#he looks at charles like its his first time seeing another person

[lsunstreakerl]

Kink Prompt! Tentacles please!

you are not the only person that asked for this, so here I present to you all: lowbrow tastes, shallow writing, recycled characters, zero depth, and a ficlet that is intended to solely feed my own lazy ego. because tentacle smut is the way to do that, clearly.

anyways- only 2.3k of this is actually smut, just a heads up. the other 2.6k is just because I realized how absolutely comical the potential here was, and kept writing. the back half of this is a complete crackfic.

I was actually intending to write this with daniel until I did some digging and realized every other tentacle max fic I could find has maxiel, so I'm switching it up here.

HELLLOOOOO: this is pretty explicit, obviously written for a kink prompt fill. here ye be warned, smut ahead.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: here we go. monsterfucking, tentacles, extremely dubious consent (due to:) aphrodisiacs, biological bondage, kind of a breeding kink? one sided breeding kink, overstimulation, implied mind break

crack tags: they're in the fic technically but I'm absolutely not taking them seriously- mpreg (kind of), eggs (actually just the one), extremely short lived parenthood. because nature.

The cove is beautiful. Max likes to come out here on evenings, watch the sun set. He'd gotten a few weird looks when he said he was taking a vacation in Italy alone, but he's needed his own space- his first season of F1 had been insane, and he's finally old enough to travel on his own, away from Jos.

So now he's got a private rented villa, and he gets to spend his evenings on the beach. He settles on his back, uncaring as sand gets into his hair. The sand is still warm, and the temperature is perfect, the slightest breeze.

He feels himself getting sleepy, eyes drifting shut despite his best attempts, the tide lapping at his feet. He drifts for a little bit, half awake-half not, semi-aware of the tide rising to his knees, but he's not worried yet- that's about as high as it goes.

Something brushes against his foot- stray seaweed, maybe. He doesn't pay much attention to it, relaxed and warm.

It ghosts over his shin, half wrapping around his ankle, and Max frowns, starting to sit up so he can pull it off-

It tightens, and then Max screams as he's yanked, dragged into the sea faster than he can react.

He snaps his mouth shut- he didn't get enough air before he went down, he's going to die to a vengeful jellyfish, the ocean has decided it hates him.

He's still being moved, but now there's the seaweed texture around his arms, and then something is settling over his eyes, muscular and thick.

It completely blocks out his vision, and Max is panicking, trying to fight back- kicking his feet, squirming away- but nothing works, the things don't even budge.

His chest is starting to burn for air, and Max goes limp, trying to conserve energy, even though he's probably going to die down here to some fucked up kind of squid.

And then the water breaks over his head, and Max takes a desperate, gasping breath. He tries to kick his legs out, but there's something firm wrapped around them, winding up his thighs- he's being lifted into the air before he's suddenly on his back, smooth stone underneath him.

He can breathe but he can't see, renewing his struggle to get away from whatever it is. It's definitely not seaweed- too muscular and smooth.

A thick band is wrapping its way around his waist, and the sensation of it sliding across his skin makes Max shiver.

There's a hot breath by his cheek, and Max freezes- feels teeth lightly scrape against his neck.

"You weren't supposed to be out there."

The voice is mostly smooth, tinged with a slight amount of roughness, the hint of a French accent, and Max could swear it sounds familiar, but he can't pinpoint where.

He's afraid to move.

There's another soft scrape of teeth, this time over Max's cheek, and he can feel another band sliding across his chest, resting near his neck.

"Do you know how many others were watching you? You are lucky I was there, or this would be going much differently."

Max doesn't understand- he can't see, he doesn't know what's going on, and he's starting to freak out about how many things are moving on him, slimy and strong.

"But you smell so pretty, and you were all alone."

Max's breathing picks up, ragged and desperate as he starts struggling again, yanking at his arms and legs.

There's a deep rumble around him, and he realizes a second later it must be the thing. Another thick band wraps around his thighs, yanking them apart and holding them there as the one around his neck fully wraps around, and Max realizes he's in danger.

"They would have loved to have you, yes. You fight so pretty,"

The voice moves away from him, speaks up again somewhere near Max's stomach.

"And you'll be such a good carrier, give such a pretty brood, yes? They all wanted you, but I'm the only one who gets you- I know what you need."

Max doesn't respond, feels like he's trapped in one of those cautionary tales they tell children- 'don't go to the cove alone or the sea monster will get you' kind of thing.

There's a smaller tendril making its way up Max's chest, curling near his cheekbone.

"If you had just stayed inside, this would not have been a problem, Max."

It knows his name. Max feels ice in his veins, suddenly much more afraid than he'd been a moment ago. This isn't random, it's personal.

His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. He finally opens his mouth to talk-

"Please, I do not have what you want-"

He's cut off by the thing on his cheek shoving its way into his mouth, and he panics, thrashing again as it swells, keeps his jaw locked open. He gags when it brushes the back of his throat, and he thinks his eyes might be wet, but he can't tell with the band covering them.

Max makes a strangled whimper around it, and then there's a hand- a human hand- running its fingers along his cheek, tracing around his lips.

"Easy, Max. Give it a bit of time, it will be alright."

Max is shaking like a leaf, and there's saliva building up in his throat- but when he swallows, it's immediately building up again, and he realizes with horror it's not from him, it's from the thing- and if Max doesn't want to choke he has to keep swallowing.

There's another deep rumble next to him, and Max feels humiliated, mouth stretched wide as he practically sucks at it. It's doing something to his head, getting his wires crossed.

The rumble gets louder, and Max realizes he's relaxing, even in the grip of the thing.

"See, this is not so bad. You like this."

Max tries to find the strength to struggle again, but he can't find it- the best he can do is helplessly squirm against the tendrils holding him down, and all that achieves is a heightened feeling of sensitivity across his body.

There's a sensation sliding across his waist, down between his legs, and Max knows what's going to happen next, head dropping back as he tries to twitch his hips away. It's futile- the tendril slips easily across his skin, slick and hot when it wraps around his cock, and Max moans around the obstruction in his mouth- it feels better than it should, shoots electric sensations through his skin.

The thing rumbles again, and the tendril in his mouth swells before there's a larger rush of liquid, and Max really does choke on it, thick as it coats his throat before pulling out of his mouth.

Max is panting, and the one around his cock is wet and hot as it smoothly glides up to wrap around his tip.

The tentacles pull his thighs further apart, and Max has a feeling he can guess what's next, caught between fear-want-scared-need-it, shivering in the things grip.

It rumbles again- Max thinks it sounds like a he, wishes he could pinpoint where he recognizes the voice from.

Teeth graze over his shoulder, sharp pinpricks against his skin.

"Feeling better now, yes? You were just nervous, it's okay. I will take good care of you- better than the others would."

The teeth dig a bit harder, a slight pressure against Max's skin.

"I'll bring you the best food, give you the best den, you'll brood so pretty for me and be done in time for the racing season, I promise."

Max isn't really paying attention, too caught up in the sensation of everything, the way he's pulled bare and exposed on the rock, the way he can't even see and he still wants it-

He's an embarrassment to the bloodline. He pushes his hips up anyways, needy and wanting.

There's tentacles wrapping up his waist and arms, a smaller one brushing across his chest, and it has suckers on it, latches tight to his nipples, and Max bucks up, overwhelmed at the feeling, the way they rhythmically contract and squeeze.

Everything feels like a live wire- he's never had sex that comes anything close to this. He's flushed, and he's starting to feel overheated, like things are too much and not enough all at once.

He wishes he could see.

Then again- a smaller tendril pushes past his cock, teases at his hole, and he thinks maybe he's better off not knowing.

He's still panting into the open air, and the tentacle is just toying with him, smearing something wet and sticky around his thighs, teasing at pushing into him before it goes back to circling around him.

Max can't help the whine, embarrassing as it is, and the thing rumbles again.

"You are always so impatient- give it a moment, yes? Do you need a distraction, are you that desperate to brood for me? Want your first clutch that bad?"

Max doesn't even know what he's saying, just knows that it's too much, that he needs something to change- the tentacles on his skin making him tremble, the one around his cock not moving fast enough, the smaller one teasing him- something has to give.

"Please,"

His voice comes out raspy, fucked out from the tentacle that had been down his throat. He doesn't even know what he's asking for, doesn't know what the thing was talking about, just knows that he wants.

He shouldn't. He's been kidnapped off a beach by a terrifying creature he didn't know existed, and it's about to fuck him, he should be scared, should be furious, but instead-

Max just wants the damn thing to get a move on. He wants, he can feel the need burning through his bones, mounting by the second.

He can start to feel a strange sensation where the smaller tentacle had been, an aching need that he's never felt before- like when he needs to stretch a muscle.

The suckers on his chest tighten unexpectedly, and Max feels his eyes roll back into his head at the sensation, the way he can feel them swelling up- he doesn't want to think about what they might look like right now.

There's a softer rumble near his ear.

"You're almost ready, I promise. Doing so well for me, pretty little brooder, going to be perfect, aren't you?"

The teeth are scraping across his neck, digging in deeper than before, and Max feels a slight sting as they break skin, and then there's a tongue lapping at the wound.

He moans, starting to really feel the need between his legs, and ache to be stretched, be filled.

"Just for me, you're so perfect- no one else could handle you, they wouldn't know how-"

Max's weird tentacle captor has a possessive streak. That's fine- as long as he gets something in him.

"I am- I want, I'm ready, please-"

There's another ghost of hot breath against his skin, and then he can feel something press between his legs.

It's huge.

Max flinches, tries to push back away, but his limbs won't respond, held down tightly by tentacles.

"It's okay, you're okay- it feels much scarier right now, but you are ready for it, I promise."

Max trembles, fear trying to override the rest of his brain. He's never had anything in his ass before, maybe a single exploratory finger, but certainly not- certainly not something like this, it won't possibly fit.

The creature sighs.

"You are lucky I like you so much- it takes a very specialized diet to make this, and I don't like eating it."

The tendril from before pushes past Max's lips, pressing halfway down his throat in a smooth slide as he gags around it, desperately trying to breathe through his nose.

He can feel it pulsing, pushing something down his throat, and the suckers on his chest work harder for a moment, and Max is lost to the feeling, eyes rolling back into his head.

He barely feels the thing between his legs prod at his hole again, just acknowledges a deep pressure, finally starting to relive the ache.

He's drooling around the tendril in his mouth, and it makes a wet squelching noise when it pushes a bit further.

The ache between his legs is settling, and when Max tries to weakly move a leg he finds he can't- there's a huge tentacle working its way inside of him, and he's never felt this full in his life- completely stretched open at both ends, completely at the whim of the thing that's taken him.

He makes a wet noise around the one in his mouth when the larger tentacle starts moving, and then he feels it- bulbs and ridges, pressing up against his prostate- Max screams as his cock kicks, orgasm pushing through him.

There's a satisfied sounding rumble, but nothing lets up- if anything it gets worse- the biggest tentacle is moving in and out of him, feels too big to possibly be real, remolding Max to be whatever the creature wants, dangling between its tentacles.

There's another burst of fluid down his throat, and then Max loses track of everything.

He's faintly aware at some point later- could be minutes, could be hours- that the thing is letting out soft sighs, clearly building up to its own climax, but it feels like it goes on forever-

More time passes. Max is fully suspended in the air now, completely at the mercy of the tentacles as they core him out, irreversibly change him. Nothing else could ever hit him this deep, could ever fill him so thoroughly.

He's half submerged in the water when the thing finally finishes, and then there's so much pressure-

------

Max has never felt this exhausted in his life. He's lying limp on something soft, and something is in his mouth, holding his teeth apart as careful fingers set a wet cube on his tongue. The tentacle leaves his mouth, and Max instinctively starts chewing- it's fish, raw and springy as he swallows. His eyes are half lidded, and he's not sure he could move if he tried.

There's a soft rumble next to him.

"Hi, Max."

Max tries to pull himself together- everything feels fragmented and hazy, and he doesn't even know where he is.

Charles Leclerc is sitting next to him, carefully deboning a fish with his nails.

Max is so confused.

"'rles?"

Charles reaches over and runs a hand gently through Max's hair. They're sitting in a cave, water lapping at stone nearby, and there's a few lanterns set up. Max is half in a pool of water, submerged from the waist down.

His chest and arms are resting on some soft blankets, and his head is supported by a solid pillow. His chest hurts- sore and swollen.

"Yes."

Charles easily slices down one of the fish, and there's no way that's just his nails- he must have a tiny blade in there.

Max tries to shift, but he's sore, his entire body twinging when he moves his leg. Charles looks over at him, eyes flicking rapidly across his body.

"You should not be moving- I will bring you everything you need, don't worry."

Max is not any less confused, trying to piece together what exactly had happened to him.

He'd been on vacation, been on the beach-

He freezes. He thinks his fingers might be shaking, the soreness starting to make sense. Tentacle thing. Creature. Person. Whatever.

In him.

Charles and his too sharp nails, Charles and his French accent, Charles here-

Max is trembling. Charles tilts his head before understanding dawns in his eyes, and then he's setting the fish down, carefully dicing another cube off.

"I will explain, in a minute."

His hand comes to Max's jaw, and it's practically autopilot when Max opens his mouth, lets Charles place the fish back on his tongue.

Charles is providing for him. Some part of Max feels good about that, deep in his chest- he's never had a feeling like this before.

Chew, swallow.

He looks back up at Charles, who winces, fiddling with a fishbone between his fingers.

"I would like to start by saying I am sorry- but also that I was doing you a favor."

Max's jaw drops, and he immediately snaps it back shut at the way it aches, which-

"I'm sorry?"

Charles cringes.

"If it was not me someone else would have grabbed you."

Max glares.

"Off of the private beach I was on?"

Charles blinks at him, and his pupils are weird- vertical slits, and it almost looks like a second eyelid sliding horizontally across his eyes.

"There is no such thing as a 'private beach', Max, those waters belong to us more than they do to you."

"and who, exactly, is us?"

Something lifts from the water next to Max, deep blue, smooth and thick, and he instinctively tries to jolt away- it moves faster than he does, pins him back in place.

"Seriously, you should not be moving."

"Would you quit doing that-"

Charles frowns.

"Will you stop trying to move?"

"No!"

Charles throws his hands up, exasperated.

"Well, obviously I am going to keep doing that then."

He huffs at Max, exactly as bitchy as he's been their entire lives. It's weirdly normal in the face of everything that's happened.

"I am a part of a distinguished Monacan bloodline, thank you very much. We hunt in the ocean."

Max makes a strangled noise.

"So you're going to eat me?"

He feels one of the tentacles around his ankle squeeze as Charles looks alarmed.

"No! No, I'm not going to eat you, god. That's archaic. We don't eat people anymore, have not for hundreds of years."

Max side eyes him.

"Right. You just kidnap them to creepy caves and fuck them. Makes sense."

Charles' shoulders slump slightly, and he almost looks guilty.

"Sorry, again. I had a rut. I was not expecting it, and I go to Italy because there is no chance of grabbing someone I know, but you were there-"

Max's eyes widen.

"You've done this to other people?"

There's a small tentacle that angrily slaps the water, sends small droplets flying everywhere.

"Ugh, you make it sound worse than it is. They don't remember anything. Also- it is a local legend, so there's usually monsterfuckers on the beaches at night anyways."

Charles slices off another piece of fish, and Max opens his mouth, dutifully chews and swallows. The whole-

This dynamic is fucking him up. He's confused.

"So why me, and not a monsterfucker?"

Charles is messing with the fishbone again.

"Well- you are you, Max. I could not let any of the others take you off that beach- I would have had to kill them. And then you would smell like them, and I'd have to fix that, so really the whole thing would've happened twice."

"It didn't have to happen at all!"

Charles glares.

"You went to a cove, on a monsterfucking coast, and now you are upset?"

"Obviously I did not know it was a monsterfucking beach!"

There's a heavy sigh, and then Charles is sliding into the water with him, and Max can feel the tentacles sliding across his skin, wrapping around his thighs and waist and chest. Charles settles... somewhere in the middle of the small pool. Max can't see through the water, it's too dark, but he knows there's more tentacles down there.

Max actually doesn't mind being suspended in the water- he doesn't have to do anything, just gets to rest. It's easy on his aching muscles and joints, even if he's realizing he's hungry again.

Somehow, Charles knows, and there's a whip-thin tentacle that wraps around the sliced fish, bringing it back to land in Charles' human hands as he cuts another cube.

"Mate, just let me have the rest of it."

Charles looks pleased, and then Max can hear him rumble, the same sound he'd heard as he was having the most insane fuck of his life.

"What the fuck are you happy for? Give me that."

Charles hands him the rest of the fish, and Max tears into it, lets it slide down his throat. It's weirdly soft- his teeth slice through it like butter, meeting no resistance.

Charles is still rumbling.

"I'm happy because you are hungry, Max, it is a good thing. It means the babies are growing."

What.

"What."

Max cannot possibly have heard that right.

Charles looks mildly confused. One of the tentacles around Max's thigh tightens for a moment before it's winding around his leg, thick and distracting.

"The clutch, Max. They are small, so you were providing fine for them before, but they're almost ready now, so you are needing more of their diet- fish, mostly. I've been giving you some sea stars as well."

Max is broken, he's pretty sure. There's no other explanation.

"Sorry- I think maybe I am misunderstanding? You said babies? In me?"

His voice goes high at the end, because- he may have dropped out of school, but he's pretty fucking confident he can't have kids.

Charles has that stupid rumble going again- he sounds like a tiny little engine.

"Yes Max, the clutch. Your clutch, really, you are doing all the hard work. Most of them have probably eaten each other by now though, so it is the strong ones left that are wanting more food."

Max opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a strangled squawking noise.

Babies. In him. His babies.

"They're eating each other?"

Charles looks fond, which is fucking ridiculous- Max must be having the weirdest dream of his life, it's the only possible explanation.

"Don't look so sad, that is just the way it is. You cannot possibly want to have all of them- that would be so many."

Max swallows. This is a dream. He's dreaming.

"How do I- Charles, I was not ready to be a father?"

"Brooder, technically."

"A parent."

