#charles leclerc x reader x max verstappen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doctorgirlsblog · 3 days ago

Text

When Loyalty Fails (series)

Chapter 1: It's race weekend

4 years ago, Monaco

She kept starring at the two little pink lines, her eyes blurry with tears. She kept sitting on the toilet seat, test clutched in her hand as the panic started to set in. Conversation she had with Max not even a month ago, about waiting, about him not wanting kids now..it all rushed back in and she let out a sob. He is going to be home any minute now and no matter what, she had to tell him. Maybe once he knew, he would change his mind. Maybe it will change things between them for the better. In the last time, things between them were..rough. He was there, they ate together, slept beside each other, went out, but it was almost..platonic. There was simply no spark present anymore, and as Max blamed it on the tough season assuring her it had nothing to do with her personaly, Evangelina wasn't so sure. So yes, positive test in her pocket made her hope again, that everything maybe wasn't lost. She heard the front door open and close, sound of keys being put down and she knew he was home. She came out of the bathroom, test tucked safely in her jeans pocket. She smiled at his approaching form, going in for a hug, but Max turned to the kitchen, directly avoiding it, looking through the liquor cabinet, obviously making himself a G&T. Still, she thought nothing of it, too engaged in her big news. ''Max, I have to tell you something important. Something happened that-''

-''We need to break up.'' her words stayed on the tip of her tongue, not getting a chance to be said.

Her voice faltered. ''W-what?'' she couldn't believe what he said. Maybe she didn't hear him correctly. Yes, that was probably it.

Max took a sip of his drink, before leaning on the kitchen aisle. '' I'm sorry Lina. I really am. But I can't keep doing this anymore. Things aren't like they used to be anymore.''

She shaked her head stepping closer to him. ''No. Max, no. I know things weren't perfect in the last couple weeks, but we can fix this. Together. I wanted to tell you that I'm-''

''Don't you get it? I can't give you what you want Evangelina. I can't retire now, at the peek of my career, just to give you the family you want. I'm not ready to have kids yet. For God's sake, I'm only 24!'' he didn't want to lash out at her, but he was nervous and all of his pent up anger came out at the wrong moment.

That was the moment when she knew. Max didn't love her anymore. Max would not be a good dad to the little baby growing inside her. Heck, he made it pretty loud and clear that he didn't want to have any. Still, she didn't want to rob him of the chance to change his mind, to watch this new life grow, to be it's father.

''You..you're leaving me because I want to have a baby with you?'' her voice was almost a whisper.

Max sighed. ''Not because of that, Lina. Things aren't like they were for some time now. But yes, I don't want to have kids now. I can't possibly imagine myself being a dad.''

It was enough for Lina. He was pretty clear where he stood. But she wasn't going to destroy a life, just because he didn't want it.

''Okay Max. I understand. I won't be a burden anymore. I just hope that you won't wake up one day, here, alone, and realise that no number of those trophies can't compensate for a family. I hope it's not too late for you then.'' she left him standing in a kitchen, as she rapidly packed her things, leaving all of his gifts behind. As she stepped back into the kitchen with her bags at her sides, she took the keys from her purse, putting them on the counter before him. ''Goodbye Max. I hope I never see you again.''

With that being said, Evangelina was out of their once shared flat, her left hand placed on her belly protectively as she muttered softly. ''Don't worry little one. Mommy will always be here.''

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

She drove back to her old place, parking in front of the building. As she was taking her bags out of the car, she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. As she turned around, she came face to face with Charles' bright green eyes, his dimples on full display. ''Bonjour Leni. Long time no see.'' he was the only one that still called her Leni, saying her name didn't deserve that basic nickname 'Lina'. They were old neighbours, back from when she still lived here and before she moved in with Max. But right now, everything was overwhelming to poor girl and she felt the tears pooling in her eyes. Charles' smile fell. ''Leni, what's wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Are-''

-''He left me.'' Charles' eyes widened. He knew her since forever, even before she started dating Max and to hear they broke up, no, that he left her after all this time, he couldn't believe it.

''Let's get you inside first okay? Come, I'll make us some tea.'' she nodded, not trusting her voice to not break if she spoke again. He took her bags, guiding her towards the entrance. He left the bags in her flat and went back to his, where she waited, sitting on his sofa, looking small as ever.

''I put your bags in the living room. Hope that's okay. I'll make you some tea now. Or..maybe you want something stronger?''

She turned to him, her eyes already puffy and red from crying. ''No, tea is great. I...I don't drink anymore, really.''

''Oh. Since when? It's not like you're pregnant or something.'' he tried to joke a little bit, trying to put a smile back on her face. But the sudden sob she let out, made him freeze. No, it can't be.. Was she..?

''Oh Leni..'' he sat next to her, pulling the girl into his arms gently. ''Does he know?'' she only shaked her head, tears still streaming down her face silently. ''Okay. It's gonna be okay. I promise. I'm here for you.''

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

And there he was indeed. Through her whole pregnancy, at every appointment, helping her set up a nursery in her flat. He was the only one who knew that the little baby girl, about to be born, was Max` daughter. At least biologically. Somewhere between the appointments, lazy nights in, burned dinners he tried to cook for her, something bigger blossomed. Charles fell for her, and he fell hard. When he kissed her after her last appointment, he tried to apologise. He couldn't even imagine that she would pull him closer and kiss him back too. So they gave it a try, but still decided to keep it private. After what happened with Max and with baby's due date approaching soon, Evangelina needed complete privacy. Charles understood. So, when he made her a proposition, to be there, to step in and let the little girl take his name, she cried. She cried and cried and anything Charles tried to say, was to no avail, because she kept sobbing and thanking him and nodding her head. It made his heart full. The little one may not be his blood, but he was going to give his best to make her feel loved and cared for. He already loved her and she wasn't even here yet. They talked about potential names, deciding on Emilia Charlotte Leclerc in the end. Even thought he hurt her that much, she still wanted her babygirl to have atleast a piece of him, that being his middle name. Charles understood and supported her, which made her fall for him even more. He was the one who willingly stepped up to be a dad to her little girl, the one who glued all her broken parts back together, the one who showed her more love in these 9 months than Max did in 2 years they were together. They decided that no one else will know the real truth, and that Charles is going to be her real dad, in every aspect of it.

The little one came couple of days after, with sweet blue locks that represented those of Lina and with the brightest blue eyes she ever saw. Fate could indeed be cruel sometimes, because her eyes were a pure mirror of those of her biological father. Yet, they said nothing about it. Charles fell in love with her from the first moment he saw her. When her little hand clutched his finger, he melted on the spot, his eyes tearing up instantly. ''Hello little one. I'm your papa and I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life. You're perfect, just like your mommy.'' As the baby cooed in his hands, two of them shared a loving look. Their little family was now complete and this was only the beginning.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Present, Monaco GP, Race day

Little Emilia, dressed in Ferrari shirt and cap with Number 16, was jumping in excitement beside Charles, not letting go of his hand as they walked through the paddock, all of the eyes glued on them, cameras clicking from every corner. Lina was on Charles` other side, also holding his hand, trying not to show how nervous she was. Charles leaned into her ear, whispering softly. ''Don't worry amour. It will be okay.''

They stopped at the media pen and the questions started.

''Charles who are your guests this weekend? Family?'' one of the reporters asked.

Charles hugged Lina, bringing her in closer, while Emilia kept looking up at him underneath her cap, smiling.

''This is my family. Things were kept private until now, because of our babygirl, but now that she's bigger she wants to see her Papa race. And this, is Evangelina, my beautiful fiance.'' Cameras started clicking around them, questions now coming from all sides, but Charles refused to elaborate further. ''Thank you for respecting our privacy, we hope for a win today.''

As he settled his girls in his garage, letting Emilia help him strap his helmet, everyone around them was melting at the sight. His mom and Arthur came too, all of them wishing him good luck before he got in his car.

The race wasn't that eventful. Charles kept his Pole position masterfully, leading the race from the first to the last lap, finally ''breaking his Monaco curse'' and winning his home GP for the first time. As he pulled to the P1 sign in Parc Ferme, he jumped into the awaited hands of his team, before he pulled his helmet off, looking at Emilia with her hands streched out towards him, picking her up and twirling her around as she yelled ''Papa won!!'' all while craddling his face in her tiny hands. He turned around towards Evangelina, her bright smile lighting the whole paddock, and he leaned in to kiss her, still holding the little girl up.

''I told you I'll win for you two.''

-''We're so proud of you bebe. So, so proud.''

He kissed her again, before handing her Emilia back, as he had to go up on the podium. While the Monaco`s national anthem played, almost everyone cried and Emilia kept yelling ''Papa'' happily waving at him. He smiled, looking up into the sky, silently thanking God for everything.

As Charles was packing his things, Lina took Emilia for a walk through the paddock, because she was getting restless just standing in garage. She laughed as Emilia run in front of her, jumping slightly and singing some kids` song she heard on the TV. It wasn't until she bumped into someone that she froze, eyes widening, instantly running back to her mom, hiding behind her leg.

''Emi, what's wrong bebe? Who did you-'' as she looked up, her whole body tensed. Because standing in front of her, after four years, was none other than Max Verstappen.

His eyes also widened, scanning over the little girl hiding behind the now black haired Evangelina. He didn't see her since they broke up and she looked completly different. Yet the little girl looked like her carbon copy. Wide blond locks, peeking under the Ferrari cap..he snorted. Of course she would be a Ferrari fan. But, it was something else that was gnawing in his brain and he didn't even realise that he said it out loud until she looked at him angrily.

"How old is she, Lina?" He asked, not tearing his eyes away from the little blonde girl still hiding behind her leg.

-"It's none of your business Max."

Before he could open his mouth again, the little girl laughed loudly, leaving her mother's side and running across the paddock, yelling, "Daddy!"

Max's head whipped around, seeing her run to Charles fucking Leclerc. His face paled.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

"Daddy!''

Charles picked her up in his arms, kissing her rosy cheeks gently as she tugged on his hair.

"Mi prinzipessa." She kept giggling as he twirled her around.

"Where is mommy, baby?" Charles asked, looking around them, hoping to spot Lina.

"With that scary man there. I don't like him daddy." Little Emilia pouted, her little fingers grabbing his hoodie, as Charles's head snapped in the pointed direction. His whole body tensed.

Max said nothing more, just kept starring at the two, feeling his heartbeat loud and clear, drumming in his ears, his fists clenching repeatedly at his sides.

Charles. His biggest rival. His frenemy. The only person that has ever managed to challenge him on track, was holding a little blond girl in his arms, looking like he had no care in the world. Girl that called him daddy, who's mother he haven't seen in years after everything that happened.

