#xavier marcos padros

[f1-stuff]

Las Vegas GP '23 // Charles' Post-Race Radio

"Yeehaw! At least, the second place. At least, the fucking second place. Agh! I wanted that win so bad. Fuck! But what a race, honestly...there's nothing left. Oh my god." "That was a race, though. I enjoyed it so much. As much as- fuck. Ah, the win. Anyway..."

[paddymoonstruck]

Paining: Charles Leclerc X Nepo!OC

Summary: Sofina faces challenges on the first race of the season and sees the face of the person she fears the most.

Warnings: Cursing/Abusive language and actions

Previous Chapter

Notes: A bit of a heavy chapter but nothing too extreme. Please let me your thoughts on this chapter and if you want to be added in the tag list.

The paddock had always been a place of refuge to Sofina. An escape from fast-paced life she had been subjected into. Her love for motorsports started when she witnessed Charles raced in France at merely 7 years old, on her birthday. Sofina would do well to think he was the reason for her ongoing pursuit to aid him and Ferrari with their needs. There was no hesitation on her part when it came down to providing and she would happily do whatever it takes in the goodness of her heart.

Today, as the bristling sounds of engines and cheers filled her hearing, she stood from the stool she had been wilting on. The point in her brow more prominent than ever, matching the deep scowl settled on her lips as she focused her gaze on the screen where the race was being projected.

It was lap 38 of the Bahrain Grand Prix. Unlike the promising result from the Pre-Testing Season, the current state of the team was far from successful.

Charles was a position lower than where he started and a surprise to no one, Max was leading by an obscene number of seconds.

Sofina slammed her hands on the wooden table, and despite having those massive headphones in the ears, the occupants flinched at the sudden explosive reaction from their dearest sponsor.

“What the hell is happening?” Sofina roared, whipping her head to Charles’s race engineer, Xavier “Xavi” Marcos Padros.

Blood pumped rapidly in her veins at the lack of response, seemingly worsening when she heard the grating sigh Xavi had the audacity to release.

Her eye twitched, not able to stopped herself as she shoved Xavi’s shoulder, fingers gripping at his Ferrari shirt. She ignored Fred Vasseur’s useless attempts behind her to calm her down.

It was probably the adrenaline and stress that all came with tonight’s race, when she saw the fear slowly creeping into Xavi’s feature’s she could not explain the overwhelming amount of elation she had experienced.

“Tell me.” She gritted, wrinkling Xavi’s shirt to the point of no return.

The Spanish race engineer swallowed the lump on his throat, as he trembled under the furry of Sofina’s glare, unable to look elsewhere in the fear of having his eyes possibly gouged out by the her devilish hands.

“Th-There seems to be pr-problem with the b-brakes—” He nearly lost all the taces of masculinity in his body when she responded.

“What?”

Her icy tone froze the whole room, and silence bounced on the walls, everyone afraid to move a muscle as if they’d be burned on a stick if they dared to try.

The people in the garage cringed at the ear-piercing scoff Sofina gave Xavi. They were aware of how the female business magnate perceived errors in the team. Sofina believes that a failure isn’t done by one person but rather every single one responsible of overseeing the car. Not only that, there was not a soul in that garage who wasn’t aware of Charles’s importance to Sofina.

Her ferocity towards them was, in fact, reasonable.

“You sent him out there with broken brakes?” She hissed, releasing her death grip on Xavi with a push strong enough to send him leaning back on his seat. “What now, then? We just let him race like that and hope for the best?”

Sofina’s attention was now at Fred, craning her neck towards him for answers but the solemn look on his face was enough before he even got to whatever daft explanation he had.

“It were working well earlier as well as it did in the Qualifying . . .” Fred sighed, confusion and disappointment flooding his face. “I-I don’t know how this happened.”

“Is that right?” Sofina laughed, dripping with anger. “Charles has done nothing but nearly break track limits at every corner!”

They’re all in luck. Sofina thought.

If he was less of the brilliant driver he was, he would’ve crashed ages ago and their heads would be served on a silver platter on her father’s desk.

A chill ran down her spine at the thought of her dad. The reason for her prickly attitude and the bane of her existence. She began to unwilling peddle back to his demand for a better performance from Charles and didn’t help that the team was currently deteriorating in the first race of the year.

Sofina didn’t have to be in her father’s presence to hear the infuriated thoughts and colorful words radiating from him wherever he was right now. He had made it known to her that he would be watching this Grand Prix and if he was here physically, she could see him stating the embarrassing position she had put him in, how irresponsible and idiotic she was to ever consider putting her trust in this time and again.

Defeated, she had no choice but to let her thoughts simmer and see how everything pans out.

Who knows? Perhaps the universe will finally take a look at her pitiful self and decide she deserves a break.

Admittedly, wishing for the universe’s mercy was and will forever be a deluded move. The universe turns a blind eye, or Sofina would dare say, stare while her body bursts into flames and laughs at her misfortunes.

However, as much as her initial instincts grappled against her throat, yelling through the seams of her sanity to spout her dilemma and make this about her. In a different setting, maybe she would have but the choking dismay on Charles’s face once he entered the garage made her resolve crumble in a second.

She watched from afar as he patted and nodded at the team, thanking them for a job well done. His smile didn’t match the obvious disappointment that swam in his eyes, seemingly wavering as it met hers.

Sofina started to stand, meeting him halfway into an embrace. The mixture of heat, sweat and the smell of smoke filled her lungs as she pulled him closer.

The pat she laid on his back differed from the ones the team gave him, Charles notices. While he was grateful for the intent and support of it, it was full of pity that made him feel terrible and guilty. Beyond those, was the soft caress of Sofina’s delicate hands on him. He sagged in her arms, promptly tightening his coiled arms around her waist.

“I’m so proud of you!” She beamed, fingers traveling up the nape of his neck. “You were fantastic!”

Charles pulled away, catching her gazing immediately. “You looked pretty mad, though.”

Sofina snorted, smirking at his frowning face. “Oh? Where’d you see?”

“A reporter showed it to me,” He said, judgmental eyes staring down at her.

While she nodded, Charles slowly leaned down to level of her ear. As if there’s a magnetic force, Sofina automatically gravitates towards his waiting lips. Hot breath trickled on her skin as he whispered, “I was about to feel bad for them but I remembered I almost destroyed the car at every turn.”

Sofina contained the shiver that was to ripple down her spine when Charles chuckled lowly in her ear. Despite having the one that in a speeding car merely a few minutes ago, she felt as if the heat coursing through her veins equaled to that of Charles’s post-race adrenaline.

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” She assured, ignoring abrasive pounding in her chest as she glanced at the Ferrari crew and Fred chatting with each other just a few feet away from them. “They shouldn’t have let drive a car that could’ve killed you in the first place.”

Charles followed the turn of her head, agreeing at the obvious. “They try.”

This of course, was met with a sharp scoff. “They always try. When will they actually—” Sofina stopped, catching her unbecoming annoyance come to the surface. She took in a long breath and shifted her gaze back to Charles. “Let’s just forget about it . . . Are you finish?” She glanced over his body that was blocking the cameras from the outside.

“I am.” Charles tilts his body to shadow the curve of her spine as she looked forward, hoping to snatch her attention back. He frowned as Sofina’s eyes zeroed in on the object of her distraction, staring stright ahead and not regarding his presence, enough for Charles to search for what it might be.

Oh.

It was indeed a distracting sight. He squinted at the sudden outpour of clicks and flashes, along with the rowdy voices of the ocean of journalists, shouting through the atmosphere with their entire chests.

Sofina, on the other hand, started to go deaf. The bleary volume of the noises plummeted in her hearing, similar to water accidentally entering her ears at the figure that approached her. And as the distance got smaller, the more lightheaded she felt.