Charles seems confused again before he snaps his fingers.

"Oh! No, they are not hybrids like me. I did not give you near enough material for that. They are just little things- maybe smarter than average. Stronger, because of you."

Max is confident his horror is showing on his face.

"Max, relax. It's alright."

The tentacles are moving against him, soothing motions down his sides and legs.

"You will probably only end up with one egg, and they are very independent- we'll find a good spot on the cove for it and then leave."

"Egg?"

"Max. I have tentacles- I'm not sure what else you thought it was going to be."

Dream, it's a dream, Max is dreaming. It's fine because it's not real, he's not going to lay an egg. An egg.

The rest of Charles' sentence catches up to him.

"Wait, we abandon it?"

Max is not ready to be a parent, but he's certainly not going to be a deadbeat.

Charles' tentacle snatches another fish as he starts deboning it for Max again.

"Well, yes. It is just nature, don't look so scandalized. I mean- I know I am too young to really be raising any kids, which means you are also, yes? It would be irresponsible."

"...but you fucked me anyways."

Charles shrugs, tossing the bones into a small pile.

"Like I said, I was in rut. Needed a brooder. It is fine as long as they aren't fully fertilized, obviously."

He pulls Max closer to him, tears a chunk of fish meat and pushes it between Max's lips.

"And you did a very good job. This is the most awake you have been in days, which is how I know it is almost time."

Max stops chewing. It's been curveball after curveball.

He swallows.

"Charles, how long have I been here?"

Charles rips off another chunk.

"About a week."

Max closed his eyes for a moment. He's not sure how exactly he can strangle Charles, but he's going to figure it out.

"A week? My family probably thinks I am dead-"

Charles waves off his concerns, presses the rest of the fish into his mouth. Max would be pissed at the blatant attempt to shut him up if he wasn't so hungry.

"It will be fine, Max. You can just say you had a journey of self discovery or whatever. We'll have a better plan next year."

Max is going to hyperventilate.

"What the fuck do you mean, next year?"

Charles tilts his head, blinking his eyes.

"I picked you, Max. You're my brooder- you smell like me, you've gone through some of the changes- it will get easier each year of course. You might get gills later down the line."

Max is feeling slightly faint.

"Also, your body remembers this, yes? This time next year it will remember it again. That's how it works."

"Changes?"

His voice is weak and thready. It's too much to process at once- can't possibly be real.

"Surely you noticed your teeth are a bit stronger- you have been ripping into the fish. This cycle was hard because it was your first, but- your body knows now, so it will start packing on the extra things you need over the year until it is this time again. You might have to work out harder, sorry."

A tentacle brushes across Max's chest and he jolts, sensitive.

"It will probably go to your chest. Not really anything noticeable- some extra muscle and fat. You will look like you just have impressive pecs."

Right. Eggs, teeth, gills, why not. Max has always wanted to be a fish person, it's a lifelong dream of his. Obviously.

His voice is still high when he speaks.

"Every year?"

Charles lets out another pleased rumble.

"Yes."

Max passes out.

------

He wakes up to a soft splashing noise, and it takes him a second to reorient himself, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. He's in Charles' cave, still half underwater, resting on a little shelf. He's curled around something protectively- he knows what it is even if he doesn't want to admit it.

Max swallows before looking down. There's an egg in his lap.

Where the fuck is Charles.

He looks around. He's not hungry anymore, just exhausted, aching and tired. Charles is missing, and Max remembers what he'd said about others- curls a bit tighter around the egg. He's not sure what kind of shit he's gotten involved in- has no idea if some other thing like Charles might try to come into the cave.

Apparently they can smell him. He pets two of his fingers soothingly over the top of the egg, presses further back into the corner of his little pool.

There's something flashing underwater, little rectangular squares of light getting closer, and Max curls tighter around the egg, top lip curling. There's not a whole lot he could do against one of- whatever Charles is- but he won't make it easy.

A head pops out of the water and Max immediately chucks a fishbone at it, perfect athlete precision- nails the intruder directly in the forehead.

"Ow- Merde, what the fuck-"

"Where the hell were you?"

Max feels his heart rate start to slow now that he knows it's Charles. Still-

Charles holds up his hands apologetically.

"Sorry- sorry, really. I was looking for a good spot for the egg, I didn't think you were going to wake up yet."

Max looks down at the egg. It doesn't look special, but- it's technically his.

"Did you find one?"

Charles nods, drifts closer to Max.

"I did, yes. It's ready, and so are you- I went ahead and extended your stay at the villa, so all of your things are still waiting for you."

"So, what- I just go back to normal, pretend this didn't happen?"

Charles winces.

"You'll forget about it. Until next year, anyways."

"What."

Charles makes a face, all scrunched up and annoyed.

"Yes, and I'm realizing now I am going to have to put up with you getting offended all over again for a few years until you start naturally remembering it. Eventually you'll have enough chemical changes to your brain that the reaction to make you forget won't work anymore. That is what Lolo said, when I asked."

Max is going to kill him. He can't do it in the water, but- the next time they are on a track, he's going to run Charles off the road.

------

"Deep breath."

Max breathes in as deep as he can, fills his lungs before Charles plunges them both back underwater, swimming to a peaceful spot on the ocean floor. There's a small nook inside some coral, and that's where Max carefully sets the egg, adjusting it gently.

He stares at it for a moment. He's never going to be able to eat eggs again.

His lungs are starting to hurt, and Charles gently taps him on the chest before he's swimming them back to the surface, laying Max out on the beach.

Max takes a few heaving breaths, tries to get his thoughts in order. Charles watches him from the ocean, head poking out of the water.

"Bye Max!"

Max flips him off as he staggers to his feet, making his way back into the villa.

------

Max wakes up sore as fuck, stretched out in the villa bed. His head hurts, and he's thirsty. He twists his head to the side to get up, and there's a sticky note directly in front of him, his own scratchy handwriting-

NO MORE EGGS

YOU HATE CHARLES

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Nobody Important

Summary: Logan x Fe!Reader -> When you first meet Logan you tell him you’re nobody important. But it soon becomes clear you are a lot more important than you say. 

Disclaimer: Contains descriptions of nightmares, couple of swear words, being drugged (nothing bad, just some chamomile tea). Mostly fluff moments with a hint of angst. I watched X-Men and wanted to write something for him. Reader has powers though they're not specified fully. Not Proof Read.

When Charles told Logan someone was going to pick him up from the airport, the last person he expected was, well, you. 

Compared to the pristine and fancy cars that were held at the school garage, you pulled up in a beat up old station wagon that looked like it had seen more than a couple of scratches in its time. And you weren’t dressed…like the rest of them. 

Rather than in some kind of pant-suit combo, you were wearing a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, boots and a heavy brown leather overcoat. 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” You began immediately as you stepped out onto the curb and rushed towards him. “I was at the back of the forest collecting some berries and lost track of time. Shall we get going?”

Logan looked you over. You seemed a lot more…energetic than he was. 

“Who are you?”

“Professor X sent me. To collect you. You are Logan, aren’t you?”

“That depends. Who are you?”

“Your ride to the school, unless you plan on walking for two hours in the freezing cold.”

Logan grunted and threw his bag into the backseat. You still hadn’t answered his question but the licence plate of your car matched that of the one Charles had told him to look out for. 

However, fifteen minutes into the drive, Logan asked once more. “Who are you?”

You smiled and looked at him for a moment before moving your gaze back to the road ahead. “Nobody important.”

“Okay, fine. What are you?”

You smiled again. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

“Alright, listen bub-”

“Logan, whatever information about me you think you’re gonna have me tell you; it’s not gonna happen. I work with Charles and that’s all you need to know.”

Logan furrowed his brows. “So you’re a telepath? Like him?”

“You don’t need to concern yourself with what or even who I am. But,” you reached down and pulled a file from the driver's side door before turning it over on the steering wheel and handed it over to him. “You should concern yourself about this.”

Logan took it, a little confused, and opened it up. 

“He wants you to know what you’re walking into when we get back.”

After that, the rest of the drive was silent save for one question from Logan, only to have you reply with; 

“All the answers you’re looking for are either in there or are with the Professor.”

He didn’t bother asking you another question after that. Not that you would have answered it anyway. 

Once you finally did pull up to the school, it seemed you were beside him one minute and went the next into some unknown corner of the school because he didn’t see you after that. 

But he still had questions. 

Unanswered questions. 

Like who the hell were you? 

A week later, he still didn’t have his answers. But he did run into you again. 

In the kitchens. 

The entire place was a lot messier than the communal kitchen. It looked like some mix between a witches cottage and a mess hall in a school cafeteria. But it didn't smell as bad. 

Instead it smelt of cinnamon, oranges, rosemary and cookies. 

And somehow

It was relaxing to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Logan looked up to find you standing at the other end of the kitchen, a bowl under one arm and a spoon in the other. Flour was dusted across your face and your hands were splotched with food colouring stains. Which matched the batch of rainbow coloured cookies behind you. 

“Err, no. I was just-”

“Here, sit. I’ll make you some tea.”

“I don’t really drink..tea.” 

Logan was still taking in the room. Every time he looked back to a spot, he found a new detail to it. Extra herbs, or ingredients, or even flowers. 

You smiled, placing down the bowl and spoon before moving across the kitchen to the simmering pot on the stove. 

“Here, try this.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“Just drink it.” You sighed a little, with a light smile. Nobody would have to meet Logan to know he wasn’t a tea drinker. But he was also polite enough to accept a drink. 

And he did. 

“Is this where you work?”

You nodded, going back to the fresh batch of cookies you needed to start scooping out. 

“Do you usually work this late past midnight?”

You chuckled a little to yourself. “Sometimes. Mostly it’s because I think of a new recipe and want to try it out when no-one's gonna disturb me.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No. Plus, I heard you coming down the stairs. Figured it wouldn’t be long before you found another night owl.”

Logan grunted with a soft chuckle. “I don’t think it’s intentional being a night owl.”

You shrugged. “We all have our reasons.”

Logan nodded and took another gulp of his tea. If he thought he felt relaxed when he walked into the kitchen, he didn’t have a word for what he was feeling after the tea. 

“Hey, what’s in this tea?”

“Not much. Chamomile mostly.”

Logan nodded. But then something shifted. He was getting drowsy. Not relaxed. Not sleepy. Drowsy. 

“Hey, what did you put in this?”

Logan went to stand and repeat his question, but he was out like a light before he could finish. 

Logan, for the first time…ever, woke up slowly. From the light that came flooding in through his window, to slowly turning over and feeling the bones in his body crack just right to allow his joints to feel at ease, to not thinking a thing as his brain slowly turned back into gear. 

Then he jerked up. 

With a grunt, he looked around him. 

He was in his room. 

The last thing he could remember was your tea and the kitchen. 

Flinging the covers from him, he tore his way out of his room and down the hallways until he finally reached his destination. 

The Professor’s office. 

Walking inside, he found the situation entirely too calm. 

“Ah, good morning Logan. Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

“What the hell happened?” 

“You fell asleep. Y/n helped put you to bed before you collapsed on her kitchen floor.”

Logan turned at that moment to find you sat on the sofa by the window inside the office. 

“You.” Logan practically snarled. “You did something. What did you do?”

Logan approached you but where anyone else would have flinched, you didn’t. In fact, all you did was sit back further and smile up at him. 

“She didn’t do anything, Logan. You needed to sleep.”

Logan turned and looked at the Professor. “Don’t mean I have to be drugged.”

Then you stood. “It was just a little tea, Logan. The more exhausted you are, the faster and harder it works. But now you look more rested. Your skin looks less like you’ve been thrown into a washing machine for a couple spins.”

“Are you always this blunt?”

You smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”

“Ain’t nothing charming about this conversation, doll.”

“Really? Because I’m finding this thrilling.”

Professor X smiled. “Okay, that’s enough, you two.”

“She started it!”

You just smiled again. “You’re welcome. If you ever need more tea, you know where to find me.”

With a pat to his arm, you walked past him and said your goodbyes to the professor before heading for the door. 

“Don’t worry about it, you can keep your tea.”

“Have to admit, though. I did help.”

Internally, reluctantly, he did have to. Because despite everything, it was one of the best nights of sleep he’d ever had. 

Another week rolled by and despite Logan doing everything he could to avoid the woman that he still considered had drugged him to sleep, he seemed to see more of you. 

Turns out, you taught cooking and baking classes to the students so they could at least make themselves a decent meal every once in a while instead of quick ramen noodles. And you also taught outdoor survival skills which Xavier had Logan help sub in with. 

But this also meant, much to his chagrin, Logan was actually starting to like you. 

Rather than wanting to storm off in the other direction, he wasn’t annoyed by your presence in the room anymore and you definitely had a way with teaching a group of rowdy teenagers who would rather do anything other than learn normal “camp” things. 

It was actually entertaining watching you teach your students. And even he learnt a thing or two.

Another week passed and Logan found himself back in your kitchen, sitting at the kitchen island, watching you as you lent one palm on the counter top, a pencil between your teeth and two pens behind one of your ears. 

“Want some tea?” You asked him after a few minutes of content silence. 

“Are you going to drug me again?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s store bought, Logan. I just added a couple extra things.”

“Really, like what?”

Sighing, with a slight smirk, you turned around and pulled the box of tea from the cabinet before throwing it at Logan from over your shoulder. “Read it. It tells you what to add.”

“They actually sell this stuff?”

You turned back to your messy notebook with a smile. “It helps when your grandmother worked in the tea business for forty years. All the tricks of the trade, passed down through generations.”

Logan watched you work- no, dance around the kitchen. You didn’t even have to look at what you were doing and before he knew it, there was another tea in front of him, in a glass mug with hand-painted roasting logs on it. 

Logan looked at it for a moment and then you spoke up, without looking in his direction. “Being a night owl means different hobbies can be created. Glass painting was one of them.”

Logan shrugged with a nod before drinking his tea. The effects weren’t as quick or as “violent” as the first time. Instead, it was calming, then relaxing, then just plain and simple tiredness. 

“Go to bed, Logan. Before you crash into my floor again.”

“How did you get me to bed the last time? I’m not exactly all flesh and blood.”

You shrugged. “I’m stronger than I might look to you. But, go to bed, Logan.”

“Will you?”

“Will I do what?”

“Go to bed, too?”

You turned and faced him. “Soon. I want to finish this up first.”

“What are you even doing?”

“New recipe. I shouldn’t be long. Look, I promise. Twenty minutes, I’ll be in my bed, fast asleep.”

Logan raised his brow for a moment but then stood. If he waited any longer, he might actually crash onto the floor again. 

“Okay, fine.”

And you stuck to your word. Logan heard your footsteps coming up the stairs less than ten minutes later and after that…he didn’t remember much other than just complete calmness and sleep. 

The next couple of nights followed the same pattern. And even if he still wasn’t a tea drinker, Logan was growing a (small) taste for it. 

Until one night he walked in and found you stood in the corner, changing your t-shirt. 

You already wore a cami top underneath most of your t-shirts anyway – especially in the kitchen, but your first one had gotten too messy. So you were safe when changing. Except, you hadn’t expected Logan to walk in when he did. 

He paused for a minute by the door, a little apprehensive to make himself known but also trying to do so, so it wouldn’t seem like he was just watching you change your top t-shirt. But at the same time, he didn’t want you to know he was standing there because he could finally look at you. 

More so, when he saw your shoulder. 

From your left shoulder spread and faded over the top and to your right, a mark similar to a burn. The skin was scarred, yet healed over. A forgotten memory. The strap of your top cut through the larger scar that ran directly across the middle of the scarred skin, almost in a wave. Parts were redder than others but you didn’t seem to be in pain as you pulled the t-shirt over the top of your head and down your body, covering it back up. 

Logan coughed as he entered and you turned around, greeting him as you did every night. 

“New recipe?”

You nodded, looking at the messy t-shirt in your hand. “Yeah, it didn't go over too well with the mixer.”

“Better luck next time.”

And then you both just…talked. 

You were slowly telling him a little more about yourself each night, even if you didn’t know it yet. 

“I just remember being thrown into the wall and waking up like an hour later, completely covered in green brownie batter.”

You both laughed as you told him the story, but then he asked. 

“Is that where the scar is from? On your back?”

It was almost as if you had forgotten about it, having to take a moment to realise what he was talking about.

“Oh, that. No, that…that’s nothing important.”

Logan knew to drop his line of questioning. If you said it was nothing important, then there was no way of getting you to talk about it. 

Until the day he found you napping on the sofa. 

Everyone was outside for the day considering it was winter break and fresh snow had finally fallen on the ground. Except, you had opted to stay inside, and fell asleep on one of the central sofas in one of the quieter communal areas. 

The large windows let a lot of natural light flood in, and the fire that was crackling away in the fireplace was enough to heat the room, especially when the door was closed. 

And it wasn’t long before the quiet hum of the fire and odd crackle of the wood, mixed with the heat and your lack of sleep, overtook you and you fell asleep. You didn’t even wake when your book dropped from your hand and onto the floor. 

“Hey, Y/n, they’re all-”

Logan stopped in his tracks when he saw you. 

Fast asleep. 

He was careful to remain quiet as he walked over to you, cutting between you and the coffee table to pick up your fallen book and place it safely onto the table, where he sat on the edge and took a minute to just…memorise you. 

Since he met you, you had done nothing but be moving. All the time. From the crack of dawn to nightfall, you were constantly going and running and teaching and baking and doing and…hell, for all he knew, you could be something other than mutant or human – even those two needed sleep at some point. 

Hell, even he needed sleep. 

But you were just constantly forever going. 

Lay on your left side, your elbow tucked under your head, you were lightly snoring. Logan brushed the stray hairs that had fallen in front of your face, away, his hand rested on your cheek for a moment, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone for a second. 

You were fast asleep. 

Your worn Beatles band-tee was twisted slightly around your middle, whilst the waist of your jeans had twisted in the opposite direction a little, leaving a small gap that showed Logan the redness from the indent marks of where you had been lay, probably, on your other hip for a while. 

