical. But the thought of those “extra sessions,” of being alone with him again, felt anything but simple.

And yet, despite the unease, she couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of her that wondered what it might be like.

"Actually," she said, her voice quieter than she intended, "I think I’ll go to his office now."

Logan looked up from his screen, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Right now?"

She nodded, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into her notebook. "Yeah... I don’t want to let it hang over me all day. It’s better if I just get it over with, right?"

He smiled, a warm, easy grin that was comforting in its familiarity. "Good call. I’m sure he’ll understand. Just be confident—you’ve got this."

She smiled back, a little tighter than before, but she hoped he didn’t notice. The knot in her chest was tightening again, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation that made her feel a little lightheaded.

Logan closed his laptop, stood, and walked around the table toward her. He leaned down to kiss her, his lips brushing hers in a soft, reassuring goodbye. "Text me when you’re done?"

"Yeah, I will," she murmured, her heart not quite in the kiss. She tried to focus on the comfort of his presence, the safety of their easy rhythm, but her mind had already drifted, tugged in another direction by thoughts she couldn’t fully control.

Logan gave her a last, encouraging smile before turning back to his seat. "Good luck."

As she walked away, her fingers clenched the strap of her bag a little tighter, the soft echo of their parting kiss lingering, but quickly fading. Each step toward Professor Leclerc’s office felt heavier, the atmosphere around her shifting as she crossed the campus toward the quiet wing of the humanities building.

It wasn’t far—just a few minutes’ walk through the maze of lecture halls and corridors she’d grown familiar with over the last few semesters. But today, it felt different. The air was cooler, the fading autumn sunlight casting long, golden shadows across the stone walls. Her breath felt shallow, quickening with each step. By the time she reached the languages faculty office wing, the silence was almost oppressive, the only sound the faint click of her shoes against the floor.

When she turned the final corner, his office door was in view—closed but with the light seeping out from beneath it. She hesitated just a few paces from the door, her heart thrumming in her chest. She knew she had to knock, but something made her pause.

And then, her eyes drifted to the window beside his office door.

The blinds were drawn half-closed, leaving just enough of an opening to glimpse inside. At first, it was only the dim light that caught her attention, the low glow of a desk lamp casting a golden hue over the room. But then she saw him.

Professor Leclerc was standing behind his desk, his blazer tossed over the back of his chair, the crisp white sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. His glasses, which she’d rarely seen him wear in class, perched on the bridge of his nose as he focused intently on something in front of him—papers, perhaps, or a book. The soft, thoughtful frown on his lips was different from the commanding presence he carried during lectures. It was quieter. Intimate, almost.

Her breath hitched as she watched him, her body reacting instinctively, against her will. The way his shoulders tensed slightly when he concentrated, the curve of his jaw in the low light, the way his forearms flexed as he absently adjusted his glasses—it all felt impossibly distracting. The mundane act of him rolling up his sleeves, of removing the formal layers she was used to seeing him in, suddenly felt... intimate. Personal.

Her heart sped up, pounding hard against her ribcage, and heat flushed through her chest. She knew she shouldn’t be standing there, peering in like this, but she couldn’t tear herself away. The way he looked—casual yet somehow more powerful without the blazer, the sharp lines of his face softened by the glasses—was doing something to her she hadn’t anticipated.

Her mind flickered back to the kiss Logan had given her just minutes ago, but it felt distant now, like a faint memory that didn’t belong to this moment. All she could think about was the quiet allure of Professor Leclerc, the slow burn of attraction that had been building for weeks now, whether she wanted it or not.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t go into his office feeling like this, her thoughts racing in directions they shouldn’t. She had a boyfriend. She was here to talk about her grade, to be professional, to fix a problem. Nothing more.

But as she stared through the narrow gap in the blinds, watching him shift slightly, leaning back to stretch his arms above his head, she felt that sense of professionalism slipping away. The tension in her stomach coiled tighter, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to knock on the door.

Before her knuckles even made contact, his voice called out from the other side.

"Come in."

Her breath caught in her throat. He hadn’t even looked up, hadn’t seen her standing there, but the sound of his voice—low, calm, commanding—felt like it wrapped around her, pulling her in. She hesitated for a second longer, her pulse thrumming in her ears, before finally pushing the door open.

The office was warmer than she expected, the scent of old books and polished wood heavy in the air. The soft glow from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate atmosphere despite its professional setting.

Professor Leclerc glanced up from his desk, his glasses still resting on his nose, and for a moment, their eyes met. Something flickered in his gaze—recognition, perhaps, or something else she couldn’t quite name. His expression remained neutral, but the intensity behind his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

"Miss," he said, his voice smooth, like velvet brushing against her skin. "I didn’t expect to see you so soon."

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound louder than she expected in the quiet room. She felt a sudden rush of heat rising in her cheeks, her throat tightening as she stepped further inside. Professor Leclerc had returned his attention to the papers on his desk, marking something with precise strokes of his pen, but the moment she entered, his eyes flicked back to her, and she felt pinned under the weight of his gaze.

She stood there, frozen for a moment, unsure of where to place herself in the room that suddenly felt far too small. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, making it hard to think clearly.

"Have a seat," he said, his voice low but authoritative. It wasn’t a request.

Without thinking, she moved quickly toward the chair in front of his desk and sat down, too eager to comply. As soon as she settled, she realised how obedient she must have seemed—too quick, too eager. She swallowed hard, trying to compose herself, gripping the strap of her bag tightly in her lap. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she hoped he couldn’t see.

He took off his glasses then, placing them carefully on the desk, and leaned back in his chair. The gesture felt deliberate, a small act of removing a barrier between them, and she couldn’t help but notice how different he looked without them. His eyes—sharp and intense—were fully on her now, no longer obscured by the glass. The lines of his face were clearer, more defined in the soft lamplight, and her chest tightened at how attractive he was, especially like this—more relaxed, more... human.

"You came about your essay," he said, stating it like a fact rather than a question.

"Y-yes," she stammered, cursing herself for the shakiness in her voice. Her throat felt dry, and she shifted in her seat, trying to regain some composure. "I—um—just wanted to understand where I went wrong. I didn’t expect to... do so poorly."

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he flipped open the folder containing his copy of her work. His fingers traced the edge of the paper, his touch light but purposeful, and for some reason, her heart skipped a beat at the simple motion.

"You missed the core of the analysis," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Your analysis was surface-level. You wrote only about what we could see, but you didn’t engage how you felt. You didn’t deconstruct the painting—you only described it."

Her cheeks burned at his criticism. She bit her lip, nodding, though the words stung. She should have expected this, should have been prepared for him to be direct, but hearing him say it—especially in this setting, in this tone—made her feel smaller somehow.

He turned the paper toward her, pointing at a paragraph near the middle. "Here, for example. You’re focusing too much on the colours of the painting, but not enough on why Delacroix used them. You’re missing the underlying tension he’s working with—between art as a system of signs and the meaning that constantly escapes it."

His explanation was calm, almost gentle, but it still felt intimate, as if every word he said was meant just for her. His eyes lingered on hers, watching her reactions carefully, and she nodded again, barely able to focus on what he was saying, her mind still buzzing with the proximity of him, the quiet authority in his voice.

"I see," she whispered, though she wasn’t sure she fully did. It was hard to think clearly when he was sitting across from her, the small space between them charged with something unspoken.

He shifted slightly in his seat, leaning forward just enough that she could smell the faint hint of his cologne—clean, subtle, but warm. It surrounded her, making it harder to breathe, harder to stay focused. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her bag, her knuckles white as she tried to ground herself.

"You have potential," he continued, his voice softer now, like he was letting her in on a secret. "Your writing is strong, but you’re holding back. You need to dig deeper. Don’t be afraid to get lost in the complexity of the ideas—that’s where the real analysis happens."

Her stomach flipped at the way he said it, at the way his eyes seemed to darken slightly as they met hers. She didn’t know if she was imagining it, but the air between them felt heavier now, like something was shifting. The quiet hum of the heater in the corner was the only sound breaking the silence, but it did nothing to ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in the room.

"I’ll... work on that," she managed to say, though her voice felt weak, distant from her own ears. She could barely process his feedback, her thoughts too consumed by the way his gaze lingered on her, the way her body reacted to his closeness.

He sat back in his chair, his posture more relaxed now, though his eyes never left her. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Good. I’m here to help you with that. You can always come by during office hours if you need more guidance. I can set aside extra time for you if you’re struggling."

The words—extra time—sent a shiver down her spine, the implication innocent enough, but something about the way he said it, the way the room felt in that moment, made her pulse quicken. She could feel her cheeks growing hotter, her breath shallow, and for a moment, she was sure he could sense it, could see exactly how flustered she was.

This was wrong.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not here. Not with him. She had a boyfriend—Logan, who loved her, who trusted her, who was waiting for her to text him when this was over. But as Professor Leclerc’s eyes held hers, steady and unwavering, it was impossible to deny the pull she felt, the quiet attraction that had been building in her chest for weeks now.

"I... I should go," she said abruptly, standing too quickly, her legs shaky as she gathered her things. She could feel her heart racing, the room suddenly feeling too small, too warm. "Thank you for your time, Professor."

He stood as well, watching her closely, but he made no move to stop her. His expression was calm, though there was something in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite name, but it made her chest tighten. He nodded once, his voice smooth as ever.

"Of course. You know where to find me if you need more help."

She nodded, barely able to meet his gaze as she turned toward the door, her fingers fumbling with the handle before she managed to push it open. The cool air from the hallway rushed over her as she stepped outside, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Only when she was a few steps down the hall did she let out the breath she’d been holding. Her hands were shaking, her mind racing as she tried to process what had just happened—nothing inappropriate, nothing overtly wrong, but still, the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her, made her feel like she was walking a fine line.

Her chest tightened with guilt. She had a boyfriend. Logan loved her, trusted her. And Professor Leclerc... he was her professor.

This was wrong.

part two

#f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #original character #formula one x reader #ferrari formula one #ferrari formula 1 #ferrari #charles leclerc #logan sargeant #williams racing #carlos sainz #teacher au

318 notes · View notes

st4rg1rl-16 · 11 months ago

Text

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!f1 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ in a club max, lando and carlos make a plan to discover if the ferrari drivers are in a relationship, how? making charles jealous!

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 24 march

𝗹��𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ barcelona, spain

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ they are in a club so alcohol consumption jealous!charles, the boys being the little shits they are, fingering (wait what?!) lewis kinda flirting with bella?

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ I been MIA I know, sorry for that but here it is!!and things are starting to get heatedddd

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻

♡ liked by 𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵, 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝘀𝗹𝘆 and 𝟴𝟲.𝟬𝟲𝟴 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 After revolutionizing not only the motorsport world but also our hearts, Arabella Torres is crowned with the title of the new "it girl" of Europe.

"I've spent this last month hating my body and I'm tired of pretending that everything is fine" The Formula One driver opens up to us showing us her most vulnerable side about hate on social media and several other topics in the interview for the 200th issue of our magazine, now available on 💥 our link💥

Text: 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘆𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗿

Interview: 𝘁𝗼𝗺_𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁_𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

Photograph: 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸_𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱_𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗼

Styling: 𝗺𝗼𝗯𝗼𝗹𝗮𝗷𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘄𝗼𝗱𝘂

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 have been tagged

𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀 🏎️🏎️🏎️

⤷ 𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 😍

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭 Wait, I’m running to get it

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟮 I wasn’t a big fan of her but since I saw the live I love her

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 the same happened to me

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟰 Sorry for my ignorance, but what happened? I just got into the fandom.

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 Last month she was sexualized a lot on twitter because some youtubers uploaded a video and mentioned sexual things about her body, she went viral and began to have even more hate than she already had and made a live saying that she was going to leave social media for a while and then talked about how bad she felt, how it was a shame for her family and how it was “staining” her career. She basically talked about how bad it is to sexualize and also took out things like sexism and things like that (+)

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟯 (+) Then she left social media and we only saw her in the Shanghai and Azerbaijan gps and during these four weeks a lot of celebrities have talked about her and she has gone viral and now she is like the “it girl”.

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟱 ooooh, thanks for the explanation 💖

𝘀𝗰𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗮𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗮𝗿𝗶 That’s our girl!! 😌

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 muchas gracias por darme esta oportunidad! 🤍thank you very much for giving me this opportunity!

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟲 aww she is so cute, why do people hate her?

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟳 Unfortunately there are many people throwing hate at her even though she is a great person

⤷ 𝗴𝗾𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻 Te queremos, Arabella! 🥰 We love you!

𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 ARABELLA TOOOOOOOORRESSSSSSSSS

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 and 𝟭𝟮𝟳 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝘀 liked this comment

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟴 my ship 🥺

𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟵 What they've done to her is horrible, now she hates her body when she's beautiful

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟬 I would kill for having a body like hers

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟭 that’s how society works 🙂

⤷ 𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲𝟭𝟮 she is probably going to get even more hate after this

"IT would be awesome if your first victory was in Spain" Oliver's smile was focused by the camera. His mother snapped her tongue looking at him with reprimand.

"Oli, son, don't swear on the table, please" The boy looked at his mother and gave her his most charming smile.

"Yes, mommy" The woman rolled her eyes and threw her napkin in his face so he complained while her husband laughed.

Arabella smiled watching the familiar scene unfolding in front of her. The truth was that she had missed it, after so many months away from them and seeing each other only by casual video calls, it was nice to be all together even if the whole family was not yet there because her parents had traveled to Barcelona, where her next race was going to be, with her brother the previous week to celebrate the birthday of the youngest of the Torres family and now a week later her grandparents, her uncles, aunts and her cousins were still to arrive so that everyone could attend the race on Sunday because they wanted to support Arabella in their native country. But this was nice, she had missed hearing her brother's nonsense, her mother acting like a mother and talking about cars with her father. She missed a normal life that she had never had.

"By the way" Her father caught her attention, turned her gaze to him drinking from her glass full of sangria. She saw out of the corner of her eye how she pointed to the team of Netflix’s cameras that surrounded them in the garden of the house they had rented during their stay in Barcelona “Do we have to speak in English or...?”.

Marisa, her mother, let out an disgusted moan “Oh, with how much I struggle with English”.

The green-eyed boy laughed as he nibbled at the chicken wing that his fingers were holding “I still don't understand how you don't know English, mom. Your children are literally international athletes, you should know English”.

"I know English" The eyes of the same color as that of her two children opened in the direction of the teenager before she began to speak in English with a very strong Spanish accent "How are you? I'm fine, thank you!” She smiled with self-centeredness, pointed to herself “See? what your mother doesn't know how to do...”

“Jeez" The girl murmured, sticking her lips to the glass again while her brother burst into laughter, almost chocking with the wing.

The one wearing the glasses looked at his wife with a small smile, obviously trying to hid the laughter that was about to come out, and winked at her “Of course, honey! you are good at everything”.

Her brother's smile increased when their mother smiled sending a kiss to their father, clearly not grasping the intention of his words. Arabella shook her head but still a smile had made room in her full lips, she left the glass on the table and lay down on her chair after making a sandwich with the chorizos that her father had cooked on the barbecue.

"It's for the Netflix’s Formula One docuseries" She spoke with her mouth full, making her mother look at her badly but she didn't see her because she was looking at her father. She shrugged her shoulders turning her gaze to the sandwich before giving it another bite “They wanted to see what my private life is like and we speaks in Spanish so no. Speak in Spanish, period”.

"But your private life so fucking boring" She looked at her brother badly while her teeth crushed the food in her mouth, he stuck out his tongue at her.

"Oh, really? Okay, okay, I don't invite you to the party tonight then” She smiled evilly at what the moto driver let out a gasp bringing his hand to his chest.

"So rude, sister" He shook his head "So rude”.

A pleasant silence covered the table after her brother's words. Manuel, her father, shared smiles with his wife while they watched their children eat. They had also missed the family moments and were grateful to be together, especially after what their daughter had gone through thanks to the internet.

"Then will you go out tonight?" The man cleared his throat, turning his gaze to his firstborn, who nodded.

"It's been the boys' idea" She rolled her eyes “They've just arrived and they already want to party”.

"Don't you have the classification tomorrow?" She nodded to her brother's question and grimaced when she felt their mother's gaze on her.

"Arabella Torres González, don't even think about drinking tonight." She raised her finger and pointed at her accusively. The girl nodded while father and son looked at each other knowing that she was indeed going to drink. The blonde turned her gaze to her plate when she began to cut a piece of bacon “If you drink, don't drive”.

"I wasn't going to go drunk to practice, but well" She murmured, giving the last bite to the bread. She wiped his lips with the napkin that was next to her plate.

The only brown eyed let out a breath of air when the cold Coca Cola passed through his throat and smiled “Well, I think it's great that you go out, honey. Especially after everything that has happened”.

She nodded, offering a smile to her father before looking down at her plate, a common reaction she had to the mention of the twitter situation.

"Do you think you're going to win?" She heard her brother ask and although she thanked him mentally because she knew that he had changed the subject to entertain her, she couldn't help to, without knowing why, tense.

Being honest, she knew why: everyone's eyes would be on her, not only because it was going to be the first time she was going to race in her country since she in formula one, but because of the same issue she was trying to avoid. She had disappeared since what happened, the only time the media could see her was in the Azerbaijan race and they didn't even see her too much because she refrained from doing interviews or any kind of media in addition to the fact that she had moved away from social media even closing her twitter account temporarily after announcing on Instagram live that she was tired of the comments towards her body.

She had managed to hide well from the paparazzi and that had made people talk about, the whole gossip magazines was talking about her and not only them because even in the sports they had mentioned her situation which had caught the attention of many celebrities, especially women, who defended her from the internet trolls and praised her for continuing with her sportiness above all. Her popularity had risen like foam and the contracts and offers of all kinds of brands had not taken long to reach her manager's email. The first offer they had accepted had been to be the cover of the May issue of GQ Magazine where she had taken the opportunity to talk about how the online comments about her body had affected her, which was something quite healing for her, being able to talk loudly about it because she had been keeping it to herself.

Before she didn’t give too much importance to her body, focused since she was a child on cars and nothing else had not gone through that stage in which insecurities about her physique tormented her but that controversy had provoked it. She had suffered a mini crisis in which she was never very hungry, she spent hours looking at her reflection in the mirror thinking that it was what was wrong with her, her wardrobe had changed to a more comfortable and wide one that did not reveal more than the minimum of skin and the salt of her tears was the only thing that fed her.

She wasn't proud of herself, far from it, but what could you wait for? She was just an eighteen-year-old girl receiving hatred everywhere, although none of those people had a face to look at when she read those insults Arabella could not prevent them from affecting her. And although she was much better now, after talking to Sebastian –who was on a plane on his way to Spain, because unfortunately he hadn’t been able to attend Azerbaijan– as if he were her personal psychologist and spending time with her family, she could not help but tense every time something reminded her of the small trauma she had experienced.

She closed her eyes inhaling and exhaling "I have a good feeling but I don't want to jinx it”.

Her mother's hand curled up on hers, looked up to see her and immediately felt a warmth and security invade her body causing her to relax her tense shoulders. Marisa González smiled sweetly at her daughter "No matter what happens, we will be proud of you, cariño. Okay?”.

She bit her lower lip feeling her eyes begin to sting, she nodded "Okay" Her voice came out more raspy than usual, causing the woman to get up from her seat and approach her daughter to hug her.

"THIS is so awkward" A somewhat drunk Lando looked worriedly at his teammate while he rolled his eyes denying. He pushed his arm when he saw him “Carlos! What do we do? I can't keep this secret that is eating me alive”.

"It's not a secret because we don't know if it's true" He leaned over to take his glass from the small table in front of the sofa on which they were both sitting and drank from it.

He was going to need alcohol to survive the night.

He opened his eyes in an exaggerated and paranoid way “What do you mean, Carlos? Look at them, they look like cats in heat!” He extended both arms towards the dance floor where they could see Arabella dancing with Daniel and Pierre while Charles was next to George at the bar, neither of the two pending the presence of the other to the very opposite of what number 4 had said.

A "Mmh" sounded on the other side and they both quickly turned their heads to see the Dutchman sitting on the other sofa. The McLaren's idiots opened their eyes with surprise when they remembered that the Red Bull driver was with them.

"So, do you think Arabella and Charles are together?" He raised one of his eyebrows, curious because he swore to have seen things among the members of the red team but he had not yet mentioned his suspicions to anyone.

"Don't tell anyone, but yes”.

"It's not that we believe it, it's that we know it" The British raised his index finger to emphasize his words.

"Oh, really? How?” Max moved in his seat, approaching them to try to get information from them because he had decided not to drink that night so he was bored as he watched his friends and co-workers approach the ethyl coma.

The curly-haired one approached him too, looking over his shoulder to prevent unwanted ears from hearing their conversation “Have you seen how they look at each other? Or at least how Charles looks at her? She is more discreet but he is not and clearly that look is not from friends”.

"Mmm" The 33 rubbed his chin before a mischievous smile crept into his lips "Maybe we can make them confess”.

"Ohhhhh" Lando laughed while Carlos pursed his lips.

"I don't know, guys" He denied taking another sip from his glass "We shouldn't get in, I also think they're angry at each other”.

