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verstappensrealwife · 3 months ago

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Pinch me - Charles Leclerc x fem!Reader

[ charles leclerc masterlist / f1 masterlist]

ʚɞ in which... max's infedelity leads to charles' dream come true. ʚɞ angst, smut, fluff ⋆⭒˚.⋆ 3200 words ʚɞ warnings: not exactly smutty per-say but they have sex and thats obvious, max cheats on the reader, mon chéri. lovesick!charles.

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-୨♡୧-

Nothing in this world was perfect. But Max Verstappen… he was closest to it.

Around him you were a love-sick puppy, ready to do anything he asked of you. You’re friends told you being with him was silly and that you should ‘really be with someone who’s not so… hot headed, like Charles!’

Pfft! As if.

Max Verstappen, cold and aggressive on track, gentle and caring off the track. He held your hair back when you were throwing up, opened every door for you, pulled out your chair.

And yet still, that bastard fucking cheated!

You were ready to surprise him after he had won once again in Japan, only his assistant knew you were coming, prepping you with a spare keycard and a big smile on her face as she led you to the room, before disappearing back down the lift.

You pushed the card into the slot, waiting a moment before the green light flickered and a quick beep sounded as the door unlocked with a click.

“Max~” You sang, walking into the room. You couldn’t see the bed yet, but you heard the banging and hushed whispers of rushing around. God, did you feel your lungs collapse inwards. There he was, barely dressed while some woman you couldn’t see the face of under the covers hid herself.

“I- Baby let me explain because-”

“Because it’s not what it looks like? Because I think this looks like you are fucking someone else!”

He stuttered, not really having any words, he just kept looking at you, then at the woman in the bed who still hadn’t sat up, then at you again. No words, just mumbles on incoherence tumbling from his lips.

“Fuck you.” Is all you said, walking out the room without a second glance. Taking a deep, shaky breath as you slammed the door shut and walked towards the elevator, tapping your foot impatiently, adrenaline rushing through you. You had to get away from him. Like, now.

Your heart was pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst out of your chest. The glossy hotel corridor stretched endlessly in both directions, dimly lit and eerily quiet. Each second waiting for the elevator dragged like an eternity, the weight of what you'd just seen pressing down on you like a physical force. The mirrored doors reflected your tear-streaked face, and you quickly wiped at your cheeks, willing yourself not to break down just yet. Not here.

“Are you okay?” Someone was standing next to you, you barely registered it, you didn’t even bother to look who when you heard the voice again, “mon chéri?”

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. In the whirlwind of betrayal and heartbreak, logic wasn’t your guide—it was pure instinct. Without a second thought, you turned and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close, and pressed your lips to his.

And, to this day, he won’t lie that that moment was better than winning any grand prix- yes even Monaco. He loved you, and had done since he saw you wander around the paddock, confused where red bull was, and why you were near Alfa Romeo. 2018.

6 years of loving you, loving you in complete silence.

it was so completely obvious, except to you.

Charles was the cause of plenty of yours, and Max’s arguments, if you even lingered near the Monegasque, Max threw a hissy fit.

Charles stood stiff at first but he came to his senses very swiftly. You, the most amazing woman he’d laid eyes on, was holding him by the nape of his neck and pulling him impossibly close. It was a dream come true- literally. He dreamed about you alot more than he’d care to admit.

He couldn’t think straight, his thoughts plagued by your lips, your hands that were scratching into his neck, your boobs which were squished against his chest. When you pulled away, he looked completely euphoric. His eyes were still closed, his lips parted and his face bright red. He didn’t move until he felt a sharp sting on his arm—his own pinch. He’d done it to make sure this wasn’t another dream, and when he finally opened his eyes, you were still there. You were watching him, your head tilted in concern as you noticed the red marks on his skin.

He smiled shyly, “Sorry.” He then quickly mumbled as reality crept in, remembering Max was your boyfriend. He wasn’t sure why he apologised, you kissed him.

“He cheated.” You said, voice raw with emotion.

“Oh.” Charles frowned, though the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed him. He tried to stifle the surge of joy bubbling inside him, knowing it was wrong to feel this way when you were hurting. But he couldn’t help it. His heart thudded in his chest, and he struggled to suppress the giddy feeling threatening to consume him. “Sorry again then… about the break up.” he added quickly, his voice soft and full of poorly disguised excitement.

Sorry? No, he wasn’t sorry. Not even a little.

“Sorry I kissed you,” you mumbled, the weight of everything catching up to you. Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. Maybe you’d just complicated things even more.

“Don’t be, please,” Charles said, his voice cracking slightly. He sounded so vulnerable, so raw, a little pathetic. “I love kissing you.”