The celebratory cheer she had practiced for Charles thrown out her brain, leaving her helpless and lost. She began to feel the wetness of her palms from sweat, making her close it into a fist.

“Dad.” At nearly sounded like a question. As if her eyes had deceived her. She wished it did. The notion of her possibly hallucinating was far more comforting than the horrible reality of her father standing in front of her at this moment.

“Sofina.”

Comes the curt greeting and ever-so downward curve of his lips as he stared down at her. The wrinkles on his forehead deeper as his brows pulled with his unpleased scowl.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to make it!” She mustered up her best effort to be enthusiastic, giving him a wide smile despite the grueling knot in her stomach.

“How could I not?” Sofina cringed at the piercing loudness of his voice, booming into the walls of the garage as he glared at her. If she were to listen hard enough, the sound of his teeth chafing could be heard from their distance.

Sofina held a breath as she took into account the several prying eyes burning into her still figure. The urge to avoid her father’s scorching glare was nearly as intense as her will to save the bits of her dignity but she chose the latter.

She managed to look him in the eye, softly muttering. “I think it would be better to talk about this in private.”

It was unclear whether anyone away from their radius would’ve heard her but if they did, one could account for the slight quiver of her voice as she spoke to him. The thought of being seen as a weak vulnerable woman sent her sanity into a crazed blinking red light, alarms in her head going off to retreat away from this exposed scene.

Her pending humiliation was cut short as her father agreed to her request. Her relief came in a flow of fresh water, sighing into ease. She led the way, in the hopes to find an empty room.

She resisted to strong desire to look back at the green orbs she could feel staring at the back of her head and although she wished someone would rescue her from the terrifying flames of her father’s wrath, she wasn’t selfish enough to let Charles touch the fire that was meant for her.

“When will you start using that godforsaken brain of yours?”

The moment the door locked into place and the slightly flickering lights of the empty office steadied, the lump obstructing Sofina’s throat began to expand. Heat seared on her entire body at the cutting hiss of her father’s deafening roar.

She rubbed her hands together, as if to ebb away the quake in them before she spoke unable to lift her head from the ground.

“It hasn’t happened yet, I can still cancel—”

"You should not have given them the chance to think that you’d even consider to ally yourself with them!”

Sofina flinched back, the echo of his voice setting her a few paces behind as he suddenly turned into her direction.

“Do you have any idea how degrading this is for our family?” He stalked forward, and Sofina could barely register their proximity until his black polished oxfords came into her view.

Her breath picked up, swallowing immensely as her throat began to dry. She tried to focus, noticing her hearing becoming scattered and cloudy as blood pouded wildly into her ears.

It was a moment of desperation. When she had heard about Maximilian Rothchild’s interest to support Ferrari, nothing else seemed to matter. Thus, she failed to see the flaws of this plan which would have been more obvious if she was in the right mind.

Sofina was someone who took her work very seriously. The one listed and made notes about every single error or improvement at the moves she was to make. The perfectionist among her siblings and the person who thought everything through. She was supposed to prevent mistakes before they got the chance to happen.

Embarrassment wrung on her neck as her actions became clear in her mind and she couldn’t help but groan in discomfort at her own idiocy.

“I wasn’t thinking—" She was immediately cut off at her admission and she couldn’t do more than accept her fate.

“You were not thinking!” Her father yelled, cementing his heavy hand on each side of her shoulder as he leaned down to her face. When she refused to give him her gaze, he squeezed her shoulders.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Sofina whimpered as the ponderous palms that weight her down dug into her skin, deep enough to be felt in her bones. The pain forced her to look up, teeth gritting as nervousness gripped at her sanity as she came eye to eye with the ferocious beast and if it wasn’t for the same mahogany eyes he had inherited from him, she would have forgotten her relation to him.

“Are you trying to humiliate me? Huh?” He shook her, rattling the resolve she had been building up. “I sent you to the finest schools and you’ve topped your classes but I’m going to tell you right now, it all amounted to nothing. You’re just as brainless as you were before I sent you away.”

He released her from the blood cutting grip, forceful enough to push her to the ground. Sofina grunted as she landed on the floor, the shock somehow erased her instinct to catch herself. A small crack, clicked at the air as she twisted her wrist.

But without a care, her father continued to stare at her, towering over her injured figure. “You will fix this. I will not have those pesky journalists see you work with a Rothchild. Do you understand?”

With her abled hand holding the other, she nodded, taking deep breaths as she answered. “More than anything.”

He began to reach for the door, but turned back. “Tell your Charles to get it together before I replace him.” And he shut the door behind him with a loud bang.

The silence Sofina was left with was soon disturbed when she began to feel the pain of her wrist. She groaned as she got to her feet, clutching the damaged area to her body. She only let go to twist the doorknob and peak her head through the hallway to make sure no one was there to witness her pathetic self.

She skipped out the room, adrenaline soaring to her veins as she tried conceal the pain from showing in her face whenever she would pass people. She was looking the other way when she turned the corner and to her misfortunes, she bumped into someone, her hand instinctively coming out to push the person away, making her jerk back at the sudden pressure she applied on her wrist.

She hissed, retracting her hand back to cradle it on her chest. Her head snapped towards the person, ready to reprimand him. It all but died in her throat as she was met by the same oceanic leafy orbs that was filled with unmistakable worry.

“Hey!” Perhaps to compensate for her wavering nerves, her greeting came unnaturally loud.

It was useless, as it didn’t deflate the worry in his eyes as he glanced down at where she had her hand clutched to her heart. She was about to hide it at her back but was stopped by Charles’s soft grip on them.

Mortification drew on her face as she maintained a firm gaze on her and she felt flustered under his intense eyes as if trying to draw her out of her mind.

“What happened?”

Sofina stared back at him, brows furrowing in a feign confusion. “What are you talking about?”

He scoffed, frown deepening at her attempt to lie. “Are you hurt? Let me see—”

“I’m fine, Charles.” She insisted, ripping her arm from his grip as she paid no mind to the igniting ache crawling through her bones. “Just leave it.”

Charles was no stranger to Sofina’s display of hostility when it came to asking for help. In times like this he would often try to extract the problem from her defensive system before she completely shuts down any source of aid. However, the sight of her purpling wrist was enough to disregard his usual respect for her space as annoyance began to creep through his veins.

“Come with me.” Before Sofina can respond, he pulled her in tow, keeping a solid grasp on around her waist, carefully navigating them until they reached the parking lot.

As the wind outside hit her face, Sofina pulled back. “I’m not going to a random hospital!”

“I’m not taking you to one. Calm down.” He mumbled, glancing back at her apprehensive expression. He sighed, halting his movements as he realized the roughness of how he handled her. “I have a first aid kit in my car. Whatever happened to you, I can try and dress it then we can go home and call your doctor if that’s what you want. Is that okay?”

The heaviness of her chest subdued at the softness and understanding in his voice, prompting her to nod at his proposition.

“Good. Now come on. Let’s see what we can do about your hand.”

Sofina reached for his hand with her uninjured one, gripping it and relishing the comforting hear it radiated on her palm.

The previous fear and nervous state she had been in slowly decreased as the time of them together passed by. She often wondered what were to happen to her had she refused to celebrate her birthday on a racetrack back in 2005.

How different would her life be if that day didn’t happen? Would she have been happier? Perhaps her father would still love her like he did.

Either way, she will never be permitted to turn back time no matter how many birthday wishes she wastes on it. She was here now and the only thing she can do is live through it even with the hallow ache in her heart where her father's affection used to reside.