"Yes” Verstappen’s blue eyes moved to the spaniard "I've noticed it too, they're acting weird. They don't talk much”.

Norris let out a moan of protest while patting his thigh “Now that we have something to entertain ourselves, they go and break up”.

"Shut up, shut up!" The eldest of the three exclaimed between his teeth when he saw Pierre and Arabella approaching the VIP zone, the reflections of the lights colliding against the brightness of the girl's skirt almost blinded him "They're coming, they're coming”.

Pierre let go of the girl's hand and dropped with a sigh on the sofa next to Max, who looked at him raising both eyebrows making the Frenchman smile at him unwillingly “God, i’m dead”.

"But we barely have danced, P” The girl who was still standing laughed, Carlos moved making room for her but she denied leaning a hand on his shoulder. She made puppy eyes “Carlitos, you coming to dance with me”.

He shook his head without looking at her because he knew he was going to give in if he kept looking at her “No, no, I'm okay here”.

"Oh, come on!" She complained before taking his hand and began to pull him but it was of little use. Releasing a blow, she sat next to him and took the cup, earning a complaint from him “You are the only one with whom I can sing the songs, this useless frenchie doesn’t know the lyrics”.

"Sorry for not knowing Spanish!" The other exclaimed as he raised both arms "I already know English and Italian and that is more than enough”.

"Hey, what about Daniel?" The Dutchman frowned when he realized that his former teammate was not in the group.

"He found a girl" The girl shrugged her shoulders accepting the glass of the other spaniard when he took a sip and then hand in it to her again.

Immediately everyone let out complaints in unison and she laughed because she knew why. They had decided to ignore the hotels and rent a house all together to be able to stay a couple more days in the country and, well, they were going to have to listen to the australian and his fling all night.

"Can I sleep with you today?" Carlos looked at her horrified because he was the one who had his room next to Ricciardo's, she denied what he opened his mouth in pain "Why not?"

"Because you don't want to dance with me" She was busy arguing with him so she didn't notice when Max collided his knee with Lando's to get his attention, once the boy looked at him he nodded to the girl opening his eyes.

"What?" He asked in a confused whisper to what Max rolled his eyes and Pierre approached them, curious about what was happening.

"Go dance with her so we can make Charles jealous”.

"Why is Charles going to get jealous because Bella dances with Lando?" Pierre looked at them strangely, he was not surprised about a jealous Charles because, obviously, he had also realized the feelings of his friends, what he didn’t understand was why was he going to feel jealous of the little boy of the McLaren team.

A demonic smile was planted on the full lips of the much acclaimed lion “You'll see”.

With his gaze he pointed to the duo that was approaching them and Gasly nodded impatiently to see how the Dutchman's plan unfolded.

"Bells" The voice of the curly haired one came out high and both the 10 and the 33 had to put their hands to their mouths to avoid laughing. The girl looked at him expectantly but smiling, he swallowed saliva feeling nervous suddenly “I can dance with you, if you want”.

She nodded before getting up and extending her hand towards him, who didn't take long to take her between his much larger one and let himself be guided by her to the dance floor. Along the way they met Charles and George, his blueish green eyes collided with the greens of the Monegasque who clearly did not look very happy at the image in front of him. He swallowed again, praying mentally that the elder would not end up beating him up. The girl in front of him kept pulling him, completely ignoring her teammate but not without giving a smile to her other British friend who responded by raising both thumbs.

Fuck he thought when the reggaeton song of which he didn't know how to pronounce its name changed to Reminder by The Weeknd. A wave of screams filled his ears when the first chords filled the nightclub, he watched as the sweaty bodies stuck even more when he heard the song and suddenly he felt that the shirt that decorated his torso was too small for him. He hooked his index finger on the neck to relieve the sensation a little but it didn't work too much.

His eyes went down to the girl in front of him, despite wearing heels she was still shorter than him so he could see the club above her head. He bit the inside of his cheek when they finally found a clear space on the track and turned around to look at him.

She analyzed him from top to bottom before showing him a nice smile "If you want we can go back, Lan. It's okay”.

He immediately denied “No, no, it's fine. Let's dance, that's what we've come for, right?”.

"Okay, but if you feel uncomfortable, tell me" She stood on her tippy toes to reach his ear because Abel Tesfaye's voice was too loud. The boy closed his eyes when he smelled her perfume “Okay?”.

She separated from him, enough so that they could look at each other's face but not so that their bodies would stop being against each other. He nodded speechlessly looking into her eyes and she smiled funny before taking her hands and placing them on her hips to which the boy opened his eyes wide making her throw her head after laughing.

"They are just hips, Lando!"

"Yeah, i know, but... don't blame me" He laughed too.

On the other side of the nightclub, their friends watched them as if they were the best show in the world while Charles felt that he was going about to throw up. He squeezed his grip on the glass that was in his hands without looking away from the young drivers, who now danced very close to each other. It should be him who was there moving his body next to hers, it should be him who had his hands on her hips, it should be him who had his arms around her neck. It should be him and not Lando.

"They would make a good couple" He heard Sainz speak, who was looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I thought that if she would date with one of us it would be Max" All the eyes, including Charles's, went to George, who had not realized that he had become the center of attention because he was very distracted on his mission to catch with his straw a gummie that was at the bottom of his glass.

The named one frowned “With me?”.

Pierre moved in his seat offended "Yes, what do you mean with Max?" Why not with me?”.

The Spaniard laughed scratching his leg over the fabric of his jeans “Don't you have a girlfriend?”.

"Shut up, Carlos. This is important” The Frenchman raised his hand trying to block the Spanish's face.

Russell's bulging eyes rose to look at his colleagues “I mean... I don't know, between Max and Bella there is like this strange tension but at the same time they get along well. I guess it will be because they are both so focused about beating Hamilton but I thought they would end up together”.

The green eyes of the number 16 traveled to his childhood rival, his desire to throw up became even stronger when he saw that he was struggling not to let out a smile. He knew that he had liked the British's words and although he couldn’t blame him because, to be honest, they were all young men and she was practically a goddess so he was not too surprised that he was not the only one interested in her.

"Mmmh" Pierre's lips furrowed in agreement. "Yeah, they wouldn't look bad together. It would be kind of enemies on the track to lovers off the track, it would make sense”.

Russell pointed it at him “Right?”.

"But she and Lando have already kissed" After Verstappen's words, everyone looked at him strangely.

Carlos let out a high-pitched squeal “It was you who interrupted them!”.

"Yes" He laughed nodding as he drank from his glass, he moved his gaze towards the boy sitting next to him.

"Well, Landito has a lot of advantage then" Carlos' honey eyes returned to the dance floor causing the others to imitate him. The youngest pair of the group were dancing as close as they could to each other, they were sure that not even a pen could fit between them, Arabella was with her back to him with her arms hanging from his neck while Lando hid her face in her neck and his hands kept a firm grip on the girl's waist.

"Do you think they will fuck tonight?" The dirty blond with a beard smiled like a kid, entertained by the reaction of his best friend but also happy that his friends got some kind of action.

"Looks like it”.

Before Max's words, he squeezed the glass so much that it exploded, attracting the attention of others and even of some people around them. He felt the cold liquid from his cup pierce the fabric of his pants when he released the last piece of glass that he was still holding in his hands. He waved his hand to get rid of the liquid and let Carlos take it to inspect that no crystal had been stuck in his skin.

"Fuck, Leclerc" The one with the raspy voice handed him napkins from the napkin holder that was on the low table in the center of the sofas.

He looked back at the dance floor ignoring how Carlos called a waitress or how Pierre and Max tried to clean the mess by throwing an unnecessary amount of napkins on the floor. Suddenly he was relieved when he saw the dark-haired British boy walking towards the table, with no trace of the brunette next to him.

"What happened?" Lando's disheveled eyebrows came together when he saw his friends trying to clean the floor and Charles soaked from top to bottom.

The monegasque had to look away from the boy when he noticed a mark of lipstick of the same color as the one Arabella wore on his cheek. He got up abruptly releasing a quick "I'm going to the bathroom" before leaving.

He walked through the club as if the devil himself was behind him, he ignored the screams of the people when the song changed and also the looks of the Spanish girls on him in addition to their whispers. Once he reached the hallway where the bathroom was, he let out a sigh, his knuckles had turned white from how hard he was squeezing his fists. He leaned against the wall taking advantage of the fact that the hallway was empty and sighed, bringing a hand to his hair.

Damn the day he met Arabella Torres. Since that day, everything that could have gone wrong was going wrong. He didn't blame her but the damn fate for playing with him that way.

He leaned his head on the wall, looking at the ceiling and thought that it wasn’t as he had expected the night to be. He had gone to the party hoping to be able to talk to her and fix their problems but no, she hadn’t even give a single look to him and that drove him crazy because since their fight and having left him lying in her driver’s room they hadn’t spoken, except for some video that the Ferrari stuff had forced them to record for the YouTube channel and little else. They hadn't even seen each other since the last race, they were supposed to have flown together from Azerbaijan to Barcelona but Arabella had run away to Madrid to celebrate her brother's birthday with her family so it had been almost two weeks since they had last seen each other.

For a moment he wondered what his life would have been like if maybe they were in different teams or if they were normal people and met at a party like this or maybe at college. Everything would have been very different and much easier.

He moved his head following the rhythm of the song without knowing that the lyrics said because it was in spanish and sighed when he heard the door of one of the bathrooms open, he looked down even without separating his head from the wall.

Oh, what a coincidence.

"What happened to your pants?" Arabella was in front of him, looking with a frown at the dark spot that covered much of the fabric that covered his leg.

"My glass exploded" He replied in a hoarse voice because he had not said a word almost all night. He observed her through his long eyelashes, trying to memorize the image in front of him before she ignored him again.

"Ah, good luck cleaning that then" She squeezed her lips and began to turn, ready to get out of there, to run away from him again but he prevented her by grabbing her wrist. She froze in his place, she had missed his touch, she let out a sigh trying to stay calm “Charles, let me go”.

"Why?" A cynical smile stood on his lips "Are you in a hurry to go back to Lando?".

He saw how she tilted her head to the side before she let go of his grip and turned around, he saw how she looked at him confused.

“What does Lando have to do with this?”.

"I've seen how he was kissing your neck and how you danced very close. Too close to be just friends" Everything around Charles was red, as red as the cars they drove or the uniforms they wore on weekends. He was jealous and drunk and didn't think too clearly because they both knew that he wasn't like that. Arabella looked at him strangely, she never seen him that way “What, have you already found my replacement?”.

"What the fuck?" She murmured in spanish. The girl was surprised and as incredible as it may seem, turned on.

"Maybe you can go to McLaren" He bowed his head as his gaze went from her eyes to his lips "But you know that orange will never look as good as red on you”.

She immediately realized that it was a metaphor and wanted to laugh but was too confused to do so. The alcohol in her system next to Charles' perfume wasn't really helpful. She knew that he was playing a game and that if she followed it she could get burned but everyone knew that Arabella Torres was reckless and that she liked danger.

Her confused expression changed, Charles couldn’t describe it but when she began to shorten the distance between them he began to walk backwards, unconsciously entering the women's bathroom, which was empty thank God. He felt his mouth dry when he saw that the girl's hand went to her chest where she began to play with the buttons of the shirt she was wearing “I'm not sure if the red fits me so well” Slow but very slowly she unbuttoned the first buttons revealing a red lace bra. She gathered his eyebrows looking at him with feigned curiosity and in an innocent tone asked him "What do you think?"

He blinked a couple of times before looking up at her. He cursed in French before shortening the distance and smashing his lips against hers. He passed his hand through his neck entangled his fingers between the soft waves of brown hair, closed his fist and pulled her hair forcing her to walk towards the sink. Her ass hit the edge of the marble board making her moan in his mouth because his free hand was squeezing her butt making the Prada's skirt rise and she could feel the cold marble against her skin. The moan in his mouth made him smile, his hands moving from top to bottom through her body caressing her barely covered skin thanks to the open shirt and the short skirt.

Her hands traveled to the boy's neck, one of them taking over the small strands that were born on the back of his neck causing Charles to open his lips but not move them, he stayed in his place watching as she twisted under his touch, the smug smile he had on his lips made her know that he was enjoying it. The tips of his bangs stuck to her skin thanks to the thin space between their foreheads tickling her, which was making her nervous.

Arabella let out a small moan when she felt his right hand go up from her ass to her naked thigh and go through the bottom of her skirt to her underwear. He kissed her again as he pressed with his finger –she wouldn’t know which one– against the fine red lace garment that separated her skin from the contact of his hand.

For a second she thought that she had reached glory when she felt how he was pressing even harder but she fell from the cloud when he separated. She looked at him frowning at what he gave her a smile of apology before asking her with his eyes if she was okay and comfortable with that.

At another time maybe she would have thought it was cute but she was drunk and horny so she could only roll her eyes and take his hand with hers to place it back on her panties “For God's sake, Charles. Just do it”.

This time it was she who joined their lips, ran her fingers through his hair and pressed herself as hard as she could against him while their tongues fought each other. She let herself be embraced by his pleasant smell and the thousand sensations she felt when he was like this with her.

She released her grip on his hair and took her hands along a path from his neck to his chest where she took the shirt in her fists and, in one movement, pulled it breaking the buttons making them fly. He walked away from her when he heard the buttons touch the ground, he looked at them without expression before turning his gaze towards her, raising an eyebrow looking at her between his eyelashes. She bit her lip because, let's be honest, he looked too good looking at her like that from that angle.

"I'll buy you a new one" She went to tell him, but before she opened her mouth, he screwed his hands on the back of her thighs, causing her to let out a small choked scream in surprise when she didn't feel the ground under her feet.

She hissed when the cold of the marble hit the skin of her thighs although she was silent when she felt Charles' hands raise her skirt more to have better access between her legs. The monegasque released the garment when he felt her gaze on him, he looked at her without raising his face, giving a dark touch to his gaze. They watched each other in silence for a few seconds until Charles took his right hand to her jaw and kissed her quickly, separated from her but not enough so that their breaths didn’t mix and took his fingers to her lips.

"Open your mouth" He murmured still holding her gaze, the girl obeyed by letting his fingers pass between her lips meanwhile he looked down at her mouth “Suck”.

He watched with delight as the girl's swollen lips closed around his digits, he felt her tongue playing with them. He looked into her eyes and found that she was already looking at him and almost moaned at that moment.

"Merde, mon ange" He cursed when she let go of his fingers making a pop resonate through the empty bathroom. Shit, my angel.

"Charles..." She said his name in a sigh. He looked at her expectantly with his fingers still touching her lips, the skin of her mouth stained by the red lipstick collided with his finger tips surely staining them too “Charles, please”.

"Please, what?" His voice came out in a murmur but she still heard him and of course she did because the only thing she could hear, feel and smell was him. She was drunk but the alcohol wasn’t what the room had circling around her but him.

She hated Charles Leclerc, she hated the effect he had on her, she hated that even though she was angry with him she felt the stupid need to feel his skin against hers, she hated that they couldn’t be together, she hated that he was playing with her that way, she hated that it made her question every damn aspect of his life. She hated him.

Damn Leclerc and his perfect eyes.

She squeezed her grip on his shirt and kissed the fingers that hadn’t yet separated from her lips before looking at him through her long eyelashes with the most pleading look she could give him "I need you. Please”.

Pathetic, she thought for a moment but the boy's hands rolling up on the fabric that covered her private parts returned her to reality or at least to that bubble in which they had both locked themselves. She rested her hands on the white marble countertop and raised her hips to help him slide the garment down her legs before he made a gap between them and kissed her abruptly.

She felt how the tips of his fingers caressed the inside of her thighs until he reached his destination. She felt how they grazed her folds, covering them with her juices and she groaned in his mouth when she felt him slowly rubbing her clit.

The boy broke the kiss by grabbing her neck when she saw that she made the move of throwing her head back “Was that what you wanted?” His voice was so calm, in contrast to how trembling her breathing was “Did you want my fingers, mmh?”.

"Please" She groaned and he pressed his fingers harder.

She let out a gasp when his fingers slightly touched her entrance, pushed her hips against his hand desperate for his touch, that caused him to laugh. He put one of his fingers inside and a soft moan came out of her, hips moving again to look for some kind of liberation “More” She complained in a murmur under the intense gaze of the boy.

"More?" He smiled and inserted another finger, feeling the walls tighten around his fingers, his hand moving to equalize the movements of her hips, putting in and pulling out his finger being able to hear the wet sounds.

The whining and moans began to get stronger, the nails stuck strongly in the skin of his shoulder on the fabric of his shirt and he moaned at the sensation, looking at her as he fucked her with his fingers.

Arabella thought that not only did his fingers feel incredible, but he also looked so good in front of her and just by looking at him touching her she thought he could send her to the limit. His thumb went up to rub her clit causing her to sink her teeth into her lower lip, the sensation became too intense.

"I'm so c-close" She groaned and he straightened up, crashing his lips in hers, their tongues dancing in a passionate kiss while his fingers pushed into her faster and deeper. The fluids ran through his hand while his thumb applied even more pressure. She felt so overwhelmed that she couldn't even keep up with the kiss, she was too focused on how well her fingers felt inside her.

And just when she began to feel those tickles in her lower belly that she had rarely felt in her life, everything stopped making her open her eyes abruptly. She looked at the boy in front of her confused and moaned when she felt how her disconnected their bodies.

“Charles...”.

His free hand squeezed on the back of her neck, he approached her ear and she heard how he smiled, "You're right, red doesn't look that good on you.

He walked away from her causing a sudden feeling of being cold to cover her body, she frowned when he saw him crouch and take her thong from the floor. With a mocking smile he shook it before storing it in the pocket of his pants “I'll keep this, maybe it will bring me good luck and I beat you in your home race. See you, mon ange”.

He winked at her, causing his dimples to be marked on his face. She looked at him, her eyes shining thanks to the tears of frustration that had accumulated. She clenched her jaw watching how he was leaving the bathroom so calmly. She looked silently for a couple of seconds at the door through which he had disappeared before releasing a scream of rage. She swallowed between quick breaths and closed her eyes, dropping her head against the cold mirror.

"Fucking asshole”.

𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮_𝘁𝟵 added to their story!

A mischievous smile was present Charles' face, who was looking at the photos that Arabella had uploaded. He looked up from his phone when he heard footsteps enter his part of the garage, he saw one of his teammate's engineers approach his car to talk to his own engineers. He ignored him and looked back at the device in his hands, trying to hide his deception when he saw that it wasn't the brunette.

But when a part of the conversation made its way to him he couldn't help but turn his attention to them. He continued looking at the phone and moving his thumb across the screen from time to time to disguise it.

"I recommend that you don't talk to Arabella today" Said the man whose name Charles didn't know. He had seen him several times in the other part of the Ferrari garage but the truth was that he had never paid much attention to Arabella's team. His ears perked up at the girl's name.

“Why?” His engineers were clearly not as interested as Charles as they didn't even give him a second glance and continued inspecting the car.

"Just don't say anything to her unless she talks to you first".

And with that he ran to the other end of the red walls. He frowned and got up from his seat, left the garage belonging to his team and began to walk towards McLaren's, ready to find Carlos because he knew on good authority that the spaniard was the one who kept the paddock's princess' secrets.

He laughed to himself wondering if she had told him what happened in the bathroom at the nightclub last night. He hesitated because she told him everything but he wasn't so sure if she would tell him that.

I'll find it out now, he thought as he saw the spaniard sitting on the ground with several others. He clenched his jaw at the sight of the other part of the McLaren duo but continued his pace towards them anyway.

"Haven't you noticed that she's acting strange?" The Australian's notable nose wrinkled at his own question. He narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah? No, I don't know" Alex raised his head looking at the others confused "I mean, I don't know her as well as you do but there is something different about her".

"Maybe she's just focused on trying to win in her homerace" His best friend shrugged, turning his head to look at the other side of the paddock. He raised both eyebrows when he saw him and was immediately excited "Charles is his teammate, surely he can tell us what is happening to our girl".

He looked down at him, his expression showing very clearly that he had not liked the way he had referred to the spanish woman. Gasly's annoyed smile widened as he separated the green from the blue and shook his head.

"We argued so she doesn't talk to me" He put his hands on both hips and rested his weight on one leg. He looked at Carlos surreptitiously trying to see some kind of expression that would give away that he knew about their relationship but nothing. On the one hand he felt relieved, on the other he felt the need to talk to someone about it but he knew it was too big a risk.

He felt Ricciardo's hand collide with his shoulder and then his contagious laughter filled his ears "Have you never heard the expression "happy woman, happy garage"?.

"What have you done now?".

He looked at Albon, putting a hand to his chest, offended “Why does it have to be me?”.

"She's the one who doesn't talk to you, the one who must have screwed up must have been you" Carlos joined his hands on top of his knees, his eyes focused on some distant point behind Charles' body.

He opened his mouth to complain but the vpice of the protagonist's of the conversation made everyone look in the same direction that Carlos had his eyes on. The girl walked through the paddock alongside a group of cameras and interviewers, answering her questions with her calm even though the press seemed to be about to kill each other to be able to walk near her. As if she were some kind of saint who just by being close to her and breathing her air would cure most horrible symptoms.

