#cl16: 2025 australian gp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

landoughnut · 29 days ago

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My Protector

♡ masterlist - request

♡ pairing - charles leclerc x fem!reader

♡ summary - charles won't allow people to speak poorly of his girlfriend, and neither will the other drivers

♡ warnings - protective bf charles, protective platonic grid, rude journalists

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.6k | girl dinnerrrr

The Monaco paddock was always chaotic, but today felt different. You could feel the tension in the air as you walked past the Ferrari garage, hearing snippets of whispered conversations and catching sideways glances from the media personnel.

The familiar scent of rubber and fuel that usually brought you comfort now seemed to mix with something more toxic – speculation and judgment.

"...just a distraction..." "...PR stunt..." "...affecting his performance..." "...can't focus with her around..."

Your stomach twisted. The headlines had started appearing after Charles' podium in Barcelona last weekend. What should have been a moment of celebration had turned into a big thing of speculation, with certain journalists suggesting your relationship was the reason he hadn't secured pole position instead of just a podium.

The fact that the Ferrari's pace genuinely hadn't been there for pole seemed irrelevant to them. You'd seen the social media posts, the opinion pieces, the "expert" analyses of how Charles' racing line had changed since you entered his life – as if your presence somehow affected the physics of his car.

You adjusted your Ferrari team pass, a movement that had become almost nervous lately. Eight months into your relationship with Charles, and this was the first time you'd faced such intense scrutiny. Sure, there had always been paparazzi photos and social media speculation, but this felt different – more personal, more accusatory.

You thought back to the previous night, how Charles had held you close in his apartment, promising that it would all blow over soon.

"They're just looking for stories," he'd said, his fingers tracing patterns on your back. "They do this every season. Remember when they said Fernando was too old? Or when they claimed Max had lost his edge after settling down? It's all nonsense."

But standing here now, under the weight of dozens of judgmental stares, his words felt distant. You clutched your coffee cup tighter, the warmth seeping into your palms providing little comfort.

The same coffee shop where you and Charles had first met – where he'd literally crashed into your life, sending your original drink flying all over your favorite shirt. The memory usually made you smile, but today it felt like ammunition for those claiming your relationship was somehow created by PR teams.

You were about to duck into the Ferrari hospitality area when a microphone was thrust in your face. The reporter – one you recognized from a particularly nasty article last week – wore an expression of barely concealed hostility. Behind her, several other journalists gathered like sharks sensing blood in the water.

"Is it true that Ferrari PR orchestrated your relationship with Charles Leclerc to improve his public image after his difficult 2024 season?" The reporter's voice was sharp, accusatory. "Sources suggest the timing was very convenient. And what do you say to fans who believe you're compromising his focus on the championship?"

Your heart pounded. The memory of your first real meeting with Charles flashed through your mind – how he'd accidentally spilled coffee on you in that little Monaco café, how he'd insisted on buying you a new shirt, how you'd ended up talking for hours about everything except Formula 1.

How he'd been so nervous asking for your number that he'd nearly knocked over a second coffee. How your first date had been at a tiny restaurant far from the glamorous spots he usually frequented, because he wanted somewhere quiet where you could really talk. Nothing about it had been orchestrated or planned.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air like a knife.

"That's enough." Charles' tone was ice-cold, nothing like the warm, playful voice you were used to. He stepped between you and the reporter, his usually gentle features set in hard lines. "You can question my driving. You can criticize my strategy calls. But you do not get to fabricate stories about my personal life or harass the woman I love."

The reporter stumbled back, but pressed on. "But Mr. Leclerc, your qualifying performances since beginning this relationship—"

"Have nothing to do with his relationship," Max Verstappen's Dutch accent interrupted as he appeared beside Charles. The Red Bull driver crossed his arms, looking thoroughly annoyed. "Maybe focus on the actual racing instead of making up stories? Charles has been driving better than ever – or did you miss the battle we had in Barcelona? Because I certainly haven't forgotten how hard he made me work for that win."

