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wildmavs · 1 year

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Set Fire [CL16]

pairing; Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!reader

series warnings; smut, fluff, angst, profanity, age gap ( reader is 21, Charles is 26), sexual tension, death, friends to enemies to lovers.

chapter warnings; not proofread, angst, mentions of death, mentions of traumatic experiences, the enemies to almost lovers part.

word count; 16k +

summary; Jules Bianchi's legacy lives through her, and as Y/N battles the highs and lows of racing, she also has to battle her heart

authors note; this is a part three of birthday cake, the love I've received from all my posts still amaze me everyday, I am grateful for all the kind words and love. I hope this exceeds expectations. This one is a bit early, because I just couldn't stop writing it... next part will be the finale, and it not only will fluffy to give you guys a break from the heartache, it'll be spicy toooo

taglist; @writerscurse @chonkybonky @chimchimjiminie16 @formula1mount @tempo-rary-fix @luciaexcorvus @vita-di-moda @livsters @teenagedreams-cl @kudesakaisiite @janeholt3 @kingexplosionm @anthonykatebridgerton @smiithys @charlesfrontwing @ryiamarie @angelayse @twobluejeans @justmemewriting @joonipere @1eclerc16 @gentlemonsterjennie1

@wildmavs @milasexutoire. @leclercdream @youkissedareaderinthedark @lilacsimps @ru-kru @notsosurehritika @dracoswhore @lovvelyyj @chiliwhore

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'Cause I knew that that was

The last time, the last time

“Ma fraise,” he called to her sweetly, standing in the room of his twelve-year-old sister. She had been hunched over her desk, scribbling down her homework to have it completed by the time she had to go to her next karting race.

“Jules,” she grinned at him, turning from her essay and looking up at her brother.

“I’ve come to say goodbye,” he smiled sadly at her, he had only been home for a few days before he had to go back to Japan for the 2014 Japanese Grand Prix.

“Why are you going now?” She pouted, having felt like she spent little to no time with him while he had been home, despite spending every waking moment she could with him.

“It’ll just be a little trip, I’ll be back home in no time,” Jules convinced her, feeling the same sadness as her. He didn’t want to go, he wanted to stay with her, help her through her own race.

“When will I see you again?” She sighed, knowing the hectic schedule of a Formula One driver, knowing that he could be away for months.

“Soon, soon, ma fraise,” he smiled wider at her, kneeling down beside her chair. “You know goodbyes aren’t forever.”

“Goodbye Jules,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jules replied back, gripping her tightly in the hug before leaving her life for good that time.

Being inside that house always gave her a sad sense of nostalgia, inside her childhood room. The moment she could, she had moved into her own house in Nice, setting up a life of her own. Pictures littered the walls of the building, pictures of Jules and her as children, pictures of her family and friends. She had made it her safe place, her home.

Lando stood patiently beside her, hand on her bare waist as she guided him through her parents house. He had been there a million times before, smiled with her parents and joked when her older siblings were around. This time though, they never denied the allegations of them being more than friends, but they never admitted it either.

The media had caught wind of their frequent sightings together, spinning a million different stories.

Star crossed lovers; rivals on the grid and lovers off it.

They hadn’t bothered to address the media, letting them spin whatever story they could. Lando wasn’t the only driver she had been paired with, her and Daniel being accused of having an affair, and her and Max were “spotted” too cosey on the beach, but Lando had been the main man of the stories. The rumours with Charles had died as quickly as they came the previous year after Ferrari had announced their strict HR policy, quoting that co workers were not to fraternize with each other unless married.

The party for Lorenzo’s birthday had originally been in Monaco, though due to some scheduling issues with Pascale’s renovations of her home, they had shifted it to Nice. None of the Leclerc boys had backyards as they lived in penthouse apartments, but even standing on a balcony overlooking the country would have been an adequate view for a party, and Y/N all but refused to have everyone within her own backyard. But, nevertheless, the Leclerc’s and Bianchi’s had their traditions, a party was always thrown in someone’s backyard, and they weren’t going to give that tradition up.

“Lando,” her mother’s thick accent called out to him, “can you help Phillipe move those tables outside?”

“Of course,” he nodded his head, his British accent standing out against the French and Monegasque ones.

“Good, good,” She nodded her head, smiling at him as he walked away. Turning towards her youngest daughter, she continued, “Tu vas aider Charles avec les petits gâteaux you’re going to help Charles with the cupcakes.”

“Mais maman! Nous ne nous aimons toujours pas, but mum! We still don’t like each other,” Y/N whined, crossing her arms like a toddler.

Christine had rolled her eyes, though it did bring back fond memories of her as a child, and said, “Je m'en fiche, va aider, I don’t care, go help.”

With a huff, the girl gritted her teeth and followed her mother’s orders. She was hesitant to walk into the kitchen, loitering around the hallway trying to find an excuse as to why she couldn’t help him. After that kiss in Abu Dhabi, the pair hadn’t spoken, their relationship yet again on hiatus. Exhaling a heavy sigh, she rubbed her temples harshly before reminding herself who she was. She was the first ever woman to win a Grand Prix, she could handle being in the same room alone with the man she ached for.

She was silent as she walked in, Charles acknowledging her presence with a quick glance before continuing his task. Pascale and Christine had bought hundreds of cupcakes, knowing there was going to be a large amount of children present at the party, and that Lorenzo’s co workers would be attending as well.

Standing alongside him, she began placing cupcakes on the golden stands, creating a pattern with the different shades of icing that was appealing to the eye, a stark contrast against Charles haphazard placement of his cupcakes.

There were blue ones, the blue of glacier meltwater, pale with an iridescence not easily forgotten. Green as well, some of them were the shade of the merry greens of new spring foliage illuminated by sunny rays. There were white ones, the white of newborn daisy petals. And there were yellow ones, the sort of yellow that glows from a homely hearth, the sort that warms you just to see it, even before the steady flame can bring a glow to your skin.

The yellow ones had been her favourite, decorated delicately with edible flower petals. They were pretty, in a soft sort of way. They reminded her of summer, of a newly radiant sun stepping forth from the spring time, wrapping them in its warm and brilliant rays.

“Do you always have to make everything a competition?” He huffed at her as she finished off another tray that was beautifully decorated with the multicoloured cupcakes.

“What do you mean?” She rolled her eyes, starting another display as she pushed her finished ones off to a seperate side. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed his set up, “why do you always have to make things look so ugly?”

“Se chamailler comme des enfants, c'est un début, non? Bickering like children is a start, no?” Lorenzo whispered to his younger brother as they walked past the kitchen, catching the interaction briefly before joining the people outside and helping them move furniture.

Rolling his eyes, Charles mumbled incoherently as he began to rearrange his cupcake tower. There was no way in hell he was going to let her cupcakes outshine his. The man had become petty after Abu Dhabi, refusing any contact with either Lando or Y/N. He needed to protect peace, but how could he ever be at peace without her?

“Don’t answer it,” Charles whispered as she pulled away from him and towards it.

“He’s my best friend,” she whispered back.

“If you answer it, this won’t happen again, I will know where I stand,” Charles warned, and he swore he could have cried when he watched her pick up the phone. Heart breaking into tiny little pieces again.

She had answered the call, looking him in the eyes as she spoke, “hello?”

“I’m on my way to your room, you better be ready before I drag you out, muppet,” Lando’s voice rang through his ears, echoing through his mind. He could still taste her lips, but the once sweet taste turned bitter, “Also, make sure you wear those earrings.”

“I will,” she confirmed, and to Charles that set everything in stone. He had gotten her earrings, he had declared his claim on her through jewellery. But that wasn’t what had happened at all, Lando hadn’t gotten her those earrings, a fan had made them for her. They were stupid, meant to be a gag gift, one side had been a resin poured horse with a meme of her face in it, and the other was a resin poured car with the number seventeen scribbled onto it.

Before Charles could even hear the rest of it, he left. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked, tail between his legs and ears pressed firmly to his head. The sight wounded her, but she hadn’t moved to stop him.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N continued with the task at hand. She hated him for trying to make her choose between them, to either choose the man that had brought light back into her life or the man that had left her because he thought she didn’t need him. She also hated herself for picking up the phone, regretting answering as soon as she did, but there had been no turning back once Lando had answered her.

She was only human, and she knew that mistakes would always be evident in her life. She hadn’t realised that her mistake was the same as his, if they had just explained their actions, explained their feelings, then they would already have been together by that point.

Her mind wandered as she continued her task, zoning out as she did wordlessly. Y/N Bianchi was born to make history, it hadn’t been the intention, but it had been set in stone once she got inside her little kart as a child. She knew that in the end everyone would judge her, she remembered being at school and giving up all her free time to be just like her brother, refusing birthday invitations and declining play dates at such a young age. She became that good of a driver because she sacrificed her whole life for it, and when Jules had died, she sacrificed her education as well. Racing was her whole life, she didn’t remember a moment that didn’t include something about it.

The fear of failure, or rejection, of something going wrong would never go away, but she had learnt that she had to do everything afraid. She was happy for Lando, he caused that fear to disappear. They met for a reason, a reason the universe would only hint at but never give them the full answers until they figured it out for themselves. She had other friends, and she had family, but Lando was a friend that became her family.

As a woman in the male dominated sport, she knew that if she made even one mistake, the world would never forgive her. They would tear her to shreds, and they had done. At one stage, the entire country of the United States had torn her to bits over a heated reaction, and she had been punished by her team for it.

She hadn’t even realised he had been speaking to her, and he had simply assumed she was ignoring him to be petty. It wasn’t until he clicked in front of her face did she come back to reality, glaring up at him.

“What?” She groaned at him, eyes squinting in a glare and lips pressed into a thin line.

“Faut-il toujours que tu sois une garce? must you always be a bitch?” He huffed at her, “I asked you four times if you wanted help taking them out, you just ignored me.”

“Trou du cul, asshole,” she huffed at him, placing the last cupcake on a tray. Turning to grab a tray she was stopped by his hand.

His grip was strong but not painful as he held her wrist, pulling her closer to him. His other hand resting softly on the side of her neck. In his eyes was his humanity, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would wear that Ferrari suit, when he became the man the world demanded of him. But in that moment she saw it in his eyes, the love that burnt there, the sort that went for an eternity.

Their faces were inches apart, his eyes scanning her face and gouging her reaction. For all he knew, her boyfriend was out their setting tables for his older brothers birthday, but she was in the kitchen with him, making no movement to escape his loosening grip.

“I don’t want you here,” he whispered to her, “I want us to go back to the way it was, where I wouldn’t attend your family gatherings and you wouldn’t attend mine.”

But I set fire to the rain

Watched it pour as I touched your face

The rain was heavy, beating against their skin as they giggled between each other. Rain touched their skin as a mother's kisses, quenching and with the ever promise of more. Rain be-speckled gems upon his skin bring his beauty into every clearer definition. The water conjured a sweet pattern upon her skin, the thousands of liquid globes reflecting the greenery of nature. It was cooling on the once warm day, a welcome shower to add to the senses.

Her giggle warmed his soul as well as any hearth warms the skin. The giggle rolled about the backyard like a child's spinning top, vibrant and heart warming as it moved around the people on the back porch in its chaotic way. It came in fits and bursts - loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again.

Christine and Philippe were furious at their youngest children, Y/N had raced off into the rain despite being told she was not allowed to play. Though her eight year old self never listened very well to her parents. Jules had scurried after his little sister, leaving behind Arthur as he had been showing him some pictures from his latest race. Charles had wanted to go help his god father get his little friend, but had decided he didn’t want to risk a cold due to his up and coming race in the next week.

Her brother was the greatest blessing the universe could ever have brought her and thus his responsibility for her was of the same measure. Sometimes the memory of him made her sad, older brothers can get you like nothing else. Jules - fiercely loyal and overprotective, like sheever needed that.

His little sister was the keeper of his soul, and he was the guardian of hers.

Soon enough, the chase to get her back under shelter had turned into a game of hide and seek. Her laugh always gave her away, though before he could catch her, she would scurry away to a new spot. That time though, her laugh had turned into a cry.

Her cry was from the heart and stretched his soul in pain, he had found her behind the tree, but she had not run from him this time. The cry was loud enough to alert the others upon the patio, convincing Charles that braving through a cold during his race was not that bad. The Monagasque raced out, following the cry until he found them both huddled behind the tree.

Y/N had held her hand to the slash, but no matter the pressure she applied the blood had still gushed between her fingers and oozed under her hand. It had spread into Jule’s rain-damp t-shirt, the bright red quickly darkening, taking on a brownish hue.

“Charles!” She blubbered as the thirteen year old boy removed her hands and pressed his own against her wound. “Jules, it hurts.”

“I know, ma fraise,” he cooed, pushing her wet hair away from her face before ripping off a piece of his old t shirt and wrapping it around her small leg.

Charles had helped her stand, but as she leant into Jules’ larger body, the man picked her hip and held her against his chest. Her tear stained cheeks were puffy and red, one side resting against his shoulder as she looked at her brother’s face with glassy eyes. Her little hand touched his face, the rain quick to wash away any blood that had transferred onto him.

“Oh, ma bébé, oh my baby,” Christine cooed as she met the three on the steps, taking her daughter into her arms and rushing her inside. Phillipe had ran her a warm bath, while Jules was quick to go into the kitchen to find the first aid kit. The boys were dripping rainwater all over the Bianchi’s tiles, but their mind far too clouded with Y/N’s well-being to care too much about the damages they may cause.

“Tom why don’t you get Charles some clothes,” Melanie suggested before walking into the bathroom, helping her little sister peel off the wet clothes and assess the damages of her torn skin.

The gash had been pretty deep, though luckily not deep enough that it needed stitches.

“Jules,” she hiccuped as she shivered in the warm bath, “I want Jules.”

“He’s getting the first aid, chéri,” Melanie cooed as she rubbed a wet cloth over the girls face, removing the snot and tears.

“This is what happens when we play in the rain,” Christine scolded softly, “we won’t do that again will we?”

Shaking her head, Y/N pouted, “I just wanted to have fun.”

“I know,” Christine sighed, rubbing the girls scalp, “you wash up and Jules will come in and fix your leg, hmm?”

“Okay,” she nodded her head, lying back into the water that was slowly turning red.

She had been careful, refusing to touch her leg as she succumbed to the warmth of the water, not jumping out until her head began to get dizzy from the steam. Her small feet were planted on the ground as she reached for her hooded towel, it had a picture of a ballerina printed onto it, pretty and pink.

Jules had knocked twice before entering alone, eyes softening as he saw the red bath. She had hurt herself bad, slipping on the wet rocks and cutting the back of her leg badly. If it was up to him, from that point on, she’d be wrapped in bubble wrap and stay by his side forever, but he knew that was no life for a little kid.

“Ma fraise,” he pouted, checking her leg to see the bleeding had stopped. It looked painful, and he could only imagine how she felt. “Let’s get you bandaged up.”

“I’m going to tell Louisa that I got attacked by a tiger,” she mumbled as her brother placed an ointment that stung onto the wound before wrapping it in cream gauze. “Juliana and Rowena won’t believe me, but Louisa will.”

“Battle wounds,” he chuckled, “we will say you got it after we explored the jungle.”

“I’ll also say that you defended me and now we have it as a pet cause I was too pretty for it to hurt me more,” she nodded her head, confident in the lie now that her brother had her back, like he always did.

“But what about when they come over to play?” Jules questioned as he taped the guaze to her leg, “we will say that Charlie, Tutur, and Enzo took him for the weekend.”

“They don’t come over to play, silly,” she rolled her eyes, “I’m too busy practicing to be like you and Charlie to be playing with dolls.”

Jules frowned at that, “you are not spending time with your friends?”

She shook her head, shrugging like it was the most normal thing in the world, “I have to practice, and when I don’t, I want to be with you or Charlie.”

“That is sweet, ma fraise,” he cooed, pressing a kiss on her forehead, “but you need to spend time being a kid as well, having tea parties and sleepovers.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, “but they don’t like karting, so I can’t play with them.”

“You like ballerinas and princess still, non?” Jules questioned, he hadn’t realised how much he had missed being away at races, and his parents never told him she wasn’t hanging out with her friends anymore, “you can play pretend doing those things with them.”

“I’d rather play with you,” she shook her head, taking his hand in hers and trotting out of the bathroom.

I let it fall, my heart

And as it fell, you rose to claim it

Her house was a kaleidoscope of memories, of photographs adorning the walls, each of them conjuring the emotions of those sweet eternal moments. The house had large arched windows. Through them light flew through all seasons, gracing the air without favour, illuminating the sweet-toffee browns of the wooden floor. It felt like there was a song in the walls of the house that raised her spirits in quiet moments, when the wind became still air and it sounded as if the world had paused to take a moment to breathe. In those silent words, in the purity of its expression, she found her inner peace and realised that she was home. That house was her home, where the laughter happened and she could rest at the end of the day. From the street it was bricks and mortar topped with tile, the same as any other French home in Nice. Yet if people stepped inside they’d feel that it was so different, a place where the lungs chose to fill a little deeper and the heart beat a little steadier.

The backyard was a miniature woodland of holly trees and native shrubs, each of them trimmed as if they were green flames. To move about them was a sort of music, a poetry that cannot be spoken in words, yet was heard and calmed everything that she was. Her backyard was a sanctuary for nature and in that it became her own place of serenity.