Same Evangelina, who was now standing across him, with the stoic expression on her face. Her once dirty blonde hair was now pitch black, making her pale complexion stand out even more. Her freckles were gone, features now sharp, eyes careful. There was almost no trace of the sweet girl he once called his. Or so he thought. Because as soon as she saw Charles striding towards them, with little girl on his hip; her whole face lit up, eyes shining brightly. Poker face that she gave him seconds ago, was now long gone, bright smile adorning her whole face. Max's face hardened. Charles looked him up and down, nodding quickly at him, before snaking his arm around her waist possessively, kissing her on the temple. Max didn't miss how her posture relaxed, body leaning into his touch contently.

"I was looking for you, amour." He murmured softly.

"Sorry bebe! I run into Max. Emi saw you and decided to run instantly." she looked at her little girl, still holding tightly onto Charles, her face burried in his chest.

Charles chuckled.

"That's my girl. Anyway, it's time Leni. We should go or we'll be late for the dinner." Saying that he turned to face Max again, who kept silent the whole time, observing scene before him.

"Nice seeing you, mate."

Max got himself to nod, smiling tightly, before he murmured a quick ''Yeah. You too."

Emilia kept sneaking glances at Max, peeking just from where she was burried into her dad's chest. Max smiled sadly. Her blonde locks looked exactly like Lina's did before, but it was her eyes, her sky blue eyes that sparked his curiosity even deeper. Lina's eyes were deep green, and so were Charles'. So how was it possible that their daughter had blue eyes? Couple gave him no time to vocal his doubts, as they were already moving away, Charles' hand still around her waist, other one holding the little one up.

As they reached Charles' car and after he strapped Emilia in her car seat, he turned to the still shaking Evangelina.

"You okay bebe?What did he want?"

''I...He asked about her. How old she is." Lina sighed. He pulled her closer, inhaling her scent.

''I won't let anyone harm you or her, bebe. I promise."

She sniffled, looking up at him.

"He can't ever found out Charles. I can't let him take her from me."

-''He won't bebe. I promise. No one is going to take our daughter away." He wiped her tears away, kissing her cheeks. ''Let's go love. We still have a lot to celebrate today.''

Tag list:

@samriddhisingh @janeh22

#max verstappen #mv1 x reader #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #original character #love triangle #charles leclerc x reader

75 notes · View notes

81pastrys · 2 days ago

Text

Grid Flirt

Part 5 / 13

Summary— After her maiden win and a bit of scolding, she doesn’t want to sulk and goes to her favorited drivers to let loose.

Warnings— Horner being a dick ; drinking feelings away

A/N— the next one is multiple POVs

Series List

“He can’t cut your contract now, not after what he did.” Max said. “Just breathe for now, we can handle that later.”

We head into the cool down room again. Lando looks severely concerned. We watch a few replays and it replays my radio. I look directly into a camera. I make an oops face.

“Wait he said that?” Lando asked, looking at managers behind cameras. “Is that aloud?”

“Uhh FÍA is still pending on that.” One of them says.

They look at me and I shrug. “What, I’m not slowing down when I’m about to get my first win.”

They both agree and then we go and do the podium. My brain blanks as we do the champagne pop. I’m as happy as ever. My dad is cheering me on harder than anyone, my teammate is happy for once to just be on the podium, and I may have outed a contract I didn’t want.

After the podium we go to the paddock and Horner walks in pissed beyond belief. “You fucked my team Díaz!” He yelled pointing a finger in my face. “As soon as you get a new contract, take it. I’m not signing you another fucking year.” He yelled.

“I already planned on it.” I say calm.

“I bet you did you cheeky brat.”

“Oh shit, my bad was I supposed to drive a fucked car with failed parts and be okay with it?” I yell. “My first win and you’re fucking mad I won it with old parts!” I laugh while yelling. “You should be fucking impressed Horner!”

Max is impressed by my yelling match. We continue screaming at each other while the entire thing is filmed. My dad intervened and I took my final dig.

“Putting your drivers at high risk for failure and threatening the mechanics. Pathetic excuse for a team principle you fucking snob.” I finish as my dad pulls me away. “I want a new contract now, this is bullshit and I’m not driving for his team again.” I say.

“I know mi flor.” My dad said calm. “We’ll get you another contract, but you need to calm down before no one signs you for your attitude.”

He’s right. No one wants a yelling match with their driver. The summer break just started so I have many options. Mercedes, Alpine, Haas. They’ve offered and I put them on hold. McLaren asked for a visit, although I strongly disagree with them getting rid of Lando or Oscar. I need to talk with my manager.

Once we all end up back to the hotel, I get to talk with my manager. “Okay, McLaren is still willing to work with you, so is Mercedes.” She said. “Alpine and Haas have revoked their interests.”

“Okay, I can work with that.” I say. “What are the comparisons?” I ask. She pulls out sheets of the comparisons and McLaren has better statistics and future predictions. “Who would I be replacing in McLaren?” I ask hesitant.

“Oscar Piastri.” She said. “Norris is their focus, however if you keep performing the way you are, it could be you anytime soon.”

“Tell McLaren I want to meet, what about Mercedes are their trends going up by any chance?”

She explains that they could but it’s not looking good for the long run. I’m choosing McLaren. She schedules the meeting and I head back to my hotel room.

I lay on my bed. I can’t handle just sulking. I get up and find a good party dress. I put on makeup that is perfect, do my hair the way I love. Then finish my look with my dress and heels. I grab my going out purse and walk out my room.

I knock on Max’s door and he answers, looking like he just woke up. “Woah- where are you going?”

“Party, I need to celebrate!” I say faking a smile.

“I need about 20 minutes and a shot before we go out doll.” He said. “Who else is coming?”

“Maybe Norris, Maybe Leclerc.” I say. “You were the first I asked.” I wink.

“Okay, let me get ready then.” He winked back. I go to Charles room and knock.

“Why hello there.” He said smiling. He looked ready to go out.

“First win, and I want to celebrate properly.” I say. “Want to join?”

“Oui, oui.” He said looking me up and down. “Let me grab a few things hm?”

He closes the door and I go to Lando’s door, making sure I look the best for him. He opens the door and his eyes widen and he smiles. “What’s this love?” He asked.

“Well a girls got to celebrate her maiden win.” I wink. “Go get ready.”

“Who else is coming love?” He asked.

“Oh you know, Max, Charles.” I say smiling. “You..”

“Ahh fight for the Díaz?” He joked. “Not sure it’s a fair fight.”

“Just go get ready and meet me in the lobby.” I laugh.

He closes the door and I text the other two the same thing. I go to the lobby and the three boys file in. Lando is the only one who knows what’s going on, the other two will figure it out soon. “There’s my boys.” I smile walking up to them.

“Where are we going?” Leclerc asked.

“She wants to celebrate, where’s the best place to do that?” Verstappen added.

“Well why don’t we start walking?” Lando said.

We start walking down the street and find a good club to get into. Lando in front of me and the other two behind. They let me in, not even carding me. We all got drinks off the bat. Taking a few shots first to start it off.

“Who knew Diaz was a party animal?” Max said. I laugh and they all smile.

“A lot on my mind.” I say taking a sip of my drink.

“It’s all about to go away.” Lando said leaning on the counter. “Let’s wait for those to kick in hm?”

“Yeah don’t get too drunk yet Chérie.” Charles said.

“Chérie?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing much.” He said.

“Let’s go dance!” I say a bit tipsy already.

I lead the way and we all dance for a little, the alcohol kicking in hardcore. I took 2 shots and finished my vodka cranberry quite quickly. Charles noticed first I was drunk and informed the other two. I grab Lando’s wrist and lead him to the bar.

“Shots?” I ask.

“I think you’ve had to many love.” He laughed.

“So?” I laugh. “I’m celebrating!”

Will she race for RedBull again?

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fluff #red bull formula one #red bull racing #Lando Norris #max verstappen #Charles Leclerc #dad fernando alonso #female racer #red bull f1 #f1 x reader #f1 female driver #81pastry series

59 notes · View notes

goldsbitch · 3 days ago

Text

Twelve Grapes

-chapter 9, part 2 - Successful, a winner

"Say it," Charles murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. A dare. A challenge. A mistake.

Max leans in just slightly, just enough to make Charles feel it, to test how much he can take, as close as he possibly can without touching Charles' face.

"Don't tell me you don't already know."

"We shouldn't."

"Then don't."

word count: 7k too many warning: minors DNI, smut all the way (probably the first time I'm actually proud of a scene like that lol AND first smut from Max's POV), tiny tiny hint of toxic vibes you know how it is

Max stands still, waiting for some reaction and when nothing comes from Charles, he simply exhales and turns back to unpacking, as if this is just any other night. Charles watches, dumbfounded. His fingers twitch at his sides, the heat in his chest growing with every second Max refuses to take this seriously. He had a whole speech drafted in his mind and now he feels like an actor who forgot his lines.

"Do you want a beer?" Max asks as he approaches his fridge.

"Wha-I don't-" Charles is stuck, still not able to process just how casually Max is acting. His pulse is hammering, his hands already curled into fists, but Max is just… What? Making himself comfortable?

"Maybe we could put on a match, since you're here, I think tonight they play in-"

"Could you shut up for one fucking second!"

Max pauses, then–smiles.

"And stop smiling!"

"Okay," Max says easily and pops the lid of his beer. He takes one small sit and the speaks again. "What do you want me to do?"

Charles shakes his head and his hands fly up and down. "I don't know, be mad that I basically broke into you apartment?!"

Max tilts his head, considering. "It really is not as surprising as you might think, if it was anyone else-"

"Stop this," Charles exhales maybe too loudly. His chest is too tight, his breathing shallow, and Max's absolute calmness is making it worse. "Why are you doing this. Pulling out of the race, like it's no problem."

Charles has an answer he'd love to hear slip from Max's lips. One that would make this all make sense, one that would prove something he doesn't even want to admit he's searching for. But he can't even allow himself to think about it. He knows better than to fall into that trap. Doesn’t he?

Too late. Probably.

"Thought it was unfair for you to get dragged through the shit all by yourself," Max says lightly, as if the topic of their conversation were the current weather conditions and takes another sip before he continues. "I asked Lewis if he would join the boycott, you'd think with his constant activism he would be the first one doing, funny enough-" he speaks and it looks like he is more than excited to tell a very amusing story that will drag on for minutes, so Charles stops him while he still can. He raises his finger and puts on a stern face.

"This isn't how it works, Max. You don't get to miss races just because I had to."

"Why not?" Max shrugs. "Felt unfair. I fixed it."

Charles lets out a humorless laugh. "You fixed it? So now what, we boycott races together? Are we a movement now?"

"Charles," Max sighs. "It's one race. I'll win the next one." The smugness dripping from his voice is unbearable, but when it's paired with that lazy, relaxed smile, Charles has to physically clench his fists to keep himself from throwing something.

"Never took you for an LGBT activist," he spits his words like a venom, the memory of Max, standing in the same kitchen as they are now not even full two years ago, Max who almost begged him to hide their relationship, still plaguing Charles' mind.

"Never was and never will be," Max replies, unphased.

"So, why are you doing this?"

Shoulder shrug. "Don't like Jeddah anyway."