"The media's treatment of partners in this paddock has always been disgraceful," Lewis Hamilton added, joining the growing circle of drivers. His voice carried the weight of experience, of having seen this pattern repeat too many times. "We're here to race, but we're also human beings with real relationships. This needs to stop. The constant scrutiny of our personal lives, the baseless accusations – it's not journalism, it's harassment. I've seen too many relationships strained or broken because of this kind of pressure, and it's unacceptable."

Charles' hand found yours, squeezing gently. The gesture said everything words couldn't – I'm here, I've got you, we're in this together. You squeezed back, drawing strength from his presence, from the familiar calluses on his palm, from the subtle way his thumb stroked your skin.

"For the record," Charles addressed the now-silent group of journalists, his voice carrying the quiet authority he rarely showed outside of the cockpit, "my relationship is not up for discussion. My performance this season? Six podiums, two wins. If that's what you call being 'distracted,' then maybe I should have been distracted years ago."

His accent grew slightly stronger with emotion, something that only happened when he was truly passionate about what he was saying. "And since you're so interested in timing, let me tell you about timing. The timing of meeting someone who makes you want to be better, who supports you through the hard days, who understands the pressure and still loves you anyway – that's not something any PR team could orchestrate."

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. Even Lando Norris, who was passing by, couldn't help but grin.

"Mate, if anything, she's made you faster," Lando called out. "Remember when you were single and finished P4 in Saudi? Dark times, dark times indeed. Besides, have you seen them together? If that's PR, then I need to fire my entire media team."

You couldn't help but smile as the tension broke. Charles turned to you, his green eyes soft again, the protective anger melting into that familiar warmth that made your heart skip. A strand of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead, and this time, you didn't resist the urge to brush it back. His eyes darkened slightly at your touch, and before you could process what was happening, he pulled you close.

The kiss wasn't planned or polished for the cameras. It was real and a little messy and perfect – the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn't. His hands cradled your face with the same precision he used on the steering wheel, but so much more tender.

You could feel his heart racing against your palm where it rested on his chest, could taste the mint from his morning coffee, could hear the surprised murmurs and camera clicks around you. But none of it mattered, because Charles was kissing you like you were the finish line he'd been racing toward all his life.

When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours. "Je t'aime," he murmured, just for you. "Let's get some coffee before practice? There's that little place around the corner... unless you're worried I'll spill it on you again?" His playful smile was back, the one that had made you fall for him in the first place.

As you walked away, his arm protectively around your waist, you could hear Carlos Sainz expertly deflecting the remaining reporters with his characteristic charm. "My teammate's relationship? Why don't we talk about the new upgrades instead? They're much more interesting, I promise you. Or we could discuss how Charles has actually improved his tire management this year – which, by the way, happened after he met her, so maybe we should be thanking her?"

The paddock might be a pressure cooker of speculation and drama, but in moments like these, it felt more like a family – one that protected its own. Even Pierre Gasly, passing by with his race engineer, gave you a supportive nod. "They're just jealous," he said loud enough for the lingering journalists to hear. "Charles is driving better than ever, and they can't stand that their narrative doesn't fit."

Later that afternoon, you watched from the Ferrari garage as Charles attacked the Monaco streets with precision and passion. Each sector time flashed green, then purple. The garage held its collective breath as he crossed the line for his final qualifying lap.

"Pole position, pole position!" his race engineer's voice crackled over the radio. "P1, Charles, P1! Absolutely magnificent lap!"

In parc fermé, he pulled you into another kiss, this one full of adrenaline and joy and full of love. His race suit was damp with champagne from the celebrations, but you didn't care. This was your Charles – not the media's version, not the speculation's target, but the man who had stolen your heart in that coffee shop and continued to amaze you every day.

"See?" he whispered in your ear, still holding you close. "You're not a distraction. You're my strength. My lucky charm. My everything."

The next day's headlines would focus on his blistering lap time, his masterful sector three, his perfect strategy. The negative articles seemed to vanish in the face of his success, though you knew they might return. But it didn't matter anymore – not when you had Charles, not when you had the support of the entire paddock family.