Logan thought about covering you up, and leaving you where you were, for a moment. But he also knew you could be like him when it came to sleep. And it was best to get it when you could. So, rather than chance the kids coming back in and waking you up, he made a decision. 

You flinched a little in your sleep as he spoke to you and lifted you from the sofa. It wasn’t long before he found your room and laid you into bed before covering you up. 

Once more, he brushed the hair from your eyes as you turned onto your side again. 

He looked around for a moment before finding what he was looking for. 

A heavy blanket. 

He lay it over the top of your bedcovers and you, before moving across the room to light the fireplace. 

Only, as he did so and placed the fireguard in front, you whimpered. 

He turned around but you were still. 

Then you whimpered again. 

“No,” you whispered. 

Logan moved over to you quickly and quietly as he could. You fell silent again. 

He let out a small breath and covered you up a little more before leaning down. He didn’t know why, but he pressed a small kiss to your temple before walking away. 

Except you reached out for his hand. 

Logan looked down at his hand that was connected with yours, then to you. You were still asleep. 

But it didn’t look like it was a good dream. 

You were shaking. Your entire body seemed to be paralysed with fear, all the while you were mumbling words Logan just couldn’t quite make out. 

Then the glass of water by your bed started shaking. Then the table it was on. Then your bed. Then the floor. Whatever was happening to you was spreading throughout your room. 

A picture that had been hanging on the wall outside, fell to the floor. 

Quickly turning back to you, Logan took hold of your shoulder. He kept calling your name but it was like you couldn’t hear him. 

“Please…please don’t hurt them. Please.” You screamed and then grunted in pain. Whatever was happening in your nightmare, you were being hurt. Badly. 

“Hey, Y/N! Hey, you’re okay! You’re safe! You’re in New York. You’re at school! It’s not real, Y/N. None of it is real.”

Your head shifted. You were searching. 

“I’m right here. None of it is real. You need to wake up.”

“L…Logan?” 

The violent shaking in your room slowed for a moment.

He was shocked. Maybe…

“Just follow my voice. It’s just a nightmare. I can’t get into your head and bring you out. Just…follow my voice.”

The shaking around your room gradually slowed, but you still were. Then your eyes opened. 

And glowed. 

They were still your eyes just…brighter. 

“Logan?!”

He had stopped speaking. You were panicking. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.” Logan took hold of your hand and held it tighter. “You’re safe.”

The shaking slowed and your eyes closed again. 

Then everything stopped. 

Everything went silent. 

Logan looked at the glass of water beside your bed. It was like it had never moved. 

Then you gasped and shot up from your bed. You kicked your legs and brought your hands behind you to push yourself up and the covers from you. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, hey, Y/n. Hey,” 

You were gasping for breath, dizzy from your nightmare. 

“Hey, it’s me. Whoa. Hey, look at me. It’s Logan.”

He took you by your shoulders then your face. 

“It’s Logan.”

You finally calmed a little, and he watched your eyes search his entire face until you finally recognised him. 

“Logan,” you breathed. 

“Yeah…”

Your shoulders relaxed and you leaned closer to him, wrapping your arms around him. His hand held the back of your head and his other round your back, pressing you further into him. He could still feel your body trembling. 

“What happened?”

“You had a nightmare.” Logan told you. “The room started shaking and I tried waking you up.”

You took a couple of breaths before moving back and pushed the hair from your face and curled your legs up closer to your chest. 

Logan, sat beside them, placed one of his hands on your knee and the other in your right hand. 

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Nothing-”

“The entire room started shaking and your eyes glowed. That’s not ‘nothing important’, Y/n.”

You swallowed and nodded your head before dropping your gaze and shifting until you were sat up, crossed-legged. 

Logan remained where he was, sat on the edge of your bed. 

“Before I worked as a teacher and cook here, I was one of them.” The last four words came out slowly, almost like you had to convince yourself you were saying them out loud. “I was an X-Man. I was a part of the team.”

“So what happened?”

“The usual. A mission gone wrong.”

“And that’s what the nightmares…”

You nodded. “It was the mission that made me retire. They needed me to do a job, and I couldn’t do it. There were kids, mutants, being held captive. Some rich dick thought he could duplicate mutants. As the team went it, I was meant to be holding ground outside, helping them find their way through. Only, I didn’t shut off my power. We knew they had someone who could detect me if I didn’t. I got so focused on trying to find the kids, trying to make sure the team got to them that the team almost…”

You paused for a minute. You hadn’t told anyone this story. Ever. 

Logan took your hand. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

You let Logan’s touch soak into your skin. A memory you’d never forget yet never truly remember why you never would forget. 

“They almost died, Logan.” You looked at him and he could see the tears behind your eyes, threatening to come forward and fall again. “Everyone almost died, because I didn’t shut it down. You asked about the scar, the one on my back?”

Logan nodded. He didn’t like where this was going. 

“It’s from that day. One of their scientists had set off some kind of power..thing. Sent me flying blocks away from where I was supposed to be. I crash landed into some old wooden panelling which knocked me down. But once I got up…their Superhuman had found me.”

“Was he the one that-”

You nodded, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “I was thrown, this time on my front. I tried to get up but then all I felt was pure fire. He was burning me. Giving me a reminder of why ‘someone like me, born with the powers of gods’ shouldn’t have them when I was clearly so ‘weak’. By the time he stopped, I realised where he was going. And by the time I got up, everything just…blew up.”

“Y/n, everyone’s safe. You’re all here. Don’t you teach some of those kids?”

You nodded. “Doesn’t mean I don’t forget that feeling. One of the kids had been watching the guards, tracking their materials to find a way out. If they hadn't done that…they wouldn’t have gotten out, Logan. And they almost didn’t. All because I couldn’t fight. I can’t be the reason why I lose my family and the people I love.”

The tears came forward now, streaming down your face at an unstoppable speed. 

“I just can’t.”

Logan shook his head, pushing himself closer to you to hold you. And you let him. Leaning into him, you felt his arms grow tighter around your body. There was a small security in his arms, one that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“None of that was your fault.” Logan told you. “I know you and I know this team. You would never intentionally hurt people. And forgetting to turn your powers off? We’ve all made mistakes in moments like that. Sometimes you get so focused on one person, you tend to lose all sense of self. But none of that was your fault. They got out. They’re all here. They’re all alive. And rich dick is spending his life as dust in the fucking wind.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the first to tell you changing your feelings on something won’t stop the nightmares.” Logan continued. “But you need to find a way to let it go. Don’t let them control you. Not when you won. Not when you’re here, with everyone, able to drug me with some store bought tea.”

You laughed a little at that, wiping your tears away before Logan did the same thing, brushing his thumb underneath your eye and across your cheek. Logan smiled a little. Others might have called it a muscle flex, but knowing Logan; it was a small, brief smile. 

“Don’t let them win.”

You nodded, your head still in his hands. 

“Logan? Will you…Can you stay?”

It seemed to take Logan a second to find his answer. What you couldn’t see was that most of that time, he was trying to figure out why his answer came as fast as it did for him. 

“You don’t-”

“I can stay.”

You looked up at him and nodded with a slight smile. 

Moments later, Logan had kicked his shoes off and was lying beside you in bed. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

You took his hand that lay between you both and turned your head to look at him. 

“Thank you for staying.”

It was his turn to turn his head and when he did, he felt something. The same feeling he’d been getting since the day you gave him his first cup of tea. 

Logan just nodded before lifting his arm. “Come here.”

You moved closer to him as he lifted the covers a little so you could do so. Then he dropped his arm around your back, his palm flush against its centre before it slid a little lower to hold you by your waist. 

As your head settled close to his chest, he dropped his head a little, leaning his jaw against the top of your head and as he felt you relax and close your eyes, he did the same thing. 

The moment your breathing became even, and he knew you were asleep, Logan settled back down and held you just a little tighter against him as he closed his eyes and joined you in a dreamless sleep. 

Hours passed and Charles hadn’t seen either you or Logan in hours. But when he spotted a picture frame that had fallen onto the floor, just outside of your room, he sped as quickly as he could down the hall, but paused when he saw the door open and a sight he didn’t think he’d get to witness for at least a few more months. 

From the hallway, Charles peered in to find the snow falling heavily outside of your window. The children and other teachers were still outside playing. The fire had died down a little, but even he could feel the heat from the room. 

And in the middle of the left hand wall through the door, was your bed. 

Where yourself and Logan slept soundly, almost as one. With your face and hand on his chest, and his arm around your waist, whilst his other hand held onto your arm in a soft grip, keeping your hand on him. 

Xavier could practically feel the serenity oozing from the pair of you. He knew Logan was troubled and that you yourself hadn’t felt safe or content in a long time. 

And he would never have to tell Logan of the change you brought to him, or the one he brought to you. The change that helped you feel safe again, content again. Happy again. Without the added feeling that something was about to go off kilter. 

Because Logan already knew. 

And so did you. 

And for Logan, no matter how many times you would tell him you were “nobody important”, you would always be important to him. 

[vinvantae]

Could you write the f1 grid reactions to their girlfriend enjoying privacy and not wanting to be in the spotlight at gps? Like for example choosing to go to the regular audience instead of the garage to watch races etc to avoid excessive cameras? If you don't want to do all could you do either Charles, Lewis, or Lando?

I won’t do all the drivers because I think there’s only so many reactions but I will do the three you’ve requested 🥰 sorry for the delay I’ve had a lot of stuff on recently!

***

Charles

Charles watched from across the room as you pulled your Ferrari cap over your head, adjusting it so you could slip your sunglasses on and off with ease. The two of you had been together for nearly two years now, but you had still never set foot inside the paddock - and whilst he understood your reasons, the selfish part of him really wanted you there this weekend. He was starting his home race from P1 and he was positive he had a real shot this year.

He cautiously stepped towards you, taking your hips in his hands so he could press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me in the garage, mon ange?” He hummed, resting his cheek against yours as you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Mhmm, I quite like being surrounded by your adoring fans.” You giggled, tilting your head so he could press kisses to your neck. “The roars of Monegasque feel all the more thrilling when you’re a part of it. Their home hero starting on pole? No way I’m missing out on that.”

Charles let you turn in his arms, your arms coming up to loop around his neck - you couldn’t help but smile at the fond look in his eyes as he looked at you. He really wished you were going to be at the barriers, so he could wrap you up in his arms when he finally won, but he knew all the cameras in your face would be too much for you.

“I’ll always respect your decision to enjoy the race from the grandstands, as long as you know if you ever change your mind, there’s a special spot in the back of my garage just for you.” His voice was soft as he nudged his nose against yours. “If they get too rowdy-”

“Charles, I’ll be okay… now, go win for me.”

Lewis

Being a 7 time world champion definitely came with its privileges - but privacy was not one of them. So keeping his relationship close to his chest was not only important to him but to you. You loved him more than words could ever describe, but the idea of walking through all of the press holding his hand was still daunting to you - so you preferred to support him nestled away in the crowds. In your 5 years together, somehow, you’d never been “exposed”, so blending in was easy.

Lewis was by no means ashamed of you, in fact, he was filled with nothing but pride when he spoke of you - but being able to keep his personal life private, out of the grasps of the greedy, was important to him as well. He spent his days with every movement, every word being picked apart by the media and he wanted to be able to protect you from it all.

“You could at least wear my merch, babe.” He laughed softly, as you emerged from the bathroom, donned in another team’s merchandise, holding his hands out for you to take. “How am I gonna do well knowing you’re in the crowd wearing that?”

You scoffed playfully, taking his hands, looking down at him from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I am wearing something for you… just for your eyes though.”

He quirked a brow, removing his hands from yours to hook his fingers into your waistband, pulling it away just enough to see his trademark colour against your skin hidden underneath. A groan left his lips and he lent his forehead against your middle.

“So…” you purred. “You gonna race well knowing what your prize is?”

“Fuck yes.”

Lando

Neon yellow was not your colour. When Lando first showed it to you, you weren’t sure it was anyone’s colour, but as you strolled through Silverstone - it seemed that it was everyone’s. You smiled softly to yourself as you adjusted your own hat, sidling up the grandstands to find your seat - nestled in between a group of Lando’s fans, who very quickly pulled you into the fray once they realised you were alone.

You’d ended up getting a seat at Luffield corner, not expecting your boyfriend’s car during the parade to pull up to be interviewed by Natalie. There was no way he’d ever know you were here - you told him you couldn’t make it, but in reality you wanted to enjoy it from the crowds.

The giggles that escaped you as his t-shirt cannon failed dramatically, made your heart swell. He’d come so far in the years you’d known him and to see him so adored was really special. You fished your phone out of your pocket when it buzzed, his name lighting up your screen, just moments before you knew he had to get into the car.

Miss u x

You smiled softly, turning as you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. The girl smiled gently albeit a little awkwardly at you. “Hi, sorry, you’re y/n, Lando’s girlfriend, right?”

“That’s me.” You chuckled.

“How come you’re out here instead of in there?” She asked, her voice laced with curiosity, not judgement.

You turned a little in your chair to face her better. “Wanted to enjoy the race from the grandstands, I’ve always loved the atmosphere and just because I’m dating him I didn’t want to stop.”

She gave you a knowing nod. “That’s absolutely fair. Well, when you see him, can you tell him I said hi?”

“Hey, how about we all send him a good luck selfie? He’s probably not got his phone anymore but he’ll see it after the race.” You beamed.

Everyone crowded around you and you took a photo - their smiles practically lighting up the screen. You knew Lando would love it, so you sent it back.

We’re all rooting for you <3 You’ve got this!x

Lando was a little disappointed not to win the race, especially at home - he’d managed to hang on to the lead just for a little while, but it just wasn’t enough. All he wanted was to wrap himself up in your arms and feel sorry for himself for not being able to hold onto the lead, but you weren’t here. When he finally got a moment of peace, he checked his phone - eyes widening at the selfie.

You were here, nestled amongst the floods of neon - your smile somehow brighter. He tapped on your name to call you, tapping his foot against the floor - biting at the skin around his fingernails.

“Hi Lando.” Your voice sounded like a dream.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were here.” He knew he sounded whiny but he didn’t care, he needed you with him ASAP. “Could’ve watched from the garage… given me a good luck kiss.”

“Well, looks like you didn’t need it. You raced amazingly today, baby, I’m so proud of you… maybe I’ll meet you back at your hotel, show you how proud I am?”

Lando couldn’t help but jut his bottom lip out a little. “Sure I can’t tempt you to come to the garage?”

“I’m sure. Too flashy for me. I love you, see you in a little while.”

“I love you too. Bye babe.” He smiled to himself, hanging up the phone - holding it to his chest.

As much as he’d wished you were in the garage, he loved the part of you that wanted to enjoy races from the grandstands - experience the race how you wanted, not just using your relationship to waltz around the paddock.

Now… he just had to find the quickest way back to the hotel.

[asidian]

One thing I haven't seen talked about is Crystal's character arc, and specifically the way the timing of it interacts with Charles' arc. They stumble over each other in the worst possible way en route to their respective character growth, and from a narrative perspective, it's absolutely genius.

I'm going to preface all this by saying: none of this is a criticism of Crystal. Part of what makes her such a dynamic, refreshing character is that you don't get to see women in fiction written the way she's been written. You don't get to see women with her flaws that aren't throw-away mean girls or villains. You especially don't get to see women with her traits who learn and grow and become better people. So yeah, I'm going to talk about Crystal's character flaws. No, this isn't Crystal hate. We love our girl in this house. Okay? Okay. Let's start.

Crystal's character arc, at its heart, is all about her learning to be a better person because she has good influences that love and support her for the first time.

When the show starts, Crystal is not a nice person. She's abrasive in a way that's specifically designed to push people away. She's used to getting her own way, and it shows. She's used to having no meaningful connections with anyone, and it shows. She's breathtakingly selfish, in the very literal sense of the definition. She is focused on her self. Her problems are front and center to her; everything is about what she needs, and what she wants, and how she's struggling.

Jenny calls her out very early on. In episode one, Crystal is complaining about the boys, and Jenny, for all her cynicism, strikes right at the heart of the problem. She tells Crystal, "Everybody is always thinking about themselves, all the time." People only care about their own problems. And she says, correctly, that that's what Crystal is doing, too.

This moment is a revelation for Crystal. For the first time, she considers what her behavior looks like from another person's perspective. As she says, she gets mad at herself over it, and that awareness allows her to do something selfless for the first time in the series. She takes a step back and insists that instead of focusing on her problems, they go to help a little girl. It's a big moment for her.

But importantly, she's not done growing as a character here. She's only just getting started.

On my first watch through, I didn't realize how often, over the next few episodes, Crystal redirects things to her problems during conversation, but it's quite a lot. She's still focused on herself – selfish, in that most literal definition of the word. The issues most important to her are her issues. She's starting to learn to think about other people, but she's not there yet. The process is still underway.

Which brings us to Charles.

Charles' arc is a different sort of self-reflection. He's terrified that he's a bad person the way his father was and the way the boys that killed him were.

During the course of the show, he gets systematically stripped of his confidence and made to feel helpless, and just like Crystal needs outside influences to help her reach a more stable place, Charles does, too. He desperately needs reassurance that he isn't everything he's afraid he is.

But my goodness, the timing in their arcs is such a trainwreck when you put them together, and it is brilliant.

Let's start with the Devlin House.

Crystal has some amazing character growth here. She displays genuine concern about Charles, makes an attempt at comforting him, and learns to work with Edwin even though she still doesn't particularly like him at this point.

Charles, meanwhile, is beginning to fall apart. He's just had the worst night of his afterlife. He's been viscerally reminded of how helpless he is. He couldn't stop the Devlins from being killed over and over, just like he couldn't stop his own father's abuse. He messed up his attempted rescue so badly that he was completely out of commission until the case was finished. He managed to help not one single thing. He made no impact at all. He couldn't help those girls any more than he was able to help himself, while he was still alive.

So they get back to the butcher shop, and what do we see? Monty immediately coopts Edwin. Niko doesn't know what's happened because she wasn't there and Charles has been all fake smiles with her. And Crystal goes off with Niko, leaving Charles to flounder on his own in the wake of everything. She's still learning how to support other people. She isn't there yet, and it's extremely on display in this moment.