The answer is so maddeningly Max - absurd and out of this planet. Charles says the words before he's able to think about it. "You're impossible."

There it is. Like a theme song of an old favorite TV show. Charles freezes, refusing to meet Max's eye.

"Always was," Max replies, drifting of the usual script.

Charles looks up and stares, saying about thousand things without opening his mouth. He doubts Max can pick up on any of them. He wants to break the silence before it crushes him whole. But the words dissolve before they even reach his tongue.

Because Max is still standing there, like it's all so easy. Like something inevitable is about to happen.

And Charles - God help him - wants to let it.

It's Max and Charles. Two magnets staring at each other, and one of them finally turning.

Charles doesn't know which of them budged first - whether it was him, stepping into the pull, or Max, shifting just enough to change everything. But the force is there, undeniable, pressing against his ribs, tightening the air between them like an invisible string pulled too taut.

For so long, they've been forced into opposition, locked in a push-and-pull that never quite aligned. Too similar, too stubborn, too much of everything all at once. The same poles repelling, no matter how much force tried to hold them together.

But this - this is different.

This feels like standing at the edge of something irreversible. Like gravity has shifted, and all Charles can do is fall.

"Fine, let's watch some football," he says, because what else is there to do in this situation. Nobody ever gave him a manual for life. They won't race in Jeddah no matter what happens.

Max doesn't move when Charles speaks, just watches him for a beat longer than necessary. He knows Charles. Knows when he's looking for a fight, knows when he’s struggling not to say something that might wreck him. Senses when he's already made up his mind about something, even if he won't admit it yet.

"Fine, let's watch some football."

It's a retreat. A messy, temporary surrender. Max smirks but doesn't push, just reaches for the remote and flips the TV on. The glow of the screen cuts through the soft lighting, casting flickering shadows against the walls.

Charles drops onto the couch with a loud tuff, stiff like he's still bracing for impact. Max lets him be. Take the sight in, before he cracks open another beer, puts it in front of the Monegasque and sinks into the other end of the couch. Charles grabs the beer and stretches his legs out on the coffee table. This has Max having to swallow a laugh. He knows exactly what kind of passive aggressive intent is behind this and he won't give Charles the satisfaction by reacting to one of his biggest pet-peeves.

A few minutes pass. The game starts. The commentators fill the space between them with chatter and crowd noise.

And then, inevitably -

"So when did you decide?"

Max glances over, raising an eyebrow. "Decide what?"

Charles gives him a flat look. Like he knows damn well Max is playing dumb but is too stubborn to acknowledge it outright.

"To pull out of the race. Was it after the FIA refused to back down? Did you just wake up and think, ‘Oh, I'll skip this one, it's fine’?"

Max expected Charles to act out and to be fair, it's probably the main reason behind his current actions. A part of him still can't believe Charles is standing here again, in his apartment. Funny how the longer hair Charles has these days suits him. Max takes a sip of his beer, dragging it out before answering. He won't tell Charles boycotting the race was the first thought he had when he read the statement damning Charles. He'll keep to himself just how easy it was to make this decision. Honestly, it's so painfully obvious one, that Max does not really understand why is Charles acting so surprised. "Tuesday morning." The news came on Monday afternoon, so that lie seems realistic, right?

"Tuesday - Jesus, Max." Charles exhales sharply, shaking his head. "You didn't even -

"Didn't even what?" Max cuts in smoothly. His tone is light, but there’s something sharper underneath. "Didn't even think about it? Didn't even consult my team? Didn't even consider the consequences?"

Charles blinks, momentarily thrown off by Max anticipating every accusation before he can even launch it.

"Yeah," he mutters finally.

Max shrugs, eyes flicking back to the screen. "Well, I did. And then I did it anyway." If he knew just how many people Max managed to have working overnight, he’s probably flip out.

Charles makes a frustrated noise, shifting in his seat like he physically can’t sit still. "That's not how this works, Max."

Max doesn't take his eyes off the match. "Seems to be working just fine."

"You're impossible."

"We covered that already." Every time Charles says this, it puts another dagger into Max's heart. Serves like a bright reminder that this is just a momentary relapse of the past–and probably not even that. He decided the second his concierge warned him about Charles' presence that he was going savor every damn minute of it. Play pretend with the past he let slip through his hands. Fake it, as if they'd made it.

The commentator yells something about a near-goal. Max barely registers it. He's too aware of Charles, of the restless energy radiating off him, of the way his knee is bouncing slightly, the way he keeps looking at Max like he's waiting for him to say something else.

"Did you really ask Lewis?"

Max tilts his head, considering. "Technically, I asked him. In a hypothetical way."

Charles scoffs. "A hypothetical way?"

"I might've said something like, 'If someone were to boycott Jeddah, do you think other drivers would follow?' And he said probably not, because people have short memories and even shorter attention spans. But he pointed out it would be the right thing to do. And out of all people, he’s benefiting from it the most."

Charles rolls his eyes. "And then you went and did it anyway."

"Yep."

"You're such a dick."

Max winks at him, falling for his own illusions. "You always say that right before you start liking me."

Charles glares, but his mouth twitches, just barely. Max sees it. Max sees everything.

They fall into silence again, but it's different now. Not as sharp, not as dangerous. The game is still on, but Max is not really watching.

He takes another sip of his beer, glancing at Charles out of the corner of his eye.

They both know this conversation isn't over.

But for now, it can wait.

He thinks back to his Jeddah escape, honestly it's going to become a funny memory very soon. His moves were sneaky about this one and there is a hint of pride in his chest, because for once, he managed to play the Red Bull corporate machine for his good, instead of the usual "getting crushed by the amount of people getting added on cc’". He approached the PR people first. Played it out as him feeling regretful for his reluctance to express support for Charles in the beginning. The PR people were probably a little too happy about that for their own good. So, they made it almost sound like their own initiative. For better or worse, Red Bull Racing is first and foremost a bloody PR project of an energy drink. And wildly enough, it took only few hours of sneaky Zoom calls with the right people being contacted at the right time, to get Christian cornered and presented to this as a done and approved deal. Even Christian does not have the balls to say no to the global CEO (well, to his assistant…)

Max of 2021 and all the years before would have never done anything like that. But, the memory of the lonely championship podium haunts him regularly. He knows this does not mean anything and that it won't fix mistakes made in the past. He owes it to himself probably more than to Charles or anyone else. Maybe once this calms down, he’ll be finally able to forgive himself.

"So, I have one question, since you seem to be out of yours," Max asks out of nowhere, grateful for the bottle occupying his hands.

"Go ahead."

"Why did you come out? Also–why did you do it few days before the last championship fight race?" Max is never not going to be mad about that one. It's almost shameful how often he thinks about that in the middle of the night. He hopes he's managing to keep his tone casual and that Charles does not pick up on his eagerness.

He dares not to look directly at him.

"I swore to myself I'd come out when I meet someone who's worth stopping hiding."

Max's worst nightmare comes alive. There is someone who gets to hold Charles every night, who gets to hear his darkest secrets–someone who's worth throwing his life in jeopardy. Sour, bitter feeling crawls up Max's spine. The thought of him wrapped up in someone else's bed is sickening.

"We broke up a month after that," Charles adds casually, after letting Max boil in his thoughts. He can't help but look–and of course, there is a little evil smile glazing his lips. Dramatic. He's doing this on purpose.

"Shame," Max lies and hides his emotions behind the bottle of his beer.

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, rolling the beer bottle between his hands.

"You still haven't answered my question," he says, keeping his tone even.

Charles raises an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Which one?"

Max exhales through his nose. He's not playing this game.

"Why did you come out then? Of all possible moments, why a few days before the most important race of my life?"

He watches Charles closely, waiting for the usual deflection, the casual half-truth. But there’s a flicker of something else, something Max recognizes from years of knowing him—hesitation.

"What do you think?" Charles asks eventually, eyes fixed on the screen.

"I want to hear you say it."

Charles shifts, stretches out like he's trying to get comfortable, but Max knows him too well. Knows his typical stalling.

"Because if I did it after, people would talk about it all winter," Charles finally admits. His voice is steady, but his fingers tighten around the bottle. "I wanted it to get buried under the championship. Under you and Lewis and Abu Dhabi. The moment the race started, it stopped being the biggest story."

Max lets out a short laugh, bitter at the edges. "That's bullshit, Charles."

"Yeah, well." Charles shrugs, still not looking at him. "It worked," he mocks Max's accent to prove a point.

Max doesn't say anything at first. He doesn't have to. Charles is watching the match, pretending this conversation isn't happening, like he didn't just drop a piece of information that makes Max's stomach twist.

"You could have told me," Max mutters.

"Why? So you could stop me?"

"So I could—" Max stops himself. He doesn't know how to finish that sentence without saying something he shouldn't.

Charles glances at him then, just briefly. Like he knows. Like he always knows.

The tension settles between them, low and humming. The match is still going, but Max couldn't say the score if his life depended on it.

"You still think about it?" The tension builds, thick like syrup, slow like the inevitable. Max isn't sure when the football match turned into background noise or when Charles' presence became the only thing he could feel. It's always like this—Charles walks into his space, and suddenly, it belongs to him.

Max’s eyes flick to Charles. "Think about what?"

"That night."

Max grips the bottle tighter.

"You'll have to be more specific, Charles. We had a lot of nights." Adrenaline starts pumping thought Max's veins as he says it.

Charles rolls his perfect eyes, but there's something sharp in them. Something Max has no business chasing anymore.

"You know which one."

Max does. Of course he does.

"No, actually. Enlighten me." Max pushes, because he can't help himself. This new, older Charles is perhaps even more hard to pull away from that his shy past self.

Charles exhales, shaking his head. He's staring at the screen, but Max can see the tension in his jaw, the way his breathing has changed, just slightly.

"You really want me to say it?"

Max shrugs, feigning indifference. He should look at the match. He should leave it alone.

"I remember everything," Max says instead.

Charles' breath catches. Not much. Not noticeable. But Max sees it.

The air shifts. The silence turns into something else.

Charles' eyes flick to Max's mouth, just for a second. It's fast. Almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Max smirks, leans back slightly, but the tension doesn't break. It lingers, pressing against his skin.

"Good," Charles mutters.

And–fuck.

Max is a complete goner.

Something in Max shifts. He can't just sit here, left at complete mercy of the menace of Charles Leclerc. The man haunting his dreams and occupying his inappropriate daydreams. His competitiveness kicks in and takes over. He won't have Charles pushing him. In fact, he needs to be the one who will win this encounter. Have Charles either crumble beneath him or watch him run away, like he always does. It's obvious that Charles is moving on, unlike Max is. Time to claim him back.

Max leans back against the couch, feigning ease, even though every cell in his body is aware of Charles. The way he shifts and bends his legs. The way his fingers tap the bottle in his lap like he needs something to do with his hands. The way he still hasn't looked away.

Max lets the silence stretch, lets Charles sit in it, lets him wonder if Max is going to say something, if he's going to let him get away with this—the tension, the game, the deliberate little pushes.