Lando broke the silence that had formed between them by speaking for the first time since the monegasque had joined them “They have never fought to interview me.”

"Me neither".

"Neither" Daniel responded and Alex just clicked his tongue.

He curled his lips and then remembered that in the other two races she hadn't done any kind of press. Charles didn't know why but it wasn't like he could ask her either. He watched her walk away and twisted his head, something was happening here.

"POLE position, baby!" Alexandre exclaimed in her ears and she laughed at the man's enthusiasm. As always before getting out of the car, she thanked the team over the radio and took off her helmet followed by her balaclava. She heard the roar of the Mercedes and watched as Hamilton's car parked next to hers, she saw him get out of her and copy her, taking off his helmet and balaclava. He looked at her and smiled at her raising both eyebrows to which she rolled her eyes and started walking away.

“Why are you avoiding me?” The British accent sounded soft and sweet next to her. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye seeing that he had not taken long to get next to her. She tightened her grip on her helmet.

"Because I don't want to see you" She smiled sarcastically still looking ahead. Lewis frowned and quickened his pace to stand in front of her, walking backwards. He observed her face delighting in it when he saw her make a face of frustration when she saw him in front of her "You're going to fall".

A smile planted itself on his plump lips “Aw, you care about me.”

"On the contrary, it would brighten my day" Sarcasm continued decorating her pretty smile.

"I thought me being second was what would make your day" He stopped his pace abruptly, causing her to collide with him, she placed her hands on his hard chest to avoid stepping on him and grunted in annoyance while the british man smiled, clearly enjoying the moment.

As if he were poison, she quickly let go. She looked up to see him, remaining silent for a few seconds because she didn't know they were so close to each other. She blinked before pushing him away, his annoying laughter soon filling her ears “Enjoy the views from the second place.”

The man laughed again watching her walk away from him towards her garage, her car being driven by one of the engineers following her at a considerable speed. He sank her teeth into his bottom lip before raising his voice“I'll do it! Believe me, I will".

She hurried into the garage, clenching her jaw as she saw the monegasque driver giving her a smile as if nothing had happened between them "Congratulations…"

She raised a hand blocking his face and his words before passing by him and heading to the hallway that would take her to her room, ignoring how the red polo shirts were soaked with champagne and how everyone was celebrating the pole position. Upon arrival she dropped the helmet on the ground without giving much importance to the loud noise it made when it hit the ground and threw herself onto the sofa while releasing a sigh. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"ARABELLA TORRES CROSSES THE STARTING LINE CROWNED AS THE NEW WORLD CHAMPION!"

Despite the roar of the car engine and the cloaks covering her ears she could hear the screams of the audience. She frowned when she saw a sea of red and yellow flags, her team began to take their place on the fence that separated the track from the pedestrian zone, she saw how they shouted with smiles on their faces and how they waved their flag in the air and then she knew.

She had won.

She had won the last race of the season and just like that the fucking title of world champion was hers.

She laughed madly, raising her arm above the halo in celebration. She pressed the button on the radio and incredulously asked "Have I won?".

"YOU'RE WORLD CHAMPION, BABY!—She heard Susie's scream, behind the blonde's voice she could hear the others celebrating the victory. Her smile widened even more making her cheeks start to hurt. Wolff wiped her own tears and picked up the microphone, bringing it to her lips. "You've won, Arabella. You've done".

Her lips trembled but the smile didn't fade, her throat went dry and for a moment she saw blurred "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you so much to all of you, guys."

Come on, get out of the car so we can celebrate" This time it was Toto's voice that rang through her ears, he nodded and followed the few meters of road until she reached the sign with the number one. She parked in it and sighed before getting up from her seat and raising both arms in victory.

She got out of the car feeling tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She took off her helmet and balaclava before kneeling on the ground right in front of the car, clasping her hands together and resting them against the nose of the black car and then resting her forehead on her hands, as if she were praying to the machine. She lowered her head until her forehead was almost touching the floor and, finally, she cried. She let out a sob so hard her chest hurt, and she grabbed the fabric of the chest of her suit tightly.

"Arabella, Arabella, Arabella!" For a moment she heard nothing but the audience chanting her name.

She sobbed again, raising her head, looking around around. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. Was that really happening? She looked at the camera in front of her and with her hand on rop of her heart chehe vocalized several "Thank you" non-stop.

Suddenly she heard a loud bang and immediately afterward the screams of people, she looked at her hands and frowned when she saw that they were illuminated by an orange light.

She raised her head slowly seeing how her car was on fire, she moved her gaze to the right finding the red car embedded in the side of hers. She watched in horror as Charles's lifeless eyes looked back at her.

“Arabella, Arabella, Arabella!” The crowd's cries grew even louder and she willed them to shut up. She got up to run towards Charles but it was too late, neither he nor both cars nor even the circuit were there.

“Arabella, wake up” Some light pushes drew her to reality, with a gasp she opened her eyes, meeting Sebastian's face.

She smiled when she saw him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She heard his laugh and felt how he gave a kiss on her hair before caressing it.

"I'm here, siéger” He whispered into her ear, his voice immediately bringing him peace. She sighed against his shoulder “I'm here.” Champion.

"God, I've missed you so much" She murmured against his jacket, she hid her face even more in his neck, feeling the man's hand go up and down her back.

“Me too, siéger” He patted her on the back a couple of times and began to let her go. He looked at her with a frown “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Yeah, but…wait” Her gaze ran to rest on the clock on the wall right next to the television. She opened her eyes in surprise before looking at the man kneeling in front of her "Is it Sunday already?".

Vettel nodded “Yes, you've been sleeping here since qualifying. It's been a long nap”.

She put her head in her hands, hiding her face in them, and let out a sigh “I didn't sleep much yesterday.”

“How much?”.

She denied, remembering that when she arrived at the villa that the boys had rented she couldn't sleep but instead stayed tossing and turning in bed all night without stopping thinking about the race and how frustrated the green-eyed boy had left her. Plus Carlos's unconscious body trying to hug her every chance she got didn't help her much “An hour”.

“Fuck, siéger” He let out an incredulous laugh “And yet you qualified on pole, incredible”.

She shrugged as if it was nothing. She turned her neck to both sides grimacing when she heard the bones creak and got up from the couch being followed by the german, who stepped forward to open the door for her.

They walked among the paddock, heading to the common cafeteria so the girl could have breakfast. They both ignored the surprised looks at seeing the former champion walk and chat so calmly next to the driver, since it was not public knowledge that she and Sebastian Vettel had known each other and had maintained a friendship since she was a child. She licked her lips watching the cameras not far from them, she knew that at any moment people were going to find out so she tried not to give it much importance while the dark blonde, on the other hand, looked a little worried.

Sebastian knew that the girl didn’t want the public to know about her friendship, either the one she had with him or with the Schumachers, since the public would quickly question all of her achievements in her career. Both Sebastian and Mick understood and agreed with her, they knew Michael would agree too. And that's how it had been since they met, distancing herself from the Schumacher’s son while they were in public when they met at a race even though they both wanted to talk or simply enjoy each other's company, not being able to go to Sebastian's races to support him or couldn't even talk about how the germans had become fundamental supports in her life since she met them at the tender age of eleven.

That's why he couldn't help but be surprised when he accepted her call and heard her invite him to the next race. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, he knew that she had had a bad time and he was worried about her, after all for him, she was like his eldest daughter. Not for nothing did his first-born daughter bear her name.

Once seated in the cafeteria, they were accompanied by the girl's manager and her publicist, who after waiting for her to have breakfast, dragged her away because she had to do some interviews.

“Don't you notice something strange on her?” Nicholas took a bite of his croissant, both men watching the two women walk away at a hasty pace.

“There is something in her gaze” He responded, nodding “Something that I don't know if I like”.

He had noticed it and it had not been difficult for him to recognize that shine in her eyes. He more than anyone could know it, because a while ago he also had that shine in his own eyes.

275 notes · View notes

legendary-69420 · 3 months ago

Text

Billionaire on the Track MOMENTS-3 (Extras ✨)

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME ?) MASTERLIST : RACING HEARTS

The interview was going well—smooth, lighthearted, and full of the usual banter that came with Formula 1 media rounds. Charles leaned back in his seat, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as the reporter posed the next question.

"Charles, being a Ferrari driver comes with some perks, no? Tell us, if you could have any car in the world, what would it be?"

Charles tilted his head, considering the question, then chuckled. "Well, I’m pretty sure that if I ask, ‘I would like to drive this car,’ then Ferrari will make it happen. So yeah, this is obviously very, very special. Whatever car, whichever year, Ferrari can make it happen."

The room erupted in polite laughter, the ease in Charles’ tone and his casual confidence earning a few nods of agreement from the audience.

But then came Mark’s turn.

Sitting beside Charles, Mark Spencer adjusted his watch—a luxury piece that subtly caught the light—and answered with a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I’m pretty sure I’d already own the car I want in my collection."

The room fell silent for a moment, the blunt honesty of Mark’s words catching everyone off guard. Then, scattered laughter and murmurs filled the space.

Charles shot Mark a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, Really? But Mark, as usual, seemed utterly unbothered, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile.

Later, the internet buzzed with reactions to the interview.

"Charles is so spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is such a spoiled brat…who does he think he is?"

"Wait, how rich is this guy to own every car he wants?"

"I like how he’s crazy rich but never actually mentions it."

"Mark really said 'Oh, I probably already own it' like it's nothing 😭🔥. Must be NICE to be that rich 💸."

"Charles is spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is on ANOTHER level 😳. Imagine owning every car you dream of 🚗✨. Unreal."

"The AUDACITY of him to say that so casually 😭. I both hate him and want to be him 🥲💀."

"Charles: 'Ferrari will get me anything.' Mark: 'I already have it.' THESE TWO ARE ON COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LEVELS OF SPOILED 😭🔥."

"I swear this man lives in a different dimension 😂. Billionaire + F1 driver + insanely hot?? UNFAIR 💔🔥."

"Mark is out here reminding us all that we’re broke in the most elegant way possible 💀💸😭."

"So Mark’s basically been rich, famous, talented, and handsome his entire life? COOL COOL, I’M FINE, DEFINITELY NOT JEALOUS 🥲🔥."

"He’s so rich, yet so CHILL about it 🤷‍♂️😎. That’s the kind of rich we all aspire to be 💰✨."

Mark’s fans were quick to defend him, though, pointing out that his wealth had little to do with his skills on the track. Still, the intrigue around Mark’s family grew.

At home in Monaco, Charles sat on his couch, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Every other tweet seemed to mention Mark’s comment or speculate about his background. His curiosity got the better of him.

Arthur, Charles’ younger brother, wandered into the living room, munching on an apple.

"Arthur," Charles said, not looking up from his phone, "do me a favor. Look up Mark Spencer’s family. I want to know who they are."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "Why? Feeling nosy ?"

"Just do it," Charles said, exasperated. "He said something in the interview today, and now the whole internet is losing its mind."

Arthur sighed, but he grabbed his laptop and started typing. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. A few minutes later, his eyes widened as he read through the search results.

"Okay," Arthur said, glancing at Charles. "This guy is… loaded. Like, top three billionaires in Italy loaded."

Charles’ eyebrows shot up. "Top three? You’re joking."

"I’m not," Arthur said, spinning the laptop around to show Charles the screen. "The Spencers are involved in everything—Coca-Cola, luxury brands like Louis Vuitton and Gucci, you name it. And apparently, they’ve been doing business with Ferrari for, like, 25 years. It’s practically in their blood."

Charles leaned forward, skimming through the details on the screen. The Spencer name carried weight, not just in Italy but globally. Alessandro Spencer, Mark’s father, was listed as one of the most influential businessmen in the world.

"So, he’s not just some rich guy," Charles muttered. "He’s that rich."

Arthur smirked. "Yup. Makes sense why he chose Ferrari, though, doesn’t it? Family history and all that."

Charles frowned. "Do people think that’s why he’s here? Because of his family?"

Arthur shrugged. "Some might. But listen to this—when Alessandro Spencer was asked about it, he said, ‘My son’s professional life is not affected by his family.’ So, basically, Mark got into F1 because of talent, not connections."

Charles leaned back in his seat, processing the information. Mark was an enigma. On one hand, he was the poster child for wealth and privilege, casually mentioning his car collection like it was nothing. On the other hand, he’d worked his way into Formula 1 on merit alone, proving that he wasn’t just coasting on his family name.

"Interesting," Charles murmured, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He was beginning to understand why Mark carried himself the way he did. There was more to the man than met the eye, and Charles couldn’t help but feel a little more intrigued.

---

The next time Charles saw Mark, it was at the track. Mark was leaning against a wall, chatting casually with a few engineers.

"Hey, Spencer," Charles called out, walking over.

Mark turned, his signature smirk already in place. "LecLec. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Charles crossed his arms. "So, how big is this car collection of yours?"

Mark laughed, a deep, genuine sound. "Not Big enough," he said cryptically.

Charles shook his head, a grin breaking through despite himself. "You’re unbelievable."

"I try," Mark said with a wink. Then, as if sensing that Charles had been digging into his background, he added, "You know, you can just ask me next time, instead of sending your little brother on a fact-finding mission."

Charles froze. "How did you—"

Mark simply tapped the side of his head. "I have my ways."

As Mark walked away, Charles couldn’t help but laugh. The guy was impossible to figure out, but one thing was certain—Mark Spencer was full of surprises. (In reality Arthur just mentioned about it when him and Mark were simply texting about casual stuff)

55 notes · View notes

planetmimi · 1 year ago

Text

decode - cl16

context: charles leclerc x black!fem!oc, some smau (cause i love those doooown)

faceclaim: @balialdn on insta

cw: none

summary: after a five-month social media break, artist Ahvi finally comes back to social media. her comeback is in the midst of dating rumors swirling around her and two of her...friends.

Italic = flashback

feedback is appreciated, this is my first one so please be nice

ahvi

liked by charles_leclerc, zendaya and 8.473.875 others

ahvi: my french is getting better, might use it in this project…maybe? (be calm yall)

f1lover: CHARLES WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! welcome back queen (im trying to be calm, i think i might actually explode from happiness)!!!

username74: oh look the whore is back

username54: awww we all hoped you would never come back

username12: no fr! when her contract ran out i thought that we were finally done with her

username276: YOU DIDNT SAY FOR A WHOLE YEAR MAAM

lewishamilton: new music, maybe?

ahvi: maybe… if you get me paddock passes

lewishamilton: ask your boyfriend...maybe

ahvi: blocked, reported and banned from listening to my music cause OMG?! i just got back too?! like please ntm on me

charles_leclerc: teaching you french has been quite the challenge, i would like some type of credit please

ahvi: if you podium i'll think about it

charles_leclerc: and if i get P1 i want a song written for me and to be in the music video

ahvi: *gasps in étonnement* thats asking for a lot, P1 twice this season and you've got yourself a deal

username67: you should have never come back nobody wants to hear your shitty music

stanningahvi: the fact that it’s been damn near two years without any new music… and a year since we've last seen you👁️👄👁️

lew_max.444: no cause if this is a trick…imma do something heinous

ahvi: is this a threat ? cause it’s kinda feeling like a threat

ahvi4f1: i mean…we can make it one if you want us to 🤷🏾‍♀️

zendaya: as your bestfriend i have to let you know, if you don’t drop this, i will do so for you (i will leak it)❤️

ahvi: sounds like less work for me tbh 🤷🏽‍♀️

zendaya: alright yall secret project dropping next month at 4 pm PST

ahvi: ouuu d*sney dupe 🤭

tomholland2013: please, don’t check your messages mate

zendaya: don’t listen to him. go check your messages babe. go ahead.

ahvi: #CANCELZENDAYA

liked by: zendaya, tomholland2013 and 45.856 others

ahvi

liked by: lewishamilton, sza and 5.946.087 others

ahvi: why didn't y'all tell me Australia is so hot ?? oh wait.. thats just me sorry y'all

landonorris : FIRST !

ahvi: 15th actually

landonorris : ......... you think you're so funny huh

ahvisdrafts: i mean she is actually a full time stand up comedian, part time singer-songwriter.

ahvi: you get it

username2: so, you and whats his face broke up and now you're going between F1 drivers?

f1grids: wow, never expected an A lister to become a grid groupie

girly2pop: are you ready to write a song for that man?

ahvi: stooop. shhhhhh. if no one mentions it EVER AGAIN i won’t have to do it

normani: tea is she's actually written like six of em already

georgerussell63: why is it always me?!

username29: girl we've heard the rumors about you getting around miss paddock princess

username : never would i have expected ahvi to become as close as she is with the f1 grid…like i didn't even know she knew what f1 was

username9: shes sleeping her way through it lol

username: girl you need to back up off charles

username6: no for real...going to australia three weeks before race week? way to scream desperate

Over the last year Ahvi has become somewhat of a hermit, between rumors swirling of a potential relationship between her and Charles, and her break up with her ex-friend becoming known to the public. All of this buzz around her name has generated a lot of hate, whether it be from her ex-friend's fans, Charles fans or her own haters. For the last year Ahvi has just been the internet's punching bag, despite not being active on the internet.

In the year she took away from social media a lot happened, a lot changed. Before she started her break, she was just off a stadium world tour, about to drop her first proper album. She felt on top of the world, until one day, with only three months left in her tour. Just before her second day at Wembly Stadium, when she fainted during soundcheck and was sent to the hospital.

- a year ago -

Her heartbeats so loud she almost can't hear what the nurse in front of her is saying. The nurse smiles lightly "I know this is probably very shocking, so I will give you some time, but your options are a bit limited with how far along you are." Ahvi nods, trying to process the words that were said to her, "I just- I'm sorry, I know I've made you say it to me a hundred times over but just...one more time and can I see the results."

"Don't worry, this is a common response in this situation," the nurse says as she hands over the blood test results. Ahvi looks at the blood test results, there it is, in black and white, "your HCG levels are higher than normal," the nurse points to her HCG results. Aleyah's eyes follow the nurse's finger, "Your results put you at being 17 weeks pregnant." There's that word again, pregnant, the one part of this she can't wrap her head around. As the nurse was talking to her an ultrasound tech brought in an ultrasound machine.

Ahvi tries her best to truly listen and absorb what the nurses are telling her as she lifts her shirt up to start the ultrasound. When the ultrasound tech brings the wand to where the gel was put a fast heartbeat fills the room and tears swell in the young singers eyes.

The 22-year-old looks at the ultrasound screen, a small incredulous whisper tumbles from her lips, "what the fuck."

224 notes · View notes

helvegen-s · 8 days ago

Text

point of no return | three

index

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!OC

Summary: Love and rivalry collide on the Formula 1 circuit as Ferrari's star drivers, Astrid and Charles, push the limits of their relationship alongside the boundaries of speed. Can their love survive the pressure, or will their ambition become their downfall?

WC: 3.7k

Warnings: toxic relationship, sexual and emotional tension, insecurities, jealousy, emotional distancing, sex (not explicit)

The Monaco sun, usually a welcome sight, felt intrusive as it streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of their shared apartment. Astrid had been back for two days, the echoes of Spa still ringing in her ears. Two days of silence, of unanswered messages, of a gnawing emptiness in the space beside her.

She wandered through the rooms, each one a testament to their life together. His favorite mug sat untouched on the counter, his running shoes lay discarded by the door, the lingering scent of his cologne clung to the sofa where they'd spent countless evenings entwined. Every object, every corner, whispered his name, a constant reminder of his absence.

The guilt was a heavy weight in her stomach. Had she pushed him too far? Was her ambition, her relentless pursuit of victory, the poison that had seeped into their paradise? She'd always believed they could conquer anything together, that their love was strong enough to withstand the pressures of their chosen world. But now, doubt gnawed at her, whispering insidious doubts in her ear.

The crash had been a culmination of their unspoken frustrations, a physical manifestation of the emotional collision they'd been hurtling towards all season. The aftermath, the raw anger in his eyes as he left her in the gravel had shaken her to her core. She'd seen a glimpse of a future she never wanted to face, a world where their love was a casualty of their ambition.

Yet, amidst the guilt and the fear, a flicker of defiance remained. She wouldn't apologize for her drive, for her desire to win. It was as much a part of her as the love she felt for Charles. But could she find a way to reconcile the two? Could she be the woman he needed, the teammate he deserved, without sacrificing the fire that burned within her?

The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered, unresolved. She longed to reach out, to bridge the chasm that had opened between them, but a part of her held back. He needed space, she knew that. Space to grapple with his own demons, to come to terms with the shifting dynamics of their relationship.

So she waited, suspended in a limbo of uncertainty, her heart a battlefield of conflicting emotions. Love, guilt, ambition, fear – they waged war within her, each vying for dominance. As the hours bled into days, the silence grew heavier, the questions louder. The future stretched before her, a vast unknown, and for the first time in a long time, Astrid felt truly alone.

The sterile silence of his brother’s Monaco apartment pressed in on Charles, the emptiness amplifying the turmoil within him. He knew Astrid was back. He'd seen the flicker of lights as he drove past their building last night, a phantom ache in his chest mirroring the emptiness of their shared space. He hadn't meant to disappear, but after Spa, the only escape he could find was the open road. Hours spent driving aimlessly, the roar of the engine a poor substitute for the tempest in his soul.