Tag-list: @seairsunset@mindflay3r@tangointhequango@bwormie@eugene-emt-roe@herondalism@comfortzonequeen@weekendlusting@nomie-11@i-ship-bullshit-2020@cc13723things@charlesgirl16@namgification@charizznorizz@missenclod@outerudeth @lady-laura-speaks @fandomscompilation @bwormie @embersparklz @butterfly-lover @sargeantdumbass @a-moment-captured @starshiips @piceous21 @leclucklerc

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 1

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 1 Warnings: Language; vampire blood violence

2023

“Now, remember,” Xavier Marcos Padros instructed. “Señor Leclerc is a very important client of this firm. His family has been with us for nearly 100 years, and we don’t want to cast a poor impression on the newest generation.”

“No, sir.” You agreed, nodding at your boss.

“That is why I want you to personally oversee the meeting.” The lawyer continued. “There is no other paralegal that I trust more with the closure of his documentation. The paperwork has already been signed by his grandfather, and Señor Leclerc just needs a witnessed signature to complete the transfer of estates and power of attorney to his name.”

“Yes, sir.” You bit back an irritated sigh, listening for the third time as your boss explained the situation. As if you haven’t already spent long hours and late nights preparing the Leclerc account paperwork for the all-important transfer and supporting the grandfather’s witnessed signature process. 

“Your work on this family case continues to impress, and I’m confident that you will represent our firm proudly.” He paused to consult his notes. “Now, Señor Leclerc has been arranged for 2100 hrs tomorrow night at his personal request.” He looked back at you unashamedly. “I assume that time won’t be a problem for you.”

Even now, your boss’ haughty words still gnaw at you. Just because the man is a senior partner in one of the world’s most prestigious law firms and you’re fortunate enough to be on his team of paralegals doesn’t mean that you’re not entitled to a life of your own outside of work. All of your clients are wealthy and successful and privileged, and you see no reason why Señor Leclerc should be treated any differently.

But at the end of the day, part of your job is client satisfaction, and your boss won’t hear of you inconveniencing a client, no matter their assets. That’s why you’re still at your desk despite the clock reading 2051 hrs. That’s why you’re still in your pristine business suit and heels while the rest of the building grows dark and empty around you. That’s why the executive conference room table contains the spread of the various official forms for Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, III to sign upon his arrival.

You exhale another sigh as you casually scroll through the newsfeed on your phone, skimming headlines and associated ledes.

DESPITE ALL ODDS, BRANGELINA BACK TOGETHER

Earlier this year saw the return of Bennifer, and now, fans are stunned at the return of Brangelina. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt famously wed in 2014, and Jolie filed for divorce from Pitt just two years later. The divorce proceedings have been anything but amiable, and despite the divorce never being legally finalized, it appears that may no longer be needed…

FAMOUS RAPHAEL, DA VINCI PAINTINGS MISSING SINCE WWII TURN UP IN BELGIAN HOME

Among the scores of artwork lost during the chaos and destruction of WWII, two of the most famous pieces have finally resurfaced after more than 75 years. Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man and da Vinci’s Lady with an Ermine were last seen at the Wawel Castle in 1945, at the home of Hans Frank, who Hitler appointed as governor of the General Government in Poland. The Belgian businessman now in possession of these classic masterpieces has come under investigation as authorities seek to understand how the artwork came into his custody. Historians value the Portrait of a Young Man and the Lady with an Ermine at over €500 million and €300 million, respectively…

STAR WARS FANS SPOT LIGHTSABER-LIKE OBJECT ON MARS SURFACE IN NEW NASA PICTURES

New photos released by NASA show an object on the surface of Mars, looking like a lightsaber from the iconic Star Wars series. Despite its appearance, this mysterious item is actually a titanium tube containing a rock sample that rests on the Red Planet’s surface…

You glance at the time, not willing to risk being late, and set your phone down. Smoothing the drape of your suit jacket and matching skirt, your heels echo off the marble as you walk down the empty corridor. The elevator ding breaks the silence, and you glance out over the Monaco skyline as you descend to the front lobby.

With two minutes to spare, you offer a nod in silent greeting to the night guard on duty at the front desk and come to a stop just inside the tall, glass doors. You keep a keen eye on the street for the approach of a dark sedan or SUV, something that won’t be easy to see in the glow of streetlights. But that’s not the vehicle that pulls up to the front kerb.

Actually, you don’t know what kind of vehicle it is, but the vintage bright cherry red sports car is impossible to miss. It screams elegant taste and wicked speed, and with the convertible top down, it puts the driver on full display. His pale skin stands out immediately against the cut of his black suit and as he exits the car, closing the door behind him, it’s a devastating combination. Or, perhaps, it’s just the expertly tailored lines of his suit or the rakish sweep of his brunette hair or the mercurial glow in his green eyes.

You may spend your life catering to the ultra-wealthy and well-dressed, but this man is truly in a league of his own.

Forcing a swallow and hoping your cheeks aren’t too flushed, you step forward to push open the front door. “Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Welcome.”

He nods, offering a polite smile as he steps inside. “Thank you. And thank you for taking this meeting so late.” His crisp dress shoes echo off the marble in tandem with your footsteps. “Xavi’s office has always been gracious to accommodate my chaotic schedule.”

You nod gently even though his words give you pause. Nothing about him looks chaotic, whether in the details of his appearance or his calm, collected demeanor. In fact, he looks crisp and polished, as if his day has just started. Pushing the thought aside, you guide him towards the elevator lobby. “Of course, sir.” You say as you press the ascent button. “We’re always happy to work with our clients to assure their needs are met.”

“An admirable sentiment.” The corner of Leclerc’s mouth lifts as he motions you first into the elevator. “I think you are new to Xavi’s team as we have not met before, no?”

Your cheeks blush full red hot as you realize your breach of etiquette. “Oh, goodness – yes, I… apologies for not introducing myself.” You give your name and extend your hand which he politely accepts. Immediately, the firmness of his grip, the softness of his skin, and the chilly temperature against your own strikes you.

His eyes glitter under the elevator’s overhead lights. “Pleased to meet you. You already know this, but I’m Charles Leclerc, III. Though, Charles or ‘Charles’ is just fine.”

Even after letting go of his hand, the phantom chill still lingers on your skin. It’s not a particularly cool night outside, as evidenced by the open cockpit of his car, and you can’t put your finger on why his skin should be so chilly. 

He must sense your confusion because a small, sheepish smile comes to his handsome face as he rests a hand in his trousers’ pocket. “I apologize if my cold fingers surprised you… I should have warned you before that I’m cold blooded. I never can seem to get warm.”

“Oh no, please,” you say with a reassuring smile despite the heat rushing to your cheeks and the quickening of your heartbeat as the elevator dings. “You don’t need to apologize – I was just wondering if I could offer you some warm tea.” The words roll off your tongue as you step out of the elevator with him close behind. Thinking on your feet is a key part of your job even if it stresses you out.

“That’s not necessary, though I do appreciate your concern. And you needn’t worry or be so nervous.” He flashes a hint of a teasing, yet reassuring smirk. “I’m not going to give Xavi a poor report about you this evening.”

Your eyes go wide, and you hate that he’s so perceptive. Pushing open the door to the executive conference room, you exhale a gentle sigh. “Thank you, I… I-I’m sorry that you felt the need to say something. I will work to improve in the future.”

“No need.” He shakes his head shortly. “My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

Is that what it is? Right from his opening comment on chaotic schedules to the chill of his skin, something about him has set you off-balance. You can’t even recall the last time that you forgot to introduce yourself in a business meeting, and yet tonight… tonight is quickly devolving into a night you want to drown with a bottle of wine.