Then, Max moves.

Nothing dramatic. Just a shift, just enough for their knees to knock together.

Charles doesn't move away. Of course he doesn't.

"You're staring," Max says finally, keeping his voice even.

Charles snorts, shaking his head. "Please."

"I'm serious," Max continues, turning his head slightly. "If you have something to say, say it. Now's the best time to.“

Charles exhales sharply, looking away like he's already regretting walking into this. "You do this every time," he mutters.

"Do what?"

"This." Charles gestures vaguely between them, frustrated in a way that has nothing to do with the match still playing on the screen. Max makes a face, like he's got absolutely no idea what Charles hints at. It earns him a loud sigh from the Monegasque. "Act like it's nothing, like you're not—" He stops himself, lips pressing together.

There it is. A crack in Charles' complex walls he's surrounded himself with. "Like I'm not what?" Max wants in - to say he wants to own Charles is a bit of overstatement, but in order to gain some self-respect back, he needs to see that Charles still reacts to his advances. That somewhere deep inside he still cares.

Charles clenches his jaw. Max can almost see the war happening inside him, the part of him that wants to let it go and the part of him that never could.

"Forget it," Charles mutters.

Max exhales, amused. Never. "Well, tell me—what exactly were you expecting when you stormed in here again?" Max asks, voice smooth, just edged enough to be a challenge.

Charles huffs, shaking his head. "I don't know." He exhales sharply, looking away. "Why would I have to expect anything. I felt sorry that you also can't race. Figured we might watch the race together.“

Max clicks his tongue, leaning in slightly, just enough to make Charles feel the shift, to make him aware of the space between them growing smaller. They both must know that is total bullshit, as they'd be required to watch it online with their teams. Also, the race is in two days.

"Yeah? You just happen to break into my apartment, just to say thank you?" He's pushing, he knows that. It feels like diving into a corner and hoping the other car backs down. Max feels alive again.

Charles glares at him, but it's weak, unfocused. "I never said thank you," his note letting a clear massage in that something like that will never happen. "And–I didn't break in."

"Right, because you sweet-talked my concierge into letting you in. What'd you do? Promise him race tickets?"

Charles scoffs. "Please, I’m much more persuasive than that."

"Oh, I know," Max says, and watches, satisfied, as something flickers in Charles' eyes.

The energy between them shifts, heavier, charged. Max can practically feel it rolling off Charles, like he's fighting something—his instincts, their history, maybe even himself.

Max almost has him. He just has to push a little more.

"You came here for something," Max says, voice lower now, deliberate. "So what was it?"

Charles doesn't move, doesn't pull away. His knee is still against Max’s. His grip is tighter around the beer bottle. A tell.

"You pulled out of a race," Charles mutters, voice tight. "You don't do things like that."

"I just did."

"Yeah, and I want to know why."

Max shrugs, like the answer is obvious, like he considers that whole question plain stupid. "Already told you. Didn't feel fair."

Charles lets out a short laugh, sharp and humorless. He tilts his head slightly, studying Max the way he studies telemetry - looking for weaknesses, for gaps.

"You don't give a shit about fair."

Max smirks. "I give a shit about you."

It lands. He can see the impact in the way Charles' fingers twitch, in the way his throat moves when he swallows. And then - something clicks in Charles' face. Max can almost hear it. Challenge accepted.

"Max Emilian," he says and it sounds like someone pulling a trigger. All the times he's called him like that flash in front of Max's eyes. And in most of those memories, they're lying naked, in some form of shape entangled in each other. Suddenly, it all feels very deliberate from Charles. "You promised once you'll never use games to get into my head."

Oh, Charles is good. Too good. "What do you want me to say?" Max counteracts, pushing forward, pressing Charles exactly where he knows it'll hurt, because it still feels like Charles is winning. "That I did it for you? That I wanted you to come here? That I knew the second I made that decision, you'd show up at my door just like you always do?"

The air between them tightens, the weight of the moment settling over them like a slow, inevitable collapse.

Charles exhales sharply, but he's still looking at him, still holding his ground.

Good. Max wants the fight. Needs it.

"Would that make you feel better?" Max asks, voice quieter now, like a hook thrown into the water, waiting for Charles to bite.

Charles' breath catches. His jaw tightens, his breathing shifts, but he doesn't move.

And then–his eyes flicker down. Just for a second. Just enough.

He’s looking at Max's mouth again. Checkmate.

A wildfire sparks low in Max's stomach, something hungry, something impatient. It would be so fucking easy.

He tilts his head slightly, letting the corner of his mouth twitch up, the ghost of a smirk. Licks his lips.

"Say it," Charles murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. A dare. A challenge. A mistake.

Max leans in just slightly, just enough to make Charles feel it, to test how much he can take, as close as he possibly can without touching Charles' face.

"Don't tell me you don't already know."

"We shouldn't."

"Then don't." But he does. Max manages to hold of temptation long enough for him to crack. The inevitable becomes real. One, two, three breaths later–finally–Charles caves in. He kills all the remaining space between them and presses his lips on Max's. Stays like that for a bare second before he start kissing Max's upper lip and there is not a moment of hesitation from Max. His Charles is back. Kissing him in a way so smooth and perfect the devil himself must have taught him. Max does not wait with his response. Their lips dance together and soon enough Charles slips his tongue into Max's mouth. Licks the top of his mouth and it still makes him crumble, just like it did two years ago. How can a thing you see coming from miles away still be a surprise once it stares in your face?

Images of all the times they'd kissed rush over in Max's mind, and then, just like that, it's all blank. Like coming home after a long a dreary trip. The forbidden fruit has always tasted the sweetest. Charles' lips will forever be the softest thing Max has ever tasted. His hands are finally again roaming Max's body and a temporary illusion, that they never really stoped clouds him mind. Max wouldn't mind savoring the moment and progressing slowly, but by the looks of it, he'd held Charles on the edge too long for that. The visitor once again shamelessly takes up all the space and before he can count two breaths, Charles' legs are locking Max's in. Hands on Max's shoulders, while he's busy pressing his own arms on Charles' back. As if to prevent him from running away again. Charles draws his hand around Max's jaw and then holds it firmly. This new feeling, a move Max has never seen from Charles before, takes him by surprise. As he twirls his tongue in his mouth and mercilessly sucks Charles', new images flood Max's brain. Charles being touched by random, faceless people. Foreign tongues exploring places once reserved for Max only. Charles learning moves from others and using them now on Max's own body. The language they'd developed throughout their shared nights being taught to strangers passing through his bed. Charles, stuck where he does not belong - in hands that are not Max's. Charles pulls away and it only stirs up Max's anger, that is building up in his chest, taking up space together with the breath he's holding. The hand on his jaw has moved to his neck and now rests on his collarbone, just above his heart. Max looks him in the eyes and demands the same from the guy strangling his hips. His eyes speak the secrets he's not brave enough to tell. I’m going to fuck out all memories of anyone else from the cute, devilish brain of yours.

He pulls him in harshly, and while Charles could protest and move away, he only matches and the tops his urgency.

Max feels Charles everywhere. Pinned to him, pressed against him, wrapped around him like he's never learned how to let go.

Max knows better than to let himself believe that.

Charles kisses like he's trying to win something, like he's trying to punish Max. His fingers dig into Max's shoulder, a grip that should hurt, but Max just smirks against his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip like he’s daring him to do more.

Charles always played like he had nothing to lose.

He pulls him in closer, one hand pressing into the small of Charles' back, sneaking below his t-shirt to touch him skin on skin, the other curling around his ribs, trapping him against him like he could keep him here, like he could make this last. Charles' breath stutters against his mouth, and Max feels a surge of satisfaction curl in his stomach.

"That all you got?" he mutters, voice rough, pulling back just enough breathe into Charles' neck.

Charles doesn't answer, just tugs harder at his shirt, pulling him deeper.

It's messy, all of it. Not romantic, not careful, just a tangle of heat and hands and unsaid things. Charles kisses like he's trying to erase something. Max doesn't know if it's himself or the ghosts of everyone else who came after, but his ego wins and opts for the latter.

But then Charles pulls away, and it's not hesitation, not retreat—it's calculation. His hand slides from Max's shoulder back to his throat, resting just at his collarbone, fingertips barely pressing down. A warning, a threat, a claim.

Max's vision tunnels.

He looks up, meets Charles' gaze, and there's something in his eyes that hits Max in the chest like a punch.

Like he's daring Max to say it.

The anger, the frustration, the unbearable, relentless craving - Max isn't built to hold it in.

"You think you're the only one who hates this?" Charles whispers, voice wrecked.

Max clenches his jaw. He does not know what exactly Charles is referring to, however he knows damn well what type of regrets prevent himself from a good night sleep. And loving Charles has never been one of them. It was always the moments he knew he didn't love him enough that haunt him. He bucks his hips up into Charles'. To prove he's at his mercy, again and probably as always. But saying it out loud would make it real.

So instead, Max growls, fingers tightening where they grip Charles' hips, pulling him in so sharply it knocks the breath out of him.

"Play pretend with someone who does not know you the way I do." And he means it. Charles can't fool him. Vice versa and for once, Max accepts that. "Now's the time to back out. I dare you to." Max waits, hovers his mouth just right next to Charles'.

Charles' lips part like he might answer.

Instead, he kisses Max again, harder, like he's trying to shut him up before he says something they can't take back. Max let's all if his inhibitions out. His dirtiest dreams are coming alive and he has Charles' on the tip of his tongue again. As Charles keeps their lips locked, Max leans him down to lie on the couch. He does not have to press too much, Charles goes down willingly. Max takes his chance before he second-guesses himself and moves his hands that are squeezing Charles' hips up, in order to get rid of the hoodie that covering the chest he plans on kissing. Once again, there is no protest on Charles' behalf and it only adds fuel in Max's eagerness. Soon enough, Charles is lying down, half naked and all for Max to take. He had his suspicions that with time, Charles has only managed to get hotter, but seeing the real-life proof is making his assumptions comically underwhelming. Max stares at his toned, grown up chest, hold his now broad shoulders and slowly starts kissing him up and down, from his ever-so-sensitive neck all down to his v-line. He's hovered over him and savors each and every quiet moan Charles grants him. The salty skin shivers under every peck and it does something really dangerous to Max's ego. When he feels Charles' hands that go from being tangled up in Max's hair reaching over to his own t-shirt, he dares to looks up at him. He's met with fiery look settled deeply in the dirty green eyes. His mouth parted, breath seemingly stuck in and pupils dialed up to Max. It's clear as a day. He's his, again. Max is searching for any hint of doubt in Charles' face as he obey his hints and removes his own t-shirt. But Charles is looking him up and down shamelessly, without any remorse, and it makes Max feel proud that he is the one who managed to capture attention of someone so divinely hot and attractive like Charles. He leans back down to nibble the thin skin just above the collarbone and wonders if this spot is still the one that makes Charles melt when touched. It must be, because his arms are now wrapped around Max's shoulders, pushing him down even more. Max reaches over to Charles' legs and guides him to wrap them around his hips. As he keeps kissing him on random spots on his chest and neck, he pushes his crotch onto Charles' and rolls his hips. Even through the thick fabric of his jeans, he can feel both of their hard-ons pressing on each other and it shoots pure lust into his veins.