He was a man at war with himself. Love for Astrid, a fierce, all-consuming love, battled with the insidious whispers of insecurity, the gnawing fear that he was being eclipsed, outshone by the woman he adored. He hated the feeling, despised the petty jealousy that reared its head whenever she crossed the finish line ahead of him. He was proud of her, fiercely proud, but it was a pride laced with a bitter tang of inadequacy. He'd always been the golden boy, the one destined for greatness. Now, he shared that spotlight, and a part of him, a dark, unwelcome part, resented it.

He knew it was irrational, unfair. Astrid deserved every accolade, every victory. She was brilliant, talented, and driven – everything he loved about her. But love, he was discovering, wasn't always rational. It could twist and turn, morphing into something unrecognizable, a monster that fed on his deepest fears.

The crash at Spa had been a turning point, a brutal awakening. In the heat of the moment, blinded by frustration and wounded pride, he'd walked out, his actions cutting deeper than any words he could say out loud. The look in her eyes, the hurt and disillusionment, had haunted him ever since.

He wanted to go back, to apologize, to hold her and tell her how much she meant to him. But the words stuck in his throat, choked by the fear of rejection, the fear that he'd pushed her too far, that the damage was irreparable.

Days turned into nights, and the silence in his apartment grew heavier. He knew he couldn't hide forever. He had to face her, to try and salvage what they had. With a deep breath and a trembling hand, he reached for his phone.

Astrid had just stepped out of the shower when her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen, expecting a reminder from her engineer or another media obligation. Instead, it was Charles.

Charles: Can we talk? About everything.

Her heart jumped, a mix of relief and dread flooding her all at once. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the message as droplets of water slid down her back. She had wanted this—had been waiting for it—but now that it was here, her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to say.

Astrid: Yeah. When?

The response came almost immediately.

Charles: Tonight. Our house?

She exhaled sharply, feeling her chest tighten.

Astrid: Okay.

The knock at the door came at 8 p.m. Astrid hesitated before answering, her palms damp as she twisted the handle. Charles stood there, his expression unreadable, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

“Hi. You don't have to knock. It's your house also.”

She stepped aside to let him in, the air between them charged and uncomfortable. Charles sat down on the small couch, and Astrid perched on the edge of the table, crossing her arms.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension was suffocating.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Charles admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe start with why you walked away without saying a word,” Astrid said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Charles flinched, his jaw tightening. “I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

“Not after what?” she pressed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “The crash? The championship? Me?”

“Don’t twist this, Astrid,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You know it’s not just about the crash.”

“Then what is it, Charles?” she demanded, standing up. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you can’t handle me beating you.”

“That’s not fair,” he shot back, standing as well. “You think I care about the championship more than I care about you?”

“Don’t you?” she challenged, her eyes blazing.

“No! But you sure as hell don’t make it easy to separate the two!” he retorted, his words cutting like glass.

Astrid’s breath caught, and for a moment, she was stunned into silence. But then the anger came rushing back. “So this is my fault now? For what? Being good at what I do? For wanting to win just as much as you do?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Charles said, his voice lowering but no less intense. “But you push me away, Astrid. You act like you don’t need me, like I’m just... another obstacle on the track.”

“Maybe because every time I let you in, you make me regret it,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You shut me out, Charles. You don’t talk to me, you don’t trust me, and then you act like I’m the problem.”

Charles clenched his fists, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep his composure. “You don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice raw. “You don’t know what it feels like to love someone who makes you feel like second place in every way.”

The words hit Astrid like a punch to the gut, and she stared at him, her eyes glistening. “That’s not fair,” she whispered. “You know that’s not fair.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But it’s how I feel.”

The room was silent except for their ragged breaths, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air.

Astrid stepped closer, her hands trembling. “You think this is easy for me?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “Do you know how hard it is to love someone who makes you feel like you have to choose between your dreams and them?”

Charles looked at her, his expression conflicted, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I never asked you to choose,” he said quietly.

“Actions speak louder than words, Charles,” she replied, her voice cracking.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the anger, hurt, and love swirling between them like a storm. Then, suddenly, Charles closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her.

It wasn’t tender or gentle—it was desperate, frantic, as if they were trying to consume each other, to erase the pain with touch. Astrid kissed him back just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stumbled toward the bed, their movements clumsy and fevered. Clothes were shed hastily, and for a while, the only sounds were the gasps and moans that filled the small room.

Their bodies moved together, a desperate dance fueled by a torrent of emotions. Tears streamed down Astrid's face, mingling with the sweat on her skin, a testament to the conflict raging within her. Charles, his own eyes filled with a raw mix of love and frustration, kissed her tears away, each kiss a silent apology, a plea for understanding.

Their gasps and moans echoed in the small space, punctuated by Astrid's occasional sobs. It was a raw, unfiltered expression of their love, their anger, their fear – all the emotions they had been holding back for weeks pouring out in a symphony of touch and sound.

In that moment, they weren't just making love; they were clinging to each other, seeking solace in the shared vulnerability, desperately hoping to find a way through the storm.

In the aftermath, a profound silence filled the room, broken only by their ragged breaths and the distant hum of the air conditioner. It was as if the intensity of their emotions had consumed all the oxygen, leaving behind an almost suffocating stillness.

Astrid lay curled against Charles's side, her body still humming with the echoes of their passion. Yet, amidst the lingering warmth, a wave of sadness washed over her.

"We can't fix things like this," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Charles's grip on her tightened, his silence a heavy confirmation. He knew she was right. Their problems, the unspoken anxieties and frustrations, were still there, lurking beneath the surface.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I shouldn't have…"

He trailed off, unable to articulate the complex mix of guilt, frustration, and longing that churned within him.

Astrid turned to face him, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. "It's not your fault," she said softly. "It's both of us. We've let things get out of hand."

They lay in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their situation pressing down on them. The unspoken question hung heavy in the air: where do they go from here?

"I don't want to lose you," Charles whispered, breaking the silence.

Astrid's heart ached at his words. "I don't want to lose you either," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "But we can't keep pretending that everything is okay."

They both knew that this night had changed things irrevocably. The intimacy they had shared, born out of a mix of love, frustration, and desperation, had only served to highlight the deep cracks in their relationship.

As they lay there, tangled in the aftermath of their passion, they both felt a sense of foreboding, a premonition that this could be the beginning of the end.

The summer break was what they both needed—or at least that’s what they told themselves. A respite from the whirlwind of the season, from the constant stares, from the uncomfortable questions. Yet deep down, they both knew that neither Madeira, Monaco, nor any other idyllic getaway could erase what had happened. It wasn’t just a fight or a difficult night; it was a crack that widened with every look, every unspoken word.

Their first destination was the Madeira Islands, a place they had always retreated to together in search of peace. They stayed in a discreet villa, far from the press and the fans, and for the first few days, they tried to recapture some sense of normalcy.

Astrid woke up early and went running along the cliffs while Charles stayed in bed a little longer—something uncharacteristic of him. But the truth was, he needed that time alone, that moment to muster the courage to face the distance he felt growing between them. When he returned, she would already be back, quietly brewing coffee, her gaze lost on the horizon.

“How’s the sea today?” Charles asked one morning, trying to sound casual.

Astrid glanced up from her cup. “Calm. As always here.”

He nodded, though he noticed the lack of warmth in her response. They used to share those small moments, turning them into something meaningful. Now, every conversation felt like a chess match, a careful weighing of words to avoid crossing an invisible line.

On the second day, they rented a sailboat to explore the coast. The sun was shining, the sea reflected an almost unreal blue, and the breeze carried a salty aroma they had always loved.

“I remember the first time we sailed together,” Charles said, breaking the silence as he adjusted the sails.

Astrid smiled, but it was brief, almost melancholic. “In Saint-Tropez, wasn’t it? You spent the entire day trying to teach me how to steer, and in the end, we almost crashed into a dock.”

Charles chuckled softly. “That’s because you insisted you didn’t need my help.”

“And I was right,” she replied, raising a defiant eyebrow.

He looked at her for a moment. That spark, that defiance, was one of the things he had always loved about Astrid. But now, that same attitude felt like a wall, something keeping him out.

As Astrid leaned against the railing, staring at the horizon, Charles couldn’t help but lose himself in his thoughts. Why can’t I just let it go? Why do I feel like if I’m not good enough, she’ll outshine me and leave me behind? He knew it was irrational, but it was a fear that had been eating away at him for months.

For her part, Astrid felt the weight of his gaze and knew exactly what he was thinking. She had learned to read him even when he tried to hide his emotions. He doesn’t trust me. He thinks I’m always competing, even here. How am I supposed to reach him when everything I do feels like a threat to him?

One night in Monaco, after a dinner with friends, the tension finally began to surface.

Astrid stood on the balcony of their apartment, watching the city lights reflect on the water. Charles observed her from the living room, a glass of wine in his hand, debating whether to approach her or leave her alone. Finally, he set the glass down and stepped out onto the balcony.

“You seemed happier tonight,” he commented, leaning on the railing beside her.

“It’s easy to be happy when you’re not thinking about problems,” Astrid replied in a neutral tone.

Charles glanced at her sideways. “Is that what you think I do? Think about problems?”

She shrugged, not taking her eyes off the horizon. “Sometimes it feels like you do. Like you’re always waiting for something to go wrong.”

“Because sometimes it feels like it will,” Charles admitted, his tone firmer than he intended.

Astrid turned to him, surprised by his honesty. “And why do you think that, Charles? What have I done to make you feel like you can’t trust me?”

“It’s not that,” he replied quickly, though he knew it wasn’t entirely true. “It’s... I don’t know, Astrid. It’s hard to explain what I feel.”

She crossed her arms, instinctively protecting herself. “Try. Because I’m tired of feeling like I’m walking through a minefield with you.”

Charles stared at the ground, struggling to find the right words. How do I tell her that I’m afraid of losing her? That if she wins this championship, that’s all that will matter?

“I just feel like everything is... complicated,” he said finally.

Astrid watched him with a mix of frustration and sadness. “Complicated? I thought we were a team, Charles. But lately, I feel like we’re playing on opposite sides.”

As the summer break went on, the distance between them became more evident.

Astrid began building an emotional wall, something she had promised herself never to do with him. But the rejection she perceived from Charles—subtle as it was—was enough to make her retreat. Every time he stayed silent when she wanted him to speak, every time he avoided touching her when they were alone, a part of her hardened a little more.

For his part, Charles felt trapped in a cycle of insecurities. He knew his behavior was pushing Astrid away, but he couldn’t stop himself. The image of her lifting the trophy at the end of the year, her radiant smile lighting up the podium, filled him with pride—and fear.

When the summer break came to an end, they both knew something had shifted.

One night, before returning to the circuit, Astrid broke the silence as they sat in the garden of the house, finishing a quiet dinner.

“Do you think this is going to work?” she asked, her eyes fixed on her glass of wine.

Charles looked up, startled by her question. “What do you mean?”

“Us. All of this.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Astrid. But I want to try.”

She nodded slowly, though she didn’t look convinced. “I do too. But I don’t know if that’s enough.”

And with those words, the wound they had both been trying to ignore was laid bare.

The circus of Formula 1 returned in full force, and with it, so did the illusion of perfection. Charles and Astrid, Ferrari's shining stars, moved seamlessly through the paddock, their hands brushing casually as they walked, their smiles directed at the cameras, their interviews full of mutual praise and admiration. To the world, they were still the dream team—the golden couple who had it all. Behind the facade, however, was a void so vast it seemed to swallow them whole.

Every race weekend felt like a battlefield, but not just on the track. In front of the cameras, they were untouchable. Charles would drape his arm around Astrid after a qualifying session, and she'd smile up at him, her eyes sparkling with that competitive edge that everyone adored. They congratulated each other with kisses on the cheek after podium finishes, their interactions perfectly choreographed to match the narrative. But when the cameras turned away, their words were barbed, their glances cold.

It was unbearable.

After a particularly grueling race in Zandvoort, where Astrid claimed a dominant victory and Charles finished a distant fourth, the charade became almost too much to bear. Standing on the podium, she raised her trophy with a victorious smile that never reached her eyes. Charles clapped politely from below, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a bitterness he couldn’t hide. The press ate it up—Ferrari was back in form, and their star drivers were leading the charge. But inside, Charles felt like he was suffocating.

Later, in the cool, sterile halls of the Ferrari hospitality unit, they stood in an empty corridor, alone for the first time since the race. Astrid leaned against the wall, still in her race suit, the bright red stained with sweat and exhaustion. Charles approached her, his face unreadable, his steps heavy with something unspoken.

“Congratulations,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of the warmth it once held for her.

“Thank you,” she replied, equally detached.

The silence between them was oppressive.

“Another win for you,” Charles added, his tone laced with bitterness. “You must be thrilled.”

Astrid’s eyes narrowed, her exhaustion giving way to frustration. “Don’t do this, Charles. Don’t make this about us.”

“It is about us, Astrid,” he shot back, stepping closer. “Every race, every fake smile, every interview—it’s all about us. Or the lie of us.”

Her jaw tightened, her eyes glinting with anger. “You think this is easy for me? Pretending like everything is fine when it’s not? Smiling for the cameras, answering all those questions, acting like I don’t hate this?”

“Do you hate this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re thriving. Another victory, another trophy for Astrid Whitmore, Ferrari’s golden girl.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped. “You know I’ve worked my entire life for this. You know what it means to me.”

“And what about us?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “Do we mean anything to you anymore? Or is it just about the championship now?”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, the fire in her eyes dimmed. “Of course you mean something to me, Charles. But you—” She stopped herself, her voice faltering. “You can’t keep asking me to choose between you and my dreams.”

“I’m not asking you to choose,” he said, though his tone betrayed the lie. “But maybe I’m starting to wonder if you already have.”

The words hung between them, sharp and unforgiving. Astrid’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. She pushed off the wall, standing tall, her voice cold and steady.

“You’re one to talk,” she said. “You think I don’t see it? How much it kills you when I win? How much it eats at you that I’m ahead in the standings? You’re just as obsessed with winning as I am, Charles. The only difference is I don’t pretend otherwise.”

His silence was answer enough.

The next morning, the headlines were the same as always: "Ferrari’s Power Couple Unstoppable!" Photos of them laughing in the paddock, Charles with his hand on Astrid’s back, Astrid leaning into him as though the world didn’t weigh heavy on their shoulders.

The fans adored them. The team relied on them. The media couldn’t get enough of them.

And the weight of it all crushed them a little more every day.

36 notes · View notes

sweetteainthesummerx · 8 months ago

Text

THE LOVE LASTS SO LONG (15)

The penultimate chapter!!

series masterlist

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

aubreyyang posted on their story

caption: back to reality

Ollie pushed her luggage to the side, his eyes tired behind a pair of blue light glasses. His hair was smushed a little from the drive over to the airport, but he looked handsome as always.

They were back in Italy, Ollie starting training again before the Canadian Grand Prix. Aubrey had to go back to New York, catch up on classes and deal with auditions and bookings.

“Don’t fall in love with some Manhattan fashion guy,” Ollie pouted, tugging her into him, cradling her head and waist.

“Don’t be dramatic, babe. I’ll see you in like, a week and a half.” She sniffed into his hoodie, but she felt her heart carving itself out of her chest and wedging into his already. Nearly two weeks with Ollie, all tanned, shirtless and happy…now back to the sweltering, bustling city without him. She wanted to cry a little. This sweet boy made her life so much more, so abundant. It felt like time, almost. She knew that he loved her, and she most definitely loved him. But he knew her and he wanted to take it slow so she wouldn’t be spooked. She adored him for it.

He must’ve felt her tense because he pressed quiet kisses into the crown of her head, smoothing her hair away from her face.

“I can’t wait to win in your home country. Promise you’ll text me when you land?” He pressed one more kiss into her temple tenderly.

“Okay, I will.”

With one more squeeze, she rubbed her eyes and entered into the terminal, waving once more at Ollie.

aubreyyang posted

aubreyyang SO AMERICAN MUSIC VIDEO! It was an honour to direct my first music video for my girl @oliviarodrigo ❤️

Even though I hate being mistaken as american, this song was too good to pass up 💋

GO WATCH NOW 🇺🇸🦅🗽

liked by oliviarodrigo, olliebearman, and 111,092 others

view all comments

user1 OH SO SHES SERVING SERVING HUH

livieelove OMG THE ULTIMATE COLLAB

aubreyyangcontent liv and Aubrey (successful gorgeous asian queens) 🤝 their golden retriever tall white bfs

-- olliebearmansgf CRYING BECAUSE THIS IS THEIR SHARED EXPERIENCEE

logansargeant we welcome you to America anytime 🤠

-- aubreyollie4eva YO STAY IN UR OWN LANE BRUV

olliebearman real ones know the Vancouver lore :)

-- aubreyyang downtown day when?

-- user2 MOM AND DAD PLSSS

MESSAGES

ollie

just watched the music video

it was so good

aubrey

well what can I say I relate to it hehe

ollie

really?

aubrey

well duh

I mean ig im from canada but ur from england

ollie

oh wow

aubrey

idk I kinda like having a muse for directing

it feels more personal

sorry did I make it weird?

ollie

no of course not love

come to the next gp with me

aubrey

ollie what

ollie

no im serious im having my Aubrey withdrawals

I really want you here

aubrey

okay

okay ill come to you

aubberieyaang posted

aubberieyaang highkey in love with my best friend 🤪

liked by celine_diorr and 18 other

view all comments

alexandrasaintmleux I KNEW IT THATS WHY HES ALL RED AND GIGGLY

-- aubberieyaang wait really hehe

leosdad please just tell him this hurts my soul

-- aubberieyaang SOON I PROMISE

celine_diorr fine hes better than any of ur exes and he has my blessing

-- aubberieyaang TY BAE

chuck_bushes Ay he better watch his hands

-- aubberieyaang love u my honorary big bro

f1wagupdates posted

slide one: ollie and aubrey walking through the paddock; he is wearing a Ferrari polo and a backwards hat with jeans and sneakers, she is wearing a vintage Ferrari tank top with her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Her mini skirt is a light denim, and she has a pair of low doc Martens and scrunch white socks. A pair of sunglasses (as seen in her previous posts) pushes her hair back from her face. The picture is slightly blurry, but she is walking in front as he follows suit behind her, one hand on the small of her back. A black Prada handbag is in his hand, presumably Aubrey's.

slide two: a video of David Bearman and Aubrey Yang in the Ferrari garage as they stand side by side, both wearing red earmuffs as they stare enraptured at the screen. Someone moving boxes passes by, and David moves Aubrey behind him in a very fatherly way. She says something that makes him laugh, and he pats her shoulder as they focus back on the screen. The tags on the live TV shows David Bearman, Oliver Bearman's dad, and Aubrey Yang, Oliver Bearman's Partner.

f1wagupdate Aubrey Yang is once again seen in the paddock, this time in Montreal. She is seen with Ollie Bearman's father and Ollie before and during the race.

liked by ollieheartsaubrey, aubrey1fan and 88,092 others

view all comments

aubreyyangfanpage THE PRINCE AND PRINCESS OF FERRARI RAHHH the first pic is so cute

-- user1 THEYRE BOTH WEARING MERCH AND LOOKING GORGEOUS HOLY MOLY

user2 aww her and his dad are so sweet (when is it my turn PLEASE)

-- f1funnies00 shes so daughter in law coded I SWEAR THEYRE TOGETHER EVEN THE TAG HARD LAUNCHED THEM BROO

premababies hes holding her bag (gonna sleep on the highway tonight hehe)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

Taglist: @callsignwidow @iloveyou3000morgan @honethatty12 @taygrls @destinyg237 @ilivbullyingjeongin @eiaaasamantha @1uvsptnik @yla-aira @motorsportloverf1 @gigigreens

144 notes · View notes

sterredem · 10 months ago

Note

Hii !!! I've been obsessed with Sabrina Carpenter's new song Esspresso and I was wondering if you could do a smau with Charles Leclerc x singer!reader based on it !!

Love the request!

I posted it!

Sorry that it took so long, but I wanted to make it but than I was watching Star Wars with my mom and fell asleep (I wanted to make it after). I hope you like it!

Espresso

22 notes · View notes

s-st4rg1rl · 1 year ago

Text

okay so bc some reasons that i'm too lazy to explain hshshsh i started another blog and i will post everything i posted here there and i will delete this one so go follow me there!!: @st4rg1rl-16

22 notes · View notes

vettelsbees · 10 months ago

Text

Introduction to the concept

So I am basically writing this to give a quick overview for the concept I’m basing my fic on. I didn’t really want to add an entire new F1 team, so basically I pulled a driver out and put an OC in. There are going to be 2 OCs, Alandra Masvidal (from Brasil) and Laila Borelli (from Italy). Alandra joins in 2021 and Laila in 2023, but they each have a quick character profile that reads kinda like a Wikipedia page. You can find that on my series masterlist.