You can’t find an immediate answer, instead turning your attention to the spread of paperwork on the table. “If you’d like to be seated, I have everything arranged for you here.” You watch him move around the table on silent footsteps and fold elegantly into a plush chair as you continue. “I understand that you previously had the opportunity to review the transfer of estates, accounts, and power of attorney paperwork prior to your grandfather signing.”

He nods in confirmation. “Yes, and everything was as expected.”

You nod in return as you motion at the pen resting alongside the first form. “Then, please, feel free to confirm the versions signed by your grandfather align with your understanding prior to signing.”

Stepping back to allow him a modicum of privacy, you fold your hands in front of your jacket and quietly wait. Instead of hideous fluorescent lights, the can ceiling lights emit a soft golden glow that plays handsomely off the tint of his hair and highlights the elegance of his fingers as he traces the words on the paper.

You’ve never met the grandfather – the original Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc – confined as he is in an exclusive care facility, and the paperwork provides few clues about how he amassed his vast fortune. He became a client in 1946 after rising to wealthy prominence and only continued to add to this fortune and collection of estates. His son - Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, II – passed away after a long battle with illness, leaving only his son – the man now seated at the conference table – as the sole heir. But where are the wives and mothers in all of this family business? Are the Leclercs truly so old-fashioned as to only let the men inherit the estates and conduct family business?

Of course, it’s all no business of yours whatsoever. Europe still harbors its pockets of aristocratic thought, and your job isn’t to judge them for it.

Your train of thought derails as you watch Charles reach into the interior pocket of his suit jacket. He withdraws a sleek, black capped pen with gold accents and deftly unscrews the cap. Glancing up at you, he offers another cute, almost shy smile. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a little old-school,” he says as a gleaming gold fountain tip comes into view. “Ball point pens just aren’t as artistically satisfying.”

His signature isn’t the neatest that you’ve ever seen. In fact, next to his grandfather’s, it’s downright illegible aside from the leading C and L. For someone who shuns ball point pens in favor of artistry, you’re surprised that his signature is so… unremarkable.

Wetting your top lip, you take a breath. “If I may… are you an artist, sir?”

The corner of his mouth lifts – whether with amusement or a more private sentiment, you can’t tell. “I have certainly studied art,” he says as he continues to scan and sign the array of papers. “I suppose one could call me a collector of art, but while I claim paltry skill with a brush, I do favor myself for having an appreciation of beautiful pieces.”

Admittedly, understanding the art of art isn’t something you pride yourself on. You appreciate museums and the history they hold, but you’re not all that familiar with art history or defining characteristics of art over the centuries. Slowly, you nod as he recaps the pen. “It sounds like you would have seen a lot of interesting pieces over the course of your studies.”

His eyes flash with something you can’t place – something predatory, something fond, something satisfying. “Yes,” he says at length as he rises. “I have seen much, with much still left yet to see.”

All at once, you remember the late evening hour. “Of course, sir, please – I don’t mean to keep you any longer than you need.”

“It’s no trouble, and your curiosity is not unwelcome.” A charming smile warms his face. “Actually, it’s flattering that despite this suit you would still consider me to be an artist.”

Your brow furrows as a confused smile slants the corner of your mouth. “Artists come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Just because you’re not starving and dressed in rags doesn’t mean that you couldn’t be an artist.”

“Art is what we make of it, non? As are those who create it.” He steps towards you and the door, offering the clumsiest attempt at a wink you’ve ever seen. “And that is for each of us to decide.”

Maybe it’s the sonorous tone of his voice or the light glinting in his green – or grey? Or hazel? – eyes, but you can’t look away. He’s utterly gorgeous and your body heats up in appreciation of this handsome man standing before you. The scent of cedar, citrus and earth reaches your nose – and fuck, how did you not notice his cologne earlier? It entrances you, and the longer you hold his gaze, the more you feel yourself floating…

Until he blinks away and motions towards the door. “After you.”

Shaking from your stupor, another embarrassed flush stains your cheeks as you move towards the elevator. He’s hardly the first supremely attractive man that you’ve interacted with on this job, but none of them have rendered you so stupid before.

“My grandfather says that I unnerve people, so that is something I am also working to improve.”

You brush the memory of his earlier words aside, swallowing your unease as you search for something to say. “Thank you again for coming by this evening.” You finally say, sticking to the safe topic at hand. “I’ll file the paperwork in the morning, and Señor Padros will be in touch if there are any unforeseen complications with the transfer.”

“I have complete faith in Xavi, and you, by extension.” Charles says breezily as you both step into the elevator. “He has served my grandfather well, and no doubt, will continue to serve me well in his stead.”

The odd choice of words strikes you. You don’t consider yourself in the service industry and you’re pretty sure that your boss doesn’t consider himself a servant to the wealthy elite, but maybe it’s just another indicator of how old-school this young man next to you truly is.  

“As always, we appreciate your support and business.” You say on professional reflex, despite the distracting scent of Charles’ cologne that you can’t stop noticing. “I will be sure to pass along your reassurance to Señor Padros.”

“Again, there is no need.” He flashes another reassuring smile as the elevator doors open to the main lobby. “I owe Xavi a visit soon to discuss further matters and I will gladly tell him in person.”

His words beg further questions in your mind but you know better than to ask. Whatever relationship he has with your boss – professional or otherwise – is also certainly none of your business.

Your heels click to a stop near the front door and he pauses beside you. With a bow of his head, he holds your gaze as he speaks. “Thank you again for accommodating such a late meeting. It’s been an unexpected pleasure.”

“Thank you, sir. You, too.” You nod in thanks as he turns for the door. “I hope that you have a good rest of your evening.”

His mouth slants with a wicked grin as he pushes out into the dark night. “Of course. I’m just getting started, after all.”

A shiver crawls down your spine as he saunters up to his red car and sinks down into the plush leather seating. The glass building façade muffles the revving engine, but as he shoots off into the night, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Sighing deep, you offer a good night wave to the front desk guard, focused only on getting your bag and going home. The trip back to your desk and down to the parking garage passes in a familiar blur only broken when the elevator doors ding open. Yellow light from the sodium-vapor lamps paint the concrete surroundings in a hideous, monochromatic glow. Even through the glass doors of the elevator lobby, the ubiquitous buzzing of the light fixtures can still be heard. But it’s the frustrated groans of a tall, slender man carrying a box piled high with file folders and trying to pull the doors open that draws your attention.

“Here,” you say in greeting, offering a friendly smile as you step up to assist with the door handle. “It looks like you’ve got your arms full – literally.”

“Oh, thank you.” The man turns brilliant, blinding blue eyes on you and a megawatt smile around his posh British syllables. “You have no idea just how heavy this box is.”

You hold the door open for him as he steps through, maneuvering the box and his messenger bag through the opening. “You’re welcome. Do you have a big case ahead?”

“Yeah,” he says with a nod as the door closes behind you. “Boss needs recommendations by noon tomorrow and I’m so far behind.”

“Ugh,” you groan in commiseration. “I’ve been there, too – it can be so fast-paced sometimes. Who’s your boss?”

“Musconi. He’s not one of the senior partners or anything – not like Padros or Bonnington – but, well, I’ve only been here for a few weeks, so I’m still learning. I’m George Russell, by the way. I’d offer you my hand, but well…” He shrugs and flashes another handsome smile as he hefts the box in his hands.

“No worries, George.” You say before offering your own name. “Welcome to the firm. I hope you continue to settle in alright.”

“Thank you. Everyone’s been really helpful so far.”

You spot your car ahead and turn to offer him a wave. “Well, if I can help with anything, please let me know; otherwise, have a good evening and see you around, George.”

“Lovely to meet you, and thanks again!” He calls out after you, poorly attempting to offer a wave despite his full arms.