"Max," Charles lets out in a series of muffled breaths. It's different than when he addresses his casually. Sounds more like a prayer. Max does not respond, instead he grips Charles' thighs even harder. To his amusement, Charles leans into this and rocks his hips up, practically grinding himself on Max. It makes him chuckle lightly.

"Look who's eager now," he whispers into Charles' skin.

"Fuck you, Max," Charles replies and keeps on moving his hips.

This has Max arching up on his arms, so that he can look down on Charles and hover over him. He examines him for few moments, drinks in every detail, because he might just be so unlucky to never see Charles like this again. He wants to photograph this flushed out look. "No, Charlie. Fuck you," He leans in, lips brushing against Charles' ear, voice dripping with challenge. He stands abruptly, offering Charles a hand, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. For a moment, Charles looks like he might be second guessing his decision, but soon enough he chuckles and accepts his hand.

"Terrible pun, Verstappen," Charles proclaims as he lets Max lead him over to the bedroom. The Dutchman turns around to flash him a smile followed by a simple answer.

"And yet..." Charles lets out a loud sigh and that's his only response.

Charles is in his bed again and nothing feels more like being home. Max is taking his time removing all of their remaining clothes and Charles lets him take the lead. He makes sure to turn on the lamp on his nightstand while he's at it.

Once they're in the bed, naked and uninhibited, something wakes up in Charles. Max has seen this side of him before, but never this heightened. No longer the somewhat passive figure he used to gradually become under Max's touch. He's not letting him do what Max wants anymore, he's cheeky, fighting back, pushing forward and then pulling right back. He's gripping his arms tightly, kissing and biting at the same time, one moment he's sitting on his lap, making Max anticipate the next move and then he drifts back and has Max having to reach out to pull him back to him. It's making Max worshipping him somewhat complicated. He wants to bend him over, fold him up like a napkin and make him scream out his name until his lungs run out of air. It should be thrilling, the push and pull of it. But something ugly coils in Max's stomach. Jealousy. Not of anyone else, but of Charles himself. Of the fact that he's this unbothered, this daring, this bold. Of the possibility that he's like this with others, too—and then, it comes back. The fear that Max is not the only one who gets to see him like this. He used to giggle under his touch, head his head back and let it all just happen. Now, instead of soft laughs, his smirks are silent, his moves more determined, calculated. It's like the youthful innocence is completely gone. Max presses harder in his kiss, as if hoping to get push some of that old Charles that lives in his memory back into the body that's holding him a bit too harshly.

And then Charles does something new. Something that feels taunting. He's sitting on Max's lap again, leans in, not for another kiss, but to drag his lips down Max's jaw, slow as hell, like he's tasting him. He doesn't press a kiss—just hovers, breath warm, teasing, infuriating. Then, just as Max starts to move, Charles' teeth graze the skin just beneath his ear and bite down, sharp.

Max's whole body tenses.

Charles fucking smirks against his skin.

Oh, so this is what we're doing?

His hands wander lower, nails grazing around his lower abdomen and finally reaching Max's dick. Max had imagined this moment thousands of times when he was alone in the middle of the night. But, Charles' touch is different. It's not his soft fingers playing with Max's skin, it's his nails brushing up and down and he ends his journey by squeezing his balls, up to a point where it's almost painful. All while having this undeniably whorish look on his face. But this time, Max does not find it alluring. There is something repulsive about it, vile and incredibly dishonest. He can't stop his thoughts creeping in, knowing that to anybody else, Charles' current look would seem like the ultimate invitation–come and get me. It should work on him too, maybe Max is the one who's broken beyond fixing. But everything inside screams too loudly to ignore. This is not the real Charles.

And then, as if to fully push Max over the edge, Charles' hand grips his throat—not tight, not enough to take control, just enough to test.

Max sees red. Before he even processes the thought, his body reacts. His hand shoots out, wrapping around Charles' wrist fast and tight, ripping it away from his throat like a challenge he refuses to acknowledge. The moment Charles' smirk widens, Max snaps.

He shoves Charles backward, forcing him down onto the mattress with a force that makes the whole bed shift. Charles lets out a breathless laugh, but it's cut off when Max grabs his jaw, tilting his head back sharply. Charles speaks before Max can gather his own thoughts into a sentence.

"Don't tell me you stayed so super vanilla this whole time," he speaks with tone spiked with un-like Charles cruelty. He pairs his statement with a seductive shuffle of his hips against Max's. He's trying to mock him, but Max somehow finds it in himself not get lured into this fake trap. Charles continues, when he does not get a reply. "Pain is a great way to have sex," he says and Max's stomach turns. Because yes, he completely agrees with that statement. He however has one big condition to it.

"It is, when it's not the only thing that makes you feel things."

Unlike Charles' words, Max's seem to land in the dead centre. Not that it makes it any better for him. His smile breaks just a tiny bit and Max feels his body tense down. It's a flicker, quick snapshot into the past.

"Stop being a smartass, Verstappen."

And just like that, Charles is gone again.

"Whatever you say, Charlie," Max concludes and decides to ignore the warning signs ringing off in his head.

He prompts Charles' legs up with more force than he'd normally use. Makes his way over to his hips and without anything else apart from his tongue, touches his cock up and down. Licks over the tip few times and the magic works quickly. Immediately, he is lost in the perfect shape again, his hunger for Charles stronger than ever. Max finds himself closing his eyes for a moment and allows his mind to drift back to when this was a normal occurrence in his life. When Charlie's legs were less toned and his pubes untrimmed. He puts one of his legs over his shoulder and uses his free hand to start roaming around Charles' hole. To his surprise, it is tightly shut, leaving it all for Max to get worked up. Nothing could make him more happier. He opens his eyes again and meets Charles'. It's somewhat less sour this time. His finger is drawing small circles around the opening and already it's doing something to Charles. Max observes, like he's afraid to miss any piece of information written over on his face.

"Tongue," Charles whispers so carefully it's almost cute. "Please." Max smiles and obeys him this time.

Immediate, he's tasting Charles with his tongue and plays it up together with his finger, that gently finds the way in. Max takes his time, cherishing every moment he gets to do this.

"More," Charles demands and Max finally leans over to grab his lube, shakes the bottle up, hoping it hasn't got that much stale, and lubes up his fingers before he adds a second one.

Charles is responsive, sure. His chest rises and falls too quickly, his lips parting on breathless sighs—but it's strangely controlled. Measured. Like he's rehearsed this reaction, like he's making sure it's just good enough to be convincing, distracting enough to fool anyone that desires him.

Max doesn't want good enough. He wants real.

He pulls back slightly, lips slick, breath warm, and tilts his head up to meet Charles' gaze. For a second, he's hopeful.

Charles' pupils are blown wide, his cheeks flushed, but there's something still lingering beneath the surface. Something wary.

"Charlie."

Max watches the way his throat bobs. The way his fingers flex on the sheets, curling, uncertain.

"You with me?" he checks, unsure he will believe the answer anyway.

Charles blinks. Just once. And it’s so goddamn fast, so practiced, Max almost wouldn't have noticed.

"Yeah," he says casually and leans up. "Don't stop now." His tone is encouraging, smile bright as the day. He moves up more and gestures Max to remove his fingers from him. Max does such without any objections, just watching whatever is happening below him. Charles turns around and arches his back down, sitting on his knees, hands crossed under his head. It's impossible to deny how hot this view is, Charles almost presenting himself like a little snack for Max to devour. Max does not spend too much time on thinking, instead he lubes himself up, strokes for few times and after what feels like a lifetime ago, slowly pushes his cock in. And it is just like it's always been. Overwhelming, divine and irreplaceable. He holds Charles by his hips and allows himself to drown in the feeling. The warm grip. The way he can feel every inch of Charles. He starts slowly moving in and out, making sure to hit up his prostate.

Charles start to whimper almost immediately. Moaning loudly, maybe too loudly Max thinks, but he does not let that affect his rhythm. He's picking up the speed and it does feel like being let back to paradise.

"Oh my God, you're so big, so good to me," Charles whines and grips the sheets hard. Max keeps pounding and watches as Charles keeps saying more words and with each new phrase Max feels less and less aroused.

That should be good. Hot and irresistible.

And yet—it's not.

Because something still feels off.

Because it's not real. For a split second, his hips slow, hesitation creeping into his bones like a bad omen. It's the tone with which Charles says it all. The way the words roll off his tongue too easily, too rehearsed, almost no matter what is actually happening.

"Keep going, oh, mon dieu."

The first time, it makes Max's stomach twist in pleasure. The second time, it makes it twist in doubt. By the third, it feels wrong.

Charles arches even further, pushes his ass up, angles himself into something almost obscene. Performing. Max watches him grip the sheets, moan like a fucking pornstar, whimper at every thrust.

Max knows what Charles sounds like when he's being fucked. He knows the sharp inhales, the stuttering moans, the way his voice gets caught in his throat when Max hits the right spot.

He knows how Charles used to whisper his name like a midnight wish, how he'd cling to Max's arms, leave bruises in his skin like he was trying to keep himself from floating away.

This isn't that. This is wrong.

Max grits his teeth, tries to push the thoughts away. Tries to focus on how Charles feels around him, how perfect, how warm, how familiar.

But then—"Fuck, baby, you're stretching me so good."

Max's whole body locks up. No.

No. That's not—that's not him.

"You like that, don't you?" Charles purrs, twisting his head just slightly over his shoulder, eyes lidded, expression sultry. Max freezes.

Because he's seen that exact look before. Not on Charles. Not on him at all. But on someone else. Someone Charles must have learned this from.

His hands go still where they grip Charles' hips.

"Charlie," Max breathes. His own voice doesn't sound like him.

Charles makes a high-pitched, needy little sound, grinding back against Max's cock, like he didn't even hear him.

Like he's acting through it.

Right. That's it. Enough. He pulls out almost violently and flips him over again. This obviously catches Charles off guard and Max is happy that he is now staring at a confused man, instead of this wannabe whorish persona that seems to have settled in.

"Stop whatever this is," he says sternly, his voice so strict it almost surprises him, but does not stop him. Charles watches him, dumbstruck. "You want pain? Is that the only thing that works on you anymore?"

No answer. Charles seems genuinely surprised.

I can tell you're faking something, Charlie. Max keeps this thought to himself. Instead he burns his stare into Charles' eyes, looking for answers that don't seem to be there.

"Fine," he says and mimics Charles previous move, licks his neck down to his shoulder and bites into his flesh. Hard. So hard that Charles hisses and then cries out in pain. Max holds on for just a little when he hears him and then releases his grip. Moves up back so that their faces are almost touching. Charles is breathing heavily and is obviously taken back.