And if anyone still thought you were a distraction, well, the trophy sitting in Charles' Monaco apartment would beg to differ.

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rex-rambles · 27 days ago

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➤ SOMETHING FISHY (SMAU + FIC)

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: you dress up as a mermaid for your niece's birthday, and end up rescuing a f1 driver that's convinced you're the real thing

wc: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of a minor injury - photos from pinterest

➤ MASTERLIST

Your niece wasn't your niece by blood, but that didn't matter. You had been there for your best friend through pregnancy, through labour, through the late nights when Ruby was just a newborn, and now that she was four? She was your niece in every sense of the word, which meant what Ruby wanted, Ruby got.

Even if it was you dressing up as a mermaid for her birthday. You had rented the tail from some costume shop near the beach, set yourself up on some rocks near the shore for them to "discover" you as they stormed across the beach, more of a hunt than a party as you watch them. When they get close enough, you happily push yourself up on the rock, waving at them, and they gasp in unison.

"It's a mermaid!" One of the younger girls says, quite easily believing in the fantasy of it all, and your best friend helps them up the rocks to sit near you, and instantly, there are little hands everywhere, grabbing the tail, the shells woven into your hair, but Ruby? Ruby is perched right in front of you, beaming with her gap teeth.

"I told you!" She says, clapping her hands together. "A real live mermaid!" Then, she leans in close to whisper, "I know it's you, auntie."

"Nonsense," You say, gently splashing some water up at her. "I have no idea who this aunt is you speak of. I am a Mermaid, of the Coral Sea."

"Coral Sea is up North," Your best friend scolds softly. "I think you mean Pacific?"

You flick water up at her with a grin. "I travelled a long way to get here. Coral Sea."

"Are you tired?" One of the little boys asks, now intently trying to braid your hair and failing.

"No, I made sure to get plenty of rest for your big day! I hear a certain someone is turning five!" Ruby happily shows off her birthday sash as your best friend begins to take some pictures. "I asked some of the other mermaids to join me, but they thought it was just too far."

"Like Ariel?" Another little one asks, as you gently try to guide her away from ripping one of the fins of your tail off.

"Well, she lives much farther away! More like...Siren-a?" You pull the fake name out of nowhere, but they all seem to accept it as fact, before returning to their questions.

It was a precious thing, you think, getting to do this for them. They might not believe in mermaids for much longer, but for an afternoon, you get to be a real, live mermaid, taking pictures and reciting facts about fish and shells you memorized this morning. You get to hand out little mermaid-themed gifts, wave to those wandering by who also happen to stumble across a mermaid. It was a perfect afternoon, you think, until the waves picked up.

"Oh, my." You say as they creep up on the rock, gently spraying the group with the salty water. "Seems like Poseidon is eager for me to get home!"

"Aw, but Auntie-" Ruby pauses, sparing a glance to the other girls, "But Mer-Auntie, we don't want you to go!"

"I'm sure you have snacks waiting for you back home! I hear you got a special cake, made of sea sponges!" They all pause to look at you, and you try to put on your best Little Mermaid impression. "Sponge cake? Isn't that sea sponges?"

"No, silly! It's just cake." The waves pick up again, but this time, a hand appears at the edge of the rock with it, and the girls scream as they stumble away.

For a moment you're terrified it's not attached to anything, but there's a person hanging off the edge of the rock, obviously washed in with the waves, and you and your best friend quickly grab him and pull him up onto the rock as he coughs up water. He's breathing, considering he's coughing, but he's clawing at his chest to get his life jacket off, which you quickly help remove to get some pressure off his chest.

"It's Prince Eric!" Ruby shouts, coming to splash in the water next to the poor man. "Like the story!"

"That's not Prince Eric, sweetheart." Then, gently from below you,

"Ariel?"

Charles wouldn't call himself a gifted surfer, but he'd say he was alright. Good enough to take on the waves of one of Melbourne's beaches before the race weekend. He wasn't alone, either, an instructor and some friends joining him, and for most of the morning, it was fine, in fact, it was better than any of his previous surfing had gone.