As you start the ignition and drive through the garage, you just catch George rounding a concrete pillar to another car.

You don’t see George open the car’s boot, depositing the box and bag before slamming the top down. You don’t see George reach into the backseat, to the dead body slumped across the backseat like someone sleeping. You don’t see George tuck the borrowed employee badge back into the man’s pocket before sliding into the driver’s seat.

And you definitely don’t hear George make a phone call as he drives off. “Yeah… Leclerc just left, and I’ve made contact.”

1940

“Quel est l’ordre, Lieutenant?”

Charles slows his steps, surveying his assembled platoon of French and Monegasque soldiers as he answers in French. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

Beaufort glares over at Charles. “Stopping here, sir?” He glances around at the splintered remains of the French woodlands, the craters in the earth, and the tree shards that litter everywhere. “I’ll roll over and get a splinter in my ass.”

“Better than up your ass!” Moreau bellows as he laughs at his own jab and a few others join in.

Charles can’t say that he disagrees, but he’s careful to keep the amusement from his face. “Either way, I suggest that you use this last bit of daylight to clear a resting place that won’t result in needing medical aid.”

A low murmur of chuckles and assent rises from his men as they start to settle into the destruction. Other platoons flank them on all sides, making similar encampments as they stretch out among the shattered trees and the growing shadows of twilight that rapidly obscure into darkness.

For days now, they’ve been marching through burned and battered countryside, each ruined village indistinguishable from the next. The Panzers prove relentless in their siege, and the Luftwaffe bombs haven’t helped, either. Charles isn’t a high enough rank to possess a map, but his basic knowledge of the sky from training indicates a steady march in a northwesterly direction.

Fall back to Dunkirk. That’s his command from on high.

He yawns as he continues to survey his men. They number so few now, and the missing faces will haunt the rest of his days. As their commanding officer, he knows every last man in his platoon, but now… only a handful remain. A handful that he is personally responsible for leading out of this hell and into the unknown.

If the Allied Forces are well and truly surrounded, what fresh horrors await them when the enemy finally catches up to them in Dunkirk? Will the British prioritize evacuation of their own troops first? What chance does he stand to ever get back home to Monaco?

But wars are lost on pointless thoughts like that. Thinking so far ahead won’t serve him well in the here and now. He just needs to solve this problem, and then solve the next problem. To stay alive and always keep moving forward.

Someday – when Charles has access to endless alcohol and a real bed – he’ll lose himself to those other dark, destructive musings.

“Merde, that’s an ill wind, isn’t it?” Severin’s voice carries low in the night.

“Sure… like ghosts are riding its wings.” Porcher agrees with a grumble as the sound of a hand slapping thick fabric becomes audible. “But no more of that talk. Between the Jerrys, your ass, and these damnable tree roots, I don’t need any extra help from nightmares for not sleeping.”

Allowing his lips to quirk in the cover of darkness, Charles turns from his men, satisfied that they’re settling in well enough for the night. He slows and steadies his footfalls, not wanting to disturb anyone as he makes his way through the dimly lit landscape.

Moments alone are truly rare, but he can steal a few to relieve himself. Counting his steps to gauge his return, the sounds of men snoring, breathing, talking and coughing fade into the breeze.

True peaceful silence at last.

Charles closes his eyes, indulging it for the space of a breath, before going about his business. His eyes roam skyward, catching glimpses of starlight through the wispy clouds. In his mind’s eye, he imagines the brush strokes to try and capture such splendor on canvas. It makes him long to return to his position at the art institute, to nurture creation instead of destruction. With a sigh, he looks back down to the war-torn ground, righting his uniform and webbing. In truth, it’s better not to dally.

A cigarette is his next order of business. It helps him forget about his toothbrush that went missing during a forward advance some weeks back.

In complete silence, strong, vice-like hands grip his shoulders out of the darkness, throwing Charles off his feet. He hits the ground hard, breath forced from his chest and stealing his voice as plain blooms in the back of his skull. His assailant looms over him, a shapeless shadow that pins him to the ground with effortless ease.

Charles kicks feebly as his vision swims, thrashing to dislodge his attacker and break free from the commanding hold. But the impossibly cold weight above him remains immobile, crushing him into the muddy ground. Surely, this must be another man… but a German soldier? Or possibly a confused Allied soldier?

Icy fingers suddenly claw at the collar of Charles’ uniform, wool and buttons shearing easily as horror creeps into Charles’ rising panic. The dark shadow above him bears down, unbothered by Charles’ desperate attempts to scratch and claw along his back. Twin points of searing pain explode in Charles’ neck as sharp, pointed teeth rip through his skin. A strangled cry rasps in Charles’ throat against the agony as the shape of the attacker’s mouth changes, and he seals his lips to Charles’ skin, supping greedily as he pulls suction.

A new sensation erupts – one of ragged, exquisite pleasure – that mixes with the blinding pain to ebb and flow through his entire body. Charles’ mind overloads at the onslaught as his body grows stiller and more pliant. His pitiful protests become sluggish as a creeping fog eats at the very center of his being. His arms fall to the ground, weakened and motionless as the delicious, terrifying pressure continues on his neck.

And then… only darkness.

Series Main List

[racingliners]

More '2023 favourites' Polls! Next up: race engineers!

We love them for different reasons, the fact that they're mad smart, have wonderful relationships with their drivers, are known to be hilarious over team radio, or they just look really good in button up shirts.

Because poll options only go up to 12, I'm splitting them into two groups of 10, with the top 5 from each going into a final poll.

Everyone will be listed in alphabetical order by surname, with their team and driver in brackets, so if you can't find the one you want click here.

(Please reblog for sample size!)

[stateofcharles]

i fucking hate ferrari i fucking hate its mechanics i fucking hate xavier marcos padros i fucking hate the SF23 i fucking hate redbull i fucking hate max verstappen i fucking hate everyone and everything

[formulinos]

xavier marcos padros i will fuck your mother and your father

[f1]

Charles Leclerc's Ferrari frustrations continue as he fumes at his race mechanic

'This is really ****. I don't know what to do!': Charles Leclerc's Ferrari frustrations continue as he fumes at his race mechanic over confusing team tactics at the Saudi Arabian grand prix Charles Leclerc clashed with his Ferrari team strategists in Saudi Arabia The Ferrari driver fumed at confusion over race strategy in the Middle East Leclerc ranted that instructions needed to be issued to him earlier in the race  By Ryan Walker For Mailonline Published: 13:26 EDT, 20 March 2023 | Updated: 13:26 EDT, 20 March 2023 Charles Leclerc lashed out at his Ferrari race engineer after miscommunication over tactics at the Saudi Arabian grand prix in Jeddah on Saturday. The Monaco native is hoping to rival reigning world champion Max Verstappen for this year's drivers championship, but struggled to a seventh-placed finish in the second grand prix of the season. Issues at the Italian race team arose between Leclerc and his right-hand man Xavier Marcos Padros, who is responsible for guiding the driver's race strategy, as the 25-year-old fumed at confusion between the pitwall and himself. While the Mercedes duo of Lewis Hamilton and George Russell attempted to distance the gap to the Ferrari chasers, Leclerc asked for advice on what to do, but then fumed at the delayed instructions he was given.  Leclerc initially ranted: 'Being behind like this is really ****. I don't know what to do!' Charles Leclerc was unhappy with his Ferrari team at the weekend's Saudi Arabian grand prix The Ferrari driver struggled in the Middle East as he finished seventh in Jeddah Leclerc (pictured) fumed at his race engineer Xavier Marcos Padros over delayed instructions Padros previously suggested: 'Try to push from Safety Car Line One. Lewis Hamilton just pitted.' However, a dismayed Leclerc retorted: 'Xavi, you need to tell me that before!' The Ferrari engineer shortly replied: 'Copy.' But the Monegasque driver decided to continue to vent his frustration, adding: 'No, but come on!' Failure to finish on the podium at the Saudi event means Leclerc is now already 38 points behind Verstappen after just two races. Leclerc (red car) struggled to match the pace set by Mercedes driver Lewis Hamilton (black car) in the race Leclerc was expected to challenge for the driver's world championship this season Ferrari have widely been tipped to be a dominant Red Bull's closest competitors this season. But that task looks extremely unlikely given the 43 second gap between race winner Sergio Perez and Leclerc at the weekend. It has been all change at the Scuderia team this season after strategy issues last season saw Mattia Binotto removed from his role as team principal. Frederic Vasseur became the new head at the start of the season as Ferrari made the surprise decision to opt for an external hire, however Leclerc's latest rant suggests there is still plenty of work to be done.  Meanwhile, Leclerc confirmed that he will no longer be taking part in pre-race track walks at upcoming GP's after the FIA made the decision to ban drivers from riding bikes or scooters around circuits.  Share or comment on this article: Charles Leclerc's Ferrari frustrations continue as he fumes at his race mechanic via Formula One | Mail Online https://www.dailymail.co.uk?ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490&ito=1490