"You with me finally?" Max asks in a tone that does not allow any room for more lies.

Charles nods few times, looking almost scared. Max shakes his head. This is not how they play.

"Real words, Charlie. Words and eyes, I know you can do it."

Gulp. "Yes, Max."

"Do you want to do this? For real this time? No bullshit?"

He waits as Charles tries cling onto these walls he built up. He fails. "Yes," he breathes out and it sounds almost desperate. But, honest.

At last, Max finally feels like he's getting through to him. As a reward, he leans over to kiss him hungrily. While he lets his tongue get sucked in by Charles, he gently brushes over the bite mark on his shoulder. He pushes down any notion of guilt. Strangely, for the first time this evening, Max is actually eager to proceed and fuck Charles. So, he does. Without breaking the kiss, he pushes himself inside again–and Charles falls apart in his arms. His body relaxes instead of tensing up, he lets himself be held and sighs into Max's mouth. Warmth spreads through Max's insides and this time, he can focus on the heavenly sensation that is fucking Charlie. He's gentle and slow at first, as if he's starting all over. Hovering over him, letting his breath hit hits cheeks, planting small kisses on his mouth. Then, he goes and makes Charles his again.

He pushes in and out, increasing the speed and while pleasure sets in as he looks into Charlie's eyes that seem to have some color in again, he thinks about all the other people Charles had been with and what could have made him turn into someone who would rather fake things than go and search for something real. He holds him tight and does not let his eyes look anywhere else but into Charles'. Soon enough, there is it–the soft whimpers that haunt his daydreams. Charles lets go and relaxes completely, Max feels it everywhere their bodies connect. Max's name starts to roll of Charles' tongue and it sounds like the greatest melody ever written.

And as he keeps moving and blood starts to leave his brain completely, lack of oxygen clouding his mind and unavoidable pleasure setting in, he can't stop his mouth from speaking.

"I will fuck anyone else out of your brain. You're mine. Always were and always will be." He's thrusting and Charles is clenching over him. Max is close. He tries to prolong the end as much as he can. Still so much to say.

"You and me, Charlie. No bullshit."

Heavy panting echoes under him. "Please."

"Charlie."

"Max."

"Charlie," he cries, almost in pain, but it's pure pleasure.

"Max," he joins and it's so sincere it almost hurts.

"Charlie."

"Max," he breathes and Max can see his eyes getting more and more glass-like. He does not reply anymore, he just watches. A tear forms in Charles' eye and slowly rolls down, leaving Max stunned.

"Color?" he asks automatically, worry slipping though his tone and he stops his moves once again.

"Orange," he gulps and swallows a sob. He blinks and for the first time this evening, it's like he's finally looking into the eyes of the Charles he knows. "Please, don't stop. I want to feel again," he pleas and it almost breaks Max too. It's like the key finally fits the lock. He rests his foreheads against Charles' and mindlessly kisses away the tear rolling off his cheek. I love you, Charles. Still. He desperately wants to allow these words to roll of his tongue for once, but his body is so used to stopping them and the muscle memory is a hard thing to beat.

"Me too," he says instead and slowly starts to move again. This time, he holds him tightly and makes sure to lock eyes with him. After, it was him who taught Charles to keep his eyes open when they'd fuck together. At least this stayed. A tiny mark Max left on his sweet, sweet Charlie.

Finally, Charles stiffs up in his arms and then comes all over their chests, without having to be touched. Max stops breathing and pulls out in the last second, before he inevitably joins him and stains Charles' chest and the sheets next to him.

It's pure exctasy. Max chases air back into his lungs, because it's starting to feel like he's going to black out just by the weight of the sensation only.

He collapses next to Charles, tingles running in every fingertip. It's just so much better in real life than when he tries to replicate this alone. He can't help himself but turn over to Charles again, lying face to face, hair stuck to his face with sweat. Only now he notices just ho good Charles smells. Unlike Max, Charles keeps his eyes glued to the ceiling, no smile on his face, more of a frozen expression painting his face. Max's come down from nirvana speeds up after he sees his face. There is still one lonely near tear rolling down. Was Max too intense again? Too much? He tries to reach for his hand, but he's quickly brushed off by Charles, who seems to wake up from his paralysis by this gesture, new emotion ruling his face. Max knows this one too. Determination. He's absolutely certain of what's to come now.

"Charlie," he whispers, but before he can even finish, Charles is smudging off the residue cum of his chest, moving frantically and gets up, making Max wonder, if his head spins by the sudden move.

"I can't do this," he mumbles with extra thick French accent creeping through and is dressed before Max can even blink. He barely manages to get up, as Charles nears the door.

"Charles!" Max wants to scream, but his voice fails him and cracks, making sound like a desperate calling, rather than a demand. As always, once Charles is on his way, nothing can stop him. Just like that, Max stands alone in his apartment, naked, confused and defeated. Again.

His fingers curl up into a fist and he punches the wall.

chapter 10

-------

@chezmardybum @biancathecool

23 notes · View notes

ari-ana-bel-la · 15 hours ago

Note

omg can you write one for Lewis where he makes a special helmet with some of the drawings his daughter has made for him, his helmet ends up having stars rainbows etc

A Helmet full of Art

The moment Lewis became a father, he knew nothing would ever matter more to him than his little girl, Yn. At just three years old, she had already captured his entire heart, filling his life with laughter, tiny hugs, and endless chatter about her favorite things. She was a bright little spark—curious, loving, and always eager to create something new.

And lately, that "something new" had been drawings.

Lewis had first noticed it when Yn would sit at the coffee table, her tiny tongue sticking out in concentration as she held a crayon in her chubby hands, dragging colors across the page with uncontainable enthusiasm. At first, her drawings were just a mix of squiggles and chaotic rainbows, but over time, they started to resemble actual things—flowers, cats, and even an attempt at drawing both of them together.

"Look, Daddy!" she'd exclaim every time she finished. "This one’s you and me!"

And every single time, Lewis' heart melted.

He was the kind of father who supported Yn in anything she wanted to do. If she decided tomorrow that she wanted to be an astronaut, he’d find her a tiny space suit. If she wanted to become a ballerina, he’d be at every recital. So when he saw how much she adored drawing, he went all in—buying her the best colored pencils, sketchbooks, and even a little artist’s apron.

But what he hadn’t expected was how much her drawings would come to mean to him. He kept every single one. The rainbow she had drawn with colors that didn’t quite follow the traditional order. The cat that had oddly shaped whiskers but still looked adorable. The one of them together, with his curly hair drawn way too big and Yn’s little stick-figure self holding his hand. The flowers and bees that she had proudly declared were for him because "you like flowers, Daddy!"

So when the time came for his first home race as a Ferrari driver, Lewis wanted his helmet to be special.

And there was only one thing that felt right.

The paddock was buzzing with anticipation. It was Lewis’ first home race wearing Ferrari red, and everyone knew he’d do something big. But no one expected what he revealed when he stepped into the garage on Friday.

"Alright, guys," Lewis said, grinning as he pulled the cover off his new helmet. "Meet my new favorite helmet ever."

The garage fell silent for a moment. Then—

"Oh my god," Charles breathed out, stepping closer. "Are these… Yn’s drawings?"

Lewis beamed. "Yep."

The helmet was a masterpiece. Instead of his usual bright yellow, it was now a canvas filled with his daughter’s art. Her rainbow stretched across the top, her wobbly cat drawing sat proudly on one side, the flowers and bees covered another part, and right at the back, a big, bold drawing of them together. It was messy, colorful, and absolutely perfect.

"You actually put them on your helmet," Carlos said, grinning. "Man, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen."

"She loves drawing," Lewis explained, running his fingers over the helmet. "And I love everything she makes. I wanted her to be part of this weekend somehow, and this felt right."

Oscar, who had just arrived, let out a low whistle. "This might be the most wholesome thing I’ve ever seen in F1."

Pierre nudged Max. "Admit it, even you think this is cute."

Max rolled his eyes but smirked. "Yeah, yeah, it's cute. Not as cute as my cats, though."

Lando burst out laughing. "I swear, you and your cats—"

"But seriously," George interrupted, shaking his head in admiration. "This is incredible, mate. I bet Yn’s gonna freak out when she sees it."

"She hasn't seen it yet," Lewis admitted. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

And oh, he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.

Later that afternoon, after all the practice sessions, Lewis finally had time to call home. He was sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, holding his phone in his hands, waiting for the call to connect.

The moment the screen lit up, Yn’s bright little face appeared, her curls bouncing as she gasped.

"Daddy!" she squealed. "Hi hi hi!"

"Hey, baby," Lewis grinned. "I’ve got a surprise for you."

Yn's eyes widened. "A 'prise? For me?"

Lewis laughed, turning his phone camera around to show his helmet. "Look at this, baby. Do you recognize these drawings?"

For a second, there was silence. Then, an excited shriek.

"THAT’S MINE! THAT’S MY DRAWINGS!" Yn shouted, practically bouncing. "Daddy, you put them on your hat!"

"Helmet, baby," Lewis chuckled, his heart swelling at her excitement. "But yeah, I did! Now, when I race this weekend, I’ll have you with me."

Yn clapped her hands together, eyes shining. "I love it! I love it, I love it, I love it!"

On the other side of the call, Yn’s grandmother laughed. "Lewis, you’ve just made her entire year."

"That was the plan," he said, winking.

Yn leaned close to the camera, her tiny hands gripping the screen. "Win with my pictures, Daddy!"

Lewis smiled softly. "I’ll try my best, baby girl. Just for you."

When Lewis walked into the paddock on Saturday with his helmet under his arm, the cameras instantly caught sight of it. And within minutes, social media exploded.

@F1: Lewis Hamilton’s helmet this weekend is covered in his 3-year-old daughter’s drawings, and we’re not crying, you are.

@SkySportsF1: Lewis dedicates his home race helmet to his daughter Yn, featuring her personal artwork. A touching tribute from the seven-time champion.

The media went crazy over it. Every journalist wanted to ask about it, every interview started with the same question:

"Tell us about your helmet this weekend, Lewis."

And every time, Lewis proudly explained.

"Yn loves drawing, and I love everything she makes," he said during a press conference. "I wanted to do something special for my first home race with Ferrari, and there was nothing more special than this. It’s my way of carrying her with me on track."

The fans adored it. In the grandstands, they held up signs with her drawings, and Ferrari even arranged for a little sketchbook to be placed in the garage for Yn to "design" future helmets.

By Sunday, it wasn’t just a helmet—it was a symbol of love.

As Lewis strapped himself into the car, he ran a hand over his helmet one last time.

"For you, baby girl," he murmured.

And then, with the whole world watching, he raced.

He raced with his daughter’s rainbow on his head, with her flowers and bees bringing color to the Ferrari red, with her little cat keeping him company through every turn.

And when he crossed the finish line in P1, the first thing he did after climbing out of the car was point to his helmet.

That night, when he called home again, Yn’s excited squeal nearly burst his eardrums.

"You did it, Daddy! My pictures won!"