Then we get the lighthouse episode, and they both get put through the wringer here. Crystal gets her hopes and expectations jerked around by the Night Nurse in the very worst way, and Charles gets hit with a whole pile full of trauma. All that helplessness wells to the forefront again. Combined with being forced to relive some of his worst memories and the desperation to keep Edwin safe from hell, Charles lets himself act on his anger for once.

And what does he get in the aftermath? Horror.

Everyone who cares about him is horrified by what he's done. Edwin goes so far as to call it extreme. They don't know the half of it, of course; they haven't seen what the Night Nurse just put him through. But in this moment Charles is at his absolute lowest, and all he sees is confirmation that he's exactly as terrible as he thinks he is.

That's why Charles shrugs off Edwin's attempt at comfort, here. When he needed to be able to do something to protect Edwin and also himself – when he needed to believe that he could be better than what his father always was – all he sees is the confirmation from the people he cares about most that when push came to shove, he really is a bad guy.

Then comes the aftermath. And this moment is such a brilliant, awful clash of both of their character arcs. It is so delightfully messy.

Because Charles starts to open up to Crystal here. He starts to lay himself bare, the way he ends up doing with Edwin in episode 5. He's on the verge of admitting something that he's been worried about for literal decades. He tells her, "I've been angry for such a long time."

And what does Crystal do? She's still in the midst of her own character growth. She's still struggling to support other people. She's still learning how to. In a lot of ways, though she's made progress already, she's still that selfish girl that Jenny called out in the very first episode.

And she shows it here it with the absolute worst possible timing. No sooner has Charles started to talk about what's bothering him than she cuts in with her own problems. She's tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not knowing who she is. And the look on Charles' face. The moment when he visibly sets aside his own problems, because Crystal doesn't need any more disasters on her plate? It's heartbreaking. You can actually track the subtle change in his expression there. The actor does a phenomenal job.

And then comes the kiss. And what spurs it? Crystal saying she needs something real.

This moment isn't about light-hearted attraction, the way the earlier flirting is. It's Charles setting aside what he needs – comfort and reassurance and a moment to talk through the things that have been tearing him apart – to give her what she says she wants. He can't even feel it. And Crystal isn't far enough along in her character growth here to realize how selfish she's being. Like Jenny said way back in episode one, she's only thinking about herself.

And then comes the absolute unmitigated disaster of episode 5.

Straight out the gate, Charles leans in for a kiss. From his perspective, they have something together; there's affection there. Charles "I think I'd miss kissing" Rowland, who has been starved for meaningful physical contact for thirty years, is not in a hurry to give this up.

But Crystal is fresh out of a nightmare where she conflates Charles with her abusive ex. She withdraws; she calls what they had a distraction. She cuts it off almost as soon as it's started, so focused on her own worries here that she misses how damn fake Charles' smile is, to cover up that he's coming to pieces.

To be clear, she's absolutely not in the wrong here. It is 1000% her prerogative not to jump into a relationship again while she's still struggling to work through what happened with David. But the arc of her narrative is still early enough that she does it all without so much as the awareness that her focus on her own issues has hurt Charles terribly.

And then the episode really kicks off, and both of them are in shambles in very different ways.

Crystal is projecting her issues with David onto Charles. She has a lot of history, and David seems as though he's exactly the right sort of toxic to leave lasting a lasting impact. But Charles hasn't done anything to deserve her assumptions, and he takes the brunt of her temper here and throughout the episode.

Charles is desperately projecting onto the dead jocks. He very badly wants them to be good guys, because he sees himself in them and he needs himself to be a good guy. He snipes back at Crystal for the very first time in this episode, and he does it in the worst way possible, accidentally prodding her where it will do the most damage.

They're both hurting. They both say some truly painful things to one another.

She does not need to hear that she has unsorted hangups about David still plaguing her while she's unable to move past them. He desperately does not need anyone to tell him that he has rage issues while he's still struggling to think of himself as a decent person.

They apologize, in the end. They start to move past it.

But it's telling that Charles doesn't try to open up to Crystal again. He goes to Edwin instead, even though Edwin is the one who called his actions regarding the Night Nurse extreme. He gets the reassurance he needs so badly; he gets the connection he was looking for with Crystal from Edwin, instead. (I have a lot of thoughts on why Charles initially tries to open up to Crystal so quickly, but it is very much an aside, and this is already extremely long, so it will have to wait for another write-up.)

But the important thing here is, Edwin is the one to offer Charles what he needs to overcome the self-doubt eating him alive. Edwin provides the physical affection Charles was seeking in the form of that long-overdue hug. Edwin is the one who's able to reaffirm for him that he's not just a good guy, he's the best person Edwin knows.

And for all intents and purposes, Charles' major character arc ends here.

Charles has a few last little moments to go on the path to rebuilding his own self-image, after this, but for the most part his concerns have been resolved. He saves Crystal in episode 6 and Edwin in episode 7, proving to himself that he's able to make a difference in the face of overwhelming odds. He's not helpless, no matter what the Night Nurse told him; he can be a force for good in the world. By the end of the series, his crisis of self-doubt seems to have been largely overcome.

But it's the conversation with Edwin at the end of episode 5 that really allows him to work through his most pressing issues. Edwin is there to help support him when he stumbles. Edwin provides him the comfort he was looking for while Crystal was too worried about her own problems to notice how badly he needed the help.

Crystal, meanwhile, still has a ways to go after episode 5. The last three episodes are where she does her most important character growth.

In episode 6, she learns some hard lessons about keeping secrets and letting people help and appreciate you even when you can't offer them anything in return. And Charles, importantly, is there for her every step of the way. He consistently offers her physical and emotional support. He models for her, in a very real way, what it looks like to have someone prop you up when you need the help.

And in turn, Crystal steps in to save the boys. She's the big damn hero at the end of this episode.

The breakthrough continues into episode 7. She's so intent on helping to get Edwin out of hell that she literally goes to face her own demons, not for herself for once – not for her own purposes or needs or wants – but because she wants to help someone else.

And episode 8, at long last, brings her to the culmination of her character arc.

Crystal is at her absolute lowest here. Her family, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, didn't even realize she was gone. Her precious memories, that she's spent the entire series trying to regain, have showed her that she's not the person she hoped she would be. She's overwhelmed enough that she means to flee, to cut herself off from her new friends entirely.

Then the boys get kidnapped. And just like that, she makes up her mind.

For the first time since the start of the series, she sets aside her most important issues in order to let what other people need take precedence. She disregards all of her own personal concerns and focuses instead on others. She's finally stepped out of those selfish impulses that Jenny calls her out on, all the way back in the first episode. She's finally learned how to support other people when they need it.

Crystal has finally figured out how to be there for others, despite having troubles of her own.

It's a lovely arc, and it's beautifully done.

Charles' is just as touching.

And god damn, but it was a brilliant narrative choice to have their character arcs line up in exactly the wrong way.

[theonottsbxtch]

SAVING HER | CL16

an: chat this is a short one but she’s been sat in my drafts unedited for a while SO PLS DONT JUDGE IVE BEEN BUSY WITH WORK also im about to close my requests for the next month or so because i am very busy

wc: 2.3k

THE ALLEYWAY WAS A THEATRE OF SHADOWS, the high walls narrowing like an unfinished thought. Rain clung to the cobblestones, slick and shimmering under the muted glow of a nearby streetlamp. Charles slumped against the cold stone, his breath a ragged symphony of pain he didn’t feel. The wound on his arm—a careful cut he’d made himself—bled just enough to convince anyone, though the blood seeping into his sleeve was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

He’d been told she would come this way.

The princess of Monaco was known for walking among the people, her kindness spoken of like an old fable passed from lip to lip. A woman with a crown yet no walls, they said. A woman who saw everyone as a person worth saving. It was that softness—her fatal flaw, his boss had said—that made her the perfect target. Charles knew how to exploit such softness. He had done it a thousand times before, slipping into lives just long enough to end them.

And so he waited.

The footsteps came as if conjured from the night itself, light yet steady, moving towards him without hesitation. He pressed his hand against his wound for effect, his jaw tightening, his body folding into the pose of a man undone. When he raised his eyes, there she was.

“Sir, are you hurt?” Her voice was warm, unguarded, each syllable woven with concern. She knelt before him, her coat already sliding from her shoulders to wrap around his trembling form.

“I—yes,” Charles stammered, surprised by how natural the lie felt on his tongue. “It’s nothing. Just… had uh. You shouldn’t—”

“Hush,” she interrupted, her hands already seeking the source of his injury. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you help.”

Her touch was feather-light, and for a moment, Charles forgot the blade hidden at his hip, the kill he had rehearsed in his mind a dozen times. She didn’t flinch at the blood or the grime, her hands steady, her face calm, her eyes impossibly gentle.

It would be easy, he told himself. The knife would be quick. She wouldn’t even see it coming.

But as she looked at him, her gaze a pool of unguarded kindness, something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. It wasn’t guilt—Charles had never known guilt—but a hesitation, like a string pulling him back just as he prepared to strike. He gritted his teeth, forcing the thought away.

Not here. Not now. Next time.

Instead, he let her lift him to his feet, her shoulder under his as she guided him away from the shadows. And for the first time, Charles wondered if he had underestimated her. Not her kindness—that was as plain as the moon overhead—but its weight, its gravity.

And it terrified him.

Her flat wasn’t far—she said as much while helping him along the cobbled streets—but Charles found himself biting back questions. A princess who lived alone, away from the safety of royal walls? Who brought strangers into her home on nothing more than blind trust? It was absurd. Foolish, even. And yet, there she was, walking him through her unlocked door, her arm steadying him as though his weight was nothing.

The space was modest��unexpectedly so for someone of her stature. The furniture was worn, each piece arranged with a care that spoke of practicality over opulence. A collection of books leaned precariously on the edge of a small shelf, and the air smelled faintly of lavender. It was too… human for a woman who should have been untouchable.

“You’re lucky I found you,” she said softly, easing him onto the edge of a worn armchair. “I don’t usually take this route home.” She offered him a small smile, as though his suffering were a strange twist of fate they should both be grateful for.

“Lucky,” Charles echoed, his voice gruff.

If only she knew.

She disappeared into another room, her movements light and unhurried, returning moments later with a first aid kit. “This might sting,” she warned, already dabbing at the wound on his arm. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and for the first time, Charles could see the weight of her kindness—a heaviness in her eyes, as though she carried the burdens of every person she helped.

He clenched his fists. The knife was still there, tucked against his hip. All it would take was a single motion—a flick of the blade and she’d be gone. The mission would be over. His boss would be satisfied, and Charles could leave this city behind.

Do it, he told himself. You’ve done worse to better people.

But his hand remained where it was, resting on the arm of the chair, his fingers curling into the fabric instead of the hilt.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said, her voice breaking the silence. “Are you in pain?”

Charles shook his head. “No. Just… thinking.”

“About?”

He looked at her—really looked at her. Her hands were stained with his blood, yet her touch was careful, precise. Her face, so close to his, was unguarded, open in a way that unsettled him. No one ever looked at him like that. No one dared.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you don’t know me. For all you know, I could be dangerous.”

Her smile returned, small but unshaken. “Everyone deserves help when they need it. Even if they’re dangerous.”

Something inside him twisted again, tighter this time. He averted his gaze, fixing it on the floor. The blade felt heavier now, its presence burning against his skin.

He could do it. He should do it. But as she worked, humming softly under her breath, Charles realised something with chilling clarity.

He wasn’t hesitating because of guilt. He was hesitating because, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

Not yet.

Not now.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone at night,” Charles muttered as she tied off the bandage on his arm. “It’s not safe.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a faint smile. “I imagine most people would say the same about bringing a stranger home, yet here we are.”

He couldn’t argue with that. She had no guards, no locks worth mentioning, not even a dog to bark at the wrong sort of man. Yet there she was, unshaken, as though kindness itself were a shield.

“Stay the night,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’ve a spare room you can use. You shouldn’t be moving around much anyway.”

Every instinct Charles had told him to refuse. He should leave, disappear into the night, and finish the job another time. But the offer was tempting, and not for the reasons she thought. Staying close to her would give him the perfect opportunity. No more alleyways, no more waiting. If he stayed, he could end this before morning.

“Alright,” he said, his voice measured. “Just for tonight.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I’ll get you some blankets.”

The spare room was small but comfortable, a single bed tucked into the corner with neatly folded linens at its foot. Charles lay down fully clothed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as the silence pressed in. His work phone sat heavy in his pocket, the messages from his boss unanswered.

He would do it tonight, he told himself. It was cleaner this way, simpler. No witnesses, no complications.

But the hours slipped by, the house silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the soft rhythm of her breathing in the next room. Charles stared at the faint light leaking through the curtains, his body taut with tension, his mind unwilling to rest.

Finally, he rose.

The knife felt familiar in his hand as he moved through the darkened hall, his steps silent. Her door was slightly ajar, a thin sliver of light from the streetlamp outside falling across her sleeping form. She lay curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, her chest rising and falling in an unguarded rhythm.

It would be easy.

Charles stood there for what felt like an eternity, his shadow stretching across the floor as he tightened his grip on the blade. But the longer he watched, the harder it became to move. Her face, serene and untroubled, was unreasonably small in the pale light. There was nothing regal about her now, nothing untouchable. Just a person who had opened her home to a stranger and asked for nothing in return.

He thought of the blood on her hands—not hers, but his, from patching him up without hesitation. He thought of her smile, that maddening softness that made no sense in a world like his.

The knife dropped to his side, his fingers loosening until it slipped from his grip entirely.

He couldn’t do it.

Charles stepped back into the hall, his breath sharp and uneven. His work phone burned in his pocket like a brand, its presence unbearable. He reached for it, his fingers moving mechanically as he scrolled through the messages. The last one was simple, a single word: Update?

His jaw tightened. He moved to the nearest window, pushed it open, and hurled the phone into the night. It clattered onto the cobblestones below, its screen shattering on impact.

For the first time, the weight in his chest lifted.

He closed the window quietly and turned back to the room. The knife lay abandoned on the floor, but he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he returned to the spare room and sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The mission was over.

It wasn’t enough to walk away now, not with his boss’s reach and the consequences that would follow. If Charles couldn’t kill her, there was only one other option: protect her.

His lips curled into a faint, humourless smile.

He didn’t know what had possessed him to make this choice, but it was too late to turn back.

Now, he was on her side.

Charles woke to the smell of coffee and the soft murmur of a voice carrying through the thin walls. He stretched, his muscles stiff from a restless night, and rubbed his face as he sat up. For a moment, he stared at the unfamiliar room, piecing together where he was and why.

The princess. The knife. The phone thrown out the window.

He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. There was no turning back now.

The voice grew louder as he approached the kitchen, and he paused in the doorway to take in the scene. She was pacing the small space, a mug in one hand and her phone pressed to her ear with the other. Her hair was pulled back, though loose strands framed her face, and her bare feet padded softly across the tiles.

“No, I understand,” she was saying, her tone brisk but tinged with worry. “But I can’t wait two weeks for a replacement. I need someone now.”

She turned and saw him standing there, and her lips curved into a faint, distracted smile. “I’ll call you back,” she murmured into the phone before ending the call.

“Good morning,” she said, setting her mug down on the counter. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Charles replied, though his gaze lingered on her tense shoulders. “What’s going on?”

Her smile faltered, and for the first time, he saw unease in her expression. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly, then sighed as if realising the futility of her deflection. “Actually, it’s… something. I found a knife outside my bedroom door this morning.”

Charles froze, the words striking like a blow. She wasn’t accusing him—her tone was too uncertain, too trusting for that—but the implications made his stomach twist.

“I assume it was a warning,” she continued, crossing her arms. “I’ve had threats before, but nothing this… direct. I was on the phone with my head of security. Unfortunately, my current detail is out of commission, and replacements take time. More time than I’m comfortable with, frankly.”

Charles’s mind raced, the weight of her words settling like lead in his chest. If she knew how close she had come to real danger, would she be this calm? Or would she have already called the authorities?

He straightened, forcing his voice into a calm he didn’t feel. “That’s… troubling,” he said. Then, after a pause, the lie slipped out as easily as breathing: “You’re lucky. That’s my line of work.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Your line of work?”

“Private security,” Charles clarified smoothly, slipping into the persona as if it had always been his own. “Before… well, before things went sideways.” He gestured to his arm, still wrapped in her bandage. “It’s what I do.”

She tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and cautious hope. “You’re serious?”

“Serious enough to know you shouldn’t be pacing around without someone watching your back,” he said. “If you want, I can help. Just until your new detail is sorted.”

The words hung in the air, and Charles braced himself for her to refuse. It would be safer for her, he realised, if she did. But instead, her shoulders relaxed, and a faint smile touched her lips.

“Really?” she asked, her tone laced with relief.

“Really,” Charles said.

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright. Thank you, truly. I… I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

The irony of her words wasn’t lost on him. He was the threat she feared, yet now he stood between her and the danger she didn’t even know existed.

Charles watched as she moved to pour him a cup of coffee, her back turned to him, her trust laid bare. The knife she’d mentioned hadn’t been a warning; it had been his own. Yet now, instead of finishing the job, he was stepping into a role he’d never imagined for himself.

Protector.

He wasn’t sure what would come next, but one thing was clear: there was no going back.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow

[vivwritesfics]

The Devil Dances With A Smile

Chapter Two

He can't kill you. He can't bring himself to lay a hand on you. So, he falls for you instead (its a shame his employer really wants you dead)

Hitman!Max x reader

Chapter One

The teachers lounge was rarely a good place to nap. Somebody was always yapping about something. On any day but today, that would have been Max. Yapping at Charles, who would yap back. 

Today, though, he was far too tired to yap. He laid his head down on the table, his energy drink forgotten in front of him. The teachers lounge was the only place he could enjoy his much needed energy drinks, especially if he didn't want the kids to see. 

"You look like shit," Charles muttered as he joined him, sipping his coffee. 

Max looked up only to glare. He quickly laid his head back onto the table and shut his eyes. 

"Jim and Sass keep you up again?" 