[5iceroy]

im going to kill myself in front of ferrari race engineer xavier marcos padros to forever change the trajectory of his life

[thissying]

How??? Question.

[chasingpegasus]

Found this, from last year though:

Key Ferrari trackside personnel

Team principal: Mattia Binotto Sporting director and head of track activities: Laurent Mekies Head of track engineering: Matteo Togninalli Head of strategy: Inaki Rueda Head of engine operations: Luigi Fraboni Sebastian Vettel's race engineer: Riccardo Adami Sebastian Vettel's performance engineer: Steven Petrik Charles Leclerc's race engineer: Xavier Marcos Padros Charles Leclerc's performance engineer: Bryan Bozzi Head of track operations: Claudio Albertini Chief mechanic: Christian Corradini Sebastian Vettel #1 mechanic: Filippo Miliani Charles Leclerc #1 mechanic: Alessandro Fusaro

[maranello]

Who is marcos? I know xavi is his engineer but I don't remember anyone named marcos

wndjdj xavi’s full name is Xavier Marcos Padros so I think it’s probably still him

[f1-stuff]

Bahrain GP '24 // Ferrari Team Radio Snippet (1/?)

Xavi: "Brake situation still stable." Charles: "You mean, it's still shit, right?"

[russell-63]

Correction:

Charles' engineer is Xavier Marcos Padros and Seb's race engineer is Chris Cronin. The ones listed are former race engineers of them!

So realising that I almost know nothing bout the Race Engineers, could you may give me a list with all of the guys u know?

I can try my best anon but if I did mistakes, anyone correct me please! This is based purely on what I found on the Internet/articles, etc...

Mercedes: Peter 'Bono' Bonnington (Lewis) & Riccardo 'Riki' Mosconi (Valtteri)

Red Bull: Gianpiero 'GP' Lambiase (Max) & Hugh Bird (Checo)

Ferrari: Jock Clear (Charles) & Ricciardo Adami (Carlos)

McLaren: William Joseph (Lando) & Tom Stallard (Daniel)

Aston Martin: Bradley 'Brad' Joyce (Lance) & Tim Wright (Seb)

Alpha Tauri: Pierre Hamelin (Pierre) & Mattia Spini (Yuki)

Alpine: Josh Peckett (Esteban) & Karel Loos (Fernando)

Alfa Romeo: Julien Simon-Chautemp (Kimi), no information found on Antonio

Williams: James Urwin (George) & Gaetan Jego (not entirely sure, Nicholas)

Haas: Gary Gannon (Mick) & Dominic 'Dom' Haines (not entirely sure, Mazepin)

[f1tyreslightmyfyre]

Immortal Artistry - Ch. 2

Series Main List

A Vampire AU F1 Fic Featuring Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader, George Russell x Fem!Reader, hints of Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader, Lestappen, Sebchal, and Sainzell (or Russainz?)

Also on AO3

Ch. 2 Warnings: Language; sexual content; non-major character death; stalker behavior; vampire blood violence and thrall; WWII references to Hitler and Nazi regime; non-graphic violence, murder and death

2023

Stepping back into your boss’ executive conference room the next morning, you have a mild heart attack. The table’s surface is clear of all the paperwork that Charles signed last night and even the canister of pens has been straightened up. You blink down, still stunned by the sight. Filing paperwork is one of your job responsibilities. Why would anyone else be in your boss’ private, securely-locked conference room touching paperwork for a case that isn’t theirs, unless…

You don’t hesitate to knock on your boss’ door, opening it wide when he bids you entry. “Good morning, sir,” you say, careful to keep your voice even. “I met with Mr. Leclerc last night to sign the power of attorney paperwork laid out on your conference room table, but this morning –”

“Ah, yes,” Xavier cuts you off with a stiff attempt at a reassuring smile. “Yes, I took the liberty of filing the paperwork myself this morning. There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

None of that sounds right. Why would your boss stoop to such a menial task? Especially for paperwork on standard forms that you’ve seen dozens of times on other cases. Despite the confused torrent of your thoughts, you offer a slow nod. “Oh, well, glad to hear that they’re not missing. Erm, thank you for… taking care of that.”

“Not at all.” He placates with another disconcerting smile. “Thank you again for taking the meeting last night. I have an appointment to meet Señor Leclerc at his office in three days from now, but I’ve been reassured that it’s not to discuss anything negative from last night’s meeting.”

Your conversation with Charles flashes in your memory, and again, all you can immediately summon is another nod. “Sounds good, err – thank you for clarifying, and for letting me interrupt.”

“Not at all.” He says again, turning back towards his laptop, and you close the door behind you.

You can’t make heads or tails of it. Something about the entire situation feels so incredibly off, but you can’t place your finger on it. Taking a deep breath to try and displace your unease, you walk back to your office and unlock your laptop.

Unbidden, the memory of George’s smiling, handsome face flashes in your mind. You remember your new days at this firm all too well, and maybe that’s what you need to feel normal right now – commiserating with a fellow new paralegal about the woes of work.

Clicking open the office chat program, you search for ‘George Russell’. Your brow furrows as nothing comes up. Perhaps you misheard him and instead, you just search ‘George’. Several names appear in the results, but there’s no last name that even comes close to resembling Russell. Had you really misheard him that bad? You debate going to ask his boss, Musconi, about him, but you don’t need to stalk him like that.

You just need to drink your coffee and get on with your job, no matter what weirdness has transpired in the last twelve hours.

But four days later, you nearly spew coffee all over your kitchen when the news breaks.

SENIOR PARTNER AT PROMINENT MONEGASQUE LAW FIRM FOUND DEAD

Senior Partner Xavier Marcos Padros at the prestigious law firm of Hunt & Lauda was found dead in his home during early hours this morning. Authorities have already launched a full-scale investigation into his death that sources are calling a homicide. There were no immediate signs of forced entry at Padros’ residence, but the victim was found in the kitchen in a pool of blood believed to be his own.

Authorities also paid a visit to Padros’ office at Hunt & Lauda, and found the place ransacked. With papers strewn about and drawers ripped from cabinets, sources suspect that a theft has also taken place, but are careful to note that no such scene of destruction was observed at Padros’ residence. At this time, it’s unconfirmed that the two incidents are linked but authorities are investigating all leads.