Lewis laughed, feeling his heart swell. "Yeah, baby. We did it together."

And as far as he was concerned, that made this the most special win of his career.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-💙🦋

#f1 drivers as fathers #💙🦋#formula 1 #formula one #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x daughter!reader #dad!lewis hamilton #hamilton!reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #f1 x female reader #max verstappen x reader #oscar piastri x reader

363 notes · View notes

tommydarlings · 1 day ago

Text

Apocalypse | C.L

pairing: bbf!charles leclerc x verstappen!reader

warnings: reader under the influence of alcohol, mentions of sexual harassment, smut, soft&gentle!charles

w/c: 4.5k

summary: you were drunk, the little sister of a formula one driver and a hopeless romantic who hadn’t had any sex in a while — and maybe you also had a tiny crush on a specific driver in red who you coincidentally shared your favourite song with.

song recommendation: Apocalypse by Cigarettes after Sex

check this out: my masterlist <3 // my ko-fi to support me! <3 // my PayPal to support me! <3 // my Patreon to become a member! (get access to +65 works) // Save a Life carrd made by me! <3

Three Charles Leclercs… no, maybe two.

You weren’t sure anymore how many versions of that god forsaken man you saw but you were sure that it wasn’t only one at this point.

With wobbly legs and a tiny grin on your lips that you didn’t even really know where it came from, you stumbled over to your brothes friend before you crashed into his side as he talked to Lewis.

“Well hello you, little one,“ Lewis jokingly said with a giggle as soon as he saw you leaning into charles who quickly set his glass aside and caught your arms.

He was an asshole — but a caring one.

Charles looked down at you with furrowed brows, the loud music of the crowded club hurting your head as you tried your best to hear him over it.

“What’s gotten into you?“ he asked.

You grinned up at him, “clearly no dick lately which is actually-“

“Okay yeah yeah,“ charles mumbled more to himself before he told Lewis that he’s gonna take you him to which the Ferrari driver just nodded with his infamous smile.

Charles walked towards the doors of the club with you, dragging you by your arm but not in a way that it hurt.

He cleared his throat, “how much did you drink?“ the monaguesque glanced at you as he led you towards his Ferrari.

You sighed loudly before you groaned, almost as if you realised in what kind of state you’re actually in, “stopped counting-” but you only sighed again and closed your eyes as you two continued walking, “I actually never even started counting to be honest,“ you told him in all honesty.

Charles scoffed and shook his head, “I always have to take care of you at the end of the day — your brother is max verstappen! Can't he take care of you?“ he questioned.

You smiled briefly, “c’mon… don’t lie to me,” you looked up at him as you reached his car,

“you enjoy taking care of me, just admit it!“

He looked down at you and rolled his eyes with a sigh, “get in,“ he demanded as he opened the passenger door.

You two never really got along, at first you didn’t mind each other but then you just started bickering like teenagers and ever since then you simply disliked each other… did you still think that he was secretly one of the most attractive man you ever laid your eyes upon? Of course.

As you sluggishly got into the passenger seat of his car, Charles nonchalantly raised his hand and put it onto the bottom part of the roof of his Ferrari so you wouldn’t hit the top of your head.

But in your drunken state, you didn’t even notice the caring gesture — you sat down in the passenger seat and grinned up at him as he slammed the door shut.

“Why are you even taking me home? I’m not tired, you know?“ you looked at him as he hoped into his seat.

The Ferrari driver sighed again and started to drive the car into the direction of your flat, his eyes focused on the road while yours where still focused on him, “you’re wasted-”

“I’m not wasted, charlie!“ you interrupted him with a gasp.

He scoffed and almost cracked a little smile at the nickname, “stop calling me that.“

You grinned from ear to ear and leaned over the middle console, “why? I think the name fits you really well, charlie.“

Your 'caretaker' of the night rolled his eyes, “I think it sounds ridiculous, so quit it, yeah?“ he glanced at you for the first time since you got into the car.

You noticed his intense gaze on you for a few seconds before you looked away, both of you embarrassingly blushing a tiny bit now.

After a couple of minutes, you spoke up again,

“I’m cold,“ you sighed quietly before you hugged your figure, you were only wearing a rather short dress.

Charles sighed and briefly closed his eyes before he cleared his throat, “There should be a hoodie laying on the backseat,“ he mumbled in a deep tone, his eyes looking straight ahead.

You swiftly unbuckled your seatbelt and got your knees up on your seat before you turned around and grabbed the big piece of clothing.

But both of you knew that you were a tease.

So you stayed in that bend position for a bit longer and slowly wiggled your ass for a few seconds.

And as soon as he noticed that you did all of this on purpose, he gulped before he released he deep breath, his fingers wrapping tightly around the wheel, his knuckles turning white at this point.

“You got it?“ he asked, his eyes trying his best to keep his eyes on the road and not the curves of your ass and hips.

You smirked, the hoodie obviously still in your grasp, “mhmm, I can’t find-”

“Sit back down,“ he demanded suddenly.

You gulped now as well, “But I-”

“Sit. back. down. now,“ Charles told you, his tone still deep and demanding and this time you obeyed and slowly sat back down.

After you quickly put the hoodie over your head, you looked at him again, it’s almost as if you couldn’t get enough of staring at him.

“Something on my face?“ he asked quietly, his tone sounding softer again.

You grinned again, it was that typical girly grin you always wore when you were drunk, “yeah, a bit of a pink blush, leclerc,“ you whispered.

He briefly glanced at you before he adjusted his posture in his leather seat and put his eyes back on the road ahead, just shaking his head.

The rest of the ride was silent, you unintentionally nuzzled more and more into his hoodie as you kept your eyes on your window, watching the other cars and buildings pass by.

———

“You got your keys?“ Charles asked you as you both walked towards your front door of your apartment.

You nodded, “yeah, of course,“ you got your keys and unlocked the door before you both walked into the direction of the elevator, to your surprise it was pretty filled up with other people that lived here with you.

Charles stepped into the elevator as well, being right behind your smaller figure as you tried to squeeze into an empty corner with him.

To your surprise, Charles gently placed his hand on your lower back and led you into that one corner, staying very close to you.

As the elevator closed its doors and took off, some old man — that you’ve only seen a couple of times before, scooted closer to you…

You gulped and glanced up at Charles who already narrowed his eyes at the old man and in the surprisingly softest way possible, slowly put his hand around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your hands unintentionally landing on his chest as the side of your face grazed his shirt.

Very gently, you fisted his shirt and leaned a tiny bit more into him, both of you now crammed up in this one little corner.

You two were never this close before, and you honestly thought that you’d never be this close to each other.

“Just stay close, yeah?“ Charles whispered, his hand now holding your waist a tad tighter, pulling you impossibly close to him.

As your hands slid unintentionally down to his abs, you sighed quietly, “where else should I go, hm?“ you raised your brows as your fingertips felt his muscles.

He even smirked for a quick second, his eyes still on the older man though, “touché,“ your brother's friend nodded.

But suddenly, the older men took a step closer to you, his eyes shamelessly scanning your legs that were a bit exposed due to your dress and Charles’s hoodie which were both not very long.

You gulped and immediately leaned more into the formula one driver's chest but Charles had other plans.

His hand left your waist and he carefully shoved you into the corner behind him before he stepped in a protective manner in front of you, his eyes staring straight ahead at the older men, his facial expression pretty tense.

And even though he wasn’t saying a single word to the annoying man next to the two of you, his eyes clearly spoke volumes.

You gulped and bit your lip, really trying your absolute best to hide a grin before you tiredly leaned against his muscular back.

Luckily, the older man finally got the message and cleared his throat before he turned his back to charles.

Disgusting male creatures, or animals you would rather say — you rolled your eyes.

Then you looked up at charles again after he turned around, your hands laying lightly on his chest.

Men — you grinned for a split second.

Not even a minute later you were able to walk out of the elevator, your brothers best friend walking behind you again, his big hand hovering over the small of your back.

After a few stumbling steps, you finally reached your apartment door and unlocked it, still swaying a bit from side to side but charles was caring enough to put his hands on your waist each time you almost fell to the floor,

“Be careful, please…“ he told you in a quiet but warning kind of tone.

You giggled before you walked inside your apartment, charles following you and closing the door behind him.

You swiftly locked it again before you threw your keys onto the nearest surface and messily took your heels off, almost falling once again.

“Careful, I said!“ he scolded you like a child as he caught you by your waist before he sighed and picked you up, carrying you over to the couch where he gently sat your figure down.

You mumbled a quick, 'thanks' before you also removed your second heel and tossed them carelessly to the side.

Charles crossed his arms as he watched you as you closed your eyes and leaned backwards, seeming pretty exhausted.

Your dear caretaker cleared his throat, “so you’re just gonna lay here now and wait until you fall asleep?“

You shook your head and looked up at him,

“No… I actually want to take a bath,“ you replied quietly but in a serious tone, you weren’t joking around now.

He raised his brows in surprise, “A bath? A hot bath? Right now? While I’m here?“ he wanted to clarify if you even understood what you just said to him.

You nodded and hummed, “yeah, I really need that now,“ you said under your breath.

Charles glanced at his watch, “it’s almost two in the morning,” his tone got quieter.

But you only shrugged, you knew it was pretty late already but you simply didn’t care.

Charles sighed before he slowly walked towards your bathroom, “yeah, c’mon, get up.”

You grinned up at him before you slowly lifted your arms up — you were rather demanding and stubborn when you were drunk.

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “I know you’re drunk but you can’t be that-”

But you only leaned forward and lightly smacked his chest — which was secretly just an excuse to touch his muscles again but he didn’t need to know that.

“Ow!“ he furrowed his brows for a second before he released a long sigh and picked you up — and god was it hard to hide your giggle as he carried you almost like a child towards your bathroom.

“You’re just like your brother, you know that? Extremly stubborn and wants everything to be handed to her on a silver platter,“ he mumbled more to himself as you put your arms properly around his strong neck.

“We’re siblings, charlie,“ you heard him scoff at the nickname but you just continued, “of course we act the same,“ you clapped back.

Charles stepped into the bathroom with you in his arms and quickly filled your bathtub with hot water.

You watched him, still clinging onto him like a little girl even though you would have never clung onto him like that if you were sober,

“Can you add some bubbles?“ you pointed at the bottle with the lemon scent.

The formula one driver set you carefully down onto the floor before he added some bubbles.

He focused on the bubbles slowly covering the water, “you can undress yourself, I won’t look I promise,“ he murmured under his breath.

You gulped before you slowly removed his big hoodie and your dress.

Then you just stood there and watched how he slowly ran his hands through the steaming water before you unhooked your bra and took your panties off, putting the small pile of clothes to the side for now.

After a couple more seconds, Charles finally stood back up, his eyes still trained on the bathtub before he wiped his hands on a towel, “I’ll wait outside, okay?“ he asked quietly.

You nodded, “yeah,“ you whispered before you walked towards the tub — Charles swiftly turned around and walked with slow steps towards the door as he heard you stepping into the hot water behind him.