And then the waves picked up. He hadn't expected it, easily overtaking him and forcing him under with the current, and he had thought he was going to drown until he hit up against a rock and desperately tried to claw his way up it against the force of the tides and waves, board lost somewhere in the water below him.

Spots began to appear in his vision as he almost broke the surface, and quickly, people pulled him from the water, helping him up onto the rock as he gasped for air, choking up the sea water and probably bits of sea weed. His life preserver felt like a weight against him as he tried to get it off, and luckily, someone from his team seemed to understand what he was trying to do and helped him out of it.

A small voice screamed something near his ear, and opening his eyes, Charles realized rather quickly that it wasn't anyone on his team who saved him, but a mermaid.

A real live mermaid. He must've hit his head, he thinks, as he blurry blinks up at the figure, peering over him like that scene in the movie. Your hair is woven with shells, top made from something that looks like seaweed and netting, a blue tail to accentuate it all. He lays there, panting heavily as he tries to blink away the vision, before finally coming to terms with the fact that mermaids are real in Australia, or he's died and is hallucinating a mermaid in heaven.

"Ariel?" He creakily manages to get out, and you gently wipe water away from his face, hitting something high on his forehead that has him seeing stars as he hisses, reeling back and into the rocks and only jostling himself further.

"SEE!" The tiny voice continues screeching, "HE'S REAL!"

He's real? Whoever's child got loose ought to be freaking out at the fact that the mermaid currently tending to him is real. It might be the concussion, or the delirium that comes with seeing mermaids, but he can't help but think you're pretty as he manages to open his eyes again. You look blessed by the water, the kind of sight that Charles thinks would make a good siren. He'd follow you into the water, anyway. "Let's give him some space, girls." Another voice says, and very gently, your hand returns to check out his forehead.

"Can you hear me?" You ask, voice as melodic as he'd expect a mermaid's to be. You shift closer to him, your tail coming to press up against his leg, and it even feels real. "That looks pretty bad."

"You're real," He breathes out, hand awkwardly reaching out to poke your tail. "This...Australia has mermaids?"

"No, no." You answer gently. "This is a costume, sweetheart. I'm just dressed up for a party."

He squints, trying to focus on where your tail meets your waist, and he softly shakes his head. That's something a mermaid would say to try and hide its existence. After all, your tail seems to meet perfectly with your skin, which he most certainly isn't focusing on. "I don't believe you."

"Oh?" You laugh, sitting back as Charles props himself up. "Must've hit your head harder than I thought."

"You look so real!" He finds himself saying, hand reaching out to gently pet against one of the little side fins on your tail. "This is...like the Little Mermaid, no?"

"Well, I did save you from drowning." Your hand comes up to find his forehead again, tilting his head towards you. "But I'm serious about that, you might be concussed."

Then the panic starts to sink in a little at the tone of your voice. He can handle a scrape or two, but a concussion? He'd be out of the race, and he'd be out of the race for potentially a long time. "I'm sure it's fine," He says, coming up to move your hand away. "It doesn't hurt that bad."

"Here," That other voice says, and Charles looks up to see another woman, handing you a bag. "There's some first aid supplies in there."

"It's a real mermaid, right?" Charles asks them, and they just sort of stare at him, like one would at a delusional man.

"It's for my daughter's birthday party." Then, giving a small pause, "They're actually a werewolf. Werefish. Fish by night, person by day."

"Enough of that, you two." You say, beckoning Charles forward. You gently wipe over the cut on his forehead and he hisses, hand reaching out to clasp over your tail-knee, and you hum gently. Werefish - you both were mocking him. He had made the discovery of a lifetime, and you were mocking him. "Easy there, Prince Eric. I need to clean this."

"Charles," He says finally, "My name is Charles."

You wipe over the cut again and then apply a bandage, offering a smile that makes Charles's heart do things, and he's pretty sure it's not the seawater he ingested, or the potential concussion. "Well, Charles. That's the best I can do, for the time being."

"Is the Prince okay?" The tiny voice returns, and Charles turns to see a young girl with a birthday sash slung over her shoulder peering up at him.