Oh, that was right. Back when he and Charles first started their jobs, Jimmy and Sassy were his excuse for everything. It was better that way, though. If Charles knew what he was really doing, he'd never look at him the same way. 

"Just let me sleep, Charlie," Max mumbled through a yawn. 

Leaning back, Charles sipped his coffee, but he said nothing more. He kept his eye fixed on Max, just watching him. When the bell went, he woke Max up. Snapped his fingers in front of his face to make him just a little more alert and sent him in the direction of his classroom. 

Mac moved through the day like a zombie. He barely got through it, his only aid being the red bull he kept hidden in his thermos. 

The thing about Max was that he hated coffee. Last night had been a charade; he hid every grimace behind what he hoped was a charming smile. When you topped him up for a second cup, he guessed that it worked. 

Still, he wouldn't be ordering another from you. But he would be going back. Research, he told himself. To find out why somebody would want you killed. Were you really that bad a person? So bad that somebody was willing to pay a lot of money to see you dead at his hands? He just couldn't see it. 

The school day came and went as it always did. Max stayed behind and tidied his classrooms. Put the text books back on the shelves and picked up paper left behind by the students. 

A drawing. He knew immediately which student had done it. A talented artist who had spent the lesson drawing him and Mr Leclerc from history locking lips. 

Chuckling to himself, Max shoved the drawing into his drawer. He grabbed his bag, the Red Bull disguised in his coffee thermos, and headed out. 

Max had never dreaded going to his second job before, not since his first day. But tonight? Tonight was different. 

For the first time ever, he hadn't completed the job. 

He moved slowly as he got himself showered and changed, making dinner for himself and feeding the cats. Jimmy and Sassy fussed around his legs, and Max took his time to give them attention, putting off the inevitable. 

Christian was gonna have his ass. 

Tying his shoelaces took longer than normal, but that was because he was stopping every few seconds to give his cats kisses. “I love you both,” he assured them, running his hand along Jimmy's back and up his tail. “If daddy doesn't make it home, uncle Charles is gonna take care of you, okay?” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and headed out the door. 

Never before had Max wished for traffic. Never before had he wished for his commute to his second job to take longer than the usual twenty minutes. 

But it felt all too soon that he pulled into his parking space. He sat there for several minutes, making sure he had everything that he needed. Keys, wallet, phone. All already in his pocket. Convenient. 

He forced his brain to think up the worst that Christian could say and do as he walked towards his office. Shoot him dead was the worst he could do, tell him he's fired was the worst he could say. 

Max sucked in a breath. He pushed down the handle and opened the door, letting himself into the office. If he was a weaker man, his legs would have been buckling as he approached the desk. 

"Your target is still alive."

Max nodded as he sucked in a breath. "I know," he said. "But she's tricky," he finished. 

Christian blinked at him. "She's a waitress," he replied. "Can't you shoot her dead when she's behind the counter?" 

A sigh left his lips. "Just trust me, Christian, it's not that simple. She's got colleagues and customers, people  that care about her. I can't just kill her there; I've got to gain her trust first." 

Christian levelled him with a look. Unimpressed, but accepting. "Fine. Just get it done," he said and sent Max on his way. 

He couldn't keep putting it off, he thought as he drove towards the café. He immediately spotted you, clearing the tables by the window. He watched you pause and look out across the lamp lit street. 

Climbing out of the car, Max started towards the café. His mouth was dry as the bell above the door rang, signalling his arrival. 

You looked up as the bell rang, a smile splitting across your face. "Well hey, stranger," you said, your grin widening. Any more and your face would have hurt. 

"Nice to see you again," Max said as he slipped into the nearest seat. 

You leaned against the table. It wasn't like you were trying to flirt, trying so hard to appeal to him. But it was working. Your pretty eyes, your pretty smile. He could have stayed here all day staring at you. 

You took his order, just a coffee. But you threw in a pastry for him, a treat, on the house. 

For the first hour, Max sat there. As much as he wanted to talk to you, you were too busy working him to give him the attention that he wanted. But you met his eye, gave him a warm smile as you cleaned the rest  of the cafe. 

Finally, you leaned against the table once again, your palm flat as you angled your body towards him. "So, what? Are you stalking me or something?" 

For a moment, Max panicked. But then you laughed and his entire body relaxed. "It's not every night you meet a pretty girl in a dingy café," he replied and your cheeks heated up. The little 'no offense' he added at the end was so endearing, you couldn't help but slip into the seat. 

Max was easy to talk to, but you knew that from the day before. He showed you pictures of his cats, telling you all about them until you got called into the kitchen to run food. 

As soon as table 43 had their food, you returned to Max's table. "I still don't get what you're doing here," you said to him, not bothering to sit down this time. You only had five minutes left on the clock. "You're a teacher, a local one. You don't get the train anywhere, so why are you here?" 

His face was bright red and he pushed his hair back, swallowing. "The first time, I was just looking for something to drink. I came in today because I wanted to see you," he confessed, scratching at the back of his neck. 

You checked your watch. "Let me clock out, and then you can walk me to the bus stop again." 

Before you could walk away, before you could get changed and walk back towards him, Max grabbed your arm. Your immediate instincts had you quickly pulling out of his grip and taking two steps back. 

Max dropped his hand. He didn’t say anything, didn’t call out your behaviour. Instead, he fished his car keys from his jacket pocket. “Or I could drive you home, if you like.”

He didn’t drive you home that night. But he did walk you to the bus stop again. You stood closer to him than you would to any of your other customers. “I want to take you out at some point,” he said, staring down at you. The bus was pulling up, he only had a few seconds. “On a date.”

You didn’t gasp, you weren’t surprised. But your cheeks still heated up. “Tomorrow,” you said and smoothed down his jacket. “We’ll arrange it tomorrow.”

Max watched as you stepped onto the bus and paid for your ticket. He watched as you sat somewhere near the back. 

As soon as the bus pulled away, Max headed back towards the car. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, swiping his thumb across the screen to answer it. “Soon, Christian,” he said, before Christian had the chance to say anything to him. “She’ll be dead soon.” He swallowed the lump in his throat as he climbed into the car. 

Christian paused for a moment. An anxiety inducing moment. ‘Lando is gonna take on the job’, that was what he was ready for him to say. “Our employer wants her dead within the next two weeks. Get on with it.”

The call ended and Max dropped his phone onto the centre console. A sigh left his lips and he began to drive, heading in the direction of the bus. There weren’t many occasions that called for Max to tail a bus, and it wasn’t all that easy. Every time the bus stopped at a stop, he parked where he could until the bus moved on. 

But then you got off of the bus and began your walk. As you got off of the bus, Max parked his car and climbed out. He followed you, ducking behind bins and bushes. You didn’t turn around, had no idea you were being followed. 

You weren’t expecting any sort of danger. Maybe it made you naive. You had no idea of the danger you were in. Max kept following you until you made it to your apartment complex. The sun was rising, the streets no longer dark. 

You were in so much danger, so much fucking danger. Max swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn’t let anything happen to you, he knew that much.

a/n: part two! it actually feels so good to be working on a series again. for those that don't know, i'm currently working on a lestappen werewolf series (that i hope to have posted in the next week) so keep an eye out for that!

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[afterglowsainz]

Carlos sainz number 2 please

i can fix him (no really i can) | carlos sainz

song; i can fix him (no really i can) - taylor swift

a/n: one of my favorites i’ve written

part of the spotify wrapped special

Carlos Sainz was a womanizer, flirt, and playboy, and no one could change him.

You rolled your eyes for the third time that night as you watched him flirt with the first woman who crossed his path at Ferrari’s end of the year party. Maybe it was a good thing this season was over and you wouldn’t have to see him anymore; after all, he was leaving, and you were staying. It wasn’t that you were envious with Carlos; it was just that his behavior stressed you out. Maybe he remind you a little of your ex-boyfriend? Whatever the case was, Carlos was far from your favorite person in the company, even though you seemed to be his.

“Why the face, preciosa?” another thing you didn’t like about Carlos—the damn Spanish nicknames.

“What face?” you asked, half wanting to punch him, half curious.

You quickly realized that if you felt even a hint of curiosity about what Carlos had to say, you’d probably had too much vodka.

“You’re looking at me like you want to stab my eyes out.” he laughed at his own joke, and you noticed he’d probably had as much to drink as you—if not more.

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of alcohol and embarrassment, but you weren’t about to show it in front of him. Thank Enzo for the dim lighting.

“You never change, do you, Sainz?” you muttered, taking another sip of your vodka martini. “Always so self-centered.”

The Spaniard smiled at you, one of those smiles he saved specifically for the hundreds of women he flirted with daily—one he used way too often with you. Before he could reply with whatever cheesy line he had prepared, Charles appeared beside you both, throwing an arm over Carlos’s shoulders and the other over yours.

“How’s it going?” Charles asked with a mischievous grin.

“Y/N’s drunk and I think she wants to kill me,” Carlos replied, maintaining eye contact with you.

“That’s not true!” you retorted like a child, making Charles laugh.

“Maybe you’ve had enough of these, huh?” Charles teased, taking the glass from your hand. “Mate, why don’t you escort her to her room, just to make sure she gets there safely?” he suggested, addressing Carlos.

“I don’t need anyone to escort me anywhere, and I don’t want to leave.”

“No problem.” Carlos ignored your protest, downed the rest of his drink, and gently guided you away from Charles and toward the exit of the party.

You didn’t say anything on the way, a little frustrated that both men had effectively kicked you out of the event but also a little tired, as the alcohol was beginning to take its toll. The party was being held at a luxurious hotel in Maranello, where the guests were also staying, and by the time you and Carlos reached the elevator, you’d mustered just enough energy to speak.

“Okay, we’re here. I guess you can go now,” you said, making no effort to thank him for accompanying you.

“I’ll walk you to your door and leave after that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you replied.

“Y/N, contrary to what you might think of me, I am a gentleman.”

The elevator arrived, and Carlos gestured for you to step in first. Too tired to argue, you entered the small metal box and pressed the button for your floor. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment, lulled by the gentle motion of the elevator. You might not have liked Carlos, but oddly enough, you trusted him.

However, your brief moment of peace shattered as the elevator jolted violently, and the bright white light flickered off, leaving you in dim emergency lighting.

“What the fuck?” you whispered.

Carlos acted quickly, pressing the emergency button. When nothing happened for a few seconds, he pressed it again, and this time a male voice mumbled something in Italian through the speakers. Panic crept into your chest as you turned to Carlos, hoping he understood better than you.

“The hotel is having issues with this elevator, but they already called maintenance. It’ll take about twenty to thirty minutes,” Carlos translated.

“Okay,” you replied, your voice weaker than you intended.

Carlos noticed the change in your demeanor despite his drunken state.

“You okay?” he asked, draping his suit jacket over your bare shoulders without asking.

“Yeah, it’s just… I didn’t expect to be stuck in an elevator right now, you know?” for once, you didn’t argue with his chivalry, instead pulling the jacket tighter around yourself, comforted by the scent of him.

Carlos nodded, moving closer when he realized you weren’t retreating as usual. You sat on the cold ceramic floor, and he joined you. Despite the proximity, the faint light made it difficult to see your face clearly. Maybe it was the dim lighting or the liquid courage, but he spoke up.

“Why do you hate me, Y/N?” His accent thickened as he asked the question, catching you off guard.

“I don’t hate you, Carlos,” you replied simply. When he realized you weren’t offering more, he pressed on.

“Doesn’t seem like it.” His tone lacked its usual playful edge; it sounded raw, vulnerable.

You turned to face him, even though you couldn’t fully see his expression.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. “I just think our personalities clash. But I don’t hate you.”

He nodded slowly. “You know I’m not really like that, right?”

You frowned, confused. “Like what?”

“I know what you think of me, but I’m not like that. I’m not a womanizer.”

You didn’t believe him, but you were kind enough not to say it aloud.

“I’ve never said that about you,” you offered, a little white lie.

“Maybe not, but I know you think it.” Carlos sighed, running a hand over his face. “You’re so frustrating, you know that?”

Before you could take offense, he continued. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for four years, and you never noticed.”

You were speechless. Completely and utterly stunned.

“Uh?” was all you could manage, feeling ridiculous. “But all the women…”

“Only one matters,” he interrupted, subtly gesturing toward you.

"Why didn’t you just say something?" you managed to ask after what felt like an eternity. You still needed to process his confession.

“You had a boyfriend when we met, so I didn’t. Then, when you broke up, you’d already decided I was just a player, which I’m not.”

Unintentionally, you pouted—a gesture he couldn’t see due to the darkness. You tried to take yourself back to those moments in the past when maybe Carlos had attempted to get your attention in some way, and how you’d always viewed his actions with ulterior motives. In your defense, as he had mentioned, you had a boyfriend when you first met him, and he was incredibly decent not to make a move during that time. But later, when your heart was broken, perhaps you hated all men, so it wouldn’t surprise you to think you had misjudged him all these years.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered sincerely, looking into his big brown eyes.

Suddenly, the space started to feel much hotter than before, although not for long. As quickly as it had malfunctioned, the flickering white light turned on, and the elevator began ascending again just as it had moments earlier. Seconds later, a soft ding and the glowing red numbers announced your arrival at your hotel floor, and the metallic doors slid open, welcoming three men dressed in blue uniforms—undoubtedly the hotel maintenance team.

The man closest to them apologized on behalf of the hotel in Italian, and Carlos responded that it was no problem, helping you off the cold floor and exiting as quickly as possible, his hand still holding yours.

When you arrived at your room, he let go of your hand, and you immediately missed its warmth.

“Are you going back to the party?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant while searching for your key in your purse.

“I don’t think so. I think I’ll head to my room to rest,” he replied, searching your gaze.

You nodded slowly as you opened the door, mentally debating whether or not to ask the question. In the end, the part of your brain fueled by alcohol, adrenaline, and the euphoria of his earlier confession won.

“Or maybe… you could come in, if you want?” Your eyes finally locked with his in a hopeful gaze.

His answer wasn’t immediate, but then he nodded.

[hiddenlife-manager]

I beg i beg i beg, i’ve read your latest Carlos fic repeatedly, PLEASE give me a part two, please please please i know it isn’t everyone’s taste but ITS MINE PLEASE

Carlos Sainz Jr Anal x femReader

cw... raw, cock, nsfw, anal sex, slight praise kink, creampie in ass, plot, hair gripping, hair pulling, simple sex due to injury, soft dom carlos, overstimulation, lube usage, lack of female pronouns, and lack of breast mentions, etc

notepad... hehe you ask and you recieve I wanted to go with a slight softer point of view in this due to his appendix being removed. I am like down for an anal series cause when i tell you I HAVE A LIST OF POSITONS. Anyway one down of the two stories I am writing for this month.

Part One

“He did it again. Carlos Sainz has won the Australian Grand Prix.” You heard an announcer state through the monitors hung on the walls in the Ferrari garage. You shook your head and placed your hands on your head to breathe for a moment. This race left you stressed, your mind worrying only about Carlos's current condition. What comforted you was seeing his car cross the checkered line, which allowed you to see Carlos was perfectly fine. You fanned yourself off rather quickly and rushed off with the rest of the Ferrari team to join the crowd.

Carlos drove his car into the garage and got out slowly, with the help of others, due to his inability to move rather quickly. He pumped his arm up in the air, walking to the crowd of all his team members; they hugged and cheered his name for this amazing win. The group high-fived or hugged him to celebrate. He eventually reached you, hugging you tightly, not letting you go for even a second, still wearing his helmet. Your lips kissed his hemelt, saying goodbye. He took his helmet and neck support off and celebrated with Lando and Charles before heading to the podium while you clapped the entire time.

The entire day was filled with interviews that he had to participate in. Carlos's win was important for multiple reasons; it showed his worth as a driver and also made him the only person so far to break current world champion Max Verstappen's streak. Yet he finally arrived back at the garage and walked slowly, his one hand resting on his side, where his appendix was and where the bandages currently are. He embraced you, allowing you to give extra support by placing your arm behind his muscular back.

“Another win for Carlos Sainz Jr., and right after getting his appendix removed, it is quite impressive.” You spoke with nothing but a joking tone. He looked down at you and kissed your lips quickly. “Amor, cállate.” He laughed while the two of you walked to the car. You helped him in carefully and couldn’t help but laugh just a bit.

“I am simply stating a fact. Perhaps all drivers should get their appendices removed. Well, except for Alex, his appendix is gone.” You two sat beside each other in the car, his hand slowly going up your leg. He didn’t care if he had his appendix removed or just raced; he wanted his part of the deal. Ever since the first time he made it to the podium, he wanted his gift. It had been four times in total, and now he wanted it again.  “Recuerda el trato.” He whispered in your ear; he knew speaking in English risked the driver hearing it, and you had learned the saying, so you knew what he was saying.

Your lips were on his the moment the both of you entered the hotel room. The door shut behind you two, but you made sure to be careful with Carlos. You were well aware he was still recovering and was feeling slight lingering pain. You grabbed his hand the second you two stopped kissing and slowly walked him to a chair. You sat on his lap, being careful. 

"Carlito, I will never forget,” you smirked, kissing his neck and slowly going down his body. “Besides, I have been planning the best way to do this.” Your hands reached his zipper and slid it down. His cock came out, and it was clear he was worked up. You heard him let out a gentle breath, but no moan. You wanted to take your time, but knowing Carlos, he just wanted to be with you. You sat up, walked over to the luggage, and pulled out the lube. You tossed it to him, and even if he was recovering, Carlos never missed it and caught it with ease. 

“Amor, you are truly rushing.” Carlos paused but chuckled, shaking his head and running his hand through his dark and soft hair. He opened the bottle and squeezed it onto his cock. You walked over to him. You were still standing, and Carlos was sitting staring up at you with his signature smile on his lips. Your hands touched his cock and began to spread a generous amount of lube. “I don't mind, eres mia after all.” He groaned and threw his head back. Your hands were working around his cock, and smirked. 

“You love this, Carlos. I know you're sad. You can’t fuck my ass every single day.” He placed the bottle to the side and grabbed your hair, pulling you up and kissing your lips. He let go of your hair and placed his hands on your hips, rolling through your dips. He helped you onto his lap so you didn’t hurt him. You decided to just rely on the lube his cock had, knowing it would take longer for you to get him in you. 