Just when his hand touched the door handle, your words made him stop in his tracks,

“Charlie?“ you loved the nickname, you couldn’t help it, “can you stay here with me? Next to the tub? I don’t want to be alone right now,“ you whispered so quietly he almost couldn’t understand you properly.

You weren’t sure if you just craved his presence because you were drunk or if you actually needed him by your side now.

You only knew that it started to hurt in your chest as soon as he stepped towards the door.

Charles's hand slowly slipped off of the handle before he turned his head, eyes still trained on the floor,

“Are you sure? You’re dru-,”

“I’m sure, charles,“ you told him quietly, your arms resting on the edge of the tub.

He cleared his throat and slowly nodded before he turned around and looked at your figure hiding beneath the bubbles, his eyes darkening for a brief moment before he stepped towards the bathtub.

He crouched down next to you, his eyes staying straight on your face, not daring to look elsewhere.

You looked at him with doe eyes, your chin laying comfortably on your arms.

“Why?“ he suddenly murmured, his eyes glancing at your lips, your eyes too mesmerising for him.

You still had a bit of alcohol in your system so you smirked and god it drove your brothers best friend wild, “Why what?“ you whispered.

Charles sighed, “Why all of this? Why did you fall in my arms tonight? Why-”

“Because you have the only pair of arms I would allow to catch me,“ you interrupted him in a soft tone.

He almost gasped at your words, his body sinking to his knees now, his face at the same level as yours, “and why do you want me by your side now?” He asked with his brows furrowed.

With a tiny smile, you answered his desperate question,

“I don’t want you,“ he was almost not even able to hear your voice, “I need you — I feel like I fucking need you and I don’t even know why.“

You still couldn’t stop smiling a tiny bit, your own words sounded crazy and you knew that but you also couldn’t lie to him, you couldn’t hide your feelings, you were always bad at that.

The formula one driver gulped, his eyes still not going any further down than to your lips.

“You’re my best friends sister,“ charles mumbled, probably talking more to himself — but you only nodded,

“I know,“ you replied quietly, “I may be younger but I’m not dumb, charlie.”

Charles sighed and shook his head, “What do you expect from me now?“ his voice was embarrassingly quiet as well, as if you were both scared to speak up.

You smiled softly and tilted your head to the side before you started to hum a song, your eyes glancing down at his lips.

The formula one driver briefly furrowed his brows as you started to hum a well known song, “apocalypse? Cigarettes after sex?“

You nodded, “you know that song?“

He nodded as well before you spoke up again,

“How do you know it?“ you looked into his gorgeous eyes again — Charles averted his gaze from your face,

“Well it’s your favourite song isn’t it?“ he whispered, making your brows shoot up in surprise.

You cleared your throat, “yeah… it is,“ you nodded along before you grinned at him again,

“Wha-“

“You leapt from crumbling bridges watching cityscapes turn to dust,“ you suddenly started singing in a hush tone.

Charles chuckled and shook his head, “I’m not singing, there’s-”

“Filming helicopters…“ you waited for him to continue the line — and as soon as he looked into your eyes, the entire song began to play in his head,

“Crashing in the ocean from the way above,“ — he continued in a hush tone, his brows slightly furrowed.

You nodded with a tiny blush, “Got the music in you, baby, tell me why.”

He cracked a smile, “Got the music in you, baby, tell me why,“ he glanced at your lips before back into your eyes.

“You’ve been locked in here forever and you just can’t say goodbye,“ you also found yourself glancing at his lips.

He sighed, but it was more of a happy sigh, maybe mixed with a bit of 'what-the-hell-am-I-doing-here?',

“Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers wrapped in your arms,“ Charles slowly leaned in pressed his lips ever so gently against your forehead.

You smiled before you simply continued, trying your best to get the words out without stuttering, “You’ve been hiding them in hallowed-out pianos left in the dark.“

Charles closed his eyes, his forehead barely touching yours as his hand was softly laying on the back of your wet neck, “Got the music in you, baby, tell me why,“ he whispered.

You dared to lean in a bit more, the tip of your noses touching each other, “Got the music in you, baby, tell me why.”

“You’ve been locked in here forever, and you just can’t say goodbye,“ he went on, not moving an inch away from your face which was dangerously close.

With slightly dilated pupils, you glanced up at him, “your lips, my lips, apocalypse,“ you grazed your lips carefully against his.

It was like a cat caught his tongue for a short and sweet second before he actually continued letting the romantic words roll off of his tongue, “your lips, my lips, apocalypse.”

And then he finally made it happen, he tenderly crashed his soft lips against yours, it was slow and almost careful but still with a hint of something you were only able to call desperation.

At the first connection you pulled your head back a tiny bit but Charles chased your mouth as if it was the only thing keeping him alive at this point.

At the second connection of both of your lips, you leaned in, almost making him fall backwards but he quickly held onto your slightly wet elbow and leaned in as well, your noses squished against each others but you couldn’t care less at the moment.

And at the third connection you both smiled, grinning against each others lips as if you were two teenagers that just shared their first kiss.

And then the distance between you two suddenly bothered you — so you grabbed him by his upper arms and awkwardly pulled him with all your strength into the tub with you.

“What are you-? No!“ but it was too late already, his clothed body landed on top of your soaked and bare one, his hands going to either side of your hips to steady himself, his forehead clashing lightly against yours but you didn’t mind.

And you only laughed unstoppably, throwing your head back in ecstasy, your arms around his neck, soaking his skin and the top of his shirt.

And god he wanted to have the sound of your sweet laugh to be stuck in his head for forever and ever, until death comes and collects him.

“Oh god!“ he laughed loudly as well, joining your sweet melody before he put one of his wet palms onto your waist under the hot water, his fingers digging lightly into your skin.

Then you looked at him and crashed your lips eagerly against his once again, your palms cupping his cheeks.

And he did the same, kissing you with tenderness but still hungrily while the water in tub swayed from side to side next to your bodies.

Obviously the floor was a bit wet now as well from when you pulled him so swiftly into the tub with you but you decided to take care of that later, you were way too busy with him now.

You giggled against his soft lips, “sorry, I couldn’t help it!“ your thumb stroked his cheek.

Charles shook his head and smiled as well, his dimples showing the cutest way possible, his hand that is under the hot water and placed gently upon your skin not daring to go any lower.

You always knew that he was a gentleman.

As he felt your thumb stroking his skin, the thumb that’s laying on your waist also started to slowly caress your wet skin,

“It’s okay, you just surprised me a bit because I didn’t expect it,“ he mumbled against your lips before he kissed them again.

The two of you continued making out like teenagers that were hopelessly in love — maybe you two were but it was probably still too early for that — but then he slowly scooted back on his knees and pulled you with him so your naked and wet figure was sitting comfortably on his lap.

You bit your lip as you bare pussy touched his pants, your hands slowly going down to his belt, “off?“ he asked quietly.

And you only nodded with a quiet whine — the next thing you knew was that he unhurriedly opened his belt and slid his pants and boxers down, just enough to free his already hard cock.

You shortly looked down and aligned your entrance with his already leaking tip — but before you could sink down on him, Charles gently grabbed your chin and made you look into his eyes,

“Want you to look at me,” he mumbled before he helped you sitting down on him, his palms softly squeezing your hips.

While you bit your lip and only groaned quietly, Charles quickly parted his lips and released a deep moan, his brow furrowed as he looked at you with desperate eyes, “oh my god,“ he threw his head back.

“Wanted this for so long,“ you leaned forward and kissed his exposed neck, slowly bouncing up and down on him, your hands on his broad shoulders.

He wrapped his arms around your wet waist and pulled you closer, your breasts lightly squished against his still clothed chest, “me too, god,“ he groaned and bit your shoulder.

After you started whining at the deep sensation, you hugged his head, forcing the formula one driver to bury his face into your neck which he obviously didn't complain about.

“Tu te sens si bien, chérie,“ you feel so good, sweetheart, the monaguesque moaned quietly into your ear.

You gulped before you lightly parted your lips and gasped — did he just really call you sweetheart?

You continued moving up and down on his slick cock, your fingers pulling lightly on the hair on the back of his head, “did you just call me sweetheart?“

With teary eyes but a tiny smile, you turned your head to look at him, “hmm?“ you needed an answer.

Charles gulped heavily before he finally answered, his voice quiet and deep,

“You know I did, don’t act like you don't,“ he grinned a bit, his wet fingertips running along your bare back, his lips going back and forth on your collarbone.

You nodded before you whimpered, your hands going down to his shoulders again while his big hands went down to your hips, his fingers squeezing your lower back.

It was really funny to you how he didn’t dare to touch your ass yet, or generally go any lower with neither his hands nor his gaze.

But then you suddenly felt his lips softly kissing the top of your breasts, kissing your wet skin each time you sank down on him, there and then still releasing a deep moan.

In the meantime, you buried your face in the top of his head, his soft hair touching your cheek, nose and mouth.

Charles switched between kissing your right and left breast, “don't stop please,“ he squeezed his eyes shut and growled quietly, making you smirk a bit before you groaned as well.

“I won’t,“ you shook your head with a whine, it was all very gentle and loving but the sounds of your wet hips slapping together was more than sinful.

Your legs trembled under water, your wet hands cupping his cheeks to lift his face so that you could kiss him slowly.

Charles raised his brows in surprise as you softly connected your lips with his, his big hands running along your back as your movements stuttered a bit due to how close you were.

And he noticed, “me too, I’m so close,” he nodded along his words, his brows furrowed, his plumb lips parted and his hands gripping your waist and the back of your neck tighter.

“Oh, fuck!“ you moaned against his mouth, your orgasm crashing over you like a tsunami while Charles groaned deeply and panted heavily, his high also washing over his entire body with surprising intensity.

The formula one driver ran his fingertips down your back, taking deep breaths to calm himself down as you continued occasionally clenching around him, “Everything okay?“

You slowly nodded into his neck, “yeah, I’m… perfect,“ you smiled a bit and turned your head to look at him, one of your hands cupping his cheek.

His little dimples were on full display again as he smiled up at you, his thumbs gently stroking your hip bones, “Tu es si belle,“ you’re so beautiful, the monaguesque mumbled under his breath.

You furrowed your brows with a grin,

“I-,“ you laughed, “I don’t understand any french, charlie!“ you playfully smacked his wet chest, “what did you just say?“

He ironically wiggled his eyebrows, “who knows?“ Charles chuckled — you rolled your eyes and bit your lip before you rolled your hips under the water, obviously wearing a cocky smirk while doing so.

Charles gasped for a brief second and glanced down before he put his eyes back on your pretty face, brows furrowed and lips parted, just like earlier.

Wow, you literally only rolled your hips.

“I said you’re beautiful!“ he quickly blurted out, his wet hands squeezing your hips.

You bit your lip and giggled, “well thank you baby,“ you pecked his lips but he swiftly pulled you closer for a proper and deeper kiss.