It was a child's birthday party, and his subpar surfing skills crashed it.

Literally. "Yes," Charles answers. "Sorry for interrupting your party."

"It's okay," She says, gesturing to you. "We were waiting for her prince anyway. Now you can kiss!"

"Ruby!" You say with a small laugh. "Prince Charles here just got hurt!"

"And you can kiss it better," Ruby states firmly. "Mermaid magic."

Then, there's a little swarm of girls behind Ruby, all looking at you and Charles intently. "I'm sorry about them," The woman says quickly. "It's sort of a mob mentality."

"I can only kiss it better if the prince gives me permission." You say, crossing your arms over your chest, and making Charles's eyes widen. He has to give permission? For you to kiss him? He would say it's the other way around, considering you're a majestic mermaid, and he's a drowning man you just pulled from the water.

"Go on!" Ruby says, glaring at him. "Let her make it better."

"I-of course." He rushes out, tilting his head down. "Anything to stop the pain."

Then, to his shock, you lean over and gently press a kiss to his forehead, and the tiny crowd erupts in cheers as heat flushes from Charles's cheeks to his ears. "Now, you all have to let Prince Charles go to get actual medical help."

"I'll take them back to the car." The other woman says, quickly herding them away as Charles wobbly stands.

"Sorry about that," You say up at him, and he has to remind himself that you can't stand. Tail, and all. Maybe he'll have to carry you out here, and he'll get to be the hero in reverse. Maybe, he thinks before he can stop himself, he'll get another kiss for helping. "If that was uncomfortable, or you felt forced, but-"

"No, no!" Charles says, sounding far too eager. "It's not every day you get the chance to kiss a mermaid. I should make it up to you, and your niece, for crashing the party and all. Dinner?"

Then, because today is truly full of surprises, you slip your phone from the bag and unlock it before handing it to him. A mermaid with a phone. Part of him thinks you'd use a shell.

Part of him thinks he might be genuinely losing his mind, and his team should come and rescue him soon. "Dinner sounds lovely, Prince Charles."

"Will you wear the tail?" He asks over the phone as he types in his number.

"Unless it's a swim up bar? No."

f1gossip Something fishy is going on! Charles Leclerc suffered a nasty fall while surfing in Melbourne this week, only to be saved by a mermaid! the unnamed sea creature was seen tending to Charles's wounds on the rocks before returning to his crew. (We don't really know either.)

↳ carcarcar ...what timeline did we enter for Charles to be saved by a MERMAID?

↳ forza-ferrawri hopefully a timeline where Ferrari can win

↳ brocedes never letting go of the disney prince allegations

↳ fan44 f1gossip, I think it's time for a nap...or a reality check

"Okay, okay-" Pierre wheezes out, barely managing to block the pillow Charles tosses at him. "Okay! Let me get this straight: you wiped out and got saved by a mermaid? With-with the tail?" Then, when Charles can't bring himself to answer, "And you believed it!"

"You'd believe it too!" It had been a few days since you'd rescued Charles, and he was sort of still losing his mind. His team had given him a clean bill of health, no concussion, safe to race, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. It had been real, your texts to him had proven. You were dressed up for your niece's birthday but deep down in Charles's heart, a young part of him still wanted to believe that you were an actual mermaid, if only to help his bruised ego. "It was either a real mermaid or I was hallucinating."

"You never thought it could be a costume?" When you'd just been dragged underwater and smashed against a rock?

No, a costume did not cross Charles's mind. "It looked so real! Even the tail!"

Max appears in their little rest station, Red Bull in hand like it always is, offering a matching, shit-eating grin as Pierre's, and without having to say anything, Charles throws a pillow at him too. They wouldn't understand! He wasn't just being an idiot, or delusional, you had been so ethereal, so beautiful, you had to be magical. Magic was the only way to explain why you'd say yes to dinner with him. Magic was the only reason any of this could have happened at all. "So," Max finally says, coming to sit beside Pierre, "You were saved by a mermaid, who helped bandage you up, and who you then asked out to dinner?"