For Alandrhina, I pulled Giovinazzi out of 2021 and she basically took his results for the season. I feel like that also helps keep things more realistic as much as I love the idea of a multi-WDC female driver. Then we basically go into an alt. reality where Nando doesn’t return to F1 so she is with Alpine in 2022 and Aston Martin in 2023. Again, basically borrowing his results. It ended up being an accident, but I also love that that means she technically tied with Charles at the end of 2023 (as this is a Charles Leclerc x OC fic).

For Laila, she doesn’t join until 2023 so she’s a simple swap into Kevin Magnussen at Haas.

Again, I was trying to keep racing results a little realistic, but I am pretty happy with how it turned out.

The gist of this series is basically there’s a female driver, what is that like for her, oh hey my friend Charles might be more than a friend, now I’ve got a kid driver who’s looking up to me that I need to set a good impression on. And then that kid driver ends up falling in love with Lando. Something I also wanted to explore was someone who’s not so good with PR being with Mr. Prince of PR himself, Charles Leclerc. I also really wanted to explore how much of a calculated plotter Charles is because I feel like he has such a good PR persona that we kinda ignore it and trust him.

Anyways. I start with a quick convo between Alandra and Charles and then flashback to her joining F1, only like two chapters per season, then fluff for the breaks, until we get to 2023 where it is a bit more extensive. I also have some fluff planned on the side.

Hope you enjoy it!

#tu es ma joie de vivre #joie #charles leclerc x original female character #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc x ofc #female!driver #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x ofc #lando norris x oc #lando norris x original female character #f1 original series

1 note · View note

theonottsbxtch · 4 months ago

Text

TEACHER'S PET PT.4 | CL16

an: final part let's go!! can't wait to hear what you guys think about this and many thanks to @iimplicitt my beloved for writing the smut scene since i absolutely suck at it.

wc: 6.4k

warnings: smut mdni 18+ only, infidelity, oral (f), fingering, unprotected p in v (don't be silly, wrap your willy x)

Charles leaned back in his chair, eyes on the academic papers scattered across his desk, though his attention was elsewhere. Across from him, Professor Gasly was rambling on about departmental logistics, something about reallocating teaching assistants for the next term. Charles nodded occasionally, keeping up appearances, but his mind was already on the ticking clock, counting down the minutes.

Six o’clock was approaching. Too slowly.

He glanced at his watch, trying not to make it obvious. 5:58.

Just a few more minutes.

"And, of course, there’s the issue of the undergrads for next term," Pierre was saying, his voice a steady drone, punctuated by the sound of a page flipping over in his notepad. "You know, I’ve had a number of students in the seminar expressing interest in your modules. You’ve built quite a reputation with them."

Charles gave a noncommittal hum, his mind drifting. He hadn’t been able to focus on much all day. Not after that kiss. The memory of it was still imprinted on his senses—the taste of her, the heat of her skin under his hands, the way she’d looked at him with that intoxicating mix of desire and defiance.

She’ll be here soon.

As if on cue, a movement outside the window caught his eye. He shifted his gaze, and there she was.

She stood just outside his office, her figure outlined by the soft glow of the hallway lights. Her hair was slightly tousled, lips parted as if she was catching her breath. She hadn’t bothered with her usual careful posture—her shoulders were relaxed, almost languid. He could see the anticipation in her stance, even from here. Her eyes darted toward the office door, and for a brief second, their gazes met through the glass.

His pulse quickened.

Pierre, oblivious to the shift in Charles’s attention, continued his monologue. "Of course, I was thinking about restructuring the curriculum for our electives. There’s a student in your lecture—I think she’s in one of mine as well—what’s her name? Oh yes, Miss. Impressive work ethic. Top marks. One of those who really stands out."

Charles turned his head slightly, glancing at Pierre. His colleague followed his line of sight, and Charles knew immediately he’d seen her standing outside.

"Ah, speaking of," Pierre said, his tone slightly more interested now. "That’s her, isn’t it? Always punctual, always prepared. You’ve got a meeting with her, I assume?"

Charles felt his throat tighten, though his expression remained composed. "Yes," he said evenly, trying to maintain the professional front. "She needs help with an assignment for another module. I promised to take a look."

Pierre glanced back toward the window, where she still waited, her body bathed in the soft glow of the evening light. His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long, his eyes subtly sweeping up and down her figure before he turned back to Charles with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, she certainly has the kind of focus we like to see," Pierre remarked, a thin smirk playing on his lips. "You don’t come across students like her every day."

Charles’s jaw clenched, though he nodded, forcing himself to keep his tone neutral. "She’s dedicated," he said, his voice a little lower than before.

Pierre leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest, clearly in no hurry to leave. "Very dedicated," he agreed, still smirking. "Maybe she’ll volunteer to be your TA next year, she’s a good one."

Charles’s eyes flicked back to the window, where she had shifted her weight, crossing her arms, the smallest hint of impatience in her stance. The way her blouse clung to her frame made it impossible for him to focus on anything Pierre was saying.

He needed to get this over with. Now.

"Pierre," he said, cutting into the professor’s musings. "I’ve really got to get started with her. We’re on a tight deadline."

Pierre chuckled softly and stood up, collecting his notepad and pushing his chair back. "Of course, of course. I’ll leave you to it. Tell Miss I said she’s doing excellent work."

Charles nodded, already standing as Pierre made his way to the door. As Pierre opened it, he gave her a polite nod on his way out. "Good evening, Miss," he said.

She responded with a quiet, "Good evening, Professor Gasly," her voice steady, though her eyes were firmly on Charles as she stepped into the office.

Pierre disappeared down the hall, leaving them alone.

The door clicked shut, and the silence that filled the room was thick, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

She stood in the centre of the room, her gaze on him, unblinking, waiting for him to make the next move.

Charles took a slow breath, the tension in the air between them building as they regarded each other. The boundaries they’d already crossed lingered in the space between them, ready to be shattered completely.

Without a word, he gestured toward his desk, though he wasn’t entirely sure either of them intended to sit.

"Close the door," he said, his voice low, firm.

She didn’t hesitate. The door clicked shut once more, this time locking them in the room together with all the desire and recklessness that had been simmering since their last encounter.

It was six o'clock, and they both knew exactly what they were here for. Charles’s gaze met hers. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken desire. She stood in the centre of his office, her eyes dark with intent, and without a word, she slowly moved toward his desk.

Charles’s pulse quickened as he watched her, the anticipation humming in his veins. She didn’t hesitate—she just sat on the edge of his desk, her posture casual, yet there was nothing casual about the way she looked at him.

Her legs crossed at the ankle, her skirt sliding just slightly up her thighs as she perched on the edge of the wooden surface. The soft glow of the lamp on his desk cast her in a warm light, but it was the heat in her eyes that held him captive.

She didn’t say anything. Neither did he. There was no need for words right now.

Instead, Charles moved toward the windows, crossing the room with deliberate, measured steps. He could feel her eyes on him the entire time, watching, waiting. His hands gripped the cord of the blinds, pulling it down, and in one smooth motion, the office was sealed off from the outside world. The blinds fell shut with a quiet thud, the last sliver of daylight vanishing, leaving them enclosed in the dim intimacy of the room.

When he turned back to face her, she hadn’t moved. She still sat on the edge of his desk, her hands resting casually at her sides, but there was a fire burning in her eyes, a challenge, an invitation.

Charles’s breath came heavier now, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him, but he didn’t resist it. He crossed the room until he was standing right in front of her, close enough to feel the heat of her body. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath had quickened, mirroring his own.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could speak, she raised a finger to her lips, silencing him with nothing but a quiet shh.

The move caught him off guard, but he didn’t fight it. He stood there, frozen for a moment, as she leaned forward, her fingers curling around the end of his tie. She tugged on it gently, just enough to pull him closer. His breath hitched as he allowed himself to be drawn toward her, the distance between them shrinking until there was barely any space left.

And then, before he could process it, her lips were on his.

The kiss was hot, urgent, a collision of need and desire that made his mind go blank. Her hands twisted in his tie, pulling him even closer as her mouth moved against his with a hunger that matched his own. There was no hesitation this time, no second-guessing—just the raw, electric connection that had been building between them for weeks.

Charles groaned softly against her lips, his hands finding her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her skirt as he pulled her against him. The feel of her body pressed to his sent a jolt of electricity down his spine, and he couldn’t stop himself from deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, tasting her, claiming her.

Her legs parted slightly as she shifted on the desk, drawing him in closer until he was standing between them. Her fingers moved from his tie to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, her hands insistent, needy. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent sparks through him, each touch driving him further over the edge.

He let out a low, throaty growl, his hands sliding up her sides, feeling the softness of her body under his palms. Her skin was warm, inviting, and he wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of it, to lose himself in the feel of her.

But she wasn’t passive in any of this. Her hands were everywhere—his tie, his shirt, his hair. She was guiding the kiss now, setting the pace, her lips moving against his with an urgency that made his heart pound in his chest.

She kissed him deeper, harder, like she couldn’t get enough. And neither could he.

Charles’s hands slid up her back, tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back, giving him better access to her lips, her neck. He kissed a trail down her jawline, his breath ragged against her skin. Her hands were pulling him closer still, tugging at his shirt, her nails grazing his chest through the fabric.

His self-control was unravelling, faster than he’d expected. Every touch, every kiss was a reminder of just how far they’d already crossed the line. And yet, instead of pulling back, he was sinking deeper, his body pressing into hers, his lips trailing down her throat, tasting the softness of her skin.

She moaned softly in response, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter, her body arching into him. The sound of her voice—low, breathy, filled with need—sent a surge of desire through him that was impossible to ignore.

He was on the edge, teetering between reason and pure instinct, and all it would take was one more moment, one more kiss, to push him over.

And then the sound of his own ragged breath reminded him where they were. His office. His desk. The world was just outside that door, but right now, it felt like they were the only two people in existence.

His lips hovered just above hers, their breaths mingling as they both paused, the reality of their situation crashing over them for a brief second.

Her hands were still on him, her fingers tangled in his shirt. His own hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her waistband. They were both caught up in the moment, knowing they should stop but unable to find the will to do so.

The only thing that broke the silence between them was the quiet, unsteady beat of their breaths.

"Slow down," Charles muttered against her lips, his voice husky and ragged. His breath came in shallow gasps as he gently pulled back, his hands slipping from her waist. He stepped away from her, creating just enough space to catch his breath, though the need still burned in his eyes.

She blinked, her chest rising and falling quickly as she looked at him, clearly reluctant to stop. Her hands hovered in the air, as if unsure of what to do now that he’d created distance between them.

Charles took a steadying breath and stepped back toward his chair, his hands running through his tousled hair. He didn’t break eye contact, though, not for a second. The heat between them hadn’t lessened—it had only intensified, simmering just below the surface.

He sank into his chair, his tie still loose around his neck, his shirt slightly undone from where her fingers had been. His gaze never left her as he slowly leaned back, legs parted, watching her with that dark, hungry look that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Mon Ange, viens la," he said softly, his voice a low, velvet command.

She hesitated for only a second before lifting her leg towards him, her body still thrumming with the tension that hung in the air. He reached out, his hand curling around her ankle, and slowly guided her leg up, placing her foot on his knee.

She balanced herself, her breath catching as she felt the warmth of his hand on her calf.

Charles's fingers moved with deliberate slowness, unbuckling the strap of her shoe. His touch was light, teasing, as he slid the shoe off her foot, letting it drop to the floor with a quiet thud. His hands lingered on her skin, his thumb brushing soft circles over her ankle as he looked up at her, eyes heavy with intent.

"You have no idea," he whispered, his voice roughened with barely controlled desire. "What you do to me."

Her breath hitched at the way he was looking at her, the intensity in his gaze making her knees feel weak.

His hand slid up her calf, slowly, agonisingly slowly, as though he was savouring every inch of her skin. He leaned forward slightly, his lips grazing her ankle in a featherlight kiss, barely a whisper of contact. It sent a jolt of heat through her, her body tightening in response.

"I’ve been thinking about this," he murmured, his mouth brushing the curve of her calf now, kissing a path higher. "Since the moment you walked through my door."

Her fingers curled into the edge of his desk for balance as his lips travelled upward, pressing soft, deliberate kisses along her leg. His hand slid higher, gripping her thigh just enough to make her breath catch, as his mouth moved slowly, achingly slowly, up the inside of her calf.

"You make it impossible to focus on anything else," he whispered against her skin, his breath warm as he kissed higher still, his lips now nearing her knee. "When you sit in my class, all I can think about… is this."

She felt her pulse quicken, her body responding to every word, every kiss. Her skin tingled where his lips touched, each caress leaving her more breathless than the last. The intimacy of the moment—the slowness, the tenderness—was almost overwhelming, the way he was worshipping her with his mouth and hands.

Her hand, which had been resting on the desk, slid down to his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she watched him, unable to look away. He was taking his time, drawing out the moment, making every second feel like it was teetering on the edge of something deeper, something reckless.

Charles kissed the inside of her knee, then paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. His eyes were dark, filled with a kind of raw hunger that made her shiver.

"But you need to understand something," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Once we go further, there's no going back."

He kissed higher, just above her knee, his hand still gripping her thigh gently. The sensation sent waves of heat through her, her body practically buzzing under his touch.

"Do you want that?" His voice was rough, but the question was deliberate. He needed to hear it, needed to know.

She swallowed, her heart pounding as her fingers tightened their grip on his shoulder. For a brief moment, she hesitated, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them. But then her eyes met his, and all the hesitation melted away, replaced by the undeniable pull that had been simmering between them for weeks.

This was what she wanted.

Instead of answering with words, she leaned down, closing the space between them again, her fingers sliding up the back of his neck, into his hair. She pulled him to her, their lips crashing together in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

His fingers dug into her thighs and the warmth of her mouth against his was overwhelming. This moment in his office felt existential, as if infinity was laid before him so he could experience everything life had to offer him in the form of her body. Charles didn’t know if he was getting ahead of himself, or maybe he was just a hopeless romantic, but this felt like more than lust. More than hormones and lingering glances. More than just a one time thing.

She was so soft yet every touch was electric, making each of his nerves vibrate in anticipation as he slowly pushed out each of her knees. A light gasp escaped her mouth, the hot breath invading his senses and he couldn’t help the way his lips tugged up at the sides. Pulling away from her mouth was one of the most difficult things he had ever done given the way her lips were swollen and glistening, her eyes fluttering in a daze.

He kept eye contact with her as he leaned down, slowly kissing up between her thighs, his mouth open and leaving a wet trail that made goosebumps erupt up her skin. She was trembling against him, sensitive and anxious and he nearly laughed if it wasn’t for the slight look of concern that furrowed her brows. Charles left one last kiss at the apex of her thigh before stopping.

“What’s wrong, mon ange?”

She swallowed thickly, her pupils blown wide and eyes glowing in the darkness. “Nothing, it’s just,” she took a deep breath, blushing slightly in what was clearly embarrassment. “No one has ever really done this before.”

Charles tilted his head to the side, not quite sure what she was getting at. “You’ve never…had sex before?” If she hadn’t, that was fine. Everyone’s life moved in different stages but he needed to know how careful-

“What? No, no.” She covered her face with her hands and let out a nervous laugh.

Charles began to rub soothing circles into her legs, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible when she was with him. He wanted her to give him everything, and he’d give her his soul in return if she’d take it.

“Hey,” he gently grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands down, kissing the backs of both as he looked at her. “Tell me what's going on.”

She sighed, biting at the inside of her cheek as she debated. A few moments later the words spilled out.

“No one has ever gone down on me before.”

Charles blinked at her as if someone had just slapped him. Not being able to wrap his mind around how not one of her past flings ever offered. Or maybe none of them were good enough for her to want them to. He went to open his mouth to say something but she kept going.

“You don’t have to.”

This time, it was Charles’ brows that furrowed in concern. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just that I— don’t worry about it.”

“Logan has never done it, has he?” Her boyfriend's name was sharp in the quiet room, an uncomfortable reminder of how wrong this really was.

She didn’t say anything and Charles squeezed her hands. “Has he even offered?” She looked away from him, biting at her lip before eventually shaking her head.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Charles let out a long sigh as he watched her with such strong intent it made her shift slightly where she was sitting, her cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red if possible.

His hands let go of hers, falling to her thighs as he slowly trailed them upwards, fingers disappearing under the hem of her skirt and he watched as her breath hitched. Charles continued to watch her as his hands explored further, pushing her skirt up around her waist and a barely audible prayer left him as his eyes caught sight of the white cotton panties she was wearing. She was wet, that much was obvious from the damp spot that could be seen and he felt as if the world had stopped moving just for the pair of them, the universe giving them a small moment of infinity.

He leaned forward, kissing her navel and his hot breath danced over her covered pussy and she trembled against him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Sir,” her voice wavered, thick with anticipation and lust.

Charles' eyes flicked up to hers, his mouth hovering over where he knew she needed him most. “Please, mon ange. Let me do this for you.” He sounded desperate, and by god he was. She was the air that he breathed and he needed her permission to do this or he thought he might drop dead by tomorrow. Driven mad by all the what if’s and the way his name might sound when she moaned it.

She stared at him for a tense moment before nodding once.

He didn’t hesitate as he lowered his mouth right over her clothed clit, rubbing circles into it with his tongue and her hips bucked up into his face as a surprised shout left her. One hand dug into his hair while the other slapped itself over her mouth.

Charles worked her with his mouth with the fervour of a man who had just had his first taste of salvation. Desperate to chase more and reach heaven, the sounds leaving her throat despite how hard she was trying to keep quiet were a twisted form of a holy prayer. Blessing him over and over again.

Her hands were twined in his hair, tugging in a way that made the pain deliriously pleasurable as she yanked him closer.

“Please,” she panted, not sounding quite like herself but the slight rasp to her voice could be equated to a siren leading him to his downfall. Perhaps she was. “Please, sir.”

As much as he adored the term, the sick satisfaction of it and how wrong it was, he wanted to hear something else fall from her pretty lips.

“Say my name, ma chéri. Then ask me again.” He pressed a kiss to her clit and gasped sharply.

“Charles, please.” She pulled on his hair so his eyes could meet her’s, and there was a glimmer of determination mixed in with the storm of lust. “Give me everything.”

“Everything?”

“I want it all.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him, perhaps it was something primal, something that he hasn’t even dared to explore, but his hand wound itself around the strap of her underwear at her hip and yanked until the sound of fabric ripping echoed in the room. His mind was consumed by her, the feeling of her skin and what she would taste like with no barriers left. The line they had crossed was forgotten and blurred in the distance. Irrelevant.

He placed a hand beneath each of her knees and lifted, spreading her wide for him and he was sure he would come undone right there and then. Charles was already painfully hard and just looking at how wet she was for him was enough to make him come. But he needed this to last and he would kill himself if she didn’t enjoy every moment of this night together.

His eyes flicked up and held hers as he pressed the flat of his tongue at the bottom of her entrance, licking a long stripe up before closing his mouth over her clit. Revelling in the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head and his name tumbled out of her mouth like it was a mantra that would lead to salvation.

Her nails dug into his scalp, any self restraint she had long forgotten as she moaned and pushed her hips closed to his mouth. Slipping into delirium as his tongue circled her clit in tight circles. A scream nearly tearing through her as two of his thick fingers sunk into her cunt with no warning, the even thrusts of them had her panting.

Charles felt like headed. Hoping to any higher power that this was real and his mind wasn’t playing cruel tricks on him. She tasted devine and she was constantly clenching on his fingers, begging for more. Begging for a release.

He was so hard it was painful, one of his hands sneaking down to give his cock a hard squeeze. Anything for some relief. Charles wasn’t helping his own case as he inserted a third finger, crooking them up and hitting that spot that made her scream his name as she came against him, liquid and cum spilling out and he wasn’t letting a drop get wasted as he continued to eat her out. Lowering his mouth to her entrance and his fingers trailed up to her clit, not letting up and she convulsed in over stimulation.

“Charles, oh my god!” Her legs tried to snap themselves shut but he didn’t let up. He felt crazed and she let out a guttural sound as she came again.

He finally pulled back, a delirious grin on his face and his chin shining from the aftermath as he watched her fall back on her elbows trying to catch her breath.

“That was… oh my god.”

Charles stood and began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m nowhere near done with you yet, darling.” Her breath caught as her eyes followed the movements of his hands. Watching in what seemed like admiration as he shrugged his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. She seemed more entranced with his hands when he began to undo his belt however, her attention apt as Charles slowly pulled it free from the loops and undid his zipper.

When he finally rid himself of his trousers and the cool air from the office hit his cock he shivered, the tip was leaking and clearly desperate for release. Charles stepped closer to her, closing the distance and he slowly pushed her onto her back, not caring about the stacks of paper that fell to the floor.

Leaning down, his breath danced across her neck and he smirked into her skin as she shuddered against him. “Mon amour,” his voice was low, gravely. Not quite familiar. “I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He entered her completely within a breath, the action brutal and unforgiving but with the way she moaned and clenched around him, he knew she loved it. Charles kissed her neck before straightening, grabbing hold of her hips and pulling back, watching in sick satisfaction as his cock slammed back into her.