That made you laugh, a quiet, shaky sound that felt almost foreign coming from you in the moment. You reached up, your thumb gently brushing over his lips to clean off the faint smear of your lip gloss. He leaned into your touch ever so slightly, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Wanna go somewhere?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened for a split second before he nodded, his smile tentative but genuine. “Anywhere you want,” he said, his tone full of unspoken promises.

Inside Max’s hotel room, chaos reigned. He was frantically throwing clothes at the woman still tangled in the sheets, barking at her to get dressed. His own appearance was a disaster—boxers pulled on backwards, his t-shirt inside out, and his joggers nowhere to be found. He swore under his breath, his hands shaking as he struggled to get himself presentable enough to run after you.

Finally, he wrenched the door open, stepping into the hallway. His eyes darted down the corridor—and then he saw you.

You were standing with Charles at the elevator, the two of you close, your body language unmistakable. Charles was looking at you with an intensity that made Max’s chest tighten—a look filled with pure adoration, the kind Max couldn’t remember ever giving you. You, on the other hand, seemed shy, your gaze flickering down to the floor before peeking up at Charles when he coughed awkwardly.

The elevator doors began to close, and Max finally snapped out of his stupor. “Wait!” he called out, stepping forward, but it was too late. The heavy metal doors slid shut with a final clang, cutting off his view of you and Charles.

He stood there, frozen, his blank stare fixed on the now-empty space at the end of the corridor. The reality of what had just happened—and what he’d lost—sank in with a crushing weight.

Charles was undeniably needy, his every touch and look giving him away completely. He had no problem with the way you grinded against him on the dance floor, your bodies moving in perfect sync as if no one else existed in the crowded club. The whispers you breathed into his ear sent shivers down his spine, his hands tightening on your hips instinctively.

Maybe it was cruel, using him as a rebound. But even if it was, Charles didn’t care—not even a little. He would have let you break his heart a hundred times if it meant you’d let him kiss you again, taste the sweetness of your lips, and feel the heat of your touch.

He had zero protests when your lips found his over and over again. Kissing him in the club, kissing him in the backseat of the taxi as it sped through the neon-lit streets of Suzuka. And certainly no protests when your drunken giggles and unsteady footsteps carried you both toward his hotel room, which, by a cruel twist of fate, was just one floor above Max’s.

The elevator cameras would have plenty to show. The way your nails dragged down the back of Charles’ neck, just shy of breaking skin. The way his hands roamed your body with an almost desperate reverence, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Both of you were lost in each other, oblivious to the world beyond the bubble you’d created.

When the door to his room finally clicked shut behind you, it only took seconds for you to stumble onto the bed, your laughter filling the quiet room. Charles landed above you, bracing himself on his forearms as he looked down at you, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy, and his eyes glassy from the alcohol—but more than that, from the way you made him feel.

The laughter slowly subsided, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing. Your chest rose and fell as you looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, lingering there like he couldn’t resist.

“You’re so perf—” Charles started, his voice soft and full of wonder.

You quickly clapped your hand over his mouth, cutting him off. “Not perfect,” you corrected firmly, though a small smile tugged at your lips.

He nodded, his lips curving against your palm. When you removed your hand, he tried again, “You’re so… ideal?”

His attempt made you laugh, a sound that felt so genuine and lighthearted, a sound you hadn’t heard from yourself in far too long—certainly not with Max. The moment lingered for just a second before you pulled him back down to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that deepened, a kiss that felt like escape and discovery all at once.

Slowly, the two of you undressed, taking your time as if savoring each reveal, every touch, and every inch of each other. Charles’ hands were warm and reverent, exploring the shape of you like he wanted to memorize every curve. His attention was unwavering, his gaze soft yet searing, and his touch a perfect balance of gentle and demanding. You couldn’t help but notice the little things, like the slight asymmetry of his abs or the way his lips quirked into a small smile whenever you traced your fingers over his skin.

Charles was mostly quiet, save for the soft whispers that passed between you. His words weren’t meant to be reciprocated; he didn’t care if you didn’t feel the same way. For him, it was enough that he had you in this moment. In this moment, you were his, and he was yours.

He moved with a mix of tenderness and passion, always attuned to you. Every sound you made was like a symphony to him—your gasps, your moans, the way you whispered his name. He cherished every reaction, making it his mission to learn exactly what made you tick, what made you come undone.

For you, it was overwhelming, the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel. You couldn’t get enough of him—his body, his voice, the way his movements felt like they were made just for you.

The night stretched on endlessly, filled with shared laughter, whispered praises, and stolen breaths. By the time you both succumbed to exhaustion, you were lying on top of him, your head resting against his chest, your leg draped over his waist. His hand traced absent patterns on your back as he stared at the ceiling, listening to your soft breathing.

Even after you drifted off, Charles stayed awake for a while longer, his eyes fixed on you. He admired the peaceful expression on your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. He didn’t want the moment to end. He knew it was fleeting, but he couldn’t help hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

When he woke, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the curtains. The second thing was you, still there. You were lying on your side, scrolling through your phone, the glow of the screen reflecting off your face.