You have to read the article twice to fully understand it. The shock of it slams through you, and your hand trembles to think of your boss just suddenly… dead. Murdered, even. Again, you scan the mention of homicide and your stomach sours. Especially as you do the quick math and realize that last night was his meeting with Mr. Leclerc. Though, didn’t he say that the meeting was at Mr. Leclerc’s office?

Just what the hell had happened last night?

Closing the article, you open your work email and look for any sort of corporate announcement. But there’s nothing new in your inbox at the early hour and with shaky motions, you go about getting ready for the workday. The sight of the office building twists your gut as you park and the buzz of the sodium-vapor lights does little to reassure you. As you ascend the floors in the elevator, you decide to stop in the main lobby and confirm that your floor is even still accessible. If the authorities are investigating Padros’ office vandalism, then maybe, they’ve closed off the whole area.

A scene of pandemonium greets you as you step out of the elevator. A cordon of building security and police hold back a horde of clamoring journalists as harried employees and clients try to get through the front door. The receptionist at the main desk looks frazzled and teary eyed as she contends with all the commotion while still trying to do her job. People form a line in the elevator lobby – and goodness, it’s just barely 0630 hrs, but it might as well be midday for all the activity that flurries around you.

A cry of your name rises over the din, and you look around with wide eyes. It sounds… oddly familiar, and you stare in wide-eyed surprise as George works his way through the crowd. “Oh, my goodness,” he comments, glancing around, “this is far too much.” Searching your face, he places a supportive hand on your forearm, steering you towards an open space along the wall. “How are you doing? Are you alright after such tragic news?”

“Wait,” you exhale uneasily, shaking your head as you still try to process what’s happening. “How… how do you know that I’d be upset about Padros’ –” your voice sticks in your throat as you realize what you’re able to say aloud. “... death?”

George’s eyes soften with kind concern. “The office chat program lists your supervisor, and I saw that it was Padros.”

“That’s funny. I tried looking you up and couldn’t find you at all.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Sounds like all IT departments are the same in that they move at a snail’s pace. I’m sure it’ll be updated soon, but you still haven’t answered my question. How are you doing?” His fingers give your arm an encouraging squeeze, and it’s more comforting that you realize.

Slowly, you nod. “I’m alright, I think… in shock more than anything, I suppose. He was just… I mean, I just saw him yesterday. And now he’s… dead? And they suspect homicide?” It’s still a lot to process, and despite yourself, a tear stings the corner of your eye. “He was a good guy – he helped people. I mean, who wants to murder a lawyer?”

George chuckles gently, and really, there is something beautiful about his crystal blue eyes. “Did you really just ask that question aloud? Aren’t lawyers always the bad guys?”

“They’re just messengers. Representatives, really.”

“They’re also the keepers of secrets and lies. The twisters of words and the weavers of tales.”

Your brow pinches in mild affront. “And yet you work for them?”

George shrugs with a modest, boyish smile. “I didn’t say that those are necessarily bad things, but things that someone – an aggrieved party, perhaps – might be willing to kill for.”

“But none of his cases were so contentious…” Your words trail off as you try to quickly think through his open case files. Honestly, you don’t know how many in total he handled via his team of paralegals, but you know that none of your case files were so intense. And if not, intense… then, maybe there was just the one unusual case… with Mr. Leclerc.

“You know the police will come asking.” George says, glancing around the bustling lobby with a wary eye. “That’s probably what the reporters are all waiting for, either that or they’re waiting to see if anything is positively identified as missing from his office.”

“God, I can’t even imagine how anyone could ever confirm it for sure, he has so many case files.”

“Then, maybe it wasn’t a file.” George’s brow furrows in thought. “Do you know if he received any packages lately? Or items from a client?”

You purse your lips as you shake your head. “Nothing that I can recall, but I can’t see his office from my desk, so it’s possible, I suppose.”

George nods silently in acknowledgement, giving your arm another gentle squeeze before letting go. “Well, I’m sure the police will turn up something… they won’t be able to live it down otherwise. But I should stop wasting your time and let you get on with your day.”

Your mouth curls to a soft smile. “You’re not wasting my time, George. And it is good to see you again.”

“Yeah, you, too.” He agrees, offering a brilliantly handsome smile. “Take care.”

“Same to you.” You turn in the direction of the elevators, surprised as he moves back down the corridor. “Hey,” you call out after him and he turns back around, “aren’t you heading up to your office?”

“Nah, I want to get a coffee first. You go on ahead.”

Nodding numbly, you offer him a farewell wave and join the elevator queue. You still don’t know if your floor is open or not, but when the elevator dings and the doors open, your day upends.

A team of investigators swarm the floor, leaving no stone unturned as forensics conducts their business and employees are questioned. After confirming your name and job position, you’re instantly swept into your office with an officer for what seems like an endless stream of questions. Hours pass and your brain is a puddle of mush when they’re finished, but really, you don’t know what else to say.

Well… perhaps you could have been a little more truthful about your unease with the Leclerc meeting earlier in the week. Perhaps you also could have mentioned that your boss supposedly had a meeting with Mr. Leclerc last night, but once they gain access to his phone and schedule, they’ll learn that for themselves. Besides, you only have an unfounded hunch and that’s no basis to pin the suspected murder of your boss on a relative stranger, no matter how unusual some of the finer details are.

“There were… some finer points that I wanted to handle personally.”

Just what had Xavier meant?

When the police finally leave you to the silence of your office and the tumult of your thoughts, you wonder if maybe… just maybe the Leclerc paperwork is still in the building. Maybe the police haven’t confiscated it as part of their investigation, and you can see just what you might have overlooked.

In the meantime, the contents of your inbox have exploded, and you lose several more hours answering emails and reassuring clients that more information about the status of their cases are forthcoming. The sun slides below the horizon before you realize the hour – a common habit in your profession – and with it, the hum of investigative activity has also decreased.

In fact, as you head for the break room to refill your water bottle, you notice only one or two other fellow employees on the floor. The path to the filing room is clear and now seems like the perfect time to make your move. Pulling open the filing room door, the automatic lights overhead illuminate the rows of filing cabinets, and it doesn’t take you long to locate the ‘L’ section.

The Leclerc folder is thick from decades’ worth of business that Hunt & Lauda has handled for them, but the newest forms signed by Charles Leclerc, III, sit on the very top. Now, they bear the official embossed seals of authenticity, and you start reading through the rows of printed legal agreements. None of it looks unordinary. None of it looks unique. None of it looks like… some finer point that Padros would need to handle personally.

His words make even less sense now. Putting the paperwork back, you leave the filing room behind and return to your desk. A dull ache throbs in the back of your skull, and you power down your laptop. You don’t know if the main lobby is still a media circus, but you bypass it entirely and head straight down to the parking garage.

Your heels clack off the concrete, approaching your car as a yawn hinges your jaw and pinches  your eyes closed.

When you slowly open them, your heart stops at the sight of a man suddenly standing between you and your car.

1940

“You lack finesse,” Sebastian’s voice carries over the rush of blood in Charles’ ears. “But you have remarkable control.”

Charles swallows the last mouthful of invigorating elixir, feeling the warmth of the man’s blood mix with the ice in his veins. It surges through him with a vitality that transcends everything he thought he knew about being alive. But now he understands just how naive he was. How naive the rest of the human race truly is. 

The human in his grasp falls limp from blood loss, but Charles has no intention of killing this one. Just because he needed a snack doesn’t mean this man has to die. Sebastian made that clear from the beginning. 

Once the red fog of bloodlust passed and Charles adapted to his newfound senses, Sebastian started to teach him so much. And proves to be the most curious person that Charles has ever known, his nationality notwithstanding. 

At first, hearing those German syllables rankled him. How could it not when Hitler was hell bent on Germany conquering all of Europe? 