She was moaning his name with no care in the world, her screams mixed with the lewd sounds of skin slapping against each other. She was everything to him. She was all he could think about. All he could feel. His existence was in her hands now and he’d never be able to get enough of her. Not until the day he dropped dead and even then he would long for her from the grave.

The sharp sound of a phone ringing felt like a tuning fork struck right against the ears drums. Charles didn’t stop, though. She didn’t even seem like she noticed, her head still thrown back and mouth agape as he continued his relentless pace.

His eyes strayed to the lit up screen.

Logan.

His contact picture glowing up at him, the American smiling brightly with his arm draped over your shoulder.

Charles shouldn’t have done it, but he didn’t regret it either as he hit the answer icon and tossed the phone to the side.

“Fuck, Charles I’m going to come.“

“Let it out, mon amour. Give me all of you.” His hand snaked down between their bodies, rubbing tight circles into her clit and he watched in pure adoration as she came on his cock. Charles followed not a moment later, her name echoing around the room followed by their heavy breaths as he collapsed on top of her.

The air in the room was thick, their ragged breaths the only sound breaking the silence. She lay sprawled on the desk, still catching her breath, her chest rising and falling heavily. Her hand slipped from Charles’ shoulder as he rolled off her, his own breathing just as uneven. The remnants of their reckless act were scattered around them—clothes on the floor, papers thrown askew in the heat of the moment.

For a split second, everything was still.

Then, the door creaked open.

Both of them froze, eyes darting toward the door, panic seizing her heart like ice.

There, standing in the doorway, was Logan. His eyes, wide with shock, scanned the scene—the two of them barely dressed, her legs still exposed from where her skirt had been pushed up, Charles’ shirt hanging open, his tie askew. The mess on the floor, the heavy air, the undeniable truth.

Logan’s face shifted from shock to something worse—a mixture of hurt, disbelief, and fury.

“Wow.” It was the only word he could muster, low and bitter, dripping with betrayal.

Her breath caught in her throat, panic surging through her body. She scrambled off the desk, her heart hammering so hard it felt like it might burst through her chest. “Wait—please, I can explain—”

But he was already turning, shaking his head in disbelief as he backed out of the room, his face contorted in pain.

“No, don’t—wait!” she cried, desperately grabbing her blouse from the floor, pulling it on hastily as she stumbled after him. Her hands were shaking, her mind racing, trying to figure out how to fix what couldn’t be fixed.

Logan didn’t stop. He walked out of the door, his pace quickening as he stormed down the hallway. The echo of his footsteps sounded deafening in the otherwise silent building.

“Please! Just let me explain!” she called after him, her voice cracking, but it was as if he couldn’t even hear her.

She was halfway down the hall when she caught up to him, grabbing his arm and turning him toward her. “Please, let me explain. It’s not—”

“Not what?” he snapped, his voice sharp, full of anger and pain. He yanked his arm out of her grip, his eyes cold as they locked onto hers. “Not what it looks like? You think I’m stupid? I saw everything. I heard and now walked in and saw you—” He stopped, shaking his head like he couldn’t even finish the sentence, like it was too painful to put into words.

She swallowed, her throat dry, her chest tight with guilt. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like this, I—”

“You didn’t mean for it to happen?” he repeated, his voice rising. “You didn’t mean for what to happen? You didn’t mean to fuck him behind my back? Or did you just not mean for me to find out?”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her chest tightening painfully. She didn’t know what to say. There were no words to make this better. No explanation that could undo what had just happened.

“And what, he’s a better man than me?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice quieter now but filled with a kind of desperation she hadn’t heard from him before.

She froze. The question hit her like a punch to the gut.

“I—” Her voice faltered. She didn’t know how to answer.

Her hesitation was all he needed. He let out a bitter, humourless laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”

Logan turned to leave again, his movements stiff, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “Don’t walk away. I didn’t—”

But he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until the sound faded into silence.

She stood frozen in the hallway, her heart still pounding, her breath shallow and uneven as Logan’s figure disappeared down the dim corridor. It was as though she had been cast out—left stranded in the wake of her own betrayal. Her mind screamed to run after him, to beg for forgiveness, to undo the irreversible, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground.

With trembling hands, she turned back toward the office door. The room she had once thought of as a sanctuary now felt like something else entirely—an altar, a place of confession, a place where she had surrendered too much.

When she pushed the door open, the heavy silence greeted her, thick as sin. Charles sat behind his desk, utterly unbothered by what had just transpired. He reclined in his chair, his shirt still undone, a cigarette lazily burning between his fingers. The soft tendrils of smoke curled upward, like incense rising from a ritual long completed.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, the weight of it slamming shut like the gates of something holy—something she was now forever barred from.

Charles watched her through the haze of smoke, his eyes sharp, reflective. His mouth curved into the faintest hint of a smile, as if all of this was inevitable—as if the fall had been predestined. He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly, the smoke coiling in the air like the whisper of a prayer.

“You’re back,” he said quietly, his voice smooth, almost like a benediction.

She stood in the middle of the room, the guilt burning in her chest, her throat tight with everything she couldn’t say. The weight of her own sin felt unbearable now, but Charles’ eyes held her captive, calm and untroubled, as if nothing sacred had been broken.

“I ruined everything,” she whispered, her voice fragile and cracked, like glass about to shatter.

His gaze stayed steady on her. “No,” he said simply, his voice low, like a confession offered in the stillness of a church. “You didn’t.”

She blinked, confusion crossing her face. How could he say that? How could he be so certain when everything felt so wrong? Her world had crumbled. The altar of her relationship, her conscience—it was all in ruins.

Charles extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray, his movements slow, deliberate. He stood up from his chair and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had already seen the ending, who knew the story was written long before they’d ever acted it out.

When he reached her, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes tracing her face like he was reading her soul.

“He’s out of the picture now,” he said softly, almost reverently.

Her breath caught. The way he said it, like this was some divine plan, made her chest tighten. “I didn’t want this,” she whispered, the lie trembling on her lips, tainted with uncertainty.

Charles’ smile widened, though there was something dark in his gaze. He reached out, brushing a thumb against her cheek, his touch tender but loaded with something more—something dangerous, something tempting. “Didn’t you?”

The words hung between them, heavy with the weight of her unspoken desires. He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing as though they were locked in some secret prayer, a communion that only they could share.

“You wanted this,” he whispered, his voice low, like a psalm of temptation. “You wanted me.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse racing as the truth stirred within her. She had tried to deny it, tried to resist, but standing there, under his gaze, she felt stripped bare—her defences falling like the last walls of a crumbling cathedral. He saw her, truly saw her, and it was terrifying how deeply he knew her desires, how easily he could pull her into them.

She shook her head weakly, as though she could shake off the truth, but the words faltered. The pull was too strong. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, her voice wavering like a confession whispered in the darkness of a confessional.

Charles’ eyes darkened as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear, his voice a hushed, dangerous promise. “You’re free now,” he murmured, as though he were offering her salvation.

The weight of that word—free—hung in the air, almost sacrilegious. Freedom wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel like falling.

He stepped even closer, his hand finding its way to the small of her back, pulling her against him in one fluid motion. She felt her knees weaken, the space between them vanishing as his lips hovered just above hers, his breath a ghost of temptation on her skin.

“No more pretending,” he whispered, the words slipping between them like a vow.

She felt the heat of his gaze burning through her, igniting something reckless, something she couldn’t control. And in that moment, she realised there was no turning back. The fall had already begun.

Charles’ hand trailed down her arm, his touch soft but insistent. He was pulling her in, and she was letting him. She wasn’t running. Not anymore.

And when their lips met, it was more than a kiss—it was an offering, a surrender. His lips moved against hers slowly, deliberately, as if savouring the taste of her guilt, of her desire, as though it was all part of some twisted prayer they were both too willing to say.

But the peace that should have followed never came. Instead, it left her breathless, hollow.

She broke away, her mind spinning, her body trembling with the force of it all. “But he…Logan” The words were a last, desperate plea for redemption, but even she could hear how weak they sounded.

Charles didn’t hesitate. His grip on her tightened, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “He’s gone now. It’s just us.”

There was something almost triumphant in his voice, something darkly satisfied, as though he’d been waiting for this all along. He pulled back slightly, looking into her eyes, his expression unreadable, save for the gleam of possession in his gaze.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice like a prayer. “And I don’t intend to share.”

the end.

comment if you'd like to be tagged in my works

215 notes · View notes

st4rg1rl-16 · 1 year ago

Text

━━ ✶✶˖° 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗩𝗘 | 𝗡𝟰𝗦.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴(𝘀) ━ 2019 to 2023!f1 grid x driver!female oc

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ━ twitter goes crazy after some youtubers sexualise the only f1’s female driver and the worst of it all is that she reads every tweet

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲 ━ 2019, 4 april / 9 april

𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ━ shanghai, china

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ━ charles and arabella being a little horny (again), mentions of virginity but nothing happens (yet) sexism, sexual objectification so basically men being trash (what a surprise!)

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ━ i suck at warnings anywhore! pain so soon? this is nothing! sadly, arabella is going to suffer a lot :(

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ━ @namgification @louvrepool @d3kstar @omgsuperstarg @whoselly @yl90 @wcnorris

• — need for speed’s masterlist

A COMFORTABLE silence hung over the room, without counting the sounds that the skin of their lips made when they collided with each other, their breaths and sighs or the distant song of birds. A bluish light from the dawn of a cloudy day painted the white walls of the hotel room. You could still see the moon thanks to the large window that was located on the other side of the room, in front of the bed in which both of them were tangled in each other. Although it was already April, it was still cold in Shanghai.

Her long, slender fingers curled into the short strands at the nape of his neck, giving a small tug earning a growl that he felt in his mouth as he caught her lower lip between his teeth. He separated from her, taking a few seconds to observe her and he could swear that there was nothing that could compare to what he felt in that moment when he saw her green eyes that were looking back at him lazily but intensely full of life, her brown locks piled up at the top around her head, her cheeks were red and her lips, oh her lips, her lips were red and swollen thanks to him. Because he had been the one who had left her like this, him and no one else. He watched as she rolled her eyes before he felt her grip tighten on his arm and how with the hand she had on his neck she pushed him even closer to his face to press their lips together again.

Their lips met again and neither of them could be happier. Charles's hands took on a life of their own as they began to roam over the girl's body as his life depended on it. He felt her skin crawl beneath his fingertips, his chest swelling with pride as she let out a breath into his mouth.

"Charles..." She sighed his name against his lips when his left hand passed over her hip and he smiled into the kiss. He raised her hand again very slowly until he brought it to her collarbone and where he gently caressed the skin of her neck before curling his hand around her throat. He pressed his body even closer –if it was possible– to hers.

His hand was big enough to cover her entire neck, he liked that. He moved his thumb caressing the edge of her jaw as he separated from her enough to break the kiss but not enough for their lips to stop touching.

"Tell me, ma belle" He murmured, because even though they were alone in the room it felt like a sin to speak out loud and break that intimate bubble that they had managed to create around them. Arabella's breath hitched in her chest as she saw his sly smile hang on his lips and she felt his grip on her throat tighten for a second "Tell me, what do you want?".

She mentally cursed not only herself but him as well. Her lips parted feeling the need to breathe harder and harder, she really felt like she was drowning. She looked into his eyes and then at his lips, she licked her own, managing to taste him. Charles almost looked away from her eyes when he felt her tongue lightly touch his lips but he held strong.

He tightened his grip, feeling her erratic pulse through her neck, and pushed his hand up, making her raise her chin. He insisted "Mmm?".

Fuck it.

She looked at him pleadingly and practically moaned "You. I want you”.

He analyzed her for a few painful seconds that to Arabella seemed like hours before he crashed his lips against hers. While they were kissing she felt him turning them on the mattress and a second later they were sitting, she on top of him.

The kiss was aggressive and fast but she still felt that he was trying not to hurt her, she smiled earning the grip his hand had moved down from her throat to her ass. She let out a moan and immediately wanted to hide under a rock when she saw him pull away from her but she calmed down when she realized it was to take her shirt off of her. She nodded when he gave her a look asking if it was okay, she thought that it was adorable so when the shirt went over her head she gave him a short kiss to which he smiled sweetly before bending down and starting a trail of kisses from her chin to her cheek and down the column of her throat.

She bit her lip not caring that they were swollen and beginning to sting due to her action, she closed her eyes throwing her head back leaving him more room to paint her neck with kisses.

She moaned again as she felt him suck and bite her delicate skin. She should have stopped him, she should have considered that it was not a good idea for him to mark her that way but she was drunk, too drunk from that sensation that she didn’t know how to explain nor that sensation that she didn’t even know how to name. She didn't care, she only cared about him. It was all him, she felt him throughout the room, in every pore of her skin.

Him, him, him. It was all him.

She was so immersed in that simple pleasure that she didn't even feel uncomfortable or insecure about being in a bra in front of a boy for the first time. It was strange, she really thought the first time was going to be a disaster but for the moment she was quite comfortable and she was quite enjoying it. Had she really missed this all these years?.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt his chin brush against one of her breasts, his kisses had descended from her throat to the skin that covered her esophagus and were about to reach the beginning of her breasts. His hands had moved from her waist and bottom to her back, both hands large enough to cover almost her entire back. She felt one of his fingers caress the clasp of her bra.

“Can I take it off, mon ange?” She lowered her chin again and after looking into his eyes for a few seconds, she finally nodded. She didn't trust her voice at that moment, she didn't believe that anything other than moans, gasps or some sigh was going to come out of her throat.

She let his hands take hold of the hook of the black bra and soon she felt it peel away from her skin. Swallowing, she helped him take it off by passing both arms through the straps. She looked at it in the monegasque's hands and she scolded herself for not having chosen a prettier bra, not that that one was ugly but it was too simple. She shook her head slightly without Charles seeing her, that wasn't important now.

He threw the bra across the room, almost hitting a painting that it looked like it was expensive. He grimaced and she laughed lightly making him smile.

He looked at her, laughing and almost naked on top of him. The expensive painting that he almost broke couldn't compare to the work of art he had in front of him. A small sigh came from deep in his chest. He brushed aside a couple of unruly strands that had slipped past her shoulders and pushed them back, letting them join the rest of the long hair that covered her back. This caught the girl's attention, her laughter began to die, leaving behind a pretty but unremarkable smile.

She shifted a little uncomfortably under his gaze and he denied, caressing her waist, his other hand gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him again when she looked away from him. He looked at her with all the sincerity in the world "You're beautiful, mon ange."

"Really?" Her voice was almost not heard but he did, he would always hear her. He nodded, taking her hand and bringing it to his bare chest, placing it on top of his heart.

"Really" He caressed her face with the hand that was previously holding her waist "You're like an angel, the most beautiful thing anyone can see in their life".

She licked her lips and brought her free hand to his neck. She approached him and rested her forehead on his before closing her eyes "Kiss me, Charles."

And he, more than happy, obeyed. Their lips met for the thousandth time that morning, their tongues began to curl around each other until her lungs began to demand air, they reluctantly separated. Charles kissed her lips chastely before moving his lips to her cheek, down to her jaw and then to her neck as he had done before. After thinking about it for a second he took her hand to one of her breasts and began to caress it, testing the terrain.

Moans soon filled the room when his lips accompanied his hand, especially when he began to pay attention to her nipples. With his lips glued to her chest he looked up at her and he could swear he almost came right there. Her eyebrows had furrowed together, her eyes were closed in enjoyment and her mouth was slightly open while moans came non-stop from the depths of her throat.

Charles's pants were starting to feel pretty tight.

He separated his lips from her skin and flipped them over again, so he was on top of her again. The spanish girl complained when she felt the loss of contact to which he let out a small raspy laugh before placing his lips back to her chest although they didn't stay there as they began to move towards her stomach.

Arabella's eyes widened when she felt his hands get tangled in her pants and her panties. She sat up quickly making him stop and look at her confused.

She covered her face with both hands and let out a loud sigh, muttering curses in her native language. The monegasque frowned at her, crawling across the bed until he was in front of her. Once he was in front of her, he took one of her hands, forcing her to uncover her face, which was red with shame.

“Hey” He whispered when he got her to uncover completely and look at him, he looked at her worried “Have I done something wrong? Something that made you uncomfortable or...”

She was quick to interrupt him “No, no, no. The thing is...”

She bit her lip, uncomfortable with the situation. Charles raised an eyebrow at her, positioning himself more comfortably on her side. He looked at her expectantly, making her gaze nervously travel around the room, avoiding his eyes. She pressed her lips together making them disappear in a fine line when he took her hand and intertwined their fingers.

"It's okay, ma belle" He gave her a small smile "You can tell me if you want."

She took a breath and bit her lower lip again "It's just... I've never been with someone like….that, I-I'm a virgin" She murmured her last words, trying to avoid them, but he managed to hear her.

He opened his mouth, surprised more than anything. It took him a while but he reacted, he began to caress the back of her hand with his thumb to calm her down.“Oh, okay. It's okay, nothing happens. We can go slow, I'm not in a hurry”.

He smiled at her when she finally looked at him. He knew that she was worried about what he would say or think, he could see it very clearly in her eyes but it was true that he didn't care too much about sex, he wasn't with her for that reason.

She covered her face again, letting out a sharp complaint "This is so embarrassing"

He laughed lightly, twisting his hands around her wrists to move them away from her face again, he pushed her making her back make contact with her mattress again. He soon lay down next to her and hugged her. They both looked at the ceiling in silence. Charles knew she was embarrassed –not just because she herself had just admitted it verbally– it was noticeable in the air of the room, in how it had changed. He let out a small sigh and began to caress her shoulder gently.

“After Azerbaijan the race is in your country, are you excited?” He changed the subject, wanting to distract her from her thoughts knowing that she was overthinking, it was something he had observed in her. Arabella had a hard time expressing her feelings out loud so everything was stuck in her mind and he knew that right now her head was in chaos.

He felt her shift against his chest, he tensed for a moment because she, like him, was still naked from the waist up and her could feel her breasts pressing against the skin of his own torso. He kissed her hair letting her get comfortable.

"I'm nervous" She admitted, tightening her grip around his torso. "I'd like my first victory to be at home”.

“Maybe you win here or in Azerbaijan” The girl's gaze traveled to the large window from which much of Shanghai could be seen. She was grateful for having accepted Charles' idea of traveling to the chinese city a week earlier.

She separated her chin from his chest and raised her head to look at him. He followed her with his gaze, tangling his fingers in the rebellious brown locks "And you, how do you feel? It's going to be your first home race in Ferrari”.

He grimaced “I just hope I don't eat the wall like two years ago.”

The girl opened her mouth remembering it “It was you! God, I didn't remember that”.

She remembered when she saw the boy's car hit the wall in the 2017 race in Monaco, they were both still in Formula Two. She still remembers seeing the car smashed against the wall as she drove past it, not much later she was named the winner of the race.

Who was going to tell her that the driver of that car was going to be her teammate and that they would both be half naked in bed? The world was really small.

“You won, right?” He looked at her with half-closed eyes and she nodded, laughing. He clicked his tongue “I remember I wanted to congratulate you but I never did.”

“Maybe thanks to that we are here today”.

He kissed her forehead “And I wouldn't change it for anything in the world.”

SHE frowned when she saw a tweet about how some YouTubers mentioned her, she moved her right thumb to the link and waited for the screen to take her to the YouTube video.

When the video's headline appeared on her screen, her brow furrowed even more. 'Moto2: Argentina Race, summary and our opinion' Her eyes traveled curiously across the screen observing every little detail, apparently they were a couple of spanish boys, one with hair dyed blue and the other brown, it seemed that they were not very far from her age, they had set up a channel in which they commented on Moto GP races and according to their number of subscribers, apparently they were doing quite well. She raised an eyebrow, sensing what the matter was going on.

She pressed play and the blue-haired boy began to speak “Bienvenidos otra vez a…”Welcome back to…

She rolled her eyes heavily before stopping the video and beginning to search through her comments for her name. She stopped a couple of times reading her last name but when reading the comments she could see that they were only talking about her brother, she bit her nail as she continued scrolling down through the comments. She finally started to find her name.

She moved the thin red line until the number 6:02 became present, she pressed the center of the screen again and quickly one of the boys' voice rang through the room. She was thankful that she was back in her room because she didn't know what to expect, much less how she was going to react, so she was thankful that Charles wasn't present.

“Oliver Torres was going very well until he had to go to the pits” Her ears perked up when she heard the name of her younger brother. The blue-haired boy nodded at his friend's words and turned in his chair.

“Yeah, he's really not having any luck this season” He lowered the hood of his head and looked at the camera “At least he doesn't have anyone giving him shit like his sister with Hamilton”.

The other snorted before laughing half-heartedly “Ah, yes, Arabella Torres.”

"He doesn't like her" His buddy laughed, hitting him on the arm, to which the other stretched out making a face.

“It's not that I dislike her, but I don't think it was a good idea to put her in Formula One” He shrugged his shoulders.

The blue haired one looked at him interested "Why?"

“I feel that the FIA accepted her just for being a woman, so that there is diversity. They have Hamilton and Torres, they already have the minimum diversity acceptable by society”.

“That's twisted but I wouldn't be surprised if it were true”.