“Good morning, mon chéri,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. He said nothing for a moment, just stared at you like he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. His eyes darted over your freckles, the curve of your lips, the way your messy morning-hair framed your face.

“Hi,” you replied quietly, your cheeks warming under his adoring stare.

For a moment, everything felt perfect, but then the weight of reality settled in. The guilt crept in, cold and unwelcome. You’d just slept with one of Max’s friends, and co-workers. Yes, Max had cheated, and yes, he deserved every ounce of karma, but still. You weren’t someone who hurt people. This wasn’t who you were—or at least, who you thought you were.

Your smile faltered as the conflict brewed inside you.

Charles noticed the shift in your expression almost instantly. His brows furrowed slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow, concern flashing in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you stared at the sheets tangled between your fingers. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “I feel… guilty. About everything.”

“Guilty?” Charles echoed, his hand reaching out to rest gently on your arm. “Why? You did nothing wrong.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for answers you weren’t even sure you wanted. “Didn’t I? Max cheated, yeah, but… I just slept with one of his friends. I feel like I’ve stooped to his level. And you… I used you, Charles. That’s not fair to you.”

Charles shook his head, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You didn’t use me,” he said firmly. “I wanted this, more than you know. If this is what you needed, then I’m glad I could be here for you.”

“But—” you started, but he cut you off, his hand gently cradling your cheek.

“No buts,” he said, his thumb brushing over your skin. “You’ve been hurt, mon chéri. It’s okay to want comfort, to want someone who will treat you the way you deserve. If that’s all this is, I’m okay with that.”

His words made your chest tighten. The sincerity in his voice was disarming, and the way he looked at you—it was so different from Max. Where Max had been possessive, Charles was supportive. Where Max had been quick to anger, Charles was calm and understanding.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “You’re too good for me,” you whispered.

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, I’m not. I just see you for what you are: an amazing woman who deserves more than she’s been given.”

The vulnerability in his words left you speechless. You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

Finally, you pulled back, a small smile breaking through your conflicted expression. “Thank you,” you said softly.

“For what?”

“For being you.”

Charles smiled in return, his hand still resting on your cheek. “Always.”

The morning carried on quietly. You both got dressed, sharing little touches and smiles that felt intimate but light. The guilt lingered at the edges of your mind, but so did a strange sense of peace. Charles made you feel safe, cherished, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were walking on eggshells.

As you slipped on your shoes, you glanced over at Charles, who was leaning against the desk, watching you with a soft expression. “I should go,” you said, though the words felt heavy.

He nodded, his smile bittersweet. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not,” you admitted, standing and walking toward him. “But I think I need to figure out what to do next.”

“I understand.” He hesitated before reaching for your hand, squeezing it gently. “If you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand in return. “Thank you.”

As you left the room and stepped into the hallway, your thoughts were a jumble.

The next few weeks at the paddock were... tense, to say the least. Charles found himself hyper aware of Max’s presence at all times. The Dutchman, with his usual confidence bordering on arrogance, seemed oblivious to the anxiety brewing under the surface of the Monegasque driver’s composed demeanor.

Charles avoided him like the plague. If Max was walking down the pit lane, Charles would conveniently busy himself with his engineers or slip into the Ferrari motorhome. If they were in the driver’s briefing, Charles kept his responses short and avoided eye contact. The mere thought of what had happened—what Max might suspect—had Charles living on edge. He wasn’t exactly guilty, but he wasn’t entirely innocent either. And the last thing he wanted was a confrontation.

But more than anything, he yearned for you.

Each weekend, as the Grand Prix circus traveled from one city to the next, Charles found himself scanning the paddock, hoping—no, desperately hoping—that you’d show up. He knew it was selfish, but even just a glimpse of you would settle his nerves, even if it was from afar.

At the drivers’ parade, his eyes wandered to the crowd, scanning faces without meaning to. He barely heard the questions thrown at him by reporters, his thoughts always drifting back to you.

He was distracted, no doubt about it. His performance on track was fine—he could drive fast even in his sleep—but his mind wasn’t entirely on racing. In quiet moments, he replayed that night over and over, the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d touched him, the way you’d laughed. It was both his greatest comfort and his greatest torment.

-୨♡୧-

Winter break 2024.

he’d finally begun to accept that maybe it was time to let go. Maybe you wouldn’t come back, not to him. Maybe that night was all he’d ever have, and he should be grateful for it. His thoughts consumed him so entirely that he didn’t notice the figure coming around the corner until it was too late.

He collided with someone—hard.

“Merde!” he muttered, stumbling back. His hands instinctively reached out to steady the person he’d bumped into. “I’m so sorry—”

His words caught in his throat as he looked up and realised who it was.

He pinched himself.

Ow.

-୨♡୧-

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