"They also kissed it better." Charles admits quietly, and both Pierre and Max blinked at him before finally speaking again.

"You're fucked." Charles throws another pillow, now out of them on his couch, and Max catches it and launches it back, and Charles can't block it in time. It hits against his head and he hisses, gently rubbing at where you'd applied the bandage, and all Charles can think is that you technically already had your first kiss together.

He wasn't like this, with people, with dating. He didn't randomly give out his number, most certainly now that he was a driver. It had to be magic, for you to have won him over so easily, or maybe it was his injured mental state. All Charles knew is that he was, in fact, fucked, and there was nothing he could do but see it through.

"This can't be real!" Pierre says, shaking his head.

"They are too real." Charles snaps back, already pulling his phone out to show off your Instagram. He didn't do that normally, either, stalk social media accounts, but he needed to see if you worked as a professional mermaid or something, or if you were hiding a secret mermaid identity.

"Who, the person or the mermaid?" Max teases, and Charles pauses to stare at a new post, underwater shot of you and your tail and all, and Charles just sort of stares at his phone until Pierre and Max come over to join him.

"Oh." Pierre says, reaching over to zoom in on the photo of you with a tail. "That does look real."

Vindication, Charles thinks, has never looked so good.

Liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc and others

yourusername we take playing mermaids very seriously in this house

↳ yourbestie the best aunt/mermaid in the world

↳ yourusername anything for my baby 🥰

↳ charles_leclerc how can you tell me you're not a real mermaid? look at the second photo!

↳ yourusername maybe you hit your head harder on that rock than we thought...

↳ charles_leclerc this is a conspiracy against me.

↳ f1_fanatic CHARLES???

↳ mclar_win they really weren't kidding that he was saved by a mermaid

It was just supposed to be dinner.

You weren't crazy, after all. Most of the world thinks you are, considering pictures have ended up everywhere of you and Charles, apparently an F1 driver, with you in a mermaid tail, but you were not crazy. You didn't just randomly accept guy's numbers, especially those you're pretty sure are concussed, but there was just something about Charles that made every little crazy thing seem normal.

Because it wasn't just dinner, it was an incredible, five star experience that turned into drinks the next day.

And it wasn't just drinks, it was laughing and bonding and skipping what felt like a 100 first dates and just going straight into getting to know each other. He'd told you about his race, and you'd watched it, and you told him how happy you were for him, and he didn't understand. He'd placed eighth, injured and all! He didn't seem thrilled with the number, but to you? You'd save his life, and then he'd gotten eighth in a grand prix.

You deserved part of his points, you'd joked, and he told you he'd send every trophy he got your way.

That's how you ended up on a boat that he'd rented, alone off the coast. Your best friend said you'd be crazy to turn him down, but now, you're starting to wonder if you're crazy for seeing this through. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but there was something about Charles that just sort of made you see it through.

"I'm still not convinced," Charles says from where he's sprawled on a beach towel. "I think this is all a disguise."

Even if he was still pretty caught up on the mermaid thing. "What? My legs?" You say, rolling onto your side to squint down at him

"Mermaid magic," Charles answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world, hand coming up to play with your drying hair. You'd spent a better part of the morning in the water, spending Charles's last day in Australia together, and something unspoken was stuck between you. The way you feel isn't just some fling, but you'd only known him for three days. You wouldn't blame him for moving on and forgetting about you, and all this mermaid stuff. "You don't want the world to know mermaids are real, so you're hiding it from me."

You laugh, falling back down onto your towel, and Charles shoots up onto his elbows to offer a soft glare. "Oh, you're serious?"

"It looked so real! This-" He pokes at your leg a few times, before his hand flattens out to smooth against your thigh, and your faces heat up in tandem. "This isn't right," Charles says finally, giving your leg a small squeeze. "Where's the fins? The shells?"

"Do you have a thing for mermaids?" You tease, and Charles rips his hand off your leg, cheeks turning a rather nice shade of pink.