“That’s where you couldn’t be more wrong.” Sebastian countered, staring him down as fire blazed in his icy eyes. “One man does not speak for a whole nation, and my countrymen are severely misguided for their belief in such a notion. It would appear that humanity has learned no lessons since the Great War and remain more focused than ever on their self-destruction.” 

“Then, why are you here?” Charles asked. “The Allies are fleeing the continent, and Hitler’s forces are conquering everything in their path. So, why are you right in the middle of it?”

Sebastian’s mouth curled with an enigmatic gleam. “War evolves as humanity advances and supposedly betters itself. And war creates opportunity. We just have to find it here, but it does wait for us.” 

Charles shook his head against the pillow, letting himself sink further into the plush, downy mattress. “You say ‘we’... but why me? You… could have chosen anyone. You could have given me the choice to willingly…” 

“It’s not something that one can explain.” Sebastian coolly dismissed as he pressed up against Charles’ side. “Knowing what you know now, would you choose to remain mortal?” 

“Would you?”

Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “And miss out on the last 592 years? Miss out on meeting you?” He leaned close, brushing kisses along the slope of Charles’ throat. “Never, schatz.” 

A delicious shiver raced down Charles’ spine and his spent cock twitched with renewed interest. As a mortal, he never had stamina like this… nor did he ever dare to indulge such taboo proclivities so brazenly. 

With a nip on Charles’ collarbone, Sebastian continued. “As for your other question…” he paused to press a kiss over a sensitive nipple. “Do I really need to stroke your ego again?”

A drunken smile came to Charles’ face as Sebastian’s fingers danced along the curve of his hip. “But I do so like having my ego stroked,” Charles teased, gasping as Sebastian finally cups his burgeoning erection. “Among other things…”  

Charles lost the ability to blush when his heart stopped pumping blood, but the memory still triggers a lingering sense of embarrassed modesty. Seb keeps telling him that those notions will fade with the centuries - that eventually Charles will realize that so much of the inner-conflict he experienced as a mortal serves no purpose and has no bearing on the meaning of one’s existence. 

Even now, it's still a lot to take in. 

He loosens his grip on the soldier’s uniform, lowering the slumping man down to the ground. They’re somewhere in Poland, largely untouchable by the war-waging mortals around them (unless a bomb lands on top of them) and largely unnoticed in the chaos as they move around the continent. 

It’s strange in so many ways, and yet… if the world must be embroiled in global warfare and if Charles must now experience it as an immortal bloodsucker of legend and myth, then maybe this isn’t too bad. 

Approval glints in Seb’s eyes. “I do mean it,” he continues. “For one so young, you have excellent control of your thirst.” 

“Did you not?” 

“Goodness, no.” Seb shakes his head as they continue down the street. “My master scolded me all the time for it. I left more bodies in my wake than I probably should have… but in hindsight, those were far more merciful deaths than leaving them to perish from the Black Death.” 

Charles struggles to recall the finer points of his history lessons. “That was the bubonic plague, no? The first time it swept through Europe, taking almost half the population with it.” 

“Yes. Centuries of progress and growth just grinding to a halt. Dark days as illness held sway, endemic warfare ran rampant, and the unity of the Catholic Church shattered.” A sigh sounds in Sebastian's words. “At the time, though, life didn’t seem quite so bleak. How could it when you have nothing else to compare it to? I suppose that’s one advantage to being what we are now - stewards of humanity’s legacy, eternal historians among those destined to create it.” 

Charles glances over with a bemused smirk as they round a corner. “You’re oddly poetic, you know.” 

“How dare you.” Sebastian glares over in mock-indignation. “The Italian Renaissance was absolute torture. Give me the Age of Reason any day.” 

Laughter bubbles in Charles’ throat but it quickly dies as a squad of Nazi soldiers march onto the street ahead. They file out of the half-bombed cathedral, arms laden with golden and glittering relics. Looting has always been the privilege of the victorious, but this war is far from over. 

A primal growl stirs in Sebastian’s chest and he leaps into action before Charles can blink. That’s also something Seb has reassured him about - that Charles' lingering respect for life will fade. After all, without the prospect of damnation, why should Charles worry about stains upon his soul? 

The soldiers don’t stand a chance against Sebastian’s speed or strength. Necks snap and bodies drop to the ground with dull thuds. He doesn’t even need to bare his fangs to finish them off and by the time Charles strolls up the stoop steps, Sebastian is already rummaging through the looted goods. 

“Don’t tell me that you killed them just to take the spoils for yourself?” Charles asks even as he is unable to resist looking over the admittedly impressive collection of wealth strewn amongst the carnage. 

“Religious relics hold little interest for me, but they do not belong as spoils of an army who have so little respect for life and tolerance of religion.” 

Charles nods gently, stepping over to a large, folded panel. Crouching down, he unfolds the first pane, and his mouth drops open at the sight. “Mamma mia….” He hisses under his breath as he unfolds the remaining panels and stares down at the revealed masterpiece. “It’s a van Eyck…”

“What is that?” Sebastian steps around to study the painting. 

“It’s a Jan van Eyck painting - his signature and motto are unmistakable since he’s the only one of his time to sign his work.” Charles raises a hand, skimming over various aspects of the painting. “And his blending of the spiritual and material worlds through symbolism is all here.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

A wistful sigh escapes him. “I wanted to study art at university, but my father said that wasn’t a suitable degree - but in my spare time, I attended every lecture that I could and painted just….” He trails off, shaking his head, still stunned as he stares at the painting. “This is a classic and must be worth a fortune… I can’t believe it was almost destroyed..” 

“We don’t know if they were going to destroy it.” Sebastian’s near-silent footsteps sound behind him. “Perhaps they were taking it for themselves-”

Heavy footfalls echo inside the church and Charles glances up just in time to see a German officer step out onto the stoop. Above his crisp uniform, his face holds a heavy frown as he glowers at Charles and Sebastian. 

“Hände hoch!” He bellows, reaching for his sidearm.

“Nein,” Sebastian holds a hand up as he strides forward. “Schau mich an… schau mich an…” 

The officer’s face falls slack as he succumbs to Sebastian’s thrall, and a stab of envy shoots through Charles. Seb makes it look so easy, but he has also reassured Charles multiple times that it will come more naturally to him as time passes. There’s just so much Charles has yet to learn. 

Fortunately for him, Sebastian is a master. 

A low conversation in German occurs, and for all of Charles’ trilingual skills, German isn’t among his repertoire. Instead, he turns his attention back to the painting, still marveling at what he’s seeing, even as it lays so pristine on the battered ground. 

"They're under orders," Sebastian suddenly says. "Direct from the Führer himself. Acquisition of all cultural artifacts for the glory of the Nazi regime." 

The words drop like rocks in Charles' stomach as they echo in his mind. "What on earth will he do with all that art? He can't possibly hope to sell it all…?" He stands up, glancing back over at Sebastian just in time to watch him soundlessly drop the officer. "Maybe he'll ransom it, or worse…"

"Somehow, I very much doubt that he wants all this artwork for his bedroom." Sebastian agrees as he draws back up to Charles' side. "But whether he means to ransom it back or privately sell it, cash flow like that would energize his war machine beyond comprehension." He pauses in a moment of contemplation before an impish smile brightens his face. "Like I said, war creates opportunity, and my dear Charles," his hand falls to Charles'shoulder with the heavy weight of approval. "I think we may have just found our opportunity."  

Series Main List

Tag List: @fictional-l0v3r

[f1-stuff]

Brazil GP '22 // Tyre confusion in quali

[f1-stuff]

Saudi Arabian GP '23 // Ferrari Team Radio Snippet (1/?)

Charles & Xavi highlight reel…