“Hmm, I also don't like her because he's too narcissistic. She thinks she's the best but come on!, she hasn't won anything. She said she was going to beat Hamilton but she's done everything but win, it's no big deal. Her racing style is shit and I don't know, she isn’t that good”.

“But she is pretty”.

They both looked at each other for a few seconds in silence before starting to laugh. The brunette nodded "Yes, she's hot. Very hot, how old is she?”.

“Eighteen”.

“Ah, okay, then it's legal for me to say this” They laughed again as if it were the best joke in the world “She would be a good fuck, have you seen that ass?”.

“Yes but I'm more of a tits guy, you know.

“It's not that she lacks in that area” He put her hands in front of his chest and squeezed them making an obscene gesture “Some good pillows”.

“Do you think they are natural or she had surgery?”.

Disgusted, she ran out of the video. She dropped the phone and lost her gaze to some fixed point in the room. She suddenly felt disgusted with her body, as if she had the sudden need to cover herself as much as she could so as not to be seen.

How could they talk about her as if she were just a piece of meat with eyes? Was it only her chest and her ass that were important and not that she drove a car every weekend that went three hundred kilometers per hour with the possibility of die every time she sat on it? She pulled her sweatshirt down trying to cover herself as much as possible and lay down on the bed. She felt tears pool in her eyes as she crawled into the sheets. She brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, it didn't take her long to fall asleep through tears.

A couple of hours later, which was actually seconds for her, the noise of her phone indicating that someone was calling her. Her gaze traveled around the room, she felt disoriented not knowing what day or time it was. She could tell that at least it was still daylight thanks to the large window in front of her bed. She ran a hand over her face, feeling the roughness of her cheeks thanks to the tears that had dried on their way to her neck. She let out a sigh and immediately sat up, sitting on the bed. She groaned when she felt a sting in her skull, something that used to happen to her when she fell asleep while or after she cried.

Blindly, she moved her hand across the sheets to touch her phone, picked it up, and looked at the screen. The YouTube application was still open but there was no trace of the video, she looked at the time and breathed a sigh of relief, it was still early.

The phone was still ringing indicating that her brother was calling her.

She pressed the green button present at the top right corner of the phone and brought the device to his ear.

“¿Si?” Yes? She asked fearfully because the truth was that she almost never spoke with her brother, at least not on phone calls, but they did send each other the occasional message to congratulate each other when one of them took a trophy home or to ask about their parents in in case one couldn't talk to them but the other could. They both had a very busy life, him in Moto2 and her in Formula One, so it had been at least six or seven months since the last time they saw each other because it's not like they coincided too much, when one was on one side of the world the other was in the other. It was strange, but that was their relationship.

“I've seen the video” From the tone of her voice he knew that he was angry and the truth didn't surprise her. Since Oliver had entered his teenage years he had acquired some anger problems, of course she couldn't blame him because she was just like him except that when her little brother received some kind of comment or something he didn't like he was quite vocal about it while she decided to keep quiet and let her actions speak for her.

And now you cry like a little girl, her conscience scolded her.

"I'm going to kill them, who the hell do they think they are to talk about my sister like that?" She came back to reality when she heard his growl, behind his voice she could hear motorcycle engines roar. She assumed that he was training for his next race, she felt bad for him, she hoped that the issue would not affect her training.

“Oli, it's okay. Everything is okay” She tried to reassure him “They're just two assholes talking nonsense”.

“No, Bella. It's not okay” He shook her head even though his sister couldn't see him “Do you know what they're saying about you on Twitter? They are talking about your body as if it were theirs to comment on, it's disgusting”.

She saw how her free hand began to shake and she sighed again, she closed it into a fist trying to make the tremors stop. She suddenly felt guilty, guilty that her brother was having a hard time in that moment, he was only sixteen years old and he was witnessing his older sister being sexualized on the internet. It wasn't something a little boy should have to experience.

She heard a door close on the other side of the call “Arabella, I've read tweets where they say what they want to do to you. There are people who have gone to jail for less, it is very disgusting”.

“Fuck” She cursed out loud. She was thankful that her parents didn't have social media.

"Whatever you do, don't look at Twitter, okay?" He sounded like he was pleading from his tone but she knew he was actually trying to be nice and make her say yes but they both knew that as soon as the call was cut off she would run to the blue bird app. He pursed his lips, swallowing his words “I think mom told me that you are in China with your friends, go out with them and entertain yourself as much as you can. Forget it, okay? I'll tell Nick so he can do something”.

“Mmmh, yeah, okay” She nodded quickly, wanting to end the call. She sounded like a masochistic but she really wanted to see what they were talking about her.

“Please, Bells”.

"It's okay, I'm not going to look at it" She promised him. Her face was distorted into a grimace, her chest hurt when she breathed. I'm sorry to lie to you, little brother.

"Please, don't do it" The youngest Torres begged, knowing his sister. He knew that she was going to look at it and that she was going to mentally beat herself up about it, then she would smile in front of the world and say that she didn't give a shit to keep up the appearances. That was his sister, trying to seem strong in front of everyone when in reality she was just a scared girl.

"Goodbye, Oliver" She cut off the call before he could answer her. She pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen, moved her finger across it and exited YouTube, the home screen soon coming into view. She stared at the blue bird icon for a few seconds, biting the inside of her cheek.

Her gaze went to her hand, which was still shaking only more rapidly now. She wrinkled her nose regretting what she was going to do but still didn't stop her finger when it moved across the screen.

Her eyes moved frantically across the screen; people talking about how they wanted to fuck her, comments about how she was only in Formula One to be the sex doll for the other drivers, some sick bastards explaining with every detail what they would do to her in bed if she gave them the opportunity and, of course, lastly, a little few comments defending her.

She brought her hand to her mouth trying to suppress the sob she could tell she was fighting to get out of her.

You should have listened to your brother.

SHE FELT Lando's arm slide down her shoulders which woke her up from her trance, she looked at the briton finding his unique white smile.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his tone wasting concern despite the big smile that hung from his lips as he spoke.

"Yes" Sh nodded, passing her arm around his waist so that they could walk more comfortably, she looked at the backs of the others walking a couple of meters more in front of them before looking at the curly again "Why do you ask?”.

"It's just that you've been all morning like in another world, I don't know” He shrugged. His index finger traveled to the junction of his sunglasses to push them up through the bridge of his nose.

It had been three days since the twitter thing had happened and, although she couldn't stop thinking about it, she hadn't talked to anyone about it. She ignored her brother's calls and messages and apparently, fortunately or unfortunately, neither Charles nor any of the others had seen the tweets. The truth is that she thought she had been lucky because she preferred to enjoy her free time with the boys without feeling the clear discomfort that the fact that they read the tweets would bring, she knew that they would try to cheer her up and that they would try too hard that things would become uncomfortable.

She leaned her head against Lando's shoulder and a short time later she felt how he rested his chin on hers. They kept walking until they met the others, who had stood near a bar.

Pierre smiled ladily when he saw them hung together "Is there anything you want to tell us, guys?".

Immediately Daniel began to make noises to annoy them, forcing Max to follow him who resisted but ended up following him with laughter. The gaze of the youngest of the McLaren duo traveled to the Ferrari boy who didn’t look very happy, and moved slightly away from the girl.

Arabella rolled her eyes extending her arm to push the frenchman, simulating discomfort but the smile on her face betrayed her “Que pesado el Pedro” So annoying, Pedro (spanish version of Pierre).

Gasly frowned confusedly at the unknown language in which his friend had spoken to him while the other spaniard laughed loudly. He turned to his best friend, leaning over to murmur in his ear and that no one listened to him “What did she say?”.

The monegasque shrugged while still looking at his teammate laughing with her compatriot while they spoke in spanish. He smiled slightly happy to see her laugh again because these last few days he had noticed that her mood had changed, she was acting strange. He had decided not to mention it knowing that she had a hard time talking but he had set a deadline, tonight he was going to ask her if she was still acting like that. He was relieved to see her gradually becoming the Arabella he knew again. He felt his chest warm up when he saw her smile.

Merde, Charles. You're in too deep, huh?

"Well, let's eat" Norris raised his voice and made his way among his friends to enter the bar although he stopped his steps by turning around to look at the others. Everyone looked at him expectantly wondering what was wrong while he looked at them pursing his lips “Does anyone know Chinese?”.

The other curly haired laughed, hitting his hand against his shoulder as if he had said the funniest thing in the world while the dutchman rolled his eyes, passing between them to lead the group and, finally, go to the bar. He looked at the british “They also speak english, Lando”.

“Oh”.

Ricciardo's laughter got louder, he bent over holding his stomach “Ah, it hurts”.

Carlos looked at him entertained "Look how happy he is always, I want to be like him at his age”.

"Hey, I'm not much older than you." He quickly stopped laughing, put his back straight and looked at the male spaniard who smiled mockingly at him.

"But you're older”.

He opened his mouth to answer him but the hand of the only girl resting on Sainz's shoulder and pushing him towards the bar interrupted him.

"Come on, Carlitos" She kept pushing him, an equally mocking smile stuck to her lips "Don't bother grandpa anymore”.

"Oi!" The Australian exclaimed and both spaniards began to laugh.

Charles looked at them –at her, rather because he only looked at her– with a smile as he followed them from a little far away. His best friend made a noise calling his attention, he looked at him finding that he was already looking at him with a small smile on his face.

"What?" He asked confusedly at what the blue-eyed one laughed catching him in his arms, Leclerc complained when Gasly's arms surrounded his head.

"You like Arabella" He sang causing the younger to stop his movements, he looked at him alarmed but Pierre ignored him "It hurts me a little that you didn't tell me, you know being your best friend and all that but...”

“What are you talking about? I don't like her!” He exclaimed getting out of his grip. The frenchman analyzed him with his eyes, he was on the defensive mode, he definitely hid something.

"Yeah, of course" He took his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and put it on his face "Well, look, how together you can be seen here, holding hands and everything”.

Charles snatched his phone to be able to see the photo better.

"Merde” Shit.

Meanwhile, inside the bar, Arabella was smiling at Verstappen who in a gentlemanly act was holding her chair to sit down.

She gave him a smile “Thank you, Maxie”.

The boy blushed, waving his hand like saying "it's nothing." Lando let out a sharp laugh when he saw the intimidating dutchman blushing.

“And you don’t hold the chains for the rest of us? So rude of you" Ricciardo complained to which the Red Bull driver raised his middle finger in his direction.

"I can hold something else for you if you want”.

Arabella laughed, taking her phone out of the bag that hung from her shoulder, which was ringing indicating that they were sending her messages. All the color left her face, leaving her as white as a paper sheet.

"Mierda” Shit.

260 notes · View notes

charlie-lec-stories · 1 year ago

Text

The Socca Fiasco // CL16 & MV1

Pairing: Charles Leclerc / Original Female Character / Max Verstappen

Summary: Charles feels like he doesn't do enough compared to his partners so he decides to make a traditional Monaco dish for them. What could go wrong?

Warnings: None, just Charles being adorable and two curse words.

Author’s Note: This is a story that it's actually part of a sort of series. Little story time: A few years ago a friend of mine got into a polyamorous relationship with a girl and a boy. He motivated me to add this relationship concept to a longer story I wrote. Since I've never been in one, I decided to write short stories with a domestic vibe to practice and get more comfortable with how to write the dynamics of such relationships as accurately as I can. This is where this comes from. All of the Charles x Max x Y/N stories are part of the same universe, you could say, like they are all stories about different situations the three of them go through. I hope you all like some domestic Lestappen x Y/N. Rate: PG

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was a tradition for them to have Max make Stroopwafel for breakfast, it was the dutch's way of showing affection, since he wasn't exactly expressive with words or romantic gestures on a daily basis. He would usually wake up earlier than Charles and Y/N, having been always a morning person, and take command of the kitchen to make sure his parters had a good breakfast. "It's the most important meal of the day", he always said whenever the other two refused to eat in the morning. Charles was the worst when it came to food, he would always complain that eating so early made his stomach feel funny and that he needed some time before he could actually eat something. Max came up with a plan, to make sure Charles would eat, he would make something Charles liked for breakfast, that way the monegasque would never refuse to eat in the morning ever again. His plan worked, and with the addition of the Stroopwafel to their breakfast menu, Charles started to eat every morning without making a single complain. That's how the tradition started and Max loved it, he felt like he could tell his partners he loved them, without having to actually say it, something that made him feel kind of awkward.

To the breakfast tradition a new ritual was added when Y/N started to cook a traditional dish from her country every Sunday. She had traveled back to her parents house for a few days and noticed that she actually missed those Sunday family gatherings that used to occur every week when she was younger. Her family would spent the whole day together, playing board games, watching movies and listening to music. The point of Family Sunday was to create wonderful moments together to remember forever. And she remembered them all with love. With that nostalgia settled in her heart, she decided that she wanted to keep that tradition alive with her new family. Every weekend she would buy everything she needed to make the meal and dedicate the Sunday morning to cooking. Charles and Max had their own roles, Charles taking care of the getting all the board games they had in the house and setting up the table, while Max was the one that prepared the brewages and picked the movie or vinyl that would play in the background. Family Sundays were their favorites because they could manage to celebrate them anywhere in the world, all they needed was a grill for the food, some board game and music. If it was race weekend, they had dinner and if it was a free weekend, they had lunch. They spent some Family Sundays in hotel rooms, simply cooking their meal in the hospitality of Red Bull or Ferrari and then taking it to the room to eat it together. Y/N really liked those moments, it made her feel like they were officially family.

Charles, at some point, started to feel like he wasn't doing enough. Max made breakfast, Y/N made Family Sunday meal and he was always enjoying what they made instead of doing something for them. He wanted to do something, he wanted to give them as much as they gave him. He wanted them to know that he loves them. With this idea in mind, he tried to cook pasta a few times, but it didn't end up well. Max had ended up banning him from the kitchen because he was sure that Charles would burn the apartment down. Pasta was off the table and it was the only thing that Charles knew how to cook, even if he didn't do it well. He expressed this concern to his brothers, who instead of giving him some cooking ideas, suggested him to just simply express his affection with other actions. Charles refused, he wanted to make something and he was going to do it.

"I'm just so bad at this, Maman". He complained to his mother on the phone. "I mean, Y/N isn't that good, but at least she can pull something off! I'm not asking to cook as good as Max, I just want to do something right". His mother could hear the stress in his voice. She actually believed that Charles didn't need to cook anything for his partners, they already knew that he loves them and that he shows that love through different methods. Still, she decided to please her son's wishes.

"Okay Charles, I'll send you a recipe for Socca. It's an easy dish and you'll have no problem making it". Charles' spirits lifted quickly. "It's beginners level of complexity. You'll be fine"

"Thank you, Maman! You're the best. I love you!".

It was summer break and Charles had been practicing the recipe for three months. He did it at the Ferrari hospitality every week and it was his most sacred secret. He wanted it to be a surprise so Y/N and Max couldn't know about it. It took Charles a lot of effort to hide his cooking practices, but he was finally ready to cook Socca at home. His skill with the dish had improved a lot, he had to admit that the first ones he made were so bad he couldn't even eat them. His younger brother, Arthur, even gagged when he tried a piece once.

"Charles, if you feed them this, you'll end up single". The younger Leclerc said as he spit the food in the bin.

"Oh Lord. 'How to loose not one but two lovers in one go'. I can see that Buzzfeed article". Charles glared at Lorenzo, his older brother, who was laughing at Charles poor attempt of Socca while he threw that comment.

But, his Socca upgraded since then and while Max and Y/N were out for a jog, Charles told them that he wasn't feeling like running and stayed home. He had an hour until they were back, more than enough time to cook and surprise them. Only four ingredients were needed: Chickpea flour, water, extra-virgin olive oil and sea salt. Once he had everything on top of the kitchen island, he started to mix everything in a bowl. He whisked until there were no lumps in the mix and then set a timer to let the batter soak for thirty minutes. The oven at home was nothing like the one he used to practice with so he had a few set backs when trying to turn it on, but he finally did it and then placed the pan inside to make sure it'll preheated before pouring the batter on it. In the meantime, his mother called to know what plans they had for that weekend. Charles loved talking to his mother so he sat comfortably on the couch and proceeded to tell her all of his summer break plans while he waited for the batter to soak. After a few minutes, he went to the kitchen for a glass of water and when he looked at the kitchen counter he noticed that the timer wasn't working. Slightly panicked, he took the phone away from his ear and check the time of the call. He had been talking to his mother for twenty minutes and before that he had trouble with the oven, but how long did that took him? He didn't know. It was quite a struggle, maybe it actually took him another ten minutes. With a rushed apology and a promise to call later, he hung up and decided to concentrate on his task.

"Well, I'm sure that has to be ready". He said to himself. Sighing, he opened the oven to take the pan out, he forgot to grab a kitchen towel and ended up burning his right hand. An instant hiss left his lips and he dropped the pan. "Putain!". Charles cursed under his breath, he grabbed the kitchen towel and picked up the pan again. A lot more stressed than he expected to be when he started cooking, he poured the batter on the pan, put it inside the oven and closed it. Twenty minutes later, Max frowned the moment he set a foot inside the apartment, turning towards Y/N who was looking at him with the same expression. There was a funny smell coming from the kitchen and he knew that it wasn't good sign. Keeping Y/N behind him he walked into the living room area, Charles was nowhere to be seen, but his singing was in the air, clearly coming from the bedroom. Max went straight to the kitchen while Y/N went to the bedroom to look for Charles. She was about to turn on the light of the hallway when Max yelled from the kitchen.

"Schat, don't touch anything!". Charles peaked his head through the bedroom door and his eyes met with Y/N's, they smiled lovingly at each other, but Max's dutch curse words quickly caught their attention. Charles jogged to her side and pecked her lips as a silent greeting while the two walked to the kitchen.

"Max, what's wrong?". Y/N asked while the dutchman opened the kitchen window as wide as he could. "Did you find the source of that smell?"

"It's the oven, it was leaking gas". He looked at Charles. "Charlie, you turned on the gas but never lit it up".

"No! I did, I swear!". Max shook his head.

"Don't turn on any light, let's just open all the windows and let the wind from outside renovate the air". Charles went to the living room and sat on the couch, huffing and with a frown on his face.

"I don't get it!". Y/N sat next to him and grabbed his hand. "I lit it up".

"Sometimes closing the door to harsh or an object hitting the oven can kill the pilot light". She explained. Charles remembered the pan he dropped.

"I am stupid!". He said, his accent thick. "I dropped the pan when I burned my hand. That must have done it".

"You burned your hand!?". Max and Y/N asked worried, Max running to stand in front of him and checking on his hands.

"It's nothing". Charles assured them, embarrassment filling his chest. Max kept looking at his hands anyways. There was a small red mark on his right palm. Y/N went to the bathroom and grabbed a lotion for burns from the first aid kit. She gently ran in over Charles' palm, him letting out a sigh of content at the cool sensation against his burned skin. "I am stupid".

"You're not stupid, don't say that". Max looked at him sternly, he hated when Charles called himself that.

"But I am! It took me three months to learn how to do the easiest dish in Monaco, which already proves how useless I am, just for me to fuck it up when I finally try to do it for you!". He was pissed so the other two left him get it all out. "You always cook for me and I can't even make a fucking Socca for you, I just wanted you guys to feel like I love you... I suck".

"We do feel like you love us, Charlie". Y/N said as she caressed his arm. "We know that you love us".

"But I never do anything for you". Charles said looking at his lap.

"That's not true". Max sat criss-crossed on the floor in front of Charles. "You always try to cheer us up when we have a bad day, and you always know what we need without having to say it. I think that's something important to add to a relationship".

"That's right". Y/N agreed. "Who cares if you can't cook? You still took the time to learn how to do it just for us. You spent three months learning something that it's hard for you all to make us happy". She ran her hands through Charles' hair and he looked at her. "That makes me feel really loved".

"You mean it?". Charles asked looking between the other two. They nodded eagerly.

"We do". Max's voice assured him quietly. Charles smiled.

Maybe Charles was doing more than he thought.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Well, I hope you like this one!

#charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen imagine #lestappen x reader #lestappen imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #lestappen fic #max verstappen x reader #max vestappen one shot

308 notes · View notes

brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 1 year ago

Text

moving slowly on a fast lane | cl16, cs55

charles leclerc x original female character x carlos sainz jr [+18]

🏁 synopsis: If you ask her, Katie will tell you she’s a motorsports enthusiast and that she works as a model. However, the world has given her various labels – fangirl, groupie, escort, you name it. Regardless of the terminology used, the undeniable truth is that women like her play a crucial role in the industry. Every race weekend, she is there not just to be entertained but to contribute to the entertainment, whether it's by being a pretty face at exclusive parties or by providing more intimate company for the pilots. warnings: smut; loss of virginity; threesome; age gap; misdescription of f1 behind the scenes (W.c. 2K)

| listen to the playlist |

PART I — GROUPIE LOVE

“Because you’re different.” Carlos explains, not really looking at her.

Charles, his head resting on her lap, winces at the response, quietly disagreeing with his teammate's answer. The trio, as usual, lies together on a king-sized bed in a luxury hotel.