She sat on the hanging chair, knees pressed to her chest as she nursed a glass of white wine. Louisa, Juliana, and Rowena had all been over for dinner that night. The girls were in fits of giggles and laughter, gossiping about the latest work dramas. Once they had left though, Y/N’s thoughts began to run rampant. It had been the only downside of moving out and living on her own, refusing the offer of moving in with Lando. She had all the time in the world to think when she was alone, her hobby was her job, and maybe if she hadn’t sacrificed so much of her childhood to it, she could’ve found something else to occupy herself with. But she wasn’t the biggest fan of video games, and she didn’t like playing any other sports than the one she got paid for, she wasn’t a good artist, and if she tried something and failed, she never did it again.

She had thought about getting a dog, but with the amount of free time she never had she believed it would be cruel to leave it on its own, and she would never want to put the burden onto her parents. And forcing Lando to Nice every day was off the table, just because she had issues in Monaco didn’t mean he had them too. Arthur visited her frequently, giving her subtle life updates about Charles every so often, but for the majority just wanting to spend more time with her outside of the grid.

The buzzing of her phone had caught her attention quickly, Lando’s face popping up.

“Salut, ma moitié, hi, my. other half” she answered, a small smile coming onto her face.

“You need to talk to him,” he was instantly cutting to the chase, having heard enough from Max about Charles incessant nagging about their relationship. He couldn’t stress enough that they were just friends, and whenever Max would bring that fact to light to Charles, he would always counter with, well we were friends once too.

“He can’t expect me to choose, I chose him my whole life, and the moment feelings were shared it was like he didn’t exist anymore,” she frowned, a pout forming on her lips as she stared at a strawberry plant growing in one of the many pots she had littered on her back patio, “I chose him before and he left me, I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

She could hear his groan, and could imagine the way he rubbed his hands with his face. Lando loved her like a sister, always wanting what was best for her, but he hated being in the middle of it, he didn’t want to be the barrier between the pair anymore. Charles had been his friend too, a great one, until the media began to perpetuate a false narrative, “He didn’t want you to choose! He wanted you to prove that we weren’t a couple! He wanted you to show that you wanted him, not me!”

“It doesn’t matter now, it’s been months.” She replied softly, taking another sip of her wine before placing it on the side table. Putting the man on speaker phone, she rested the phone beside her on the cushion and hugged her legs. Her fingers fiddling with the golden bracelet.

“It had been years before, and you made your way back to each other, a few months is nothing,” Lando reasoned, he wasn’t on Charles' side. Absolutely not, he hated the way the older man had treated his best friend, but after hearing his side of the story from Max and Pierre, he couldn’t help but be a little more open minded. The pair were just suffering from a horrible case of miscommunication, and there was no one but themselves able to fix it.

“I can’t keep doing it to myself, going back and expecting a different result, I love him with all my heart, but I refuse to go back to the same man who broke it a million times,” she mumbled, Lando was lucky he had become so intuned with her accent and words that he could decipher what she was saying. “Why is moving on so hard?”

“Because you not only have to let go of the past but also the future you wanted with him,” Lando spoke softly, “but I don’t think you should be moving on at all, Y/N, I think you should talk to him.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to say,” she said, pushing the palms of her hands into her eyes to stop herself from crying.

The man who Charles was before, when Jules was still around, the one she fell in love with, would have kicked his ass all over the goddamn floor for talking and acting towards her like that. Back then, Charles was someone. He was that guy, the one who had the principles and a backbone. The new Charles, the one she knew then, was not the same, but she couldn’t help but still love him. He acted as if her love was owed to him, but only gave her apathy in return.

“Start by telling him how you feel,” he told her, already knowing what she had conjured up in that mind of hers.

“Where would I even start with that?” She grumbled, a pounding in her head starting to form.

“That’s something you’ll have to figure out yourself,” Lando mumbled, “look, Y/N, I love you with all my heart, forever. But I’m not going to sit and watch both of you hurt in silence over a problem that could be solved with just sitting down together and talking.”

“That will never happen though, he hates me now,” She pressed, “unless you locked us in a room together with no escape, he’ll keep avoiding me.”

“Don’t give me ideas, Bianchi, race season is coming up and I know there’s only one entrance and exit of the drivers rooms,” Lando joked. “For now, sleep on it. I’m not demanding you call him straight away and confess for undying love, I’m telling you that you both need to talk, because it’s not just affecting you two anymore, the rest of us are feeling the tension and it’s splitting the grid in half.”

It was dark and I was over

Until you kissed my lips and you saved me

No other words were spoken when their lips grazed over each other. His rough hands were her medication, he heart song and her light, for she was in love with him. In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. His kiss was not at all the same as those movie stars, but one steeped in a passion that ignites. It was the promise of realness, of the primal desire that lived in everyone. And with it he tells her that he was awake, connected within, that he embraced himself rather than hid as a copy of those romantic idols.

In his kiss she felt at home.

In the emotion of the kiss a volume of passion was spoken that transcended the works of the great poets combined. In that moment they were their pure and vulnerable selves, baring all their flaws to one another and hoping they’d be accepted.

The depth of the sky's blue is as their love, that only over the years that they noticed the strength of the hue. Up close it was as clear as pure water, yet when they saw the miles it was the blue of fairytale dreams. The only people blind to it’s hue was them, together they made each other shine.

And then she answered the call.

Into the rich tapestry of the blue, came a woven blanket of hearth-spun grey, a comfort to each soul who dreamt upon such icy nights. The cold Monaco night borrowed body heat as if it were a cup of sugar, giving her ever more reason to draw closer to him, to feel the natural warmth he was born to give. But he wasn’t with her at that moment.

Amid the gently bowing branches, amid the bonny kin of flowers, a sense of serenity came to the cemetery. There was the greatest sense of love in the Monaco Cemetery, for there she felt her beloved Jules most strongly. Here she felt how her protected and guided her. From the earth of the cemetery seeps the love of those passed on, of Jules who was now an angel, protecting and guiding her from the after life.

Her arms wrapped around her body as she crouched down in front of his tomb. Wiping away any dust or grime that had accumulated since the last time she visited him, her hands freezing against the icy stone.

Lando had offered his company that day, offered to go with her, but she had politely declined, wanting to be alone with her brother for just a few minutes until other grieving loved ones appeared on the grounds.

Her grief came in waves, at first they were so strong she felt so swept away. They came at such random moments, replacing a feeling of normalcy with those familiar tears. Yet in time those waves lessened and she let the good memories flood in instead, they allowed for waves of smiles and warmth, those funny or sweet things that were once said. When she had ridden the waves of grief she saw that she had a strong, strong heart. She saw that the pain stood as witness to the loving bond that survived his passing.

Sitting cross legged, she let herself fall foreword, head resting upon the stone. Her crying was a cleaning of her soul, a rebonding with her vulnerable self, a chance to realise what suffering and pain are for her and others. Her eyes never looked prettier when they were glossed over with tears, shining so sorrowfully in the moonlight.

“He kissed me,” she whispered to the stone, despite the grounds being empty, but she knew the routine of the other regulars, that soon she would no longer be alone with him. “He kissed me and then I ruined it.”

She could imagine Jules’ voice, comforting her, telling her it was going to be okay. Jules would have loved to watch her grow into the woman she had become, he had missed so much. He had missed her first kiss with a little French boy when she turned Fourteen, the awkwardness of it causing her to blush and race over to Arthur and tell him all about it. He had missed her wins in Formula 3, 2 and 1. He had missed her formals, watching her stress about dresses and crying in the mirror as she hated what her sister did with her makeup. He had missed seeing her in that Ferrari jumpsuit for the first time, he had even missed seeing her in the McLaren one when she was apart of their drivers academy.

She wished he was there, hoped that he was still watching over her and cheering her on from the afterlife. At that moment, she wished more than anything to hear his voice, for him to tell her that she would be okay, that heartbreak is apart of life and she would grow stronger from it.

She didn’t want Lando, she didn’t want Charles, she didn’t want her mother and father, or her older brother and sister. She wanted Jules.

She needed him.

It had been nine years since his death, ten since she had heard his voice. The day she forgot what he sounded like sent her into a panic, her whole body seizing up as she rewatched old home videos just to memorise his voice again.

“You will be okay, ma fraise,” she imagined him replying, “you haven’t ruined anything.”

She knew in his eyes he would never blame her for things, even if she was obviously in the wrong. If he had been there, he would have defended her with his whole heart against the media, he would have pulled some sense into Charles, he would have coddled and protected her from the bad things in the world. He would have risked his own life the way Charles did that day her car went up in flames, apart of her believed he was there that day, keeping her alive and redirecting the smoke from her lungs. She liked to believe that it wasn’t just Charles that breathed life back into her, but Jules as well.

“I love him,” she blubbered, “with my whole being, I am in love with him. Even when we hadn’t talked, even when I hated him, I loved him. I would tell Arthur to stop informing me of his life, but I was secretly grateful for the updates, even if the stories of his love life caused my already broken heart to shatter some more.”

“I don’t know if I can do this without either of you, I could handle it before, when the anger consumed me, but all that holds me is sadness now,” She continued, “sadness that you won’t meet Lando, who tries his absolute hardest to keep me happy, or that you won’t see me win my races, they’re all for you, everything I do is for you now. Charles hates me, he wants us to go back to the way it was, to when we wouldn’t cross paths outside of work. I’ve made a huge mistake, and I don’t think I can fix it.”

“I just,” she stuttered, glassy eyes seeing another woman walk through the cemetery with flowers in her hands, “I just don’t want to do this anymore, but I’m not good at anything else.”

“I’m scared, and I need you,” she finished with a sigh, wiping her tears away quickly. She kissed the tips of her fingers before wiping it over the stone, she used to kiss it directly when she was younger, but after getting sick, she had stopped doing that.

She didn’t want to go home, even though she knew it would bring her comfort, instead, she faced her fears and drove half an hour away. The streets of Monaco were never empty, no matter what the time or day was, there were always people out exploring the lands.

Driving up a track she had been a million times before, she swerved and dodged rocks and trees like she was apart of the nature. She would have been terrified of hiking the rest of the way up the lookout, if it wasn’t for the already depressing thoughts in her mind. But as she stood at the edge, her mind was clear.

Monaco was beautiful.

And there it was, everything that ever mattered to her, a woven tapestry of the city and sea, far closer than any of them ever knew. It was a world without frontiers from above, land, water and cloud. From up there near the sky, it was so clear that the land was what people made of the city, that it needed them to plant trees and be good shepherds to its fauna. The view of the ocean calmed her soul, as if that body of water was as much within her as out there in the cradle of the city. As the city sat underneath the moonlit hours every light in that city was another story that was central to somebody else’s world. She liked to pretend that she was one of them, living a simpler and happier life. She knew her life was amazing compared to others, easier than those fighting for their lives everyday, but she couldn’t help those thoughts of wishing it was simpler.

“Y/N?” Her name echoed through the quiet place, alerting her of the presence of another. She knew that voice, it brought heartache to her everytime she heard it.

“Charles,” she whispered back, and thankfully for the silence, he still heard her say it.

This had been their spot when they were kids, he had taken her there when she was ten and he was fifteen, showing her the magnificence of his home when she had said nothing was ever as beautiful as Nice. Almost weekly after that first time, did they go together. It was where she fell in love with him for the first time.

He had been standing on the edge, the golden sunlight beating down on him as he spoke so enthusiastically about his races. It was that moment that something switched inside her, that the butterflies erupted in her stomach. She had tan home and told Jules about it, complaining that she had stomach problems after spending time with Charles, to which he explained that it most definitely wasn’t a tummy bug.

“What are you doing here?” Charles questioned her, slowly approaching her.

“Just clearing my head,” she confessed, and as he sat down next to her, keeping a few metres distance, he noticed the red puffiness of her cheeks, as well as the dry tears that stained her face.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Charles mumbled, he knew he shouldn’t have asked that question, that he was the one who told her not that long ago that he didn’t want to see her anymore. He should have stuck to his word and turned back around to leave, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin,” she sighed, eyes leaving the city to look down at her lap. “Just rethinking my life.”

“You’re not quitting Formula One are you?” He frowned, jaw clenching at the thought of her leaving her life’s work, especially when he believed he would be the cause.

“I don’t think so,” she shook her head.

“You don’t think so?” He repeated, “you’ve worked too hard to give it all up.”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, picking at the nail polish on her fingernails, “I don’t think you really want to know what I think about, Charles, you don’t have to save face, we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t care,” he huffed at her, he wanted her to tell him that she was thinking about him, the same way he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Charles, I know you hate me right now, but I don’t want to talk, and I hope you can respect that,” she whispered, making a move to stand from her spot.

She had stumbled on some loose gravel, and he had shot up with lightening speed, catching her before she fell, “saving your life again.” He had joked, but she didn’t laugh, she had simply nodded before heading back down the path towards her car, leaving him at the spot they used to share.

My hands, they're strong

But my knees were far too weak

With Max’s success already, it was obvious that the season was going to be dominated by the RedBull driver again. He had already secured first place for their first four races, and as they stood in the home grounds of Ferrari, one could only dream that the red cars would cross the finish line first.

The Italian sun moored itself into the blue as if anchored to heaven's ether. The sun rays came as nature's easel, giving brilliant colour to what was hidden.

She sat on the track, back against the gravel as she looked into the sky, not a cloud in sight. Soon enough Lando had joined her, lying so their heads were touching but their feet were far apart. And once Lando had joined her, so did Daniel, and after hours of trying to find his teammate, Max soon joined them as well. All four of them laid on the track in silence, from a Birds Eye view they looked like they created a star.

“Why are we doing this?” Max questioned after ten minutes, his eyes closed as he couldn’t handle staring at the sun for too long.

“Clearing the head before a race,” Y/N revealed, “well that’s why I’m doing it.”

“What’s on your pretty little mind, Bianchi?” Daniel questioned, coming from Australia he was used to a hot sun.

“Nothing.”

“Probably that kiss between her and Charles last season,” Lando blurted out, exposing one of her secrets to her biggest rivals, the Red Bull drivers.

“Lando!” She squealed, sitting up instantly and turning to glare down at his shit eating grin. She knew she could trust both Daniel and Max, but that didn’t mean she wanted everyone to know her business. But she wasn’t truly mad about him saying that, she was more upset over the fact that that wasn’t even what she was thinking about. It was July 17th, her mind had worse things to dwell on.

“Fucking what?” Max gasped, he too sitting up from his position to eye Y/N suspiciously

Suddenly the mumbling from the boys went dead silent, a shadow passing over them briefly. In the corner of her eye she knew who had passed them, the unmistakable red pants catching her eye. For a moment she held her breath, they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since Monaco, despite their need for communication on the track. It had been obvious there was tension between the pair, and their race positions showed it. Not once since they had come back did either of them get podium positions, she hadn’t even been close most races.

“When? When was this?” Max mumbled as soon as Charles had passed them.

“Abu Dhabi,” she confessed, the frown still etched on her face, “but that wasn’t even what I was thinking about.”

“Oh my god, Pierre owes me so much money,” he whispered to himself, though she had heard it, she chose to ignore it.

“This isn’t what I was thinking about,” she huffed, feeling overwhelmed with the fact that they weren’t listening to her. If Lando had just looked at her, he would have realised what was going on, what was happening.

“Well, why aren’t you together then?” Daniel questioned, her frustrations growing more and more as they openly ignored her words.She knew they didn’t mean to, but they made her feel small, like she wasn’t worth listening to. They made her feel like every other man in the industry, like she was just a woman, nothing else.

“Because he thinks we’re together,” Lando sighed, finally sitting up to look at them all. When his eyes met his best friends, that’s when it all clicked. The date, the need to look up at the sky, the silence, the frustration coming off of her like the suns rays. “Y/N..”

She was quick to stand, walking away from them with rushed footsteps. Lando stared at her retreating body with sympathy in her eyes, watching as she wiped at her face, presumably to keep the tears from leaking onto her jumpsuit.

“It’s July 17th,” he sighed, internally cursing himself out for not realising sooner, for not being at her hotel doorstep and listening to her words. It wasn’t Charles she was thinking about, it was her brother.

“What’s July 17th?” Max questioned as Daniel’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” the Australian let out softly, he remembered that day like it was the last. The day one of his closest friends on the paddock had died. “It’s Jules’ anniversary.”

The red of the Ferrari motorhome and garage should have felt homely, should have warmed her heart at first sight, but all it brought back was bad memories. All the work she had done over the years to live with and learn from the grief had gone out the window, she didn’t know what it was. Whether it was the warmth of the Italian son that reminded her of that day on the beach, or if it was not being listened to or heard, or maybe it was Daniel’s eyes. Those brown eyes that held the same hue as Jules’ once did. She remembered that in his brown eyes was the warmth of an everlasting hearth, as if they were the wood that could burn with golden flame yet be forever perfectly entire.

“Y/N, they want you-“ her manager, Claire, stopped as she saw the girl with her head in her hands, the sounds of her sobs causing the older woman’s heart to constrict. She sounded so broken, the gasps and cries leaving her lips making the whole world shatter around her. Her manager knew her as a strong girl, taking the criticism on the chin and dishing a smile in return, standing her ground and forcing the world to hear her words. She was used to the girl that lived up to the title of first ever woman to win a Grand Prix, not the broken little girl that missed her brother.

Her manager took slow steps backwards, she knew that Charles and her had childhood history. She knew the pair had grown up together, so she knew he would know what to do. Claire had found him within seconds, he didn’t look the happiest either, a sort of broken glint in his teal eyes, but he wasn’t broken down like her.