You slowly lowered your ass onto his cock and groaned as you gripped his shoulders and fell forward. He didn't care; he loved how weak you got. You moaned as you slowly made him enter and stretch you out. You were clearly struggling to take him in. You got him half way into you, but you had to stop. You pulled yourself off of him and were breathing heavily. 

“You can take it.” He whispered in your ear, caressing your hips, and you fully put yourself on his cock and moaned loudly. You couldn’t believe how good it always felt. You were out of breath from him being inside of you. Slowly, you started to go up and down, moving the way you knew he liked it. You rolled your hips each time you went down on him, and you could hear his soft grunts. “Perfecta…” He groaned as you were slow. 

“Love being on the podium, Carlito?" He smirked as he kissed your lips and held your hips to go up and down at a faster pace. You were a mess from the way he was softly praising you; he loved your body so much that he desired this more than any man. His hips slightly buckled up into your ass, and he was able to pull out a louder moan from you. Your hips went faster while moans began to slip from your lips, and he continued to kiss you, attempting to disguise the moans through kissing. It was clear he was feeling just as weak as you were; the feeling of tightness was overwhelming, and he loved your thighs against his. 

“Si, si asi!” He groaned as you went faster and faster on his cock. You were grabbed onto his shoulder with one hand, and your other pulled at his hair, gently snaking up from behind his neck. He smirked as you were being very vocal through moans but no words. He may have just gotten out of surgery, but he needed this; he needed you and your ass. You had everything he wanted. He continued to praise you in Spanish. 

“Me vengo!” You moaned. He loved you using the Spanish that he taught you. He placed his lips on your neck and began to suck as he took over, fucking your ass. You were clearly slowing down, and he would continue as you shook. Your orgasm hit you hard, and he cared very little, his cock ramming into your ass, your arms holding onto him weakly. “So much…” You moaned, but you were nothing but a mess, moaning and crying out loud. He loved the noise you made. It was clear you were perfect for him. He eventually felt himself get closer and closer, ramming harsher into your ass until he came inside your ass. You let out one last sigh of pleasure as you fell on him weakly.

“I need to teach you more Spanish words.” He pulled out of you, and he helped you off him as you leaked his cum, and he kissed your neck. “Estoy cansado y tu.” You nodded, and he was still weak from his surgery, but he sat there, hugging you tightly and brushing your hair with his hands.

[lovelytsunoda]

purple haze // charles leclerc

summary: writing a novel is a long an arduous process. luckily for y/n, she has a very supportive partner in crime, and when it all works out, he's the only person she would want by her side.

pairing: charles leclerc x author reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, talk of deadlines, book referenced is a good girls guide to murder by holly jackson. gets a lil steamy towards the middle but nothing comes of it. still not sure how i feel about this one, but i havent written for charles in forever and i got an idea i really liked but i don't know if it worked out when i put it on paper.

by the time y/n closed her laptop, she felt like her fingers were going to fall off. she leaned back in her desk chair, gutted to find that the monaco cityscape outside her living room window was now pitch black, as might had fallen on the city.

her first book had been a red-wine and oasis fuelled fever dream, the last three chapters being written to ‘don’t look back in anger’. and now, the final edits were done.

“I’m so proud of you, mon tresor.” charles gushed, bringing her another glass of wine.

“the last three years are finally paying off. a good girls guide to murder is done, and the world is ready to meet pippa and ravi.” she grinned, clinking her glass against her boyfriends.

she had poured three years of her life into that book, and Charles had been by her side for all of it. through numerous rejections, edits and late night idea-vomit, nobody was prouder than charles was so see it work out for her.

and now he knew she needed a break.

taking her hand in his, he gently dragged her out of the desk chair and towards the couch, placing their wineglasses on the coffee table as he urged y/n to sit on the ground between his legs.

his hands were warm as he began to massage her shoulders, attempting to release the tension caused by the last round of edits, which she had worked on almost from sunup to sundown.

“there’s still so much to do.” she whined, tilting her head back to look up at her lover. “now there’s arcs and extra promotions and finding advance reviewers and-“

charles cut her off with a kiss. “none of that right now. right now, you and me are going to finish this bottle of wine and watch something pointless on tv.”

smiling to herself, y/n got up from the floor and moved to the leather couch, slipping seamlessly into charles' lap and nestling against his chest. his body was warm, and his sweater soft. even if his cologne was a little bit too strong, he made her feel safe. treasured.

"that sounds perfect." she hummed, gently turning his face so she could kiss him. "thank you for supporting me."

"always, my love." charles smiled before kissing her again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

it was half past five in the morning when the phone rang. charles could sleep through just about anything, but it was the vibrations of the phone against her side table that woke y/n.

she looked over at her sleeping lover, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades before slipping out of bed and creeping into the hallway to answer a call from her agent, cecelia.

"cece, its five in the morning. couldn't this have waited?"

ceclia cleared her throat. "i've just heard from the american office. the preliminary numbers for the new york times list are in."

"fuck. how did we do?" she closed her eyes, holding up her crossed fingers and praying to every god she wasn't sure she believed in.

and when cecelia spoke again, she almost dropped her phone.

"okay. thank you for letting me know, cece."

she slipped back into the bedroom, bare, dry feet sinking into the plush carpet at the end of the bed before she sat down at the end of the bed, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"mon amour." charles rasped, exhaustion in his voice as he rolled over onto his back. "what's wrong?"

"i just got a call from cecelia." she started, trying not to let her emotions show through. "she's just been on the phone with our american agent with the new york times numbers."

charles sat up, one of his warm hands going to rest on her thigh. "and?' he asked hesitantly, his piercing eyes meeting her uncertain ones in the dark.

"i made the top ten." she shouted, grin spreading all across her features.

making the new york times list had made everything worth it. all the sleepless nights when she had woken up with an idea she was scared to lose, all the rewrites, the weeks of writers block. the rejections, the aggravation, the insecurity.

this was it.

she had done it.

"i'm so proud of you." charles beamed, folding her into a hug. "i knew you could do it, my brilliant girl."

she dropped her phone on the bed, red-faced and giggly as she kissed him, allowing her hands to wander across his toned chest. "wanna show me just how much?"

THREE YEARS LATER

the theater was almost silent when the lights came up, the end credits of the final episode fading out on the screen. she held her breath, fingers gripping charles' hand so tightly that she thought she might break the fragile bones in her husband's fingers.

oh, yeah. they had gotten married about a year after her book had come out, while she was in the middle of writing as good as dead, the conclusion to the series.

since a good girls guide to murder had come out, her life had changed for the better. she felt more secure in herself and her talent, and the words had never come easier when she started writing the sequel, eager ton continue the story. she had since written two more books to complete the trilogy, as well as two standalone novels: five survive and the reappearance of rachel price. around the time that rachel price was announced, she had gotten another call from cecelia, asking if she and charles could come to london and meet with representatives from the bbc.

they wanted to turn her first book into a tv series.

she had been hands on from the beginning, throwing herself into her work and doing her best to make sure that the version of the story the readers saw on screen was the version that she had visualized when she'd first explained the storyboard to charles, the driver helping her connect everything on their living room wall with red yarn.

and now was the time. the time to see if it had all paid off. the theater was filled with minor celebrities, influencers, and the tiktokers who had made her book blow up in popularity.

it all came down this night.

"it's okay. whatever happens, you know you did your best." charles whispered in her ear, running one hand up and down her bare back. underneath the flimsy straps of her red dress.

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath when the roar off applause began to drown her.

she rode the rush of emotions, allowing the tears of gratification and relief to ruin her mascara as she let her body go slack, resting against charles as she watched the room rise in a standing ovation for pippa and ravi.

"we did it. we made it, charles." she laughed, tilting her head up to kiss him.

"no, cherie. you did this. they're all here for you."

she watched as the event's host, a former spice girl that charles knew through his paddock connections, stepped out into the middle of the small stage set up at the front of the theater.

"and now, the moment i'm sure you've all been waiting for, a few words from y/n /y/l/n-leclerc!"

she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, taking a deep breath before she walked across the stage, taking the microphone from geri halliwell, and turning to face the crowd.

in the front row, there was charles. her one true love. her biggest supporter.

and in that moment, she truly allowed herself to believe that she had made it.

[f1fnatic]

SCRUTINY ⤿ f1 grid

→ ( in which. . . ) you are a woman on the f1 grid. you face criticism and digs almost every day from toxic fans, specifically the men. but, you shut them up after a rewarding race.

→ ( fanfic genre. . . ) written

→ ( pairing. . . ) 2023 f1 grid x female!reader

→ ( content warnings/disclaimers. . . ) cyberbullying, misogyny, sexism/sexist comments, overall a shitty environment. not based on this year's monaco grand prix or the season so far just has the drivers of this year's grid at this moment except alonso he is a reserve for aston martin, jumps around a little, not a completely solid plot, other pilots make subtle mentions, but mainly reader focused.

→ ( author's note. . . ) i enjoyed writing this one a lot. with being a woman myself and seeing how we are perceived in sports, especially a male-dominated field like motorsport, it was not very difficult to keep writing. anyways, i hope you enjoy! see end for more.

→ ( masterlist )

sunday, pre-race interview ↴

scrutiny. a word that you are familiar with. a word that has so much meaning but so little at the same time. you had recently joined your dream team, aston martin. after a challenging run in f3 and f2, you finally got recognized for your talent. you knew the comments would only get worse as you moved up the ranks, but you didn't expect them to be this bad.

it was the monaco grand prix. your least favorite track to race. the tight corners haunted you. without fail, you always almost crashed and cost your team everything. but it mainly cost you your dignity.

you were sat along a crisp white sofa that sat your teammate lance stroll, along with charles leclerc, lewis hamilton, lando norris, daniel ricciardo, and lastly max verstappen. you had all become acquainted when you first got to f1. lance and you got along swell and were close to inseparable. the rest were like brothers to you. these types of conferences were your personal least favorite. you enjoyed being with your friends, but the questions that were asked were downright embarrassing.

"y/n, coming over to you." the interviewer voiced, all attention was shifted onto you. "monaco in the past years has not treated you well, do you think you will have another devastating grand prix? and do you think your difference has to do with your performance?" you felt the scoff bubble in your throat. was he serious? you knew what he was playing at. your difference being your gender.

"well, first of all, i do not think my quote en quote 'difference' has anything to do with my performance." you start, putting finger quotes to emphasize the word difference. "if anything, it would be a difference in the car. in past monaco grand prix's the aston martin car has struggled. there are no real straights for the car to get its usual speed from. the differences in the care have nothing to do with me as a driver." this was unbelievable. were they really questioning whether you could hold your own as a woman in motorsport?

"you are starting p7 in today's race. do you think you performed well enough in qualifying? what could you have done differently?" finally. a normal question. you were excited to answer.

"uh, yeah. i think considering the conditions in qualifying and the nature of the track i did well. i am happy with how i performed but there is always room for improvement. and i am open to that." you answered, smiling. you looked over to lewis and saw him smiling at you. he knew how the media worked. he himself was getting pushed under the bus with racist remarks and 'concern' around his piercings. he was always supportive of you, and you were supportive of him. there were often times when you would text or call him ranting about how unfair it was that you were being treated the way you were. he would join in with his own stories and you would listen.

"y/n, i am sure you have seen the scrutiny online about being a woman competing in the pinnacle of motorsport. do you believe you should be here competing with men?" another reporter asks.

you are stunned. you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"are you serious?" lance scoffs beside you. "what is with these questions?"

"why do we get questions about normal things like our literal jobs and y/n's questions are always about her gender?" daniel adds. the couch breaks out in murmurs. the reporters visibly get uncomfortable with what has happened and end the interview.

standing up you walk out of the office and to your drivers room, ignorning the voices calling after you. these interviews were always bullshit. daniel was right, why were you always getting questioned about your gender and how that effects your performance? what does gender have to do with racing?

this was only the beginning.

sunday, day of monaco grand prix ↴

you were exhausted. exhausted by the comments, the bullshit interviews, and the stupid prick men that felt the need to voice their opinion about a woman in f1.

you could this year's grand prix was going to be a tough one. mentally and physically. you wanted to be done. done with the bullying, the sexism, the misogyny, everything. you knew you worked hard to get where you are, and you will continue to. you dreaded the after-race interviews. no matter your result, you would always get at least 4 sexist remarks.

you didn't know what else you needed to do to be able to prove yourself worthy of your seat. you shouldn't have to prove yourself anymore than you have. you are in f1, and all of these assholes are not.

your pr manager, bless his soul, had to listen to your rants after interviews. lewis always got brunt end of it as well. he had experience with degradating comments. he always knew what to say and when to say it. fernando has been a huge help as well. he was like a father to you, always there when you needed someone. he would defend you when you needed defending. he always knew what to say and when to say it.

race start, p7 ↴

p7 was not a bad place to start, at all. but the internet and crowd thought differently. you were sat in your car, ready for the formation lap when someone yelled at you, "c'mon pretty lady! get back to cleaning! this is a man's sport!" you resisted the urge to quip back at him, instead you raised your left hand and flipped him off. your pr manager would have your head later but you couldn't care less. you needed to do something to voice your annoyance.

concentration is what you needed, but you couldn't seem to gain it with more comments being shouted your way. "hot momma!" followed by a cat call whistle, "sweetheart take off that suit! let's see what's underneath!", "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THIS JOB!" were only some of the handfuls thrown at you. they also seemed to be the ones that bothered you the most. your grip on your steering wheel tightened, anger bubbling in your gut. these people knew nothing. they don't know how hard you work. they don't know how much blood, sweat, and tears you poured into achieving your dream. and they never would.

before you knew it, the formation lap started. it went quickly. you got back into your respective starting positions and stared down the lights. you took a deep breath to attempt to ground yourself. it is just a race, you have done this before y/n.

the lights lit up red, until they didn't. you flew forward in your aston martin, pushing it for a decent start. you ended up gaining two positions, going from p7 to p5. the rest of the race was uneventful, until it wasn't.

"y/n, caution on the chicane. hamilton, perez, and leclerc crashed. yellow flag, safety car." your race engineer voiced over the radio. "that moves you into a fortunate p2."

"okay, copy." you were ecstatic. this was your chance to prove yourself to everyone. to those men who scrutinized you before the formation lap, to the trolls online, and to those misogynistic pricks known as reporters. this was your moment.

"gap to verstappen 1.6 seconds, push." you did as you were told. you pushed, and you pushed hard. this was for all of the girls that wanted to be you. "oh my days y/n! p1! p1! you just won the monaco grand prix!"

"yes! oh my god! fuck me! we did it!" you had done it.

you did your victory lap and parked behind the p1 tower. when you got out of your seat tears stung at your eyes. you ran over to where the aston martin team was and hugged them over the barrier. team members were banging on your helmet. lance had managed p2 and came up behind you and hugged you, along with the team.

the podium was a blur. you could not describe the emotions you were feeling. pride, excitement, and most of all, happiness were swirling within you. you stood tall as aston martin's anthem played and even taller when yours sounded shortly after. the champagne spray was the best part. carelessly spraying lance as giggles sounded on the podium. you also sprayed your team below, this would not have been possible without them. you would never forget this moment. it is forever engraved into your mind.

this was it, this was what you needed to prove them all wrong.

not feeling super happy w this one. i like the beginning but i feel it gets away from me in the middle and end. feedback and requests are welcome! make sure to leave a comment and kudos as well, only if u want to tho! lmk if you like it :)

[wordingg]

Smells Like Teen Hormones

Summary: Charles just transferred to St. Hilarion's and sees the most beautiful boy across the lawn. Edwin Payne is the prima ballerino of St. Hilarion's dance program and a well known ice queen. But, it's not like something like that could stop Charles Rowland.

AN: I wrote this for deadboyween's free day, but got kind of stuck halfway through. This really deserves to be a lot longer and slower, but I just wanted to hit the scenes I thought was fun. I hope you enjoy it!

The first time Charles Rowland saw Edwin Payne, he almost tripped and fell on his face.

Charles had been aware when he got the sports scholarship to St. Hilarion’s that what it was well known for was its dance program. That had smarted a little bit, because Charles knew that if his skin wasn’t so dark and the type of dance that he practiced was something classy like ballet, he could have gotten a scholarship for his dancing. Instead, he got a scholarship for cricket, which wasn’t that bad as Charles sincerely liked cricket. But, it wasn’t dancing.

What Charles hadn’t realized when he transferred to St. Hilarion’s was that a dance program would have boys as well as girls. And not just fit b-boys like the boys who had been in his crew with him. No, beautiful posh boys with legs for days and porcelain skin who moved like water when they walked across the quad.

Charles stumbled and almost knocked over his new mate from the cricket team, Mark, who gave him a dirty look and shoved him back.

“Who the hell is that?” Charles breathed, not taking his eyes off the boy swanning across the grass in the center of a gaggle of small delicate girls.

Mark frowned in the direction that Charles was looking. “Who?” he asked, confused.

“That boy! The tall ballerina one!” Charles exclaimed, rudely pointing.

The boy turned and noticed Charles pointing at him and gave him such an offended look that Charles almost shriveled up like a prune.

Mark scoffed. “That’s Edwin Payne. The dance department falls all over themselves for him, but don’t bother trying to make friends. He’s a tosser, apparently.”

But, Charles wasn’t listening. The name Edwin Payne was ringing like a bell in his ears.

---

The next day, Charles went to find Crystal somewhere in the bowels of the art department. She was the only person he felt he could rely on to understand what he was going through. She was beautiful, and mean as shit, and probably his best friend in the world. Which was saying something because he had known her for about two weeks.

“Crystal, you have friends in the dance department, right?” Charles had asked, trying to find somewhere to lean that didn’t have paint all over it. If he ruined another uniform, he was pretty sure his dad would literally kill him.

“Yes, I am friends with the Japanese exchange student in our grade who is also in the dance department. Her name is Niko, Charles,” Crystal said in a long suffering tone as she tried blending in the blues on an oil painting it seemed like she had been working on for a week.