It's summer in Latin America, and they're wearing light clothes. The windows are wide open, and the gentle tropical breeze is getting Katie agitated. Yet, it's all in vain because Carlos doesn't even move his eyes from the TV, watching a random tennis match.

Carlos and Charles label moments like these as 'teambuilding,' and usually, Katie is very good at getting them both in a good mood – calm and tranquil. But not today. Today, it's Katie herself who needs calming down.

For the past year, every race weekend, Katie wears her prized credentials like a badge of honor. In no time, despite being quite young and new to the scene, Katie seamlessly transitioned from a wide-eyed newbie to a face you couldn't miss. It wasn't a difficult feat, considering she has an unforgettable face with killer feminine features and a confident personality that could give the racers a run for their money.

Her presence in the paddock has transcended mere fandom – she's not just there to watch anymore, in a way, she became an essential part of the spectacle.

Things are still all rainbows and sunshine for Katie. Her life has turned into a never-ending road trip, always traveling with a team. The pilots still appreciate her – she’s still their untarnished muse – and she hasn't lost the thrill of the fast lane.

But Katie has been around long enough to see that feeling change in other women – the ones who've been on the circuit for ages, who've seen it all and maybe gotten a bit tired of the whole thing. It's hard for her to even picture herself in that spot, to imagine life being any different from what it is now.

Especially during the Canadian Grand Prix, that's when someone special took notice of Katie. An insider from Ferrari, whose name shall remain confidential; a person with a lot of influence within the team and whose role is not entirely undisclosed. This insider handed Katie a golden ticket: credentials and an invitation to join them on the road.

No longer having to jump from bus to bus, Katie arrived with the Ferrari roadies. The sound of tools clinking as the crew was setting up everything for the upcoming race created a magical symphony. In that moment, as a witness of the behind-the-scenes hustle and with the anticipation building up for the race, the thought of ever going home doesn't cross her mind.

"I just want to help," she whines.

They're in Mexico now, and it's Katie's first time in the country. But for their first day, Charles and Carlos decided to stay in, saying they needed to concentrate. For Katie, witnessing moments like these were a job, the reason she felt like a part of the circuit. She would linger in the center of the bed, offering words of encouragement or simply watching a movie together. Sometimes there would be other girls in the room, sometimes it was just her. Regardless, things never ventured further from that.

“No, you’re bored. And that’s dangerous, honestly.” Carlos stands firm on his answer.

It’s not like he’s not interested in what she’s offering, or that he hasn’t thought about it – it’s the reason why she’s asking that’s bothering him. Charles, on the other hand, has been waiting months for an excuse. But he had a deal with his teammates and a commitment in maintaining the appearances; so he kept his mouth shut, trying to appear as if he was agreeing with everything being said.

“Then entertain me.” Katie asks.

Maybe it's the uninspiring color of the walls or the constant thud of the tennis ball from the TV, but Katie is genuinely bored.

“Begging is not a good look on you.” Carlos says, finally turning to look at her. He playfully flicks her forehead, but there's a fire in his eyes that Katie takes mental note of, a memory she'll save to use against him eventually.

PART II — GASOLINE

The soft hum of a distant air conditioner mingles with the rhythmic clinking of ice cubes in a near-empty bar. The bartender, wiping down the counter, shoots a casual nod in their direction. Katie sits on a stool, a cold drink in her hand, condensation leaving delicate droplets on the polished surface.

Emily leans on the bar, an easy smile playing on her lips. The bar stools around them remain unoccupied and the only soundtrack is the soft chatter between friends and the occasional clink of glasses.

Emily was Katie's first friend in the racing world, and their connection came from their shared love for fast cars. Emily, being a couple years older and having a couple years more experience in the racing scene, became a sort of guide for Katie. So, when Katie talked about feeling unsure, Emily felt like she had to share some advice. Their talk wasn't just a casual chat; it was a mentorship.

“Baby girl, just be completely yourself. Be yourself to the fullest, unapologetically you." Emily declares. “Everything we do here is for love. Don’t worry, Artemis will forgive you.”

Katie, wearing her trademark graphic t-shirt and mini skirt, watches as the ice in her drink slowly melts under the Mexican heat. At 19, she's a college dropout who left her family behind to chase the adrenaline-soaked circuits of F1.

But being a young impressionable woman in this testosterone-charged arena came with its own set of challenges. She feels herself staring at the edge of an abyss, ready to jump, but held back by the fear of the unknown. The realization settles in – once she takes that leap, there's no turning back.

Emily, carrying the confidence of someone who took that jump long ago, continues, "And I know it feels like women are not allowed to love. Every time we're passionate about something, no matter how we express it, we end up as the punchline to some misogynist joke. Even if I wasn't sleeping with these guys, people would still treat me like I was. They already made up their minds about me long before they met me." Emily shares. She’s talking about the scrutiny they face, especially within the high-stakes world of the paddock, is a reality they've grown accustomed to. The lingering gazes of multi-millionaires, the subtle condescension in their voices – it's all part of the package. “And we’re not even getting paid!”

PART III — DARK NECESSITIES

It’s only in Vegas that she manages to put her plan into action. Getting Charles alone in a room is easier than she imagined. There are no distractions here – no photoshoots, no interviews, no fans asking for autographs –, no one’s watching. The city’s energy seems to fade and they are completely isolated in a hotel room.

The night unfolds in the heart of Sin City, the stakes are high, and in the quietude of the hotel room, Katie wonders if she's playing her cards right.

For a moment, Katie sheds the layers of her public persona, existing only as a woman whose body burns with an unmistakable yearning for the man before her; a woman with desires as palpable as the heat radiating through the room.

Charles breaks the silence that hangs between them. "Katie," he murmurs, his eyes locked onto hers, "are you sure?"

Katie, her gaze unwavering, listens to his words, simply nods. A silent affirmation, a surrender.

"Good girl," Charles whispers, his fingers gently brushing her hair behind her ears. His lips trail down her cheek, seeking the softness of her neck. In this moment, he's attempting to play the part of a gentleman, aware that this is Katie's first time. His breath, a subtle inhale, captures the scent of vanilla on her skin.

She feels a vulnerability she never felt before. Her body reacts instinctively, welcoming him as a lover. She has been waiting for this moment for too long.

“You’re gonna let me touch you, hm?” Charles's voice is muffled as he gently kisses her throat. “You’re going to let me be your first?”

A combination of trust and apprehension lingers within her.

“Yes. Yes.” Katie gasps. She leaves behind any trace of inhibition left and is ready to let him do whatever he wants to her.

Charles, driven by a mix of desire and curiosity, is eager to explore and to taste every inch of her. He takes her to bed and slowly takes off her shirt and bra, kissing her shoulder and leaving little bites along the way. He traces the curves of her breasts with the tip of his tongue, making her euphoric, arousing her even further – making her fully realize just how much she craves his touch. Charles captures her nipple between his teeth, gently sucking on it until it becomes erect under his touch.

He lets his hand slide, under her mini skirt and on top of her panties. Feeling the warmth of his hand on her clothed wet core, Katie lets out a sigh. For her it feels like it takes forever until they’re both naked and Charles has his head buried in between her legs. His lips touch her clit and he’s patient with his kisses, enjoying her innocent taste as much as he can. Charles drags his tongue through the length of her slit, parting her lips with his fingers and sending shivers throughout her entire body.

Charles takes his sweet time opening her up. The neon glow from the outside world seeps through the curtains; as the night deepens, the city pulses with life, unaware of the affair unfolding within the walls of the hotel room.

For a brief moment, everything fades away and Katie’s breathing accelerates, her hips buck involuntarily against his fingers.

“Don’t stop!” Katie urges, desperate to reach her climax. She surrenders to pleasure, moaning loudly as Charles’s tongue explores her more sensitive area.

That’s when they hear a knock on the door. Followed by another. Whoever is outside starts incessantly banging their fist against the wooden door. Startled, they exchange a brief, wide-eyed glance.

“Who is it?” Charles calls out, his voice tinged with irritation; Katie remains wrapped in the bedsheet.

Without receiving an answer, the door swings open, revealing Carlos's stern expression. His eyes flicker between Charles and Katie, registering the scene before him.

"What the hell, Charles?" Sainz's voice carries a mix of frustration and disappointment.

Katie feels a sense of exposure, caught between the two men. Leclerc, caught off guard, stammers in response, "Carlos, I... I didn't think you'd mind. It's just..."

Carlos's gaze intensifies, his disappointment morphing into a subtle betrayal. "We had an agreement," he says, his voice strained. "You weren't supposed to do anything without me." Carlos's eyes shift to Katie, his demeanor changing to one of confidence and dominance. "And you, young lady," he asserts, "you got what you wanted?"

"Not yet," Katie answers, a spark of defiance in her eyes. The tension in the room escalates, the air thick with desire. She notices Carlos eyes lingering on her exposed body. It feels empowering, intoxicating. The anticipation turns her arousal to a fever pitch.

“I want to watch.” Carlos states boldly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Since you decided you wanted to do this without me, at least be kind enough to let me watch.”

Katie doesn’t feel like she has a choice, her body has already decided what it wants. Charles lets out a quiet laugh, trying not to appear overly assured in this unexpected turn of events. He wraps his arm around Katie, pulling her closer. Her heartbeat quickens. When Charles reaches for her hand, she takes it, her eyes never leaving Carlos’s face. The pleasure pulsing through her is intense. Carlos moves and positions himself beside them. A second later, there is the unmistakable sound of Carlos's belt buckle being undone. He slips himself free.

Her attention turns back to Charles, who’s preparing himself to finally give her what she wants. She leans in to kiss him, inviting him deeper. Carlos’s eyes stay fixed on Katie as he watches Charles slip into position. Charles’s breath is hot on her ear, filled with lust and excitement. Her muscles are still tight from her lack of experience, but soon, she relaxes and lets go.

He enters slowly, savoring each moment. Charles moans softly, eyes closing as he holds her close. She bites down on her lip, managing to hold back her cries of ecstasy. This is her first time, so it hurts slightly, but also brings such blissful sensations that she can barely contain herself. The anticipation builds until, finally, she can take no more. "Charles," she whispers, reaching up to grasp his neck. Charles wraps his arm tightly around her waist, gently holding her in place.

Her entire body shakes as her orgasm hits, her release ripping through her. When she comes down from the high, she hears Carlos exhale loudly. He doesn't move, only watches her in admiration.

She opens her eyes and looks up. Instinctively, Katie leans forward to take his member into her mouth. She enjoys every moment of his warm girth sliding down her throat. Charles continues to fuck her troughout it. She sucks harder, with passion, like she was made for this. She realizes that, actually, she was.

And with that realization, Carlos spills himself on her soft mouth. She pulls away from him, his seed dripping down her chin. She closes her eyes and returns her attention to Charles, still buried deep inside her, just in time for his release – he comes with a growl, guttural, moaning in her ear.

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, recovering. Charles strokes her hair as Carlos cuddles with her. Charles gives her a gentle smile. "You're really something special, you know that?" He whispers.

#f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smut #carlos sainz imagine #f1 imagine #charles leclerc #carlos sainz

154 notes · View notes

seacee16 · 3 months ago

Text

hues of you | charles leclerc

charles leclerc x original female character

warnings: none

next chapter

chapter one ~ pink

Bahrain '23

juliette.amelie

Liked by pierregasly and others

juliette.amelie accidentally got onto a plane to Bahrain, whoopsies ✈

pierregasly best accident ever

juliette.amelie aww, you sound just like my parents :,)

pierregasly wtf ?!

pierregasly stop it. get some help.

juliette.amelie noooooooo, what if therapy makes me lose my 🌟sparkle🌟

pierregasly or maybe, just think about it, what if therapy actually fixes you?

juliette.amelie ARE YOU CALLING ME BROKEN BITCH BOY?!

pierregasly YES!!

juliette.amelie ...fair (I'm slashing your tires)

pierregasly alpinef1team she's threatening me!!

alpinef1team I pretend I do not see

Juliette had always been amazed a how one small interaction could lead to something bigger: love, heartbreak, betrayal, friendship. How the universe set up every aspect of every life, and how some lines are destined to cross in ways boy mundane and strange. But each crossing had a purpose. And one fated crossing back in the country of her birth had led her to where she was today. No matter how many years passed, she found it impossible to forget about it.

“Is this your first time in La Castellet?” The man asked in another attempt to strike up conversation with the young woman. It was two questions ago that she had begun to regret her decision of going out alone, but her friends were knee-deep in assignments and heck she was only in town for a few nights.

“No, I’ve been before,” she replied politely, just as she had with the other questions.

“Pity, I’ve been told I am a great tour guide.” She nodded, bringing her glass to her glossed lips in hope of finding a way out at the bottom of her drink.

The man’s eyes raked over her sitting figure before taking a step closer. Too close. “You know-“

That is when she first met him. She felt his hand on her back first, the presence of his body behind her own prominent and towering. Then came the smell of his cologne. And finally, the deep French-accented voice a little bit above her head.

“There you are, ma chaton.” My kitten.

The strange man’s head dipped down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, so soft that it was barely felt. He lingered; eyes focused on the man opposite her as he froze in place.

“Need some help?” Her saviour whispered, the music around them keeping his words hidden from anyone else.

Her eyes flickered, catching a hint of stubble and dirty blonde curls in her peripherals. She turns her head slightly, enough to return the subtle kiss her had given her. His jaw was rough beneath her lips.

“S’il vous plaît,” she whispered back, feeling the man’s fingers tap the span of her back in response. Please. She saw him straighten his body to its full height, his gaze never leaving her unwanted company. But then he smiled, stepping forward to offer a hand to the confused man.

“Thank you for keeping her company while she waited. There are some real creeps in this world and I would hate for anything to have happened to her before I arrived.” She couldn’t see his face, but it had the other man stumbling over his words and feet until he was no longer in sight. The woman let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, sweeping her hair over one shoulder.

Her saviour made himself comfortable in the seat beside her, giving her the perfect opportunity to take him all in. He leaned forward to say something to the bartender, oblivious to her stares. Expensive was the first word that came to mind as she gave him a once over. With both sleeves of his slightly creased white shirt pushed up to his elbows, she could see the large watch shining on his wrist. A pair of sunglasses hung from the front, exposing a hint of chest and muscle. Blonde hair and stubble all along his jaw. And when he finally turned towards her, she noticed his eyes. Blue as the melting glaciers, clear as day.

“That happen to you often?”

She shook her head. “Usually, I have a few friends around to keep the sharks at bay. Guess this is what I get for going out alone,” she joked, offering the new stranger a smile.

He seemed shocked by her words. “You’re here alone?”

With a raised eyebrow, she teased, “Why so surprised? Because you just can’t believe that a girl like me would come to a bar without a man dangling from her little finger?” The man grinned, amused by the words that surely any other man would have spewed in her presence.

“I was, but that makes me seem a bit douchebag-y, so let’s just say I’m wondering because it’s not entirely safe,” he played along. A drink was placed on the bar top in front of him. After thanking the man behind the bar, the stranger stood. “If you’d like, my friends and I have an area reserved further in. You are welcome to join us. You know, for the sake of your safety and all.”

The woman looked towards the table he was motioning towards. They were a group of around nine men, with two women in between laughing at something one of them said. Too many for her liking this evening.

“I think I’m good over here,” she declined sweetly. The man’s shoulders seemed to slump. “But, if you need to get away from all that chaos at any point, you know where to find me.” His mouth twitched. Instead of leaving, he sat back down.

“One night without me won’t hurt them,” he admitted, grinning against the rim of his glass. “Not that I don’t love a good mystery, minette, but an introduction is in order, no?” Kitty.

“Juliette,” she told him, watching as he took her free hand in his and placed a kiss on her knuckles. “And what name should I put to the face of my saviour?”

His face lit up in a grin that screamed trouble, his thumb grazing over the skin of her hand as he held it between them. Juliette found his blue eyes captivating, like the tide daring her to go deeper into unknown waters. Waters that would soon become as familiar as Nice shores.

“Pierre.”

The friendship was effortless after that. Both of them travelled for work, but on the rare occasion that they found themselves in the same place at the same time, it was as if no time had passed.

And now, Juliette stood outside of the Bahrain International Circuit. The first time Pierre told her about his career as a Formula One driver, she laughed in his face, failing to believe how the man who looked like he would trip over air was capable of driving at such high speeds. It wasn’t until he actually showed her the highlights of his 2020 win that it hit her. From then on, it was a constant battle of denying his requests for her to join him at races, swearing on his life that he would be able to focus better – maybe even win – if she were there with him. Two years later, and she had eventually been worn down, giving in to his pleas and arriving a little before qualifying was due to start. Having already let him know of her arrival, she slid her dark sunglasses up into her hair and walked through the paddock. It wasn’t long before she noticed a familiar team name on a nearby motorhome.

As if sensing her, the door opened and a tall Frenchman hurried out. With one hand up to shield his eyes from the bright Bahrain sun, she watched in amusement as his head turned from side to side, trying to find her among the many faces occupying the surrounding area. He looked well. He stood docked out in his Alpine gear; racing suit tied firmly around his waist. His hair was tousled, as if he had just woken up, no doubt from the balaclava he would have to put on once again when it was time to drive.

When his eyes finally landed on her, it took mere seconds for him to jog over and wrap her up in his arms. A small squeal left her lips as she felt her feet lift from the ground, legs swinging as the man carried her away.

“Pierre,” she whispered aggressively, eyes wide as she noticed the heads turning to watch the pair. “You need to put me down, mon coureur. People are staring.” My racer. The man ignored her complaints, tightening his arms around her waist and only setting her back down once they were inside the motorhome. However, her freedom was short-lived, as she was immediately pulled into another hug by her friend.

“Vous m’as manqué, ma chaton.” I’ve missed you, my kitten.

“You saw me two months ago,” she told him, giggling at the way the tip of his nose tickled her neck when he shook his head. Juliette tried to pull away to get a better look at him, but the man refused, wanting nothing more than to keep her in his arms for as long as possible. Realising that there was no winning, she smiled. “You’re so clingy today, mon coureur. Why is that?” Her fingers traced shapes on his back as she spoke, causing him to shiver against her.

“Let’s call it pre-race nerves,” he whispered into her hair, the tone of his voice implying something all too familiar. Pierre let his lips fall to her neck, an action that resulted in her pinching his sides playfully.

“Get pole position and I’ll see what I can do about that pre-race nerves,” she teased, finally managing to pry the male off of her. His eyes were daunting, but the smile on his face was a soft as she remembered it to be.

Juliette was no stranger to the undeniable charm of her friend. And she would be lying to everyone and herself if she denied the affect it had on her. There were multiple occasions where a night of drinks and his sweet words had led to the pair finding themselves tangled among the other’s sheets, only to laugh about it over breakfast the following morning. In fact, that was how most of their meet ups ended. Despite that, they remained the closest of friends. There was a time, not long after they had met, that the idea of being in an official relationship was brought up, and for a few months they tried it. Chaste kisses and candle-lit dates. It would have been perfect for any other person. Only they weren’t anyone else, and the whole ideal just made their relationship awkward and borderline boring. So, they called it off and went back to their comfortable routine of drunk nights on brief trips. However, this didn’t stop Pierre from hinting towards wanting to introduce her to his friends on the F1 scene, a bribe to get her to return the favour with her friends back home.

“Come on, you need a tour.”

There was no room for protests as she let Pierre drag her out of the small building and back into the sun.

“Also,” he mentioned as they walked. “Don’t think I don’t notice you showing up in Alpine colours. You look beautiful as always, chèrie.” Darling.

She couldn’t help but laugh as Pierre lifted their intertwined hands, watching as she happily twirled beneath their locked fingers. He then brought her back to his side, comfortably resting his arm over her shoulders as she played with the rings on his fingers. The black and pink in her clothing matched almost perfectly with the shades seen in his racing suit, the coordination bringing a smile to the male’s face.

It wasn’t long before Pierre was being called to the garage to get ready for qualifying. Given the okay, Juliette followed him down to where the car was being prepped. She watched in awe as a mix of strategists and engineers rushed in and out of the area, a few sending their ‘good luck’s to her friend as they passed him.

“Have I ever told you that you look really good in your racing gear?” She asked him as he zipped up the front of his black suit. Her eyes trailed down his tall frame, making sure to let her gaze linger when she knew that he was staring back at her.

Pierre looked around the garage for any prying eyes before stalking over to her. She had unintentionally backed herself against a wall in the back corner of the room, feeling his hands grab hold of her arms as his body pressed into hers. Juliette stared up at him, relishing in the way his crystal eyes flickered between her lips and her own eyes.

“Yeah?” He asked, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a grin as his face inched closer to hers.

“Gasly! Stop flirting and get your ass in your car!” A voice shouted from somewhere in the garage. A smile broke out on her face, followed by a laugh from both of them. Ignoring the calls, Pierre leaned down and put his lips to hers, pulling her body closer to him. She breathed him in, smiling at the feeling of his lips against her own. There were zero feelings behind the kiss, but it didn’t stop her head from spinning. When he pulled back, he pressed one last kiss to her temple.

“I’ll see you when I’m done?” Pierre asked, already taking steps back in the direction of the car.

“Good luck, mon coureur.”

#f1 x oc #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #formula one x oc

8 notes · View notes