“Charles,” she began, she had never really talked to the driver directly, only ever really dealing with Y/N and speaking to him through his own manager.

“Claire?” He questioned, a confused expression wiping over him until he read the signs on her face. He knew that whatever she had to say had something to do with Y/N, and as he knew the complications of that day, he knew it wasn’t good, “where is she?”

“Drivers room,” Claire sighed, “she’s not, she’s not good, I don’t think she should be racing today.”

“You don’t need to worry about the race, that’s my job,” Charles frowned as he walked away, following the pathway he knew like the back of his hand.

He could hear her sharp intakes of breath from outside the door, and he worried if she couldn’t breath. Opening the door, he hadn’t expected the best scene, but he hadn’t expected that either. She looked the exact same as that day nine years ago, bent over crying. He wondered if she was like that every year, and the thought made him want to throw up, because if she had, that meant he had waisted eight years not being there for her.

“Ma fraise,” he spoke softly, dropping to his knees and cradling her body. She instantly curled into him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her head shoved deep into his chest. She didn’t refuse his touch or tell him to leave, and her reaction made him feel even worse, because if he had done that that day, despite her protests, their lives wouldn’t have been so complicated, “where’s Lando?”

“I don’t want Lando,” she hiccuped, their race was in less than five hours, the time they were spending grieving the loss of their loved one diminished the well needed hours to prepare for the race, but they didn’t care. And their managers didn’t dare seperate them.

“ma fraise,” he repeated, stroking her hair and placing soft kisses atop her head, “how can I calm you?”

“Be with me,” she replied, and he did what he was told.

They sat like that for an hour until she calmed down, until the tears lessened and her breathing went back to normal. Charles had pulled out an inhaler, always having one in case of an emergency, despite his wishes of not wanting to interact. He only wanted to not see or speak to her outside of work because it would be too hard to see her, he couldn’t look at her without falling deeper into love.

She sniffled once more before pulling away from him, whispering out, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” he shook his head, his hand still running through her hair, “I understand, ma fraise, I know what you feel. Every June 20th, I feel this way.”

“I’m sorry Charles,” she repeated, “I truly am sorry I wasn’t there for his passing.”

“You were at the funeral, no?” He grinned sadly, “you were there, just not for me, the same way I was not there for you.”

“We should have been there for each other,” she confessed, leaning her head on his shoulder, “we should have been together this entire time.”

His heart clenched, he wished she meant together in the way he wanted, and she had meant it that way, he was just too consumed with idea that her and Lando were more than what they truly were.

“I-“ before he could even get more than one world out, a confession on the tip of his tongue, their engineers burst through the doors, their empathy not running as deep as their managers, for there was still a race to prepare for.

They were ushered out of the drivers room, forced to listen to the strategies of the day before doing their drivers introduction to the crowd. They all stood before the Italian flag, listening to the Italian anthem, Charles even mumbling the parts he knew. She on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring ahead, wishing to see her brothers face within the crowd. There had been a few times she had thought she had actually seen him, when someone would turn their head to the side and the resemblance became uncanny, til they faced towards her again. She knew the anthem by heart, her family having Italian roots, and her grandfather used to sing it to her when she was younger, but that was not what she could think about.

Her grandfather had been in the crowd that day, watching from the Ferrari hospitality as his youngest grandchild raced for the team their whole family loved. Mauro Bianchi had been a race car driver himself, and though he loved the sport dearly, nothing could stop his nerves when watching another one of his grandchildren get into the most dangerous seat in the world.

In the qualifying, she had done better than what she usually did, instead of being at the back half of the grid, she was sitting at P7. Charles had been in P3, his best seating the whole season.

Her mind was filled with grief as the light went green, and her driving became reckless. Her manager had been right, she shouldn’t have been out there racing. She was taking turns far too quick, barely leaving enough room as she overtook the other drivers, and had even almost lost control of the car on one occasion. But it seemed that recklessness worked in her favour as she quickly came in line with Charles, her strategist had been screaming at her to not overtake him, to stay in P4, until Charles seemed to slow down a fraction, letting her overtake him.

She had flew past him, catching up to Lewis in P2 quickly. Her strategist, despite the resistance towards her overtaking her teammate, had began to encourage her to get a higher placement. On the fortieth lap, she had over taken Lewis, their cars far too close, with only an inch gap as she overtook him from the inside of the bend. Charles had been hot on her tail, not to win, but to watch over her from behind. Her recklessness had caused him to do the same. Soon enough, the two Ferrari’s were side by side, closing in on Max with a speed that nobody assumed they could get to, especially after their failures the last few races. Max had thought he was going insane, seeing both cars in each of his rear view mirrors, until number 17 had flown past him as well.

The checkered flag had signalled the end of her race, Y/N Bianchi dominating by almost a five second difference between her and Max. She had stayed in her vehicle for almost a minute, staring up at the sky in disbelief. She had been reckless, and she knew it, she thought that maybe it would have ended up with her in another crash, happily seeing her brother again, not with a win.

She had ripped off her helmet, the world beginning to suffocate her as she came crashing down to reality. Her balaclava was next, both items left to fall onto the track. She pointed to her heart, and then to the sky, before the tears crashed from her eyes, falling like tsunami waves down her cheeks.

“This one was for Jules Bianchi,” the announcer exclaimed as all the cameras zeroed in on her, many people believed she had never looked more beautiful, crying underneath the Italian sun.

Charles had ran directly for her, catching her as her knees buckled and her sobs took over her body. He soothed her softly, as the other drivers began to crowd around them, shielding her sobbing form from the rest of the world. Lando had looked just as upset as he wrapped one arm around Carlos and the other around Pierre, he knew he should have realised her feelings sooner, but he couldn’t help but feel content with Charles being the one to finally comfort her from the pain she had been harbouring.

But there's a side to you

That I never knew, never knew

Media days had always been her favourite, they were always fun. It had been a while since Ferrari had gotten their drivers together in order to promote the team in some childish way, refraining for month with worries that their unspoken hatred would create a rift in the media, but after their soft interaction in Italy that had captured the hearts of many, their worries flew into the wind.

Lissie Mackintosh, a formula one presenter and social media content creator, had been invited into the Ferrari motorhome as a sort of failsafe option. Just in case the pair suddenly decided they hated each other again, Ferrari knew that the love the world had for Lissie would calm any storm the French and Monagasque driver may conjure.

“Here we go,” Lissie smiled into the camera, holding onto the cards with one hand and a microphone in the other. “I’m here today with Ferrari’s very own Charles Leclerc and Y/N Bianchi.”

“Hello,” Charles spoke back, a grin on his face as he sat to the left of Lissie, holding onto a whiteboard and a red marker. Y/N had simply waved to the camera from the right of Lissie, her left hand holding both a black marker and a whiteboard.

“We’re going to play a game,” her English accent rang through their ears, Y/N had thought it was endearing, giving the older girl a sense of innocence about her. It was an accent she only ever heard from Lando, a stark contrast against the one she was raised around. “We’re going to see who knows their teammate better, and since you both grew up together, I feel like this is going to be a close call.”

The drivers both nodded their heads, eyes trained upon the girl between them. They didn’t dare to look at each other, because even though there was a newfound civility between them, their tension was still obvious.

“My first question, an easy one, what year was the other driver born?”

Their answers were quick, scribbled onto the boards and spun around with confidence.

1997 was displayed on Y/N’s board, and though she hadn’t been there the day he was born, he never let her forget how much older he was, especially as she began to enter her teen years.

2002 was written on Charles’ board, and the year made his stomach drop, reminding him of just how much younger she was to him. He was there the day she was born, five years old cradling her newborn hand, the memory engraved into his mind.

“A five year difference,” Lissie spoke, unintentionally causing the drivers to tense up at the fact. Truth be told, it wasn’t that bad, Sebastian and Charles had ten years between them, and nobody ever batted an eyelid, the only difference was they weren’t in love with each other. “My next question is; what’s the biggest scar on your teammates body.”

Back of leg, Charles had revealed.

Back of shoulder, she had answered.

“Can I get the stories behind these?” Lissie grinned, she had gotten the drivers to write down their answers prior to the video, so she knew which answers were right and wrong.

“She had got hers when she was eight, running in the rain from her brother until she slipped and fell on rocks,” Charles spoke, their eyes finally catching one another as the memory fought it’s way to the front of their minds.

“I was ten, we were racing to see who could get to the lookout first when he got caught on a branch, ripped his shirt and he thought he was going to get tetanus,” Y/N had giggled at the memory, reminiscing on the look of fear on Charles face that day.

“I don’t think you can get tetanus from a tree branch, Charles,” Lissie teased the older driver, watching as the man playfully rolled his eyes and threw himself back on the couch.

“I was fifteen!” He defended himself, “we had just learnt about it in school.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed at him, “my next question is; who is the other’s dream teammate?”

Michael Schumacher, Y/N had written on her whiteboard neatly. She would never forget his constant hyper fixation on the driver when they were younger.

Lando Norris, Charles had written bitterly, but the man had a good poker face and didn’t show his discontentment on camera.

“Oh, Charles you are wrong,” Lissie shook her head, looking down at the answers on her card quickly to make sure. “Y/N put you as her dream teammate.” His eyes widened at the statement, gaze searching to connect with hers as she avoided looking at him. “That brings the score to 3-2, Bianchi’s way.”

“My next question is,” Lissie continued, working with the limited time she was allocated and the millions of questions she had to ask, “another easy one for childhood friends, what’s their favourite colour?”

Red, she had answered quickly, the sound of the ding for a correct answer bringing a smug smile to her face.

Red and Brown, he had scribbled onto the whiteboard, gaining a point as it was correct.

“Can I ask why two colours, Y/N?” Lissie questioned, she had never met Jules but from the pictures she had seen online, it wasn’t hard to tell that they were siblings.

“Red for Ferrari,” she winked at the camera.

“And brown for Jules,” Charles finished off, “it was the colour of his eyes.”

“That’s lovely,” Lissie cooed, and Y/N actually felt relieved, for once the topic of Jules not making the whole room go tense, but instead bringing brighter life into the room. Y/N was grateful for Lissie in that moment. “My next question is, where is their dream destination?”

Australia, Charles had written, though not correctly.

Italy, Y/N had revealed, but was received with the sound of an incorrect answer.

“Unfortunately, Charles put Greece, bringing the score back to an even tally of 4-4,” Lissie shook her head, “my final question is; what is one thing they can’t live without?”

Phone, Y/N had written down.

Laptop, Charles had chosen

Both of them recieved a wrong answer noise.

“Charles had actually put a red t shirt with a strawberry on it that says you are strawesome on the back,” Lissie revealed, “and Y/N you had put two items down, a birthday card and a photo of you, Charles, and Jules.”

Turning to the camera while the pair looked at each other with matching shocked expression, Lissie ended the video, “well that’s all we have for today. Thank you so much to Ferrari and their amazing drivers, Y/N Bianchi and Charles Leclerc, for having me today.”

As soon as the sound of the camera turning off echoed through the room, the three made a move from the couch. Charles had hugged Lissie goodbye, while Y/N had kissed both cheeks before sending her off with a wave.

“You still have that picture?” He questioned her softly, his fingers grazing her elbow as they stood close together, inches away from one of the windows.

“Of course I do,” she nodded her head, “it’s a core memory, the strawberry shirt on the other hand, keeping that doesn’t make much sense.”

“You always used to wear it,” he said as if that answered her questions, “it just reminds me of simpler times.” She nodded her head, gaze turning to look out the window and see the track they would be racing in a few days from then. “Can I ask another question?”

“Sure,” she nodded, eyes trained on the many people that walked through the paddock, showing off their passes and taking photos of themselves on the track.

“Why a birthday card?”

“It was the last card Jules ever gave me,” she answered him quickly, “technically maman and papa gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday, but before he died he had planned out my gift for my thirteenth birthday. He got me a custom gold bracelet with a strawberry and my name on it, and he had written me a birthday card. Maman and papa didn’t get it until after he died, when the jeweller contacted them, but they kept it until my eighteenth birthday.”

“The bracelet you’ve been wearing for the past four years?” Charles questioned, eyes trailing down to the golden chain wrapped around her wrist, the strawberry charm catching a ray of the sunlight, “I helped him pick that out.”

“You what?” She questioned him this time, looking down at the bracelet, not realising that it had much more meaning than she believed.

“He had called me, told me what he was getting you, and I told him to add the strawberry,” Charles revealed, “I thought it was lost in the world, and that it was just a coincidence that you had a similar one, but it is very special that it is that same bracelet.”

“You didn’t even like me back then,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, noticing as a fan began waving excitedly up at them, as well as another taking either a video or a photo beside them. She had waved politely and smiled, all while Charles continued to stare at her.

“I‘ve never not liked you, ma fraise,” He whispered to her.

All the things you'd say

They were never true, never true

The warm summer rain clashed against her warm skin, giving a moment for her soul to connect to the deep joy a sense of the sacred bequeaths. Puddles grew as if the land of Narnia had sent them to fetch them, their track’s surface danced with each perfect individual sky-gift. It was as if that summer rain came to remind them of the natural reign that stayed within each soul, souls born of heaven, born of mother Earth, each needing her support and nurture.

The rain hadn’t dettered anyone from attending the Spanish Grand Prix, Ferrari caps shielding the crowds faces and ponchos covering the rest of them. Those who weren’t in the grandstands huddled under umbrellas, their bodies confused as the earth was hot but the rain that belted down was freezing.

The drivers weren’t protected from the rain, except for their rain tires, there was nothing keeping their suits and helmets from getting soaked. The water droplets stained her visor, making some parts of the track enlarged and others normal as the droplets distorted her vision. She had tried wiping it off with the back of her hand, only for it to break into tiny puddles along the plexiglass.

She sat patiently in P3, her qualifying race exceeding expectations that weekend. After her win in Italy, Ferrari had made sure to stay on the podium, letting their strategists words fly in one ear and out the other, for it wasn’t them leading the pair to victory, but their own senses. During every briefing they would get served, but the results didn’t lie, the drivers knew what was best.

Charles sat in P1, having barely scraped past Max to get into pole position, and while Max had been upset with the result, his engine roared in P2, ready to redeem himself in the race. When the lights flashed green, they were off.

Her rain tires gripped the road as she gained a six second gap between her and the rest of the paddock, Max in front of her by a two second gap, and Charles leading with a three second gap. The front three were dominating the grid, sliding through the rain and using it to their advantage as they took each turn.

By the fifty sixth lap, that trio had gained a large gap from the rest, the true battle only being between them. She would overtake Max with every bend, and when it came to straight part, he would pass her. Charles had secured his position of P1 back on the forty eights lap, gaining at least six seconds ahead of the battling Ferrari and Red Bull.

As the rain became generous upon the blacktop track, strategists began to remind the drivers of hydroplaning and the need for safe driving, Ferrari suggesting that both their drivers stop into the pit to change their tires. But they could feel the car, could feel the tires beneath them as if they’d become apart of their bodies, they didn’t need to stop into the pit, not yet, not when a win was in clear view. So they didn’t, and neither did Max.

“You’ll burst your tires,” her strategist exclaimed as she flew past the pit stop, Max only a millisecond behind her until he over took her on the long strip.

“The tires are fine,” she hissed through the radio, after the first few races of following every command of the strategists and always landing a P10 and below, she had found their calls to be unnecessary.

At the last lap, Charles had flown through, winning the Spanish Grand Prix, but many eyes were on the Red Bull and Ferrari number 17, their constant overtaking of each other making the P2 spot unclear for everyone. In the end, Max had taken the spot by a tiny fraction, and if they eye wasn’t trained, it would have looked like they passed the finish line neck and neck.

“Charles Leclerc wins the Spanish Grand Prix!” The presenter announced as the three made their way onto the podium, Max standing stiffly at P2 as he stared into his fathers eyes, who had graciously attended the race. Charles and Y/N celebrated with the spraying of champagne, snapping Max out of his haze of disappointment, causing him to join in the celebrations.

The post race interview had flown by quickly, all three answered their questions with adrenaline still pumping through their veins. They were high off the podium placements, the Ferrari drivers proving yet again that the strategists needed to listen more to their drivers than to reusing outdated methods.

The pair had both skipped the debrief with their team, opting to not lose their happiness from the podium wins just to listen to their complaints about them not listening. Instead, Y/N was hidden away in her drivers room, reading through a contract with a brand that had wanted to sponsor her on her laptop. She hadn’t expected her popularity to give her such opportunities like working with high designer brands, but she was more than thankful. Charles on the other hand was pacing out the front of her drivers room, phone in hand staring down at a contact, wondering whether he should finally confess everything to her. He was in conflict, he knew that he wanted to go in there and share her feelings with her, but he also knew that he should be calling that number and talking to them instead.

When his hand twisted the knob of the drivers room door, he knew his decision had been made. He had caught her off guard, pretty eyes scanning over a document on her laptop before looking up to catch him in the doorway. She had seen him, there was no turning back now.

“Charles?” She questioned, they were friends to say the least, they weren’t best friends and they weren’t enemies anymore, they were in that awkward middle ground. She had experienced that middle ground with many people, but never had expected it to be the relationship she had with Charles.

“I need to explain,” he spoke, shuffling inside and closing the door behind him.

Her pretty eyes turned sad as he spoke those words, “no Charles, I can’t right now.”