Charles winced. Based on her tone, she had probably told him a few times before, but he had forgotten. In his defense, he was neck deep in love.

“Right, the cute girl with the white hair. And, she’s in the dance department,” Charles forged on.

Sighing, Crystal gave up on her painting and turned to Charles. “Okay. What do you want?” she asked flatly.

“I think the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen in my whole life has class with her and will you pleeeeeeease introduce us?” Charles rushed out breathlessly.

Crystal stared at Charles. Charles tried to give her his best puppy dog eyes, the ones that made all the old ladies in his neighborhood coo and ruffle his hair.

“And you can’t just walk up to him and introduce yourself why?” Crystal asked incredulously.

“Because I think I would probably die on the spot,” Charles said seriously.

Crystal let her head tip back and let out an explosive sigh. “Fine!” she groaned.

Charles jumped up and punched the air.

“But, you owe me so many chocolate milks!” Crystal said, a threatening finger pointed at Charles. “I have no idea how you hustle the cafeteria ladies out of them, but I want in!”

“It’s my natural charm,” Charles said with a grin and then dodged the wet paintbrush that Crystal threw at him.

---

What Crystal set up was a study group with all four of them: Charles, Crystal, Edwin and Niko Sasaki, the Japanese transfer student.

“It’s basically impossible to fuck this up,” Crystal had told him firmly while Charles tried not to hyperventilate in the library bathroom ten minutes before their meet up time. “Just ask him to help you with your algebra with those big wet doe eyes and he’ll be done for.”

“But, what if I ask him for help with my algebra homework and he sees how hopeless I am and he’s disgusted?” Charles asked, pulling at his hair. Transferring from a public school to a private school had a lot of difficulties, but the sudden change in curriculum was by far becoming the biggest one for Charles. He didn’t think he was stupid, but he definitely was way behind all the other students who had been at St. Hilarion’s for years.

Crystal knocked his hands away from his head and grabbed his face in her terrifying claws, squishing his cheeks. She shook him a little and Charles flailed.

“Edwin Payne is the gayest gay boy that I have ever met in my life,” she said vehemently. “And you, Charles Rowland, are the most golden retriever shaped motherfucker in existence. If he doesn’t fall in love with you immediately, I’ll eat my fucking shoe.”

“Thanks, Crystal. You’re a real friend,” Charles said wetly.

“You’re damn right I am,” she said.

Then, the bathroom door opened and a boy yelped, “Hey, what! You’re not supposed to be in the boy’s-”

Crystal kicked the door shut with her big terrifying combat boots, nailing the boy in the nose. “Fuck off, terf!” she screamed.

Charles thought he loved her a little bit.

---

If Charles thought that Edwin was beautiful from across a crowded lawn, he was an idiot, because he was even prettier up close.

He was about as tall as Charles, but he was so lanky. He had these long arms and long legs, but all his limbs were under careful precise control at all times. His hands were pretty, pale with long manicured fingers, always carefully folded or deftly handling a pencil. His face was all long lines and flat planes, like someone had crafted him out of marble or something. Except his big dark eyebrows and thick dark lashes made him look incredibly alive, every small expression made louder by the twitch of his eyebrows.

Charles felt like an idiot the second he stepped into the room with him. His hands were immediately clammy with sweat and rubbing them on his trousers didn’t seem to resolve the issue. He kept stumbling over words and talking either too loudly or too softly. He lost count of how many times he dropped his pencil on the floor or knocked the table askew with his jittering knees. He felt like an oaf.

Crystal was looking at him like he disgusted her on a personal level. Charles didn’t know Niko very well, but the intense way her big sparkly eyes focused on him gave him the impression that she was enjoying whatever incredible meltdown he was experiencing.

For his part, Edwin seemed very confused by him. Charles couldn’t blame him. He knew he was acting like a bumbling idiot, primarily in Edwin’s direction. At one point, Edwin had asked him a direction question and it had startled Charles so much he literally threw his pencil across the room. If he hadn’t wanted to sink into the floor so much at that moment, he was pretty sure based on the acidic look that Crystal shot him she would put him there herself.

When the girls took a brief break to visit the bathroom and get them all some coffee, Edwin turned to Charles with a somber look. Charles gulped audibly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable-” he started to say.

“Not at all!” Charles hurried to say.

“I know I can be somewhat unapproachable to people my own age,” Edwin continued.

“You’ve been aces, mate, really!” Charles insisted.

“I think it’s quite admirable that you are making an effort to improve your academics. If I made you feel any other way, I sincerely apologize,” Edwin said to his lap, looking a bit miserable.

Charles had no idea what Edwin was talking about. If he had insulted Charles accidentally during their study session, Charles had probably been too busy trying not to spontaneously combust to notice. All Charles knew was that he wanted to clear away this misunderstanding as soon as possible.

“It’s not that at all!” Charles said firmly, pressing his hand over both of Edwin’s, where they were folded primly in his lap. “It’s just that you’re proper fit and every time I look at you, I think I’m in danger of choking on my tongue a bit.”

Edwin’s eyes, previously trained on his lap, snapped up to Charles, wide and gray and beautiful. Charles stared back a little breathless. This was the closest he had been able to look at Edwin’s eyes and they were really pretty, like a pale gray, blue, green color. Charles couldn’t quite put his finger on an exact description.

Edwin’s face then flushed with color and belatedly Charles realized what he had said and his face heated, as well. Charles didn’t think he’d ever seen another bloke full face blush before. The pink went all the way down Edwin’s neck. Charles wondered how far down it went…

“Oh,” Edwin said faintly.

“Ah, sorry, that’s-” Charles fumbled, feeling all his awkwardness come back in a rush.

“No, it’s not-” Edwin mumbled, suddenly matching Charles’ stutter for stutter.

Crystal and Niko chose that moment to come back into the study room holding two steaming coffees each.

“Why does it smell like teenage hormones in here?” Crystal asked with a wrinkled nose.

“Did you guys have fun without us?” Niko asked in a sing song voice that might have been a lingering bit of accent or might have had to do with the sparkle in her eyes as she took in both of their flushed faces.

The two boys mumbled something and thanked the girls for their coffees and got back to studying quickly.

---

After the study group was over, Crystal and Niko waved goodbye and walked together toward the girl’s dorms. Charles and Edwin both hesitated on the front steps of the library.

“Hey would you-” Charles started to say at the exact time that Edwin spoke.

“It was very-” Edwin said, then stopped, both of them freezing with their mouths opening before stumbling over each other.

“Oh, so sorry, please go ahead.”

“Nah, mate. You go first.”

They both stumbled to a stop again and then fidgeted on the top step, not quite looking at each other.

Charles bit his lip and mustered his courage and asked, “Would you want to hang out this weekend?”

Edwin’s eyebrows went up. “With Crystal and Niko?” he asked slowly.

“If you want,” Charles said, keeping his face still so it wouldn’t show his disappointment.

But maybe he didn’t keep it still enough, because Edwin Payne was looking at him with all of his considerable focus.

“Would you want that?” Edwin asked. And his eyes were so odd and clear and he was looking at Charles and Charles couldn’t help but to tell the entire truth when Edwin Payne was looking into his eyes like that.

“I was wanting to take you on a date, to be honest,” he said with a lopsided smile.

And, oh, that blush was back and it looked even nicer in the fading sunlight than it had in the harsh fluorescence in the library.

“If that’s okay with you,” Charles hurried to tack on. He had never asked a boy out before. He very much didn’t want to embarrass or shock Edwin.

But, Edwin only smiled a small smile and said, “That would be quite alright with me.” Then he ripped a piece of notebook paper out of one of his many color coded spiral notepads he carried in his arms and scribbled something on it before holding it out to Charles. Charles took the paper curiously. “I look forward to it,” Edwin said awkwardly, then hurried down the steps and away across the grass.

Charles looked down at the paper in his hand. It had a phone number written across it in perfect handwriting.

Charles made good on his earlier statement and choked on his own tongue.

[chilahh16]

" This is where I leave you."

People say that the hardest thing in love is seeing the love of your life happy with another. They're not so wrong. However, they also failed to tell others that leaving the very person that has became your world, the very air you breath, and the reason for sunshine in the morning is painstakingly arduous and painful.

If only she was given a heads-up, she would have held on tightly as the foundation of their love crumble as every season pass.

Y/n L/n did not know when everything started to change. When the colors so vivid started to dim and the love as red as his dream car faded. She can still remember the very first time she held his hand, the first hugs, kiss, and the first of everything. She and Charles loved each other as if the love they have is the only right thing there is. Maybe it is at one point. Because looking back, she came to realize that she had become a liability to him.

As Charles Leclerc continue to soar in the world of racing, Y/n felt that she has been holding him down - stopping him from reaching his true potential. They are two worlds completely differing each other. As he stands and bask in the spotlight, she found peace in the shadows. They walk in fame and peace, separately, and that's when the support she had been giving was not enough, no more. That even when their love clings on to the hope that this can be overcome just like the other times it did, it seemed that their love has its limit. From the whispers of people to the unending hungry stares of women wanting a piece of him, as though he is a prize in a game, caused cracks in their hardened relationship that stood proudly with time.

Y/n loved him too much that she stood by him. Through the ups and downs, the laughter and tears, and to the most painful of times. She was beside him when Jules passed; she became his rock and comfort. Even that was not enough for the world is cruel. It did not give their love time to blossom beautifully, it withered and died unwittingly.

Now, 6 years later, everything has changed so as everyone. But it seemed he did not. Looking as the blazing red car seamlessly turn and sped off to the finish line, proved her theory. His dream still stand firm and she was grateful she was there to witness as he stands victorious in his home race. Maybe everything did not change, because if it is, then it wouldn't hurt this much. The memories of the past still fresh in her mind - his tear stained face, the broken sobs and the tight arms that envelop her, haunted her for years and it was at this moment that she felt its full force. A wave of nausea hit her as she stands looking up at her past love. She could no longer stop the tears as she sobbed and held her chest as he proudly give honor to Jules and Herve above.

'He did it Jules, Herve. He conquered Monaco and they love him back.'

Hence, she turned her back one last time. Just like she did all those years ago. How she broke his heart and left him to pick up the pieces. But leaving him today hurts so much more as she made peace with the truth. This will be the end of their story. Every step away from him tore her further as finally she lets go of the past, of him.

"How can you be so selfish?"

Y/n stood stuck as the ever familiar voice laced with a thick accent reverberated in her ears. It couldn't be right?

"How dare you come here and leave again." It was no question as his voice is laced with venom.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." was the only thing that came to y/n's lips as her hands found comfort in them. She cannot face him. Could not. Would not.

"Did you really think it was that easy. Do you take me as a fool to just forgive you?" Charles growled as he view the figure of the woman he had loved in the past.

"Look at me and tell me why you did it." he yelled as he felt his heart constrict.

Charles Leclerc thought that he was over the past. That he had buried everything to the deepest parts of his memories. That he had already forgotten the shape of her face, her infectious smile, and everything good about her. How selfish can she be coming today and showing her face to him like nothing happened? How dare she cry as he triumph? How dare his heart skip a beat upon seeing her.

The man that he became is someone he does not even recognize. The podiums, the wins, the praises, everything felt like a buzz in his ears. He could not feel himself again. Upon picking up the pieces of him that was left after her ruthless goodbye, he has learned to close his heart. Every relationship after her was for a naught when every peaceful nights, her face is the one he sees as was every waking dawn. He tried to move on, to forget everything about her but it was hard. So hard that no matter the pain she gave, his heart still beats for her only.

And seeing her today, just proved it. He did not care about the win at all, he knows that he made his father and godfather proud. It was because of them that he was able to race but, it was she that became his driving force to continue. And when she left, the world stopped.

"Look at me." he pressed as he held his anger. Afraid that he would lash out in front of millions.

But he did not care. He wanted to know what happened. Why she left as if he was no more than a stranger. He give no mind to the eyes that follow his and her every move. To all the rumors and backlash be damned. He needed this after all this years.

Slowly but surely, he found his forest colored orbs trained to the eyes that held warmth from before. He was now met with the face of the person he had laid his heart to.

" Charlie, I'm so sorry..."

" Don't!... don't call me that. You have no right."

" Brother, not here. Please." Arthur begged as he held his older brother. Reminding him that all of Monaco has their eyes trained on them, that the camera has panned to their stature when Charles ran down the podium after the anthem was over. The festive circuit has quieten, nervously awaiting the scene to unfold. People of the world are waiting as the race was aired live.

" No. I need to know, 'Tur." Charles, ever stubborn, state as he stepped closer to Y/n, causing the woman to panic further.

" Arthur's right. Not here, please." Y/n stuttered as she felt every eyes on her frame. Mocking and judging her.

" What do you know about what's right. You left remember. You left me to die. You're. selfish."

" Stop. Please..."

" No! Not until you tell me why you did it."

"Just stop. Please stop."

" Then tell me!"

" I was scared!" Y/n yelled as the tears streamed unending. She has finally done it. If this is the last time, then let it be done with.

" After Jules' death, I came to realize that it could happen to you anytime. No matter how careful you are, there is no guarantee that you would come out unscathed. Every time you drive that car, I pray to God, to every force that is listening to protect you because I cant!"

" When Jules was on his deathbed, no one but me and your family saw how you seem to die with him. Yes, I vowed to be with you always. But if being with you meant that every second of every season you race meant death is upon you, how can I have the strength to be strong and be able to stay."

Charles was left dumbfounded. He did not know. Why didn't you tell him. He would have understood. He was ready to give up everything for her, even the sport he loves.

"I can't have you give up racing because of me. I don't want you to resent me in the long run. If breaking both our hearts mean you'll be able to race and win, then it was worth it." Y/n finished as she hung her head low.

She has finally said it. All those years of torment, of heartache, of everyday wanting to go back and apologize was not for nothing. Both of them can finally move on as the truth was laid bare for everyone to see.

" How..." Charles started, not knowing what to say. The anger that made home to his heart was easily melted by knowing the truth. If only he had known, he would have never stopped looking for her, never stopped trying to win her again.

What was the point of this 'what if's' now that she has clearly moved on. But he is not Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc for nothing. No matter what, he'll try and try up until he triumph. Hence, he steeled himself, ready for what was to come next.

"Why are you worrying of the things that has yet to happen?" he started moving much closer to the woman he has always love.

" Please, don't do that. Just because of what happened before does not mean that it will happen now."

" You can never guarantee that. I cannot have y-"

" Y/n, look at me." Charles softly cradled her face, wiping the unending tears and soothing the chaos that is her mind.

" The things that has yet to happen does not dictate for us to lose hope. To be broken and sad. Why can't we worry about it when it happens? We'll worry about it when it comes. We'll cry when we're there. "

" No, Charles. Listen to me. You will never understand this even when you know everything. It will never change anything. And I have no right to love you." All broken and judged, she laid it for him.

However, Charles pursued. He will never let her go again. Never. Even if she tried every way possible for her to hurt him, he'll stay. Now more than ever.

" Why do you need the right to love me? I will say this once and for all, it's okay. So love me like you did before...or so much more." he reiterated as his forehead kissed hers. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth that emanated from her.

" You do not have to worry about what happened before happening again. I will stay by your side until you beg me not to. I have loved you before, right now and always. So please stay." he pleaded for the world to see.

But he did not care. He only cared for her, for Y/n. Because after all this time, he never forgot. His heart has always yearned for her just like how it beats for her alone. And it burst with love for the woman before him as he gaze onto her eyes. He saw everything there. Everything that she cannot put into words. And who was he to not seal it, again. Hence, he kissed the life out of her. The years of longing, hatred and guilt poured into that one kiss as the world cheered for them.

The flashes of cameras and the deafening cheer echoed in the street of his home as his love is back. He made thanks to the God he had never believed and the string that has yet to snap. Indeed it was true, ' the string may bend and tangle, but it will never break.' That the years apart was no punishment but, a way for them to grow - to see things clearly, to look back and learn that what happened was worth it. Yes, it did break them but, it also taught them that a relationship is partnership, that it really does take two to tango.

But then again, they were but humans, the two of them. Faulty but faithful. Hence, they'll hold tightly this time - never letting go, and remembering the start. Because Pascale was right, we only regret the chances we didn't take.

[natailiatulls07]

Drive to survive

Charles Leclerc & leclerc!driver!reader

Summary - Netflix's drive to survive interviews Y/n and Charles Leclerc about something that caused immense issues

Warning - Cheating, car crash, panic attack, fire, crying, swearing and self doubt

Reader drives for Ferrari

Purple is flashbacks

-

Y/n Leclerc, Ferrari

"Hello, I'm Y/n Leclerc. I'm 24 years old and I race for Ferrari alongside my twin brother, Charles Leclerc" I sat in the seat just in front of the camera, my anxiety throw the roof. My last season had ended on a bad note, with some personal troubles effecting my focus on track.

The producer settled herself down just to the side of the camera with a hand full of questions and topics that we would talk through for Netflix. "How are you feeling right now?"

Taking a deep breath in and out before answering. "yeah..I think I'm good. but yet I guess I'll have to be" A nervous chuckle left my lips which earned me a look of sympathy from the producer.

Looking down at her paper, she prepared herself to ask the first question. "So how do you feel after your ending last year?" Her voice calm and collected, as if she wanted me to feel that energy, this was what I was grateful for.

It took me a second of debating, debating my answer. "Um yeah, I mean it was a hard time obviously...I had some personal problems regarding my relationship and unfortunately that had its effect on my performance" A pause to think over my answer. "Of course I should not have um let that effect my performance, which I am greatly disappointed at myself for"

-

Walking into my appartment, I noticed the absence of Theo in the open plan kitchen lounge. I searched further into the appartment. Thats where I saw Theo in my bed with another girl.

Tears were welling up in my eyes, I had been dating him since I was just twenty but yet he decided to throw that away for some girl. "What the fuck?!" Shock, betrayal and heartbreak. Thats all I felt.

That night I kicked him and his sidechick out of my appartment, wanting to see nothing of them ever again. Luckily my three brothers were coming round that evening. So when they saw me, cheeks burned with tears, they knew something happened.