"All I'm saying is you make a very beautiful, believable mermaid, and that your secret is safe with me." A beautiful, believable mermaid. You can't immediately think of anything to say after that, stuck replaying those four words on a loop. He doesn't move to lay back down, just perched at your side, and you reach over to grab his ankle.

You'd have to address it eventually, you think. Until then, however, you'll play along, even if it's starting to grow old. "I should get my shark friends to eat you."

"See! Proof." Charles says before rising to his feet, and he smugly crosses his arms over his chest as he peers down at you. "You're terrible at hiding your secret identity."

"At what point do I get concerned that you think I'm a mermaid?" And, instead of answering you, Charles bends down to pick you up, an arm easily slotting under your back and under your knees to haul you up. You gasp, quick to wrap your arms around him, and pressed this close, you think he really might be a prince.

He's wealthy enough to be, surely, but it was just the way he looked, but more specifically, the way he looked at you. You couldn't find anything particularly poetic to say about his eyes, or his hair, or that damning smile, but when Charles looked at you, it didn't matter whatever else was going on.

You just wanted him to keep looking. "Well, I suppose there's one way to test if you are a mermaid or not."

Then, with little grace, Charles throws you overboard.

You gasp as you hit the water, sputtering as you breach the surface, and Charles squints down at your legs pedalling in the water. You splash water up at him as he laughs, and you wouldn't take back any of the things you'd said about him, but you would add that you were getting annoyed at his antics, and fast. "Charles!" You admonish, "I'm not going to grow a tail!"

"You can forgive a man for trying, no?" You swim back to the boat, trying to get up the ladder. "Oh come on, ma perle. Your secret is safe with me."

"Help me up," You say, and as Charles takes your hand, you get a wonderful, terrible idea.

You let go of the ladder, falling backward and pulling Charles with you, and he screeches as he hits the water, payback for all the ridiculous things you've put up with so far. If it were anyone else, you think, all this mermaid business would have grown old fast, but with Charles's charm, it's hard to hate it, especially when he's wrapping his arms around you again. "You," He says as his hands find your waist, and your arms wrap around his neck, "Are mean."

"Payback." You answer happily, and Charles's eyes dip from yours to drag down to your mouth, and suddenly, the chill of the water is gone and replaced by the heat of being pressed so close to him.

It was barely a week, you try to remind yourself. You'd only gone to dinner, and drinks, and out this afternoon, but something about it felt enticing in a way you'd never felt before. It had never felt like he was a stranger, considering he let you kiss his forehead for your niece, or the way he talked like he'd known you his whole life.

Maybe you were the one losing it, considering all the things that meant this didn't work out in the end. He was a famous driver who lived in Monaco, nowhere near you or Australia, but it's hard to think of excuses not to kiss a man when he's currently leaning in. You meet him halfway, a clumsy thing as you try to stay afloat in the water, but it's right, like you were always meant to be pressed close to Charles like this, like this was your hundredth kiss, and not your first. Charles deepens it, hand coming up to cradle your cheek before he seems to forget that he needs to keep himself afloat and he slips underwater, breaking the moment. "Maybe you're a siren," He says as he re-emerges, shaking out his hair and spraying you with it. "Trying to drown me."

"Maybe I am." You tease in response, and Charles feigns a gasp.

"Proof! Again!" Then, with a grin, his hands find your waist again and he pulls you against him. "You know, you shouldn't be out here, terrorizing Melbourne's beaches."

"Oh really?" Charles nods enthusiastically.

"Mhm," He says, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I happen to know a prince, in Monaco, who could use the company instead."

f1gossip Shapeshifter or Siren? After being saved by a mermaid, Charles Leclerc was spotted getting cozy with a certain someone in the water after his race...without a tail!

↳ fan16 why am I lowkey disappointed they aren't an actual mermaid

↳ brocedes after Ferrari's race this weekend?? man probably is trying to drown himself

↳ forza-ferrawri he already tried it with the water in his seat

↳ totallynotyourbestie can we just appreciate how cute they are??

↳ mclar_win Charles dating an Australian Mermaid? Checks out