“Yes you can,” he pressed, taking a seat beside her, giving her no choice but to listen to him. He had no right, especially since Lando had taken his place, but he needed to get it off his chest after Pierre and Max had yelled at him for speaking too much about her and not telling them about their kiss in Abu Dhabi.

“Charles,” she sighed, but she closed her laptop, giving him her full attention.

“You know why I left, you know it was because I thought what was best for you,” he began, wiping his palms against his red shorts, “I’ve realised that, no matter where you are, or what you’re doing, or who you’re with, I will always love you.”

She took in a breath at his words, gaze softening as he continued, “I never feel like I’m wasting time with you. We could sit for hours in silence and it would still feel so full, and good.”

“Sometimes I fall asleep holding a pillow, pretending that it’s you,” he confessed, though his gaze never left his hands, not being able to look at her as he spoke his truth, “I still remember you as a little girl who used to overwater plants because you didn’t know how to stop giving. I don’t want to be your friend.”

Her heart stopped, oh, right, of course. Because why would you after all I’ve done. She thought.

“I want to be more,” he finally breathed out, “my heart isn’t with me because I gave it to you, but I can still feel it ache. I don’t deserve you, and I’m trying to find every piece of you that I broke, that got lost when you tried to be good enough for me, even though you’ve always been more than enough.”

“Please,” she begged, her waterline forming tears in her eyes as she registered his words. She had always wanted to hear them fall from his lips, but she couldn’t help but feel bittersweet, like he didn’t truly mean them at all, how could he mean them? When she had pushed him away a million times, and he had stayed away.

“When I was younger, picturing my perfect life, I always imagined spending it with you,” he spoke again, “living together. Making tea together. Having garden parties like our parents together. I thought we’d own a little cafe in Monaco and live in a house with too many books. And we’d pile our blankets and pillows in the living room, and we’d sleep there just to be even closer together. Of course, we were just best friends in my head, but isn’t that what all great lovers are?”

“Don’t do this to me, Charles,” she choked out, beginning for him to look at her, so she could see if he was telling the truth or not, but he refused, all he had to do was look at her with those lovesick eyes and she’d be putty in his hands.

“And still, all I do is talk about you,” he sighed, “I will love you until the world ends, and then even still after that.”

“You can’t do this to me,” she cried, jaw clenching as his gaze was locked on the floor. All she needed was the confirmation from his eyes.

“Do what, ma fraise?” He spoke softly, not being able to stomach looking at her.

“Give me hope, when you won’t even look at me,” she said, wiping a stray tear from her face, “I’ve seen how this story ends, you will give me promises of a better future together, but won’t even say it with your whole chest. I cannot do this again.”

And I threw us into the flames

When it fell, something died

Home, it was finally her home race, for the first time in a couple of years, the French Grand Prix had returned. Amid the chattering trees, amid the mirth of laughing meadows, lived the Circuit Paul Ricard. She hadn’t been on its turf for years, and she was happy to finally be back. Her entire family had been attending, traveling the two hours by car to get there. Ferrari had paid for her family’s accommodations, despite their protests and willingness to drive back home, wanting them to keep their driver happy.

Her, Pierre, and Esteban stood in front of the rest of the drivers, singing the tune of their national anthem softly between them. Charles had even hummed the lyrics, having heard it a million times everytime Jules or Y/N had won a race.

Returning to France was the hug her soul had been calling for in stoic hope. Being in her home country brought out joy from within her as surely as the new flowers loved the sun. She was excited, getting to spend the night in Marseille before returning home with her family for almost a week and a half, til she had to fly out to the next race.

Melanie and Tom had cheered her on from the Ferrari garage, adorned in clothing that matched hers French themed suit. And her mother and father were located in the hospitality area, watching the race from behind tinted glass. The Ferrari team had designed a new suit for her that race, and her helmet had been hand picked by her. The helmet once belonged to her brother, an artifact left in a glass case for all to see in a museum, until she took it back. She hadn’t been the only one excited for the French Grand Prix to return.

Her mother cried when she saw her youngest daughter in the helmet that belonged to Jules, and as she sat in the Ferrari car, visor up and ready to race, the world imagined it was him for a moment.

She had made it to P3, sitting comfortably behind the Red Bull car, ready to race like her life depended on it. Charles sat in P2, his head turning every so often towards her, catching a glimpse of the helmet everytime. Daniel had almost choked on his water when he saw her, believing his eyes were playing tricks on him, that he had seen a ghost.

The race began, both Ferrari’s neck and neck as they gained on Max. It was almost comical how each race after the Italian Grand Prix, it had always been a battle between the three. Always them ahead of everyone else, but that race was different, as Lando came up behind them quickly in his McLaren.

On the sixteenth lap, Charles had began to have difficulties with his steering wheel, the buttons suddenly cutting in and out every so often, until the device stopped working all together. He had safely veered off the track, though his anger and frustrations with the car had doubled as he jumped out and threw the steering wheel against the hood of the vehicle.

All had been going well as Max continued onwards in first place, Y/N right on his tail in second, and Lando only a few seconds behind her in third. Until Max’s tires began to emit smoke across the track. The Dutchman swore and yelled as he pulled into the pit lane, watching with angry eyes as Y/N took first place and Lando finally sat comfortably in second, Daniel at least seven seconds behind in third. The stop was brief as they replaced his tires, Max screeching out of the pit to continue the race.

He had fallen back to fourth, until the fiftieth lap, when he overtook his teammate, but the gap between first and second was too far ahead for him to catch up. On their last lap the checkered flag waved, Y/N had won her home race, won it in her brother's helmet and adorned in her nation's flag.

As the race ceased, and all the other cars tumbled to a stop, Melanie and Tom raced from the garage, engulfing their little sister in a hug of celebration. There was an energy to the hug, as if the adrenaline of her race powered up her older siblings. Their hug was stronger than anything she had ever known, as if holding her wasn't quite enough, they had to feel every ounce that she was pressed into every ounce that was them, that they needed to make sure she was real.

“She won in Monza, she wins in France, Y/N Bianchi!” The crowd cheered like their lives depended on it, French and Ferrari flags waving erratically through the air.

When she got up on the podium, she thrusted the trophy in the air, the feeling of the win overtaking her body. Lando had curled his body around hers, gripping her tightly. In the heat of his embrace there were welding sparks. The cameras flashed quickly, zooming in on their friendly interaction with the intent to make it seem like something more. Their smiles went viral around the arena, and how could it not? They celebrated each other like they were the only two there.

Her smile was the prettiest thing Charles had seen in a while, for it extended to her eyes and deep into her soul. She was the gentle touch, the honesty that was a purity, her childhood innocence so vibrant and free. He just wished it was aimed at him, and maybe if he had been on that podium with her it would have been directed at him.

“Charles, you okay man?” Pierre questioned his best friend from the sidelines, instantly noticing his scrunched brows and the pout on his lips.

“Non, no” he confessed, “Je veux qu'elle me regarde quand elle sourit, mais elle ne peut pas détourner son regard de lui et de sa stupide McLaren. I want her to look at me when she smiles, but she can’t look away from him and his stupid McLaren.”

Sometimes I wake up by the door

That heart you caught must be waiting for you

It was the perfect birthday in every sense, and in all the ways only the universe can give, if only he had been there to celebrate it. It was a summers day in Nice that August, the first day blossom opened on the tree.

They had a break between races, granted with a month full of their own activities. Many chose to spend it relaxing their minds, steering clear of stress and finding solace in their time off. She had spent the first week in isolation, taking time off from the entire world as she tried to enjoy her own company, she didn’t. The second week she hadn’t spent a day alone, braving the streets of Monaco to spend every waking minute with Lando. And in the third week, she had to spend it with her family, sleeping over for most nights, waking up in his room that was still untouched.

She had spent the entire day with them, Philippe hadn’t left his bedroom and Christine was content with sitting on the back patio, flipping through childhood photos. She could never imagine their pain, of losing a son before his time, it wasn’t right. Parents weren’t supposed to bury their children, it was supposed to be the other way around, when the children would band together to bury the ones that gave them life, that was the way of the world.

Melanie and Tom had sat together in the kitchen, talking about their favourite memories of him, Y/N only wished she had as much time with Jules as they had. She wished she had been born before him, so she could have witnessed his entire life.

As the stars filled the sky like pale corn into freshly turned ground, she bid her family a goodbye. It was the promise of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from the cold had taken her to the cemetery. It was a vastness to bring humbleness and an eternal space to bring gratitude for the coziness of home. No matter the years that passed, Y/N saw each night sky as a fresh gift given anew just like Jules had when he was alive. It was the moment anyone that knew her would see her eyes smile and her breathing deepen just a little.

She crouched next to his grave, forehead resting against the cool stone as she placed the strawberry and cream cupcake in front of it. She had let out a snort at the memory, the happiness that was attached to the flavour.

“Ma fraise,” his voice called to her, and for a moment she believed it was him, until Charles came into her peripheral vision. He was holding a bouquet of roses, placing them alongside her cupcake, “I remember making those for you every birthday with him. We’d be in that kitchen for hours, he’d burn the cake at least twice before he got it perfect.”

She breathed out a laugh, a fondness growing in her heat as she sat cross legged in front of his stone. They sat together for hours, just talking like they used to. He had brought up millions of memories of them as children, from their karting days, from the days of them hiking up the side of Monaco to get the best view, til their very last day as children together.

“You better get going,” Charles finally said, though their was dissapointment in his veins, “the trip back to Nice is going to get busy soon, and I don’t want you driving tired.”

“I’m staying in Monaco tonight,” she replied back.

“With Lando?” He tried to be supportive, but the words tasted sour as they rolled off of his tongue.

“Yeah,” she confirmed.

She was about to tell him the truth, about how they were just friends and that her heart belonged to him, but he cut her off quickly, “well you don’t want to keep him waiting up all night, you better get going.”

With a sigh, she nodded her head, another moment ruined by miscommunication. She wanted to scream at him, from the top of her lungs, that Lando wasn’t anything more than a friend, to get him to realise that it was him she only had eyes for, nobody else.

The journey to Lando’s apartment was silent, no music playing within her car as she drove the familiar route. Charles didn’t live that much further from him, only an extra two minutes on the road and she’d be at his apartments front door step.

He had buzzed her in within a second of her arrival, engulfing the girl into a tight hug as soon as she used his spare key to get in. She had expected him to be asleep, so close to midnight, but she knew that would’ve never been true. Lando was always a night owl.

The British man followed her into the spare bedroom, hanging off of every word she spoke about her brief interaction with Charles. His heart soared when she recounted the memories they had discussed, grinning like a mad man when she would add in funny details.

“Go to sleep, ma moitié,” he spoke softly, patting her head as she dropped into soft mattress, “if you need me I’ll be in my streaming room, Max wants me to play Halo.”

She nodded her head, smiling softly at him as she hugged the closest pillow. She had always felt a serenity upon sleeping, she loved to dream. She loved the moments between wakefulness and sleep, the feeling of her brain shifting gears was so sweet. She would start to see her brain playing it’s movies, always telling her things in visual puns and metaphors. And though she began to love her waking days as well, sleep was a kind of heaven for her. Her only problem that night, was that she couldn’t sleep.

She had tried, desperately.

But as she tossed and turned underneath the duvet, her mind was clouded with too many thoughts, too many emotions for it to shut off. It was been way into the early morning when she had finally decided to bite the bullet. She tapped incessantly at her phone til she found his number, her thumb hovering over it for almost five minutes before she found the courage to press it.

Holding it to her ear, she heard it ring, assuming that he wouldn’t answer, as he was so adamant that she go to bed, she could only believe he had been tired too.

But it answered, after the third ring.

“Ma fraise?” His voice was hoarse, she had woken him up, “why are you calling?”

He had thought something was wrong, that she was in trouble as she hadn’t called him in forever, the pair only choosing to interact in person. He was surprised she still even had his number, believing she must have blocked it after so many of his text messages went unread.

“I need to tell you something, Charles,” she rushed out, needing to get it off her chest before she lost the confidence all together.

“It’s two am, can we talk later in the morning?” He protested, and she had heard rustling through the phone.

“I love you Charles,” she blurted out, “I’m in love with you.”

They could hook Charles up to a polygraph and ask him if he loved her back, in that moment he would have said no, and the needle would have jumped and sputtered exactly how she laughed. His breath was caught in his throat at her declaration, those words he had only dreamt of falling from her lips.

“Bébé, why are you up?” She heard a woman’s voice echo through the phone, causing a gasp to slip from her lips. He was with someone, not just in the sense of that moment, but in a relationship with someone.

“Y/N,” He began in a panic, but she had already hung up on him.

The tears that slipped from her eyes were uncontrollable, the girl getting up from her bed and shuffling out of the room. She followed the groans of frustration coming from the streaming room, knocking twice before entering.

Lando sat at his desk, eyes focused on the screen before him, “everything all good?”

She had answered with a sniffle, and his entire attention turned towards her. She could hear the loud protests of Max through the headphones as Lando let himself die in the game, pulling her weeping body into his.

“What’s happened?” He questioned with worry, stroking the top of her head as she buried it into his neck.

“I told him I loved him,” she hiccuped, “but he was with another girl.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he cooed, ending the game without an explanation to place his full attention on his upset best friend.

But I set fire to the rain

Watched it pour as I touched your face

Abu Dhabi had been the final race of the season for many years, and it was no different that time. And though rain was sparse and inconsistent in the country, it had began pouring heavily on their race day. It had been bright sunny skies the day of qualifying, she had secured pole position after completing the fastest lap, but as the rain belted down on race day, she could only assume the worst.

Charles and hers conversations had been kept to a minimum since Jules’ birthday, the tension was less obvious to the crew for once, as they interacted like civil teammate. Even if they did end up together, there was no way for them to act like it in front of the Ferrari team, as it would cost one of them their seat on the team. HR had already sent out a press release late the previous year, explaining that dating within the crew was prohibited unless the couple were to be married, and marriage was definitely not in the pairs sights.

Rain be-speckled gems upon her skin bringing out her beauty into a clearer definition. The rain invited a street of colourful umbrellas to blossom, every colour of the rainbow scattered across the track.

The rain brought a richness to each hue on the track, the browns deepened in a way that soothed her heart, brought a steadiness to her soul. The grass became glossy, reflecting the light, a new bright shine to their wands, softly waving in the breeze. That rain brought a freshness, each drop a heaven-given gift for each part of creation.

As she checked over her car, making sure every part of it was perfectly intact and that they had put on her wet tyres. She had high hopes for that last race, she had won it the last year, and she had planned to win that year as well. She would be sitting pretty in pole position, which gave her a larger advantage then the rest of the drivers, and her team was more than confident she would bring the trophy home again. Due to a few bad races, Ferrari was behind by a hundred points for the Constructors Championship, and there was no way they could make up the rest of the points at that time in the season. Red Bull had been in the lead for both the Constructors and Drivers Championship, and there was no doubt they’d get it no matter the results of that race.

“Y/N,” Charles called out, she had only acknowledged him with a hum, she couldn’t look at him for longer than ten seconds before her heart began to ache again, “we’re wanted for photographs in the hospitality.”

Nodding her head, she pushed her wet hair behind her ears, and turned, though instead of going to walk quietly inside, she spoke, “have you had a girlfriend this entire time?”

“Y/N, we don’t have time for this,” he sighed, leaning foreword to grab her arm, but she retreated backwards, further into the rain. He had reluctantly followed her, not particularly wanting to get wet before the race had begun, but she gave him no choice. He sighed, “Yes, I have.”

“You’ve had a girlfriend this entire time!” She scoffed, “while you were telling me you had always been in love with me, she was waiting on you! How could you do this to me? To her?”

“I cannot live without you, Y/N,” he declared, stepping foreword and thanking the heavens above that she didn’t retreat from him again. His hand came to rest on her warm cheek, a stark contrast to the freezing rain. “I busy myself with distractions so I don’t dwell on what’s not mine. And you cannot call me out when you have been doing the exact same, calling me and telling me you’re in love with me when you’re supposed to be in bed with Lando.”

“Lando and I are not together!” She shouted finally, “we haven’t been this entire time, and we never will be. You are being cruel Charles, not only to me, but to your girlfriend as well.”

“You and Lando? You’ve not been dating this entire time?” He whispered, shock written on his face as he finally registered her words. He had heard it from other drivers that they weren’t a couple, just close friends, but he hadn’t believed a single word they had said. But as Y/N shouted it out into the world, he began to realise his mistakes, “time has been cruel to us, ma fraise.”

There was something so heavenly when he pulled her face closer to his and their lips touched in that rain, a tender moment that just couldn’t wait. It was that burst of love that was expressed, not caring if the water soaked through to chill the skin.

“I love you Charles,” she spoke as she pulled away, one hand pressed to his chest to create distance between then, “but you’re not mine.”

“I was your first love, ma fraise,” he whispered to her, voice almost swept away by the sound of the rain, “and I intend to be your last as well.”

“You cannot say those things when there is another girl waiting for you in hospitality, you cannot kiss me when you are with another woman,” she huffed at him, “I will not stand for you to treat her so cruelly, not when she has probably given up so much to be with you.”

Before he could retaliate, their managers had rushed towards them, scolding them for their time in the rain and trying to make them both look as presentable as possible for the media.

The race had not ended well that day, her mind had been clouded, and she hadn’t been able to shake the kiss and his words from her mind. Max and Daniel had taken P1 and P2, quick to secure their titles for the year, and Lando had successfully managed to get his McLaren in P3. Charles had come fourth, only a millisecond behind Lando, and for a moment, as Charles congratulated him, Lando believed that he had scrapped his podium placement as an apology for the way he had been treating his friend. Y/N had called terribly behind, finishing the race and the season in P9.

790 notes · View notes

wildmavs · 1 year

Text

Reflections [CL16]

pairing; Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!reader

series warnings; smut, fluff, angst, profanity, age gap ( reader is 21, Charles is 26), sexual tension, death, friends to enemies to lovers.

chapter warnings; not proofread, angst, mentions of death, mentions of traumatic experiences, the friends to enemies to almost lovers to back to enemies part

word count; 18k +

summary; Jules Bianchi not only left behind an unfinished legacy, but a young sister who was determined to finish what he started. She has finally entered Formula One, becoming one of the best rookies in the world.

authors note; this is a part two of birthday cake, the love I've received from that post amazes me everyday, I am grateful for all the kind words and love. I hope this exceeds expectations. P.S, I think I'm going to create a schedule and post every Thursday/Friday in Australian time...

taglist; @writerscurse @chonkybonky @chimchimjiminie16 @formula1mount @tempo-rary-fix @luciaexcorvus @vita-di-moda @livster @teenagedreams-cl @kudesakaisiite @janeholt3 @kingexplosionm @anthonykatebridgerton @smiithys @charlesfrontwing @ryiamarie @angelayse @twobluejeans @justmemewriting @joonipere @1eclerc16 @gentlemonsterjennie1

@wildmavs

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Where have you been?

Do you know when you're coming back?

Driving in the Italian sunshine, the warm Ferrari F1-75 leading onward into the horizon, gave a sweet sense of freedom to him. The vehicle breathed and took energy as if it were part of the flora of the land, and so driving became as natural as running free. Each bend sent a chill up his spine, the adrenaline of training pumping through his blood, taking his mind off of everything.

For the past few months, all he could think of was her. About her gentle hair that tumbled in such rich hues, was the restful visual poetry of his soul. About her eyes that would catch his soul, even if he wasn’t aware of its falling. From her eyes came a sense of home to him, they spoke of her emotions, creating the language of her soul. But he knew he shouldn’t be thinking of her, knew that he wasn’t allowed to think of her, that his girlfriend should be the one taking up his thoughts, not the woman that despised him.

At that moment he had begun his training for the new up and coming season, alone. Vasseur had agreed to the proposition of separate training regimes, knowing that there was tension between the pair but not knowing exactly why. That day Charles had seen her, Vasseur had thought he would have been elated that his new teammate was the girl he grew up with, but the usual closeness of teammates that he had expected was far from what he got with the pair. She had her opinions, and for some unknown reason Charles always disagreed with them, even if they were what the team needed. The pair were always silent towards each other, unless it was to argue, and they barely looked at each other. But the rare moments of them training together always went well, they were a perfect team on the grid, but off, it was like neither existed.

She was in England, Bristol to be exact. She had come to learn that England was never the flags of monarchs yet the merry soul of its people. In the green of the fields, in the light filled rain, in the soft tincture of floral notes, she found peace within her mind. For the first time in seven years she felt genuinely happy every moment she was awake, not once did her mind find the negatives, and with Lando’s constant chattering, she had no time to dwell on the past.

He was her best friend, he became the spark that relit her pilot light, and she became the same for him. Thus they became lights in safe harbours for one another and those they loved. On their right wrists were bracelets they made each other as result of challenge his fans on twitch demanded of them. The friendship bracelets were woven with threads their team colours; it was their new symbol for a better future together, even if they were rivals in their job. The black, white, and papaya strings were braided into a rope that sat snugly on her wrist, complimenting her golden strawberry charmed bracelet perfectly. The red, green, yellow, white and black braided bracelet sat on his wrist, a small horse charm added to the mix to truly seal in the reasoning behind the colours. His bracelet was thick, Y/N using ribbons instead of string with the main reason of it being visible in every photo, just so she could watch him squirm awkwardly in interviews about wearing his rivals colours.

The river was the sanctuary of her dreams, it held all her secrets as she told them to Lando while they walked along the path every day. The river was a symbol of how far they’d come. What was once polluted and dead now teamed with the fish the world had restored to it. The many rustic hues of the submerged pebbles were more priceless than any jewel. Just to watch the ducklings was a salve to her mind and a reminder to them that they must protect what they had, and cherish it. Everyone did things they weren't proud of in their struggles, she did what she had to do to survive. And not for a single moment did she regret any of her actions, she needed that year in isolation from everybody and everything except her car, she needed to let her anger and frustrations out before they bubbled over and hurt someone, everything she did was in order to protect her peace, and now that she had an abundance on it, she was no longer living to survive, but actually living.

There was never a dull moment when she was with Lando and his family, his younger sisters eager to have someone to tell all his embarrassing stories too, and his older brother continuously questioned them about when they’d be announcing their relationship, which they had to keep stressing that they were just friends. Lando would be lying if he didn’t say his initial plan was to find something more with her, but as he listened to her rant about Charles, he heard the messages in between the lines and knew where he stood in her heart. He was more than happy to stay a friendly distance away, he knew things no boyfriend should ever know, and she knew things that he would have never told her if they were together. They were content in their friendship, and nothing could possibly ruin it for them.

“Y/N,” he mumbled, kicking the loose rocks along the walking path, hand clasped around a hot coffee, “do you ever wonder what you’d be doing if you weren’t a driver?”

Her eyes turned to him, her mind once travelling to the happy memories of her trip abroad that was soon ending, and instead turning towards a life she couldn’t imagine. “I feel like I wouldn’t accept any other life than this one. If I wasn’t in Formula One I’d still be apart of that world. I’d be karting around Nice, or I’d be stuck in Formula Three or Two, it’s all I know, and it’s the only way I feel close to my brother. He’s always in my heart, but when I’m racing it’s like he’s there with me, so even if I wasn’t a Formula One driver, I’d still be a driver.”

“I’d become a male stripper,” he informed her, “I like my money too much to be anything simple, and with my good looks it’d be considered a crime if I hid it in an office somewhere in Bristol.”

A giggle fell from her lips as his words reached her ears, not expecting such an answer. Lando always got a little uncomfortable talking about her brother, knowing that it always deteriorated her mood and wiped that beautiful smile off of her lips as she’d remember she’d never get to see him again. So in order to force that smile back and to lessen the thickness in the air, he would say something stupid, something that would have her laughing. He wanted to protect her peace, always, which is why he told her to come to visit his family with him. He had moved to Monaco in order to be closer to his friends on the grid, as well as the tax benefits, and every invitation to the principality had been denied. He knew why, he knew she didn’t want to see him unless she desperately needed to, which meant the only way of them seeing each other would be when he would travel the thirty minutes to Nice or they would leave the country together. In the break, they had visited two countries together, they partied and farmed with Daniel Riccardo in Melbourne, she even got to name one of the sheep that trotted through his fields, Klaxons. The Australian would then always send her a photo of his meals that included lamb, joking that Klaxons was a good meal, but he would also always follow up with another picture of Klaxons actually peacefully grazing upon grass. They had visited Madrid as well, falling comfortably into Carlos’s lifestyle for a few days before exploring the land freely with a drink always in their hands. Carlos was always on speed dial when they would run into a language barrier, disturbing the older man from his peaceful break to be their personal translater.

Lando had visited her in Nice almost twice every week, sometimes becoming far too bored within his own home. Every time she would show him a new place. They raced together on her old karting track, taking photos with the kids that came for fun, all smiles despite constantly being beat by the two professional drivers. She showed him the ballet school she was banned from entering, even now at her big age, she was not allowed to step foot inside. She showed him the beaches, took him to her favourite bakery, they also made their own perfumes in Molinard. She even took him to their cemetery, laid flowers on his grave and cleaned the stone as best they could.

The fact that Lando would never meet him caused her heart to clench everytime, but she knew Jules would have loved him. He would have loved the way he made her smile and laugh, would have loved the life he brought back to her. If Jules was still there, he would have loved everything about Lando, but he would have resented Charles for the way he treated his little sister.

“You’d be a good stripper,” she teased him, nudging his shoulder playfully as she took a sip of her own coffee. She liked the coffee in Bristol, but nothing ever compared to the coffee she had gotten in Australia. She had gone through a few of their small towns, and one in particular had caught her heart. A small cafe in a farming town had made her the best coffee she had ever tasted, and without hesitation she had bought two bags of their coffee beans and brought them home with her. Though the coffee she would make for herself was never as good as the one that the small town barista had made her. “You could probably even keep the champagne act as well.”

“That’s the best part,” he grinned back at her, their walk coming to an end as they approached his car. “Are you sure you have to go back to Italy tomorrow? We’re supposed to be going out to watch Flo at one of her shows, she would love it if you came.”

“What time is it?” She questioned softly, taking her position as passenger with happiness. She didn’t mind driving when she didn’t have to race, but she definitely loved a break from being stuck behind a wheel.

“Midday, I think around twelve thirty,” he explained to her, catching in the corner of his eye googling later flights for that day. A grin stretched out on his lips as he witnessed her change her flight and text her team president that she would be arriving later than planned. He knew she was always easily swayed to do things, in most times he didn’t use that fact, but to spend more time with his best friend, he held no regrets.

“I’ll come, but I’ll have to leave for the airport straight after, I’ve got to get back before the day ends to go through strategies,” she informed him, explaining that she couldn’t budge any further at risk of losing her spot on the team. He knew though, that if he asked, she would have stayed another night, even another week if he grinned at her.

“How longs the flight?” He questioned, the drive to his home a short distance from their usual walking route.

“Three hours,” she nodded, “I’ll be back hopefully before five, that’ll give me three hours of daylight.”

“Perfect,” he nodded back at her, “Cisca is gonna love having you there to gossip with.”

'Cause since you've been gone

I've got along but I've been sad

He could hear the shower running as he sat on his couch, head in his hands as he stared at books on his coffee table. They were all her favourite ones, subconsciously picking them up as decoration the day he moved into the apartment. He hadn’t even thought about it until she came back into his life as a teammate, not a friend. When he got home he read each book over and over again, his girlfriend surprised with the new sudden interest in the books she assumed just collected dust.

She had tried to read one, so they would have more to talk about, but wasn’t even able to get through the first chapter. He remembered snapping at her in annoyance, using the excuse that she had ruined his place in the book, despite having memorised each sentence.

To keep his insecurities from messing his new relationship up Charles needed to lean into discomfort, to tolerate uncomfortable thoughts and let the feelings pass in hopes he could genuinely fall in love with the girl. That way he could respond appropriately rather than reacting inappropriately. He was a driver for a dangerous sport so he knew all about discomfort tolerance, it was then a matter of transferring the skill into his emotional world. That new relationship was a new day, a fresh start, a clean slate... all the cliches came tumbling out because they all applied so well. The idea of her, the way she was, her stoic loving soul tried to bring out such serenity to his own. He wanted her to be her, and himself to be him. And for the first month he thought that was enough for the both of them, but he knew it wasn’t, because even if she looked like Y/N, she never could be her.

There didn’t seem to be a single day that his thoughts weren’t full of her. That day all he could see when he closed his eyes was her smile. There were so many ways she smiled, and only a few were told with her lips. There were times she smiled with the lilt of her voice, or an unexpected bounce in her stride. There were times she smiled with her choice of words, or the way she paused to hear a bird sing. Yet his favourite was when she’d smile with arms that hug, something he hadn’t experienced in years. In her sweet smile was all the love he ever needed, but it was never directed at him anymore.

He remembered her smile as kids, how it started out gummy and filled the room with giggled, how in her young years, gaps would start to form as adult teeth took their time to grow, how bright it was when it was aimed at Jules or him. He remembered the strawberry lips that would stretch wide whenever he came into view, even after their friendship became strained after he learnt of her childhood crush. Every time she smiled genuinely at other people, he would try to imagine it aimed at him, tried to catch a glimpse of it in full force, but it seemed every time he came into her eye sight, it would deflate slowly until her mouth was pressed into a thin line.

As he held his head in hands, he wished he could have a second chance with her, to explain everything to her. He wished he could go back in time and do everything different, he wouldn’t have distanced himself in the first place. He would have told her that she was too young then and there, then he would have continued to be the same protector he always had been. He wouldn’t have gotten a girlfriend the moment he found out she liked him, he wouldn’t have rubbed it in her face that he wasn’t hers and he wouldn’t have told her that she would never have a chance. If he could go back in time, he would be there every chance he got. He would have held her during the nights she’d wake up in tears, he would have cheered her on at every race, he would have helped her the way Jules helped him. He would go back and answer her phone call the week after his funeral, he would have told her that everything was going to be okay, that she was only young and that Jules would have wanted her to live her life. But unfortunately, time travel didn’t exist, and if it did, he didn’t have the luxury of using it for his own benefit.

He missed her every morning, when the sun would rise so would his thoughts of her. He had loved her his whole life, but he fell in love with her the night of the FIA Christmas charity ball over two years prior, and from that moment on, anything he used as a distraction fell flat.

“Charles,” her voice echoed throughout the room, she was wrapped in a fluffy white towel, water droplets cascading down her body. Carolina was beautiful, she looked suspiciously like Y/N, but had many different features as well. She looked beautiful in the light of his apartment, that he could agree on, but that wasn’t the thing stuck in his mind. All he could think about was how she hadn’t dried herself properly and was now dripping water all over his timber floors, “can I borrow something to wear tonight? I didn’t think I was staying over.”

“Yeah,” he nodded his head, getting up from his position on the couch and turned towards the piano. A little part of Carolina became disappointed in his reaction to her, in the first week the pair couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, every opportunity they got was taken, but now it seemed attraction part of their relationship had ended. She didn’t move til she heard the first key echo, footsteps light as she trudged back into his room.

When she came back out, he was hunched over the side, writing different notes down as he began to create a new composition again. She wished he would play something more upbeat, something happy, because that’s what he should be, he should have been happy with her, or at least content. But he never was.

The red shirt that hung from her body was long enough to reach the tops of her thighs, she assumed it had no significance, shoved deep into his draw. On the front it had the picture of a cartoon strawberry embroidered, the quote you are strawesome printed in vinyl on the back. It was old and stained with a variety of paint colours, she assumed it was the shirt he would wear when he didn’t want to ruin any other, a shirt used for projects that were messy.

But when he glanced at her and his eyes hardened at the sight of it, she realised that maybe the shirt was more important than she had thought. He didn’t say anything, didn’t tell her to put it back, didn’t tell her to take it off, or to even change; but as his lips turned downwards, she knew he wanted to say one of those things.

“I can put on something else,” she whispered at him, tiptoeing towards him and placing her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles there.

“No, it’s fine,” he said a bit too curtly, his jaw ticking under the strain he put on it, hands moving around the piano to distract himself. He hadn’t seen that shirt since he moved, finding it in his childhood home and remembering how she used to wear it when she would paint her silly little pictures while he played his silly little games. He became a hoarder of things that reminded him of her, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get the heart to throw any of them away.

His reaction to the shirt was the same reaction he had given her when she found a box of old childhood photos and trinkets. She had asked questions about who was who in the photos, but she would only receive short answers. When she unfolded a drawing signed with the scribble of Y/N’s name he had finally told her to put it back, and that it stays there.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked, listening to his composition as he played it over and over again, “you seem tense.”

“Just overwhelmed,” he mumbled back at her, he never wanted to hurt her feelings, which meant the truth would never tumble from his lips. “I have to go back to Italy in the morning.”

“I thought this was your break period,” she frowned, only just having heard of him leaving the country again. “Do you have to go in the morning? Can you go a bit later?”

“I’ve got to talk strategies,” he informed her, “try and figure out what could go wrong and what the risks are of some moves, I should be there today but I changed my flight.”

“So you could spend the night with me?” She grinned at him, even though he didn’t even look at her to catch it.

“Of course,” he nodded his head, the real reason being that he couldn’t get stomach being in the same room with Y/N and still not be in good terms with her.

I tried to put it out for you to get

Could've, should've but you never did

That day in Bahrain, the sunshine was in their bones, the heat radiating outwards into the bright day. It's as if the people of Bahrain glowed, their aura so happy on these summer days. Lando rested in the shade, his eyes on the foliage above, on each green leaf in that vast canopy on the Paddock. She watched him recline in that dappled shade, his helmet resting on his raised knees, his eyes closed as he prepared himself for their first race of the season. Before she had chosen what to do, her feet took her under that same tree, perhaps they longed to feel the coolness of the grass around him. And as he got into the right mind frame, she stared down at her own helmet. The whole world had cheered the day she was revealed, the Bianchi legacy still alive as she wore his number proudly.

Unlike most of the racers who had strict rituals they followed before every race, Charles with his lucky pants and Lando with his isolation of the mind, she followed none. She used to be superstitious when she was younger, before every karting race she would hum a French lullaby and kiss her brother on the cheeks. There was one race that she didn’t have time to kiss Jules on the cheeks and she had crashed into a pile of soft tires, not able to finish the race, and ever since then, she refused to get inside a kart until she kissed him on the cheeks. When he died though, all her superstitious rules fell flat, winning each race fueled with rage towards the world.

An alarm sounded throughout the whole area, alerting the viewers and the drivers that it was almost time. She had left the spot beside Lando before he could even realise she was there in the first place. Her feet dragged her towards the Ferrari garage, where she was led towards her vehicle. Slipping the white balaclava over her head, an awkward lump forming at the base of her neck as her hair gathered underneath. Her hands rubbed over the small birthday card before she placed it on, visor up and eyes piercing into the back of Charles as he got ready in his own vehicle.

“Can you hear me, Y/N? Checking,” echoed through her ear, she held her thumbs up towards the strategist before jumping in her vehicle.

Strapping herself to the seat, she felt her body mold into the vehicle. Her gloved hands coming to rest upon the steering wheel as the engineer clicked it into place.

“Y/N’s radio check,” she spoke, pressing the button on the wheel as she did so.

“Loud and clear, Bianchi,” the strategist’s voice echoed back into her ear, holding his thumb up despite her not even looking in his direction.

She wasn’t nervous, it had been her first Formula One race ever, everybody expected her to be shaking and anxious. But she wasn’t. It seemed as if she didn’t feel a thing, like her whole body shut down and she instead became consumed with the race. She followed the head engineers instructions diligently, doing whatever she could to make her transition from the garage to the grid smooth.

She was slow as she lined herself up on P8, she was the highest positioned rookie. Max took P1, Daniel in P2, and Charles in P3. She had been to the left of Lewis Hamilton, though she didn’t acknowledge him, eyes trained on the back of George Russel’s Mercedes.

It all happened within seconds, her foot pressing down on the throttle as soon as the lights turned green. It was a close battle, everyone grouped together as they fought for the number one position. Max, Charles, and Daniel were slightly ahead of everyone else, constantly over taking one another until Max gained a few seconds ahead of them.

She had over taken Lewis first, her engineer cheering her on through her ear piece, and then quickly slid past George and Alonso. Carlos had become a tougher opponent to over take, the pair constantly fighting for fourth place.

“We’re going to put on some music for you, Y/N,” the words echoed through her head, though she made no move to reply. Soon enough one of the top one hundred songs of the previous year blasted through her car.

“Change it please,” she huffed, taking a sharp bend and moving to third place, Charles’ car in line with her view. She knew her place, she knew she wasn’t allowed to overtake him, that they were supposed to win with his number, and that stung her pride just a little bit.

Suddenly, another song played. It wasn’t her favourite, but it was good enough to listen to as she drove at high speeds. As she turned another bend, Carlos had swooped past her, gaining the fourth place.

“On the next bend, take over from the inside and put your foot down to gain some distance from the McLaren,” his voice echoed in her ears, the music quietening as he spoke.

“Okay,” she confirmed, eyes zeroing in on the risky gap between Carlos and the edge of the grid. She was fast with her movements, speeding past him and as the track became straight, she put her foot harshly against the floor. She had gained at least four seconds between her and Carlos, trailing behind Charles at a comfortable speed.

The music was loud in her ears until it stopped abruptly, “Charles is down,” she heard the strategist speak, her eyes watching as the vehicle in front of her moved off to the side of the road. “Stay in third, you’ve got twenty six laps left.”

“What happened?” She questioned, her head whipping to the side to see Charles banging his hands against his steering wheel briefly.

When she looked back towards the two Redbull cars, they strategist answered, “the controls to the power unit have failed.”

“Is that going to happen to me?” She panicked, falling only seconds behind Daniel as the driver refused to let her pass him. The way they swerved around each other almost like a violent dance.

“Let’s hope not, keep your pace, don’t think about that,” his voice was gruff in her ears.

For the first time since the race started, she began to feel nervous. Her eyes constantly flickering to the mirrors, checking to see if Carlos had gained on her.

The last few laps went by like a blur. Max had come first, quickly followed by his teammate Daniel, and then it was her. The crowd was in awe, her first race in the big league and she had secured a spot on the podium. Both men had cheered her on as she took her place in third on the podium, champagne spraying through the air as she celebrated.

“Y/N Bianchi has surprised us all!” The interviews all yelled, “she’s secured P3, she’s the first woman in Formula One to make it on the podium! Her brother’s legacy lives through her!”

It all felt surreal. Cheers rised into the air as the two Redbull drivers picked her up, holding her onto their shoulders as she sprayed champagne into the crisp air. Charles was supposed to be on the podium with them, he was supposed to be the Ferrari winner, she was supposed to be fourth, but by some trick in the universe, his first race of the season became one of his worst in history and her first race of the season became record breaking.

The post race interviews flew by her, her ears still ringing and her heart beating hard against her chest. She would answer with a smile, nod her head and thank everyone for being so supportive. When she had joined the other drivers Lando had wrapped her in his arms, he had finished 17th, but his bad race didn’t distract him from the win his best friend had.

It was all smiles and laughter, until she had to debrief with Ferrari. Charles was angry, furious at the fact he had to disqualify himself over a mistake he didn’t even make. His jaw ticked as they congratulated her, she was only supposed to break one record that day. She was supposed to only be the first woman in Formula One to get more than .5 points, but it seemed the universe had turned their back on him and shone brightly upon her.

When the pair had been left alone, that’s when shit truly hit the fan. He couldn’t stop himself, he was so angry with himself and his team that he didn’t stop and think about his words.

She had been kinder to him than normal, asking, “are you alright Charles? I’m sorry about your DNF,”

“Even now, at this age you can’t get me out of your head can you?” He hissed at her, “I told you when we were kids that your crush on me was embarrassing, and now that you have a boyfriend and you’re still thinking about me, that’s even worse.”

Her jaw went slack at his words, sure, they had their disagreements in the strategy planning, sure, they weren’t friends anymore, but she had done nothing to deserve his anger. She sputtered, raising from her seat, “I was just trying to check on you, I don’t even have a boyfriend.”

“Go fuck Lando or something, I’m sick of seeing your face,” he snarled at her, rising to his feet as well.

“Fuck you Charles, you deserved that DNF,” she spat at him, quick to leave the room before he could shout more harsh words at her.

Wish you wanted it a little bit

More but it's a chore for you to give

Australia always felt like a second home. Her second home used to be Monaco, but she hadn’t stepped foot in the country willingly in many years. Melbourne was the type of city that had a heart, a rhythm and a beat. It lived in their music, it played in their sports arenas, it was there in each act of kindness. From the trees in the avenues to the penthouse suites, that city was alive.

Daniel had been giddy once they arrived back in his homeland, promising everyone a great time after the race. Melbourne’s air was fresh that day, almost sweet and floral as the viewers began to situate themselves in the best seats they could grab. Y/N still wasn’t a superstitious person, but she had created a routine. She would sit with Lando underneath the largest tree they could find, he would have his eyes closed and mind blank, as she would simply read the birthday card a million times.

She never felt nervous at the beginning of a race, always so melancholic as she swiped her hand over the card before shoving her head into the helmet. That race, she was starting at P4, Charles was back at P7. The pair had not said a single word to each other since the first race of the season, and Ferrari could feel the pieces of their team fall apart. It had been twenty seven days since the pair interacted, even the media had gotten whiff of their hatred for one another. Articles about the end of Ferrari nearing, rumours that Y/N would leave Ferrari for McLaren in the middle of the season rising, and Charles heart breaking into smaller pieces each time he tried to find the right words to apologise but them getting stuck in his throat.

Carolina had travelled all the way from Monaco to watch the race, excitement coursing through her veins as she kept an optimistic mind. The girl had introduced herself to Y/N and she swore she was looking into a mirror, even their smiles mirrored each other.

As she jumped into the vehicle, checking the connection between her radio and her strategists, her eyes didn’t leave the couple. Carolina had head phones covering her ears so that the noises didn’t damage her hearing, and so she could connect to Charles radio. She smiled wide at her boyfriend, saying something Y/N couldn’t quite hear.

Unlike the other races, her mind wasn’t blank as she drove up towards her place on the grid. All she could think of was what he said, even now, at this age you can’t get me out of your head. He was right, she couldn’t. Whether she reminisced on their childhood or insulted him in her mind, he was always the first thing she thought about when she woke up and the last thing she thought about before she went to bed. He occupied her mind at all times, whether it was good or bad, he was always there.

Max had yet again started in P1, always the over achiever and currently one of the best drivers on the grid. The two Mercedes took up P2 and P3, George excited for the prospect of a good race for him and Lewis confident he could win, after coming in fifth in Saudi Arabia, he was determined to keep podium positions that year. Lando hadn’t had a great qualifying run that time, leaving him at the back end of the grid, the man throwing his thumbs up in the air towards Y/N when she drove past him.

Within the first lap she had recieved the news, already tailing behind Lewis, “Charles is out.”

“What do you mean?” She stressed, jaw clenching as she tried to overtake the older man to get into the P2 position of the race.

“Contact with Stroll,” his voice echoed through her head and her heart dropped, all she could think about as she drove was that he had gotten into a crash.

“What do you mean?” She repeated her question, the stress evident in her tone as she overtook from the outside and floored it to create distance between herself and Lewis.

“He didn’t leave enough room, spun out of the race, points are all on you now, try and catch up to Max,” he replied back to her, but that was easier said then done. She had gotten at least five seconds ahead of Lewis, keeping the gap between them consistently, but reaching Max in the Ferrari was a near impossible feat.

That race, they didn’t play any music, they had tried but she had told them not too, that she couldn’t think properly that time with terrible songs playing in the background. She had kept her position in P2 easily, despite a few close calls with Lewis gaining on her, she had flown past the finish line with 18 points added to her record.

Max had come to expect her on the podium, grinning each time she would stand beside him. She had come third in both Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, and now, in Australia she had come second, only four seconds behind him. Her, Lewis, and Max had celebrated in style. Max had sprayed them both with the champagne, while she did the most Australian thing she could think of. Daniel had begged her to do it if she got a podium position, the older man nearly got on his knees as he nagged her into doing it. She had taken her shoe off, pouring the champagne into it before chugging from the bottom of her shoe. The Australians had reacted loudly, cheering her on from below. Lando and Daniel had taken photos and videos from their secluded places near the podium, grins reaching their ears as they watched her.

She had gagged afterwards, the combination of sweat and champagne making her stomach do hurdles. Max had giggled and patted her on the back, and Lewis had told her he had the same reaction after he had done it for the first and last time. Y/N may have been a petty girl, always out to get the last word, but she never broke a promise, and Daniel was grateful for that.

Arriving at the post race interviews with only one shoe had fans and interviewers giggling, most questions had been thrown towards Max, but there were a few scraps thrown towards Lewis and Y/N.

“How does it feel to become Ferrari’s most prized possession after Charles second DNF this season?” One interviewer had asked her.

“I don’t believe I’m they’re prized possession, I just believe I have a tremendous amount of luck this year,” she answered, purposely avoiding the slander towards her teammate.

“Charles was disqualified within the first lap, it seems like you teammate has already given up this year,” the interviewer pressed on, wanting for her to prove that the pair were not on good terms by getting her to agree with them.

“Is this interview about me getting P2 or Charles not finishing the race?” She frowned, her eyes scanning the crowd, “he made a mistake, so what? This mistake does not discredit the hard work Charles puts into these races, he is a great driver with some bad luck at the moment. This year has not been easy for anyone, we have all given up years of our lives for this sport, you have no right to say that he has given up just because you think you know what is happening. Formula One isn’t just racing, it’s the countless days and nights we train and sacrifice that you don’t see that truly make this sport. Charles is as hard working as the rest of us, he doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment from people that claim to be fans of the sport. Now are you going to ask me questions about my own results, or are you going to babble on about my teammate some more?”

Not a single question was directed towards her after her statement, but the articles that came out after had her shocked.

Y/N Bianchi turns hysteric after being questioned about her teammate.

Is Y/N and Charles engaged in a secret affair? Insider information says yes!

Y/N Bianchi yells at innocent interviewer after he is concerned about Charles Leclerc’s wellbeing.

She had been dragged through the mud by the media for her statement, rumours rising into the air as people claimed to have inside sources into their lives. In reality, Charles and Y/N had still not spoken to each other, even during the debriefings of their races, not a single word was spoke between the pair.

“Thank you for defending Charles,” Carolina had spoken that day, “he truly appreciates it, he just hasn’t had time to thank you properly.”

Charles had had a million moments to say everything he had wanted, he had countless moments where he was able to both apologise and thank her, but yet again, his words always got stuck in his throat.

“That’s what teammates are for,” Y/N smiled tightly at Carolina, not knowing what else to do.

We were too close to the stars

I never knew somebody like you

Beauty was always found in Monaco, the luxurious lifestyle many of the residents participated in always fascinated her. It wasn’t like she had grown up in the slumps in Nice, no she had lived an easy life in the beginning of her childhood, but she didn’t have luxury like the Monagasque did.

The curse Charles had been placed under had got him again that year, he had gratefully crossed the finish line, but not in the position he wanted. He had come in 6th, one up from his results in Miami, and she had come in 7th, her worst position in the entire year. The curse had extended itself to her, and she didn’t know if that would become a common occurrence for her like it had for Charles, but she hadn’t been overly happy with the results.

Max had looked confused when Esteban and Fernando joined him on the podium, he was more than positive that he would have had to share his spotlight with both Ferrari drivers that Grand Prix.

“I’m surprised they weren’t there,” Max had spoken in one of his post race interviews, “I always expect Y/N Bianchi now, and Charles was having great luck this time around.”

Her post race interviews had breezed by quickly, many people asking her if she was disappointed with her position, what she could have done better. She had smiled and answered, giving them everything but the truth. She hadn’t won the race because she hadn’t done her usual routine, she hadn’t sat with Lando, she hadn’t read the card, she didn’t even touch it before she placed the helmet on her head. She didn’t want to go back to her old ways of superstition, but it seemed the universe was telling her to do so. Her mind was filled with thoughts of Jules, maybe that was his way of telling her that he was with her when she did those things, maybe a part of him sat inside her when she would read the card.

Pascale had caught her before she disappeared into the drivers room, Monaco was always her favourite race, even if her son never won, just the fact that he was racing proudly in his country was satisfaction enough. Her parents were there as well, cheering proudly for their youngest daughter, despite her unsatisfactory position, they were her biggest fans.

“Quick, quick,” Pascale rushed them, placing Y/N in the middle as she forced Charles to stand to the left of her and Arthur to stand to the right. Arthur had placed his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her further into his side as their parents took as many photos of the three as they could, “oh this reminds me of when you three were younger!”

“I have a photo of the three in this exact same position!” Christine exclaimed, her finger tapping excessively on the camera button, “oh I’m going to frame this.”

“Maman,” Y/N whined, leaning her head on Arthur’s shoulder as she slumped in her position. She was tired and exhausted, the Monaco Grand Prix had taken a lot from her, both physically and mentally.

“Carolina, Carla, get in there,” Pascale encouraged the pair, her eyes trailing past the group and locking onto a passing driver, “Lando! Lando! Quick, quick.”

Lando had looked surprised at the sight, Mrs Leclerc and the Bianchi’s all waving him over sporadically. He was awkward and hesitant, not wanting to intrude until he locked eyes with Y/N. She begged him to come over, to help ease her discomfort just a little bit. With a shy smile, the man walked into the Ferrari garage, instantly pulling her into a hug and congratulating her on P7.

If looks could kill, Lando would have been dead. Charles eyes bored into his friends head, eyes hard and stoic as he watched the younger man wrap his arms around her shoulders and stood behind her. The look had not gone unnoticed by his mother, nor his girlfriend. There were fake smiles plastered on each of their faces, grins wide but eyes telling a story of exhaustion and discomfort.

He had wanted to apologise to her, found the confidence within his home country to finally speak to her, to explain everything to her. He wanted to tell her his feelings, explain his actions, he wanted to make up for all his mistakes while they were in Monaco. But those moments where he thought he’d get them had always been captures. After the race they had no time to spare in order to get to their interviews, when it was time for them to rest their families pestered them to spend time all together, when they left the paddock, Lando had taken her to his apartment and Carolina wanted to refresh herself before they went out for the night.

The dress that hung loosely off her body reminded the world of the champagne that bubbled and fizzed in their glasses. It was the kind of white summer clouds radiated, the kind that raised the eyes heavenward. It was soft to the touch, silky under his fingertips as he helped her tie the bow around her neck.

Most of the other drivers forgot she was a girl, treated her like a boy, played rough with her and spared no details about their lives with her. She didn’t mind it, feeling grateful that she was accepted so easily into the pack, but she couldn’t help the frustration that kicked into gear when they would brush off her gender. She was a woman, the first ever woman in Formula One to gain so many points, the youngest woman in history to gain points in Formula One, the first woman ever to stand on the podium in Formula One. She wasn’t just some driver, no she was a record breaking female driver. She was the icon, they were all old news when she got on stage, and she wanted them to remember that every time they bragged about the women they slept with, or said something nasty about their exes, because at the end of the day, when she was around, they were forgotten. She was Y/N Bianchi, one of the best rookies Formula One had ever seen in a very long time.

“You look beautiful,” Lando hummed, moving her hair to fall freely down her back.

“Thank you,” she mumbled back, leaning closer to the mirror in order to clip her earrings into place. Lando’s eyes sparkled as they looked over her, he could never understand Charles' rejection of her, sure he rejected her as kids, but even then she was a beautiful girl. Even in her awkward pre teen phase, she was adorable.

The club was electric that night, everyone feeding off of the smiles and fast dancing. She could have gone on like that all night long, feet moving to the beat like they belonged to the music. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the satin shine caught the disco ball light that twirled above - launching every shade of the rainbow into the darkness. The music moved her like she was a puppet on strings. There was so much sweat on her skin and not all of it was hers. The strobe masked so many of her movements. The next day there’d be hell to pay in the form of a headache but that night the alcohol kept on flowing in like it was on an IV drip.

Charles and Carolina had arrived late, joining the rest of the young drivers later into the night. When his eyes met her body, he felt his mouth run dry. There she was, dangerously close to Lando as they moved around each other on the dance floor. Other drivers and their girlfriends were out there too, Arthur and Carla putting on a raunchy show for whoever was watching, and Pierre and Kika were too caught up in each other to do more than just sway from side to side.

Charles was not a religious man, but the moment he saw her in that dress, he felt the need to drop down to his knees and worship her.

“I’m getting a drink,” Carolina shouted over the music, squeezing his bicep and taking him out of the trance he had succumbed to, “you want one?”

He nodded slowly, gaze reluctantly ripping away from Y/N and looking towards the woman that was supposed to have his heart. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when his gaze turned back to them, Lando’s hands pressed against her waist and his lips close to her ear, whispering something to her.

“Charles!” Max exclaimed as he clapped his friend on the shoulders and forced his attention onto him, “Kelly started to believe you weren’t coming, too caught up in Carolina.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, but Max wasn’t stupid. The man had his suspicions, he knew Charles long enough to know when he was telling the truth and when he was lying. “We just got caught up, lost track of time.”

“Mhm,” Max mumbled, scanning his eyes over his friend, before dragging him over to the table where most of them sat. Daniel had instantly jumped into a conversation with him, but even then his attention was placed elsewhere.

He watched as Y/N departed from the dance floor, leaving Lando to fend for himself amongst the crowd as she walked over to the bar. He was quick to jump out of his seat, exclaiming he needed to get a drink, despite Carolina having already placed one in front of him not even mere seconds before.

As he stood beside her, she grinned, “can’t get enough of me Lando, oh,” her grin fell as she realised it wasn’t her best friend standing beside her. All that Charles had wanted to say to her disappeared from his mind, jealousy clouding it as his eyes darkened.

“You’re in love with him,” he growled at her, frown etched onto his face, “I know you, I know you love him.”

“I do love him,” she huffed back, confused by his sudden attack after having not talked to each other for months, “but I’m not in love with him. You should be more invested in your own love life right now.”

“And why’s that?” He scoffed at her, hands balled into fists as he leered over her.

“Because it’s falling apart right now,” She smirked at him, her gaze flickering towards the upset Carolina before looking back at him. She felt bad for the girl, knowing she had fallen for a man that was too occupied with his career but also too scared to be alone during the breaks.

“You’re using him, to fill this void in your heart,” he snapped at her, “to fill the void I left behind.”

“You didn’t leave shit,” she hissed at him, “but you’re girlfriend is about to leave you.”

As the words registered in his mind, Charles caught a glimpse of Carolina walking out of the club by herself, shock written over his face. Their fight ended there, the man racing after his girlfriend and leaving Y/N at the bar.

“Carolina!” He yelled out to her, the girl stopping in her tracks outside of the club, “where are you going, amour?”

“You love her?” Was all Carolina asked, the tears that welled in her eyes causing guilt to fill Charles veins. He knew who she was talking about, and god he wished he wasn’t so obviously in love with another woman. “You’re in love with her?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly, and though the consequences of his words meant Carolina would leave him, he felt a weight lift off of his shoulder as he confirmed it out loud.

“Why?” The tears had began to fall from Carolina’s eyes, cascading down her cheeks. She had done everything right, she had been perfect for him, she had changed her whole life just to suit his schedule, but even that wasn’t enough, because she wasn’t her. “Why her, and why not me?”

“Because I’ve never known someone like her before,” he spoke gently, “I’ve fucked up a million times in her life, and I’ll spend the rest of mine trying to fix my mistakes.”

Falling just as hard

I'd rather lose somebody than use somebody

Their laughter was so free and pure, so childish despite their adult years. It came to her ears as a tickle and bounce - and only a rocky heart could do anything but join in such generous mirth. Her friends were not perfect, or neat or tidy. They were those with enough love in their hearts to fight for and defend what was right and good.

They all sat in her hotel room, wine clutched in their hands as they informed each other about the new gossip in their lives. It wasn’t often that Y/N was able to connect back with her childhood girl friends, only ever on special occasions due to everyone’s hectic work schedules. Juliana was a fashion reporter in Paris, working closely with Haute Couture brands, spreading the image of their luxury to the world. Louisa had just graduated early from university, diving straight into the criminal justice system as a paralegal. And Rowena was busy with her children, teaching them to live full and happy lives as she balanced being a good mother and a good friend. For the first time in a long time, the girls were back together again, the British Grand Prix having been locked into their schedules for months.

Lando had been in the hotel room also, though he refused to drink the bubbly stuff and stuck to sipping on bitter red wine.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about your boyfriend,” Louisa giggled, shoving her cold feet under her thighs as they lounged around the common area of the hotel.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she rolled her eyes playfully, “we’re just friends.”

“Friends like Juliana and Marcel? Or friends like Rowena and Pascal?” Louisa wiggled her eyebrows, causing most of the girls to sputter from their drinks. Juliana had been seeing Marcel for over a year, claiming in the beginning to be just friends until Louisa had walked in on a compromising scene. Rowena on the other hand, had married Pascal, claiming him to be her best friend in their wedding vows.

“Friends like Arthur and I,” she shook her head.

Louisa groaned, throwing her head back and pouting, “he’s cute though, no? Why not be more than friends?”

Lando just sipped on his wine quietly, he wanted to scream out the answer, to let it be known why they truly were just friends. Because she’s in love with Charles! Is what he wanted to yell, but instead he let her deal with the answer.

“Because Lando reminds me of Jules,” she confessed, and the tension in the room fell heavy for the first time that night, “he treats me the way Jules used to, and it would be weird to see him any other way than like that.”

“I think it’s time we head to bed,” Rowena whistled before chugging the rest of her glass, “you’ve got a race tomorrow, and we don’t need you being hungover, your manager will kill us.”

The other girls nodded their heads in agreement, downing their own drinks before saying their goodbyes. Granted, the three were only a floor below her hotel room. Lando had stayed in the room, taking the glassed to the kitchenette and placing them in the sink.

She crept up behind him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and her head leaning against the space between his shoulder blades, her voice was quite as she spoke, “do you think I’m using you?”

“No,” he scoffed, if she was using him, they’d be tangled within the sheets until the only name she could remember was his, “why would you ask that?”

“Charles said back in Monaco that I was using you to fill a void in my heart,” she mumbled, the man was quick to turn towards her, pulling her close into a hug.

“Charles is wrong,” Lando sighed into her hair, his cheek squishing against the top of her head, he was satisfied with their relationship, and he was secure enough to know she was not using him. “And one day we’re gonna make him pay for all his words.”

The next day had flown by, they had taken photos with fans, they had completed their superstitious rituals, despite her adamant denial of being superstitious at all, and they had secured amazing results. For the first time ever, Lando had come first, in the McLaren he had been struggling to become one with he had won in. Max had lead the race initially, but due to poor management, had taken too long in the pits and had stayed third the entire time. Y/N and Lando had made a game of overtaking one another, until finally Lando had raced across the finish line first and she had come in seconds later.

Her friends, all dressed in red and the number seventeen, had cheered the loudest as the drivers sprayed champagne from the podium. Max had been upset about coming third, but had also been happy watching Lando take his place for the first time in his life. Max had also felt somewhat content with Y/N back on the podium with him, after a streak of bad luck for the Ferrari drivers after Monaco.

“Max, how do you feel coming in third?” An interviewer questioned him, both Lando and Y/N watching him intently.

“I’m not going to lie, I am a little disappointed, I am surprised Lando had won,” he confessed before his eyes widened, “wait, that’s not what I meant, I always believed Lando could win, it’s McLaren I was surprised about.”

“Thanks man,” Lando had chuckled, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline of the win, “I’m going to be honest here as well and say, I hope your team takes forever in the pit more often if these are the results.”

Max had chuckled and shook his head, eyes rolling childishly as he rebutted, “Don’t count on it.”

“I for one have no trouble being second, feels like I just came home,” Y/N giggled into the microphone, subtly flexing on the fact that she was more than used to being on the podium more than once that year, “but I’ll be coming for that number one.”

“Go Y/N!” Juliana’s voice echoed from the rather quiet crowd, “we love you!”

“Sign my chest, Y/N!” Louisa’s voice echoed after, causing the entire crowd and interviewers to giggle.

The interviews ended quickly after her friends' attempts at embarrassing her, which only landed them with a quick wink before she fell back into her media training. She had been swept away by her friends the moment she was allowed to leave the paddock, getting changed and going out to explore Northamptonshire.

Lando had been celebrating with his family in the McLaren garage, showered with praise after his position in the British Grand Prix. His mother had smothered him in kisses, proud of his efforts and cherishing the moment wholeheartedly. His father had been giddy, so excited that he couldn’t stop moving around. Cisca and Flo had hoarse voices from cheering so loudly for him, the excitement of the race still running thickly through their veins, and Oliver didn’t know where to place his hands. His older brother was so genuinely proud of the moment that he felt awkward, he always knew what to do when it came to comforting his younger brother on a close race, but winning first was a new experience for all of them.

As he pulled himself away from his mothers tight grip, Charles came into his peripheral view. He had come fourth, starting all the way from P13, his gain in the race was a hefty feat, it deserved to be celebrated also, but that wasn’t what was on Lando’s mind when he began to approach the older Ferrari driver.

“Charles,” he called out, as the man continued walking past the garage.

“Lando, mate, congratulations,” Charles smiled politely at the man that used to be one of his closest friends on the grid, and he still would have been if it wasn’t for his stupid actions with the girl they both loved.

“Why did you say that she was using me?” Lando was quick to cut to the chase, the man that hated stating his opinion for the fear of being judged gone as the high off of his win still lingered in the air. “That was so uncalled for.”

Charles was stunned for words, he had said those words with unfiltered pure jealousy coursing through his veins, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Can you not fathom the idea that she can love another man?” Lando pressed on, deliberately leaving out the part that it had only been a friends type of love, just so he could see Charles squirm a little bit longer.

“She’s not in love with you,” Charles frowned, “and I know you aren’t in love with her.”

“Don’t talk to me about who she’s in love with and who I am in love with,” he scoffed, “I have loved her since the moment we met, from the moment she stood beside me at that bar on Christmas Eve, I have loved her. You have treated her like garbage, left her so many times in her life, you’re a coward Charles. Even now, while I’m standing in front of you as a friend, trying to understand why you treat her like this, you can’t admit it.”

“I’m in love with her!” Charles exclaimed, eyes wide and breathing becoming heavy, “I admit it! I’m in love with her, and most of the time I think she’s the only girl I could ever be with. That’s the reason why I said what I said, that’s the reason why I’ve done what I’ve done, because I’m in love with her.”

“But you don’t want to be in love with her?” Lando questioned, “why not?”

“Because she’s Jules’ little sister, because she’s five years younger than me, because she deserves you, not me,” Charles confessed, “and I hate myself a little more everyday because no matter what excuse I bring up to myself, it will always be her, she will always be the one that I want.”

Maybe it's a blessing in disguise

I sold my soul for you

The world was at a loss for words.

Not even the presenter had said anything.

It had been an accident, it had been neither of their faults, yet the consequences was theirs to bear.

She had been coming first, one moment the track was there, wide open and safe, the next there was loud noises, acrid smells and pain that she may or may not recover from. The pain takes over a portion of her brain, as if dealing with it is energy expenditure enough, without the effort of new thoughts. It steals the part of her she most wanted to share with others, her light and laughter, her generous heart. It was the sort of pain that burnt, as if some invisible flame were held against her skin.

Max had been gaining on her, and when they took the bend together, the breaks in his vehicle malfunctioned. No matter how hard he pressed it, he couldn’t get the Redbull vehicle to slow down. His whole body had tensed upon the impact, the front of him crashing into the middle of her. While he skidded off the road and slammed into the wall, she had flipped several times before landing upright on the edge of the track. It had been one of the worst crashes the world had seen since Anthonie Hubert and Jules Bianchi.

The crash comes as a shock to her and that was an aspect movies and novels were never good at showing. It was the equivalent of looking without seeing, a form of emotional blindness. A part of the debris from Max’s car had lodged itself through her halo, barely missing her body but essentially keeping her trapped inside.

Unlike her crash in Formula Two, she was not still for a moment, as the smell of burning rubber and hot metal infiltrated her senses. She knew enough about cars to know what was going to happen next, and she had to get out as quickly as possible. There was no way for Max to get to her without endangering himself, the older man had to stand and watch as she struggled in her seat. He yelled and screamed for her, he was the only one who wasn’t silent.

“Y/N has crashed,” the words echoed in Charles brain, “she’s stuck in her vehicle, keep going and secure your place.”

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, deep down he had a feeling, a feeling of dread washing over him. For some reason Charles just knew, knew it wasn’t just any crash that the driver would walk away unscathed, and the fear of her not walking away at all had caused his vision to blur. He was seconds away from her, and once the crash came into view, the black smoke raging towards the sky had switched something in his brain.

The fire came as a golden ball, igniting the car, outshining the sun that beat down on them in Belgium.

He had skidded to a halt close to her, the crowd echoing in gasps and his team screaming in his ear, but all that was ignored as he removed the steering wheel with lightening speed.

“Charles Leclerc has just disqualified himself from the race,” the announcer finally spoke, the whole world watching as the man jumped out of his own vehicle and raced towards his teammate.

The flames of her car were bright, her body lost within it but her pleads for help were the only indication of her being alive. He had hesitated for a second, though only so he could assess the situation. The man had taken a deep breath before charging foreword. As he gripped the metal, his hands burned from the heat, using all his strength to pull it from the car. Once he had fallen back, the debris coming with him, Y/N had made her move.

She had wasted no time to jump out from the flames, thanking her lucky stars for the fire resistant clothing they forced drivers to wear. The amount of smoke she inhaled was significant, it slithered down her throat, clogging her air ways and causing her throat to go dry. As she feel to the grass, she began to wheeze, trying to keep herself grounded by feeling the earth beneath her, but she couldn’t control it as her vision faded and her whole body collapsed.

“Y/N,” Charles yelled her name, scrambling towards her and forcing her onto her back, “Y/N, come on, come on ma fraise.”

Ripping her helmet from her head, he tugged the opening to the balaclava down til her lips were revealed. They were blue, her skin paling as her breathing stopped. With panic, he pulled his own helmet off, his shaky hands pressing against her chest, pushing thirty times. Pulling his own balaclava down, his lips met hers, pushing air into her lungs twice to preserve her life. He had repeated it four times before she had taken a small breath on her own.

The rescue vehicle had arrived just as she took a breath by herself, instantly pulling her onto a gurney and rushing her inside the vehicle. Charles was quick to follow, the medical professionals turning to him but he refused their check ups, not until he was positive she was going to be okay. They had picked Max up on the way, the man had tears in his eyes as he slumped next to her unconscious body, his eyes never leaving the unsteady rise and fall of her chest.

“I didn’t, I didn’t mean it,” Max wobbled, “they weren’t working, and I couldn’t stop it.”

“What?” Charles frowned, his burning hands clutching onto her lifeless ones, “what do you mean?”

“The breaks,” Max confessed, “they weren’t working, it wouldn’t slow down. My breaks malfunctioned.”

That hospital was nothing like the one Charles was used to back in Monaco, where the receptionist was more plastic than the purified water dispenser. In Belgium there was no openness, no space, nothing shined or had the smell of disinfectant. Instead the way in was down a long hallway so narrow that if a wheelchair or trolley were to come to other way he’d have to dip into a side room to let it go by. The walls were once painted, he could tell that from the cream flakes that remained, though mostly they showed the gray undercoat or perhaps the was concrete beneath that. The floor was uneven from so much traffic with both feet and wheels and it was darker than a mausoleum. The air was stagnant like he just went into some pit. There were no hand sanitizers on the walls, how they prevented the spread of germs here he didn’t know, perhaps they never did. From ahead came muffled voices, some angry, some placating.

Her hospital room was a chrysalis in the worst of ways, for here she was melted down to liquid and reformed into the butterfly, conscious and feeling the process at work. Tubes were connected all over her body, and suddenly he felt a sense of deja vu. He remembered that day, visiting Jules in the hospital the second he came home, all of them standing around his body with tears in their eyes, just like they were doing with her.

She was too critical to fly back to Nice, they had instantly taken her for a chest x-ray, and though her lungs were damaged, they weren’t going to collapse. Though there were very high traces of carbon monoxide in her blood, and the only thing the hospital could do was hook her up to respiratory mask that was pumping high concentrations of oxygen.

He couldn’t be in that room, not with everybody there, not with her family staring down at another child ruined by Formula One. The FIA had been lenient towards him, despite willingly disqualifying himself in the middle of a race, they hadn’t given him any penalties, something about preventing a death being thrown around constantly. The paramedics that had been on site had commended him, for if he didn’t get there before them, she would have died from carbon monoxide poisoning. Max had walked away with a few bruises, and his hands had been checked, they were fine compared to her.

“Charles,” Mélanie’s voice echoed through his ears, his bandaged hands holding onto his head as he stared at his feet, “she’s awake, she’s asking for you.”

“She’s awake?” He stood up quickly at that, alerting the other drivers that had come to the hospital of her condition.

“She won’t be for very long, the doctors are going to put her back to sleep so that the oxygen mask can do it’s thing and get rid of all the toxins in her lungs,” Mélanie replied back, throwing a sympathetic look towards Lando as she repeated her words, “she’s asking for you, Charles.”

“For me?” He questioned, throwing a confused look towards Lando before nodding. If his palms weren’t bandaged, he knew they’d be sweating, walking into that room with all eyes on him. Another wave of deja vu hit him. They were all standing in the exact same place, Philippe and Christine gripping tightly onto their child’s hand, Tom resting his head on his siblings calf, Pascale crying into Lorenzo’s neck and Arthur sitting in the chair with a tear stained face and red, puffy cheeks. The only difference was that it was her lying in that bed.

“Are you stupid?” We’re the first things tumbling out of her mouth at the sight of him, causing everybody’s eyebrows to raise. Her voice was hoarse and croaky, but her words were still powerful. Everyone in the room were quick to leave, not wanting to bare witness to the teammates quarrels. “Are you actually stupid? It’s a genuine question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he frowned back at her, though his eyes still remained soft.

“You disqualified yourself, you cost Ferrari a pole position in the Grand Prix!” She exclaimed, the stress she was placing upon her body cause her to cough and her body to shake.

“I would disqualify myself a million times before I let you die,” he growled back at her, taking a step foreword and gripping the edge of her hospital bed, “no penalties have been given, if all you’re worried about is the race.”

“I hate that about you,” she hissed, “I hate that you’re so stupid enough to risk your own life to save me, I hate that you’re so stupid enough to stop racing.”

“I hate you, I hate the way you treat me, I hate the way you stand there like that, as if the only option was for us both to DNF,” she continued.

“I hate that you saved my life, I hate that now that’s going to be another thing you’re going to use against me, I hate you,” she cried.

“Give it to me, baby,” he sighed, sitting down in the chair beside her and resting his forehead against her forearm, wanting to feel her cold skin against his warm skin, “What else do you hate about me? Because I’d rather you tell me the million reasons you hate me then lose you forever.”

“I don’t hate you,” she sobbed, “and I hate myself everyday for it, because I should, I should hate you so much.”

I see my reflection in your eyes

I know you're sick

It had taken her seven weeks to recover fully from her crash, Charles had raced with the reserve driver during the Dutch, Italian, and Singapore Grand Prixs, though he hadn’t been on doing his best the entire time. Max had stopped winning, finding himself comfortably sitting within the P7 and P5 positions, too afraid of the brakes malfunctioning again and possibly killing another driver, despite his team proving to him time and time again that the mistake was never going to happen again.

Though, as Y/N returned to the paddock as a driver and not just to witness the reserve driver in her vehicle, something switched between both boys. Max still didn’t go as fast as he usually did on the track, but he was no longer okay with staying in middle ground. Charles had finally started to try again, ready to show the world that he was still the same man they hoped him to be, and Y/N had fallen naturally back into her P2 position.

All three of them had started in the middle, Daniel leading in pole position, with Lewis behind him, and Lando in third. But as soon as that light turned green, the three gained as much ground as they could. Charles had come first for the first time that season, sending the crowd wild as the checkered flag waved him through, Y/N had come in behind him with only a few seconds to spare, and Max was not far behind her either.

The three celebrated dramatically on the podium, the crowd cheering for their comebacks in the sport.

The interviews were awkwardly quiet for a moment, the reporters and journalists asking mundane questions, holding their tongues when the real curiosities came to their minds.

"I know you want to hear about the crash, I can see the questions in your brain as if they were cartoon birds flying around your skulls,” she broke the tense atmosphere as the crowd of interviewers mumbled their questions to each of them, “ The thing is, there is the before, coming first in a race and the after, when I walked away from what many don't. It's as if it happened to someone else, if I'm honest, or perhaps as if I saw it in a movie one time. It was noise, mangled metal, and injuries that are healed up already."

“Do you blame Max?” A young reporter questioned, her words rushed. Everybody could see how the man deflated beside the Ferrari drivers, because even if she didn’t blame him, he blamed himself.

“Of course not,” she scoffed, “Max is not an attempted murderer, sure he’s killed some birds on the track, but he never intentionally hit me. The breaks in his vehicle had malfunctioned, the same way Charles hybrid power unit malfunctioned in Bahrain, the same way Lando’s engine malfunctioned last year. It wasn’t the drivers fault for all those things, and it wasn’t Max’s fault for the crash. If you want to play the blame game, it would take us all the way back to the beginning of time. It was nobody's fault.”

“And by nobody, do you mean Redbull?” Another reporter questioned, to which she just laughed and shook her head.

Y/N and Charles had skipped the Ferrari debrief, coming into the drivers room for mere seconds to grab a few items before disappearing again. The pair had walked along the track in silence, both holding their own bouquet of flowers. He had gripped tightly onto red carnations and tulips, Pascale having wrapped them in golden ribbon. While she held onto red orchids and poppies, the paper Melanie decorated them with having the Ferrari symbol splattered across. A small strawberry charm, larger and takier than the one one her bracelet, was attached to the red ribbon that held the bouquet together.

They stopped at the familiar spot, staring down at the ground until Y/N made the first move to place the flowers down. Jules would have been laughing at them from the heavens above, teasing them about how all this time they were still together, despite the distance between them during some years. He would grin at them and tell them that he always knew their spat wouldn’t last forever, that they’d find their way back to each other eventually. But unfortunately, he wasn’t there to say those things, no matter how hard either of them wished for it.

“He would have been proud of you,” she whispered, fingers grazing the petal of an orchid gently. Charles bent down to place his own bouquet beside hers, crouching beside her.

“He would have been proud of both of us,” he mumbled back, “sometimes, when I close my eyes really tight and listen to the silence, I can hear his laugh.”

“I talk to him everyday,” she confessed, “if I’m not at home, I’ll look up to the moon and tell him everything, and when I’m home I sit at his grave for hours, sometimes he talks back. Does that make me crazy?”

“Only a little, ma fraise,” he pulled her body to his, relishing at the feeling of her leaning against him.

“It’s a bit cynical, no?” She began, “laying flowers on the track that helped kill him.”

Charles shrugged his shoulders, placing a kiss upon the top of her head, “our mothers would kill us if we didn’t.”

“We should go,” Y/N tore her body away from him, and no matter how much he wanted to pull her back, he still knew that wasn’t his privilege. “You have a win to celebrate.”

Something about the clubs in Japan felt different, like the air was filled with some kind of toxin that made everybody lose control of their body. Lando had rarely left her side unless it was to get a drink for them both, or go to the bathroom. And Charles had been lively, dancing stupidly with his friends and drinking anything that was placed in front of him. He would regret it in the morning, but for that moment, he lived like the world was on fire.

In that moment of dance the vibrations of the music became a part of her energy, raising her up several levels all at once. In the club the good vibes flew like a virus, but a good one. There was love in the air, as some of the drivers and their partners couldn’t take their hands off of each other, all hyped up and ready to give the world a good time. Lando weaved through the guys and girls like a pro, his smile wider than the golden gates as he joined her on the dance floor.

They had been apart for so long during her recovery, only family members allowed to see her when she had been transferred to the hospital in Nice. And despite how many times her parents told the staff that both the Leclerc’s and Lando were like second family, they were still not allowed in. So Lando took the moments they had in Japan like they were the last ones he was ever going to get.

As the young drivers danced together to the upbeat music, they forgot the world around them. It was like it was only then left in the world. Carlos and Daniel had made a bet between each other, wondering how long it was going to take before the pair slipped up and revealed they had been together the entire time, whereas Max and Pierre had started a bet on how long it would take for Charles to snap and confess his love to her out of jealousy. It was nearing the point in the year where Daniel and Pierre were going to lose their bets, Daniel having saying by the time they got to the United States Grand Prix that Lando would have already slipped up, and Pierre saying it would be around the Mexican Grand Prix that Charles would finally snap. Carlos had said they’d reveal it in Abu Dhabi, and Maxi saying that Charles would finally make his move there as well before the season ended.

“You’ve got one month til you hand over your money,” Carlos teased Daniel as they watched their friends dance like idiots on one of the stages in the club.

“Nah, you ain’t getting shit til Abu Dhabi, if they don’t fess up by the end of the season, I’m keeping my money,” Daniel scoffed.

On the other side of the table, Pierre leant over towards Max, “looks like you might have to pay up.”

Charles’ drunken body stumbled through the sea of dancing bodies, eyes trained on Y/N and Lando as they danced together. Even in his hooded and drunken eyes, the boys could see the jealousy within his gaze. Max almost panicked at the thought of having to slide over a thousand dollars, until a girl stood purposely in front of Charles. She had striked up a conversation with him, looking up at him with a sultry gaze as she twirled a piece of her hair.

The next moments that occurred had Max both sighing with relief, and gasping with horror. The girl had pulled Charles down, planting her lips upon his, and by the looks of it, he had been kissing her back. Pierre and Max’s gazes flickered haphazardly between Charles and Y/N, watching as Y/N’s whole body went rigid at the sight before her eyes.

They had only just began to rebuild their relationship, never actually saying it out loud that they wanted more than what they had before, but both acknowledging the tension through flirtatious remarks and lingering touches. And now their world crumbled before it could even be redone.

Lando had jumped into action quickly, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from the club. Carlos and Daniel had taken it as a sign that they were disappearing to do what lovers did, but as Max and Pierre jumped up followed them out, they began to wonder if they knew less than what the thought they did.

The cold weather slapped her harshly in the face as they stepped out of the club, it seeped through her thin clothing and drained her soul. It had sobered her up enough to realise that she should have picked a better outfit. The autumn air in Japan was crisp, it was never that cold in autumn in Nice.

“Y/N,” Lando sighed, he hated being the one to always pick up the pieces of the heart that Charles had broken, but he would have rather done that then left her to fend for herself as she was attacked by her emotions, “Y/N, come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Wait up!” Pierre and Max shouted, jogging after the pair as they began to walk in the direction of their hotel. “We’re coming back with you.”

The walk was silent for almost a minute before Pierre spoke, “he’s just drunk, Y/N, he loves you.”

“If you’re in love with someone, it doesn’t matter if you’re drunk,” she replied back, dismissing his statement of Charles’ feelings towards her.

“He was so fascinated by you after her saw you again at the Christmas ball,” Max confessed, “you were the only thing he’d talk about for days.”

“I remember he would tell us about how beautiful you were,” Lando hummed, recounting the countless times in hotel rooms where they would all hang out and he would always somehow bring her into the conversation.

“After you left,” Pierre cleared his throat, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as he walked alongside Lando, “he wanted to reach out to you, he wanted to talk to you. He even got your number from my phone after you had congratulated me after a race. But he told me her couldn’t, not after what he had done to you as kids. He got so worked up over it that I couldn’t calm him down for hours.”

“We were,” Max coughed, “we are convinced that he’s in love with you, that he’ll always be in love with you.”

Hoping you fix whatever's broken

Ignorant bliss

The race in Las Vegas was horrible, she had started off promising, trailing behind Charles in P2, until Max had over taken them both, bumping her down to P3. She hadn’t lost hope and pushed foreword, until she began to lose her breath. The doctors had said she would suffer long term consequences of breathing in so much carbon monoxide, but she hadn’t felt affected until that moment in the middle of the race.

“I can’t breath properly,” she spoke into the comms as her strategist yelled at her to pick up her pace. Lando and Carlos had zipped by her as she slowed down significantly, Lewis had swerved around her, and George was next until she was sitting at P8. She barely made it past the finish line, Pierre almost over taking her at the last second, but she had pushed through the pain enough to secure the position.

She had excused herself to the medical tent, getting a free pass from the media as the doctors gave her an inhaler and had laid her on her side. She had stayed like that for hours until her chest loosened and her breathing became normal.

When she exited the tent, there were thousands of media personnel waiting to get the inside scoop. Her manager had shielded her from the flashes of her camera and had tried to guide her away from them. The escape was going by fine, until she heard, “she’s just as bad as her brother, P8 in a Ferrari is disgraceful!”

That had caught her attention instantly, pushing her manager out of her way as she walked towards them quickly. Angry wasn’t a good look on anyone, especially when the media was present.

“What happened the day Jules died?” Another reporter yelled, they must have been people who were never allowed in the media rooms, for their actions were disgraceful, “did you even go and see him? Seems like you haven’t taken a day off, even when your brother was in the hospital.”

She remembered her mother’s words in that moment, that anger was the bodyguard of sadness, that the only real way out is vulnerability, but she’d be damned if she’d be vulnerable with the same group of people that had both disrespected her and her older brother.

Her angry eyes told the world her brain was in a different mode, that she had switched gears from empathy to cold emotional indifference. Never once had she directed this mode in any loved ones direction, yet as Charles witnessed the scene unfold before him, he couldn’t help but feel the effects of her soulless gaze.

He had caught her before she got any closer to them, gripping her shoulders to try and make her look at him, focus on him instead of her, but she was far too angry.

“Vous êtes un porc dégoûtant!” She screamed over his shoulder, “Pourrissez en enfer pour ce que vous avez dit sur Jules! Allez vous faire foutre!”

Once they translated her words, the media had a field day. Articles were posted everywhere about her outburst, painting her out to be the villian in the story. Ferrari had gone into immediate damage control, posting anything and everything they could get their hands on, gaining the sympathy card when they rerealesed the interviews of her talking about her near death experience, or about the effects losing her brother had done to her mental health.

Why women shouldn’t be apart of Formula One; because they’re hysterical!

Y/N Bianchi proving why women are too emotional to be Formula One drivers.

Y/N Bianchi: villian on the track and villian to the media.

“She ruins the Bianchi legacy,” insiders say about Y/N Bianchi.

Y/N Bianchi tells reporter to rot in hell after P8 placement in Las Vegas

As her anxiety grew so did the mess in her hotel room, her focus was so scattered that it was a challenge to get everything in good order. She was so frustrated with the world that she had snapped, she had thrown the decorations around the room just so she could force herself to feel something.

Her violent rage, the "hulk smash" mode, could have been switched off forever if the right person came to her aid. And they had tried, Lando had tried to get into her room the moment he heard glass shatter, giving up only to sit on the floor outside of her hotel room, too concerned to celebrate his P3 victory. Max had come by before he, Daniel, and Pierre disappeared into the Las Vegas nightlife, checking to see if she had opened her door or if Lando had made any progress, he hadn’t. It wasn’t until Charles finally came by were they able to get inside her room.

The monégasque had paid a hefty price at the front counter to get a key to her room, having spent the majority of his time proving that he was in fact her teammate and needed to check on her. When Charles had swiped the key, Lando had scrambled to his feet, trailing behind the older man to get inside.

The sight before them made their hearts ache, her clothes were thrown throughout her room, shatters of glass were scattered all over the floor, and her golden bracelet was sitting neatly on the kitchen top counter. She never took it off, she would shower with it, sleep with it, live with it.

She hadn’t been inside the room, instead resting gently on the patio chair as she looked over the city that had began to hate her. The city grew as platinum petals into a midnight sky. In the night the city streets became arteries of light around the heart of the metropolis, if she wasn’t so worked up, she would have appreciated its beauty and all it had to offer her.

“You should talk to her,” Lando had sighed, eyes scanning the entire hotel room with panic, “I’ll clean up in here, she needs to hear from you.”

Nodding his head, the crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only thing that echoed through the room. Lando had begun to pick up all her clothes and fold them neatly into a pile on her bed. He had noticed the flight back to Nice booked for the next morning shining bright on her phone, despite the need to get to Abu Dhabi and complete their last race of the season.

Slipping into the cold November air, Charles let out a foggy breath. The entire balcony smelt like cigarette, despite the hotels strict no smoking policy. The white stick hung from her lips, tip burning a bright red and grey smoke floating upwards as she breathed in the toxins.

“When did you take up smoking?” He questioned her, sitting down alongside her. It gave him a sense of nostalgia, having spent a fair bit of time with Jules as he smoked at midnight when his Formula Two races would line up with his Formula One races.

“Four hours ago,” she confessed, though she smoked the cigarette like she had been addicted for decades. Maybe it was the French in her, but the action seemed to come naturally to her as she took drag after drag.

“I stole one of Jules cigarettes one time,” he reminisced, “I was only sixteen but I had seen him do it a million times and thought he looked cool, so I wanted to try.”

“Don’t,” she hissed at him, “don’t talk about him.”

“You’re not the only one who lost him, Y/N,” Charles sighed, his hands curling to fists as he stared at her while she stared at the city.

“I know that,” she rolled her eyes, “the whole world lost him, but he wasn’t just some Formula One driver to me, he wasn’t just a friend, he was everything to me. He was my whole world, he was the one who was supposed to watch me grow up, the one who was going to walk me down the aisle, the one who was going to be the godfather to my children. So no, I wasn’t the only one who lost him, but by fucking god it ruined me the most. And I had no one to support me through it.”

“You had your family,” Charles argued.

“But I didn’t want them,” she finally turned to look at him, by god she was beautiful when she cried, but the pain behind those irises caused his breath ro leave his body, “I didn’t need them, I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles whispered, squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears that were beginning to form, “I’m sorry I left you.”

“Why?” She frowned at him, “why did you leave me? When I needed you the most?”

“Because I loved you,” he finally confessed, “I didn’t think you needed me, you needed your family.”

“I need you,” she emphasised, eyes glossy as she looked away from him and turned her head to see Lando sweeping the glass up in the hotel room, “I always needed you.”

I see my reflection in your eyes

tell me you see it too

Her heartbeat kept a steady rhythm as she walked out onto the paddock, it’s tempo only rising once her eyes scanned the crowd in Abu