~

It was the last grand prix of the season, Abu Dhabi, I was sat in p4 just awaiting for the five red lights to flash away. My head was clogged with that day, the day I got heartbroken. "Radio check, radio check" My race engineers voice came through my headset.

"Loud and clear..." Voice low and weary as I replied.

"Y/n...you can do it, just forget and clear your mind" He knew of my heartache, heck everyone knew, wanting nothing more for me to end the season on a high note.

That race was my worst race to date. I didn't finish it. It was the Abu Dhabi race where I crashed, the Abu Dhabi race where I just sat by my burning car tangled up in a panic attack. I couldn't control my breathing or my mind.

Not my finest hour, in my opinion it was my very worse.

-

Looking down at my lap, I could see my leg persistantly bumping up and down. It was hard to talk about that time. "What was your first instinct to your crash?" The producer asked her next question.

Once again my mind was casted back to that night. "Well um I remember that after I got out of my car, I couldn't stop crying and I couldn't control my breathing. I was having a panic attack and I just couldn't calm myself down"

-

It was loud. I could hear the safety team trying to calm down the fire. I could hear fans watching on from the sidelines. I could hear my race engineer trying to calm me down through my headset. I felt like I was moving away from the real world every second.

My mind couldn't focus on one thing. I felt the warmth of the fire on my body. I felt the hands of a safety team member trying to bring me back down to earth.

~

When Charles heard the red flag through his radio, his mind went straight to Y/n. Where was Y/n? Is Y/n okay? Growing up Charles grew more and more protective of his twin.

So when he saw her car and herself not in attendance of the Ferrari, he became even the more distressed. But when he saw the crash on the large television screen, he set off run towards it much to the team dismay.

Charles ran until he reached the burn car. He saw her sat there curled up in her arms.

"Bébé bébé peux-tu m'entendre? Je suis là, souffle souffle écoute mon coeur" He pulled her into himself, moving her head to rest just above his heart. Wanting her to hear his heartbeat and copy it.

Charles knew of her panic attacks, he watched them grow worse and worse as they grew up. But he always knew how to help her, calm her down and breath.

-

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari

"How did you feel when you saw your teammate and sister crash and then have a panic attack?" The producer asked the 25 year old Ferrari driver.

His eyes downcasted, that night was his nightmare. "I remember feeling um this sense of terror fill me when I saw her crash. Aside from being my teammate at Ferrari, Y/n is my twinsister. She's has always had her panic attacks but that night..." Charles felt his eye water up even at the thought.

"That night was the worst panic attack she has ever had, I don't think I'll recover from that night" Standing up from his chair, Charles walked away from the camera. Tears flooding down his cheeks.

-

Y/n Leclerc, Ferrari

"It was only when Charles came that I started to come back down to earth. It's always when he comes that I come back." It was always Charles who helped me through my panic attacks.

Charles. He has been my rock ever since forever. He had been my rock when times got rough and tough. Before each race checking on me and everyday checking on me. He knew how hard I was taking my breakup and just wanted to help me through that.

Once again, I took in another deep breath, trying to distance myself from that night. "So 2023, how are you feeling about returning to Ferrari with Charles by your side?" The producer continued.

A small smile made its way to my face. "Yeah um I'm excited of course. I love racing, I love getting behind that wheel and fighting for a place on the podium, fighting for first place" Nodding my head, with approval of my comment.

"Well thank you so much for talking with us today, I know it's hard to talk about something like that" The camera were cut off, we both stood up from our seats.

Walking out of the studio, I felt a sense of relief and solace fall on my shoulders. This replacing the deep sorrow and disappointment.

-

I heard my appartment door open and close. Walking into the kitchen lounge, Charles had a proud smile on his face. "Whats got you smile like that?" I laughed at my confusion, Charles joining in with my amused laughter.

"Lucy, your manager, just called me and she told me about your interview with Netflix today...I'm so proud of you baby sis" His tears cloud his waterline whilst tears of my own clouded my own.

Finally, I had gotten over my anxiety and my regret. I could breath again.

-

[vax-merstappen]

press delete pt.2 (cl16)

summary: even though he’s dating a new girl, charles still keeps the pictures of you on his phone.

warnings: breakup, general angst

hope you all enjoy this highly requested part 2! i actually liked writing this one more than the original lol

part 1

Charles had spent all day with the supermodel he had been seeing ever since your breakup. She was good company and had known Charles when he was a kid. He got along fine with her, but they were just friends. Someone he could talk to, even if they would never dance in the rain together or stay up late at night drunk on his balcony.

Just someone to fill the void.

After he had dropped her off back at her place, Charles had driven home himself. He had taken a shower before collapsing on his couch. As soon as he opened his phone, he saw that pictures of them together were already on social media. He wondered whether you had seen. Whether you had cared.

He opened his camera roll, looking back at all the pictures he couldn't bear to delete.

--

It was the first time he had invited you to come watch him race, his personal guest in the Ferrari hospitality. You had shown up wearing a T-shirt with his name and number on it, a red Ferrari cap on your head. He remembered how just seeing you in his team gear had made his heart flutter.

You had run over to him in the paddock, pulling him into an embrace. The cameras were flashing, but he knew you didn't care. Charles hugged you back, whispering in your ear how glad he had been to see you. He vowed then and there that he never wanted to let you go.

He gave you a tour of the paddock, showing you the places he knew the cameras wouldn't follow and the best places to grab food before the race. He had spent so much time in various tracks like this that he knew it like the back of his hand. He only hoped you would one day feel the same, having come to many more races of his.

When it was time to head on track, he had given you one last embrace. And before he went, he asked if he could take a picture with you. Him in his race suit, you in Ferrari gear. You happily obliged and he took his favorite picture of the day, just the two of you in his garage.

He would look back at that picture whenever you couldn't make it to a race, remembering that you were cheering him on from home. Even though he hadn't won that day, getting to spend it with you had been its own sort of victory.

As he looked at the photo now, all he felt was regret. Regret that maybe you didn't understand how much you had meant to him and how much better he felt with you around.

He couldn't make himself delete the picture and so he scrolled on.

--

A few minutes later, he found another picture that brought back memories. He chuckled to himself, remembering that day.

It had been Christmas time. You both had spent Christmas Eve with Charles family, as they celebrated the holiday. On the actual holiday, you had asked him to spend a cozy day in instead of celebrating in an extravagant way. He had agreed, wanting nothing more than to spend the day by your side.

But he had to still get you a present, no matter how many times you had insisted the only gift you wanted was to spend time with him, away from everything. He had searched endlessly for the perfect present for you, finally settling on something he knew you would appreciate. It was tickets to see a band you both listened to in concert. One of the first things you bonded over as a couple was your love for their music. It was perfect and he was so excited to see the look on your face when you opened the tickets.

Christmas had rolled around and as promised, he spent the morning cuddling with you in bed. Around lunch time, he had got up to make the two of you a brunch. His cooking skills were lackluster to say the least, so you had joined him the kitchen a few minutes later. He could still remember how you looked in the soft morning light and how you sounded when you laughed at how poorly he had chopped the ingredients of your favorite dish.

About halfway through the meal, he had handed you the envelope with the tickets. He had tried to hide how excited he was, but he knew you could read his emotions like a book. You opened the simple card he had bought and your eyes had widened when you saw the tickets.

But instead of getting all excited as he imagined, you burst into laughter. He felt his face getting red and he started to panic. Had he messed up? What was so funny?

"Mon amour," you had said, finally pausing in your laughter. "Go look under the Christmas tree."

Not knowing what else to do, he had stood up from the table and walked over to the tree. There was a small box underneath. He grabbed it and walked back over to you with a look of confusion. You nodded and he opened it.

Inside were two tickets to the same concert.

"You bought the same thing?" he had asked incredulously.

"Yes. I thought you would love it."

"Well I love it so much that I bought you the same thing," he laughed, now understanding what was so funny.

He had taken a picture of the two of you together each holding the tickets the other had bought. Your smiling faces stared back at him now from his phone. You had known each other so well. How had a relationship so deep crumbled?

He couldn't bear to let go of the memory. He scrolled to the next photo, stopping himself from pressing delete.

--

He had finally reached the last photo from your relationship. It was you, standing on his boat. One of his oversize shirts was on your shoulders. He always thought they looked better on you. With the image, the circumstances under which he took them came back to him. That he would delete it when you two got back together.

He thought back to that fateful day.

You had gone out together on his yacht. He had hoped it would be a lighthearted and relaxing break from the stress that had been plaguing your relationship. He saw you standing close to the edge of the boat and he had remembered a time where you had pushed him into the water, jumping in after him yourself. He walked over with the intention of recreating the fun moment.

But the second he pushed you, he knew he had misjudged the circumstances. You had shouted at him.

"Mon amour, it was just a joke Don't take it all so serious. We are here to have a good time, no?" he said, trying to smooth over the situation and bring some brightness back into the day.

"Not if you are going to throw me in the ocean."

He had sighed, wishing you could just appreciate the day with him. You two had descended into an argument afterwards. He didn't remember what he had said, only that he had wanted to make you see that he wasn't always the villain. Sure, he had neglected you in the past in favor of his career. But he was here now, wasn't he, trying to make it all better?

The rest of the argument was a blur in his head. Up until the point you had uttered the words that finally broke him.

"I don't think this is going to work anymore."

He had tried so hard for you. But his best wasn't good enough and he could see that now. Somewhere along the line you both had lost your understanding of the other person. Your relationship had become built on memories of the past and differing ideas of the future.

He had blinked back tears behind his sunglasses. He didn't want you to know how bad you had hurt him. Charles knew he had his fair share of blame for how things had turned out. He didn't want to cry in front of you now. He could hold it in until he got home, as much for your sake as his own.

The words he said next were crystal clear in his mind.

"Okay. We can take a break. But let me get one last picture of you to remember you by. And when we get back together, I will delete it off my phone so we don't have to remember this day? Ok, ma cherie?"

Charles had taken the picture that stared back at him now. Even now, he could tell how unhappy you were in the picture. It was clearly a fake smile that you had given him.

But even though the picture and the memory of how it all fell apart had pained him, he couldn't bear to delete the picture off his phone. The hope and the promise that he could still end up with you were too much to throw away.

Instead, he clicked onto your name in his messages. He selected the picture of you on that boat. His finger hovered over the send button. He had a choice to make.

But surely if you had wanted to see him again, you would have said something. You were probably happy now without him. He didn't want to ruin your peace. So he clicked out of your messages and into hers.

He sent another text back to the model, asking if she wanted to see him again next weekend. If you had wanted him out of your life, he owed it to you to make that happen. Even if he couldn't make himself delete your memories from his phone.

[dailydoseoflhs]

04: Media.

══════════════════════════════

Lucille receives a notification from Instagram. Her eyes reads along the line of THE Charles Leclerc liking her story and her post.

The first instinct she does was to call Julia and fangirl with her.

The two girls was screaming at the top of their lungs as if they have won a lottery. Her profile getting followed and her post getting more engagement due to Charles' engagement to it.

Her phone pings, Julia sending her articles of "their" supposed relationship. When in fact, her and him are completely strangers to one another.

Some fans goes far as calling her homewrecker saying that she ruined Alexandra's ans Charles' perfect relationship.

Lucille hangs the call, closing her phone to detox.

"Anak? Okay ka lang ba?" (Lucille? Are you okay?) Her mother questions as she enters the room with Lucille's favorite snack.

"Okay lang po ako, ma." (I'm fine, mom) Lucille answers with an assuring smile on her lips.

The girl takes the snack and place it on her nightstand. Her mother was not chronically online, so she remains oblivious to what is happening.

The media is now calling her the new love interest. The scary part is, they are trying to get more information on her.

Good thing, she doesn't input her information in any of her social media accounts. Only birthday and nickname.

"She's 9 years younger"

"That's an age gap trope😍"

Some approves due and some remains not so happy with it.

══════════════════════════════

withlove_lucille posted a story 1min ago●

══════════════════════════════

Notification 🔔

@charles_leclerc liked your story

@charles_leclerc has started following you back

══════════════════════════════

Lucille saw the notification and decided to ignore it.

Charles is definitely just being a nice gentleman and appreciating his fans support for him. She knows that the man is still undergoing a heartbreak recovery.

Probably, sooner Charles will undo everything and realizes he is being hazy.

But Lucille despite her self-assurance could not shake it off. Why her? Why did he chose her to interact with? Was there any reasons?

Something in her mind is telling her something.

The invisible red string glowing gold as two soulmates has found their way to one another.

Entangled with hardship but by the looks of the string, it was a string that is strong and cannot be cut off.

══════════════════════════════

Meanwhile.

Charles accidentally liked his fan's post and story. Her congratulating him and posting him on his story, he felt big joy seeing it.

He knows his fans are ones who never gives up on him and so, he will not give up on them either.

Charles couldn't undo the like thinking that the user might think he didn't like their post and story, so he let it be.

But the next few hours, he didn't expect that it will blow up and a theory about his relationship. He couldn't understand, why he couldn't appreciate his fans at peace without a rumor being created?

He returns to the user's profile and liked the newly posted story about the situation, them clearing things up.

Charles accidentally clicked the follow as if his finger has its own mind. He panics making him close the phone and pace around the room.

He couldn't unfollow the user now especially his eagle-eyed fans that saw him following the account.

He is so doom. He is so done.

The media will have a field day with this. All because his fingers always slips up with this particular account.

Indeed, the medias has released articles about it already. Not even an hour passed and there are articles already.

He starts to feel bad for the person he dragged into this. The innocent person behind the account will be entangled in this mess.

Despite his panic, there is a certain feeling of familiarity. A sense of knowing towards the account as if he have know the person behind it for a long time.

The red string of fate do really have its own way. The accidents that he experience were not accidents but a glimpse of the future.

MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS || NEXT

Author's note

Update for you all! I survived my midterms, I'm kinda free from uni works...but I can't say I'll update regularly.

Regarding the taglist, it is open for everyone. I still have to fix it as I can't tag some accounts.

🏁🆑️🏎❤️

[nthspecialll]

why do you ship jovier?? i know its common but i swear they barely interacted at all

Well, let me explain to you at least why I ship them, but also thank you for asking! It is an amazing excuse to yap about them.

To me, it is the absolute tragety that they are and the care that they have for one another that we don't always see them show towards others. Take the very first mission with them for example, John is missing, gone, possibly run off and Hosea knows to ask Javier to go find him because Javier will go and he will not complain like Bill or Micah and he is willing to go the extra mile unlike maybe Lenny or Charles and even Arthur.

In this mission we hear the first of John, he is unreliable, he left the gang, his "wife" and his child and everything for an entire year and it also becomes clear that Arthur who has known him for years still doubts him and believes it is possible that John left. Meanwhile, we have Javier who has not known John that long yet he stands certain and defends John saying "he wouldn't do that" even though he would and has. We also see Arthur willing to give up as soon as the trail in the snow becomes semi-hard to follow yet again, Javier pushes on saying "just a bit more." If it has just been Arthur John would have died on that mountian.

And now in chapters 2-6 we get to the "problem" with Javier, he is not in a lot of main quests so to get to know him you have to be around camp because he actually has a lot of camp interactions, and a few is with John, so let's go through them.

While John is reading the newspapers Javier comes up to him and says "scar looks pretty", John replies with "yeah, ruined my fine features" followed up by "thank you, for saving me" to which Javier says "of course, I know you would do the same for me" and then in the end John "I owe you, for life." This interaction generally just shows a form of appreciation as well as softness between them, it isn't a lot of other times you see any other male characters thank another.

You have when they are sitting and eating and they start talking about Mexico where John says "I would like to go to Mexico one day" and Javier replies "maybe you will." It is just a heartbreaking foreshadowing.

Possibly my favourite interaction between them, Javier is drinking and John is standing nearby so Javier says "come join me brother, have a drink," John looks over and replies "no, I will sit down and have several" so they just sit and drink, John quickly becoming drunk and poetic and Javier shows obvious signs of concern to the point where even John comments on it saying something along the lines of "why not give me another?"

Now, in chapter six, the end is nearing, people are falling apart and things are going to hell. I have before made several posts about this but Javier is desperate. He built his entire personality around ideals and he joined Dutch because of ideals, should it come to the fact that Dutch is not correct that would mean everything Javier was and everything he made himself into was also wrong, not to mention he wouldn't be able to stay in America nor be able to go back to Mexico because of his family. He is frustrated, and as any other person when frustrated, he becomes agitated and hot-headed, he needs Dutch to be right so he acts out. His "anger" is nothing more than fright.

We see Javier yell at John, yet we also see him defending John. Bill comes up to Javier and starts talking about how John has to be the rat, how it is the only thing that makes sense, Javier replies "that doesn't make much sense either," clearly standing up for John when he needed to. That is until it is Arthur, when it is Arthur he turns on a dime and says something along the lines of "maybe it is John" but that is simply because he is "hating" Arthur on principle.

Now, the final gun stand, whatever you wanna call it, I have made a whole post on this, but in short, Javier pointed his gun on John but he was hesitant because he didn't actually have a hatred against John, he didn't see him as a traitor, he saw him as a brother. Also as soon as the gun fight is over Javier is gone, you can find Dutch, Cleet, Joe, Micah, but Javier and Bill are gone.

1911, the two have not talked for ages, yet Javier knows John has several children, clearly keeping some form of interest on him throughout the many years. Also their meet?? Their entire meet, both had the chance to kill the other but didn't.

Javier could have chosen to shoot John and get it over with instead of jumping out of the window, securing his own life's safety, but he didn't. John could have chosen to shoot Javier immediately and save himself the trouble, but he didn't.

Also, John's talk about Javier to Abraham. "When Dutch started fallin' apart, it hit Javier harder than any of us. He went crazy. It was like the one thing he'd ever believed in turned out to be a fraud." John knew Javier wasn't thinking straight and I personally see it quite obvious that Javier was never angry at John either.

I think in the end that John didn’t hate Javier, not when he killed him either, he just loved Abigail more than Javier and chose her over him, but in any other situation where they stood face to face i think John would have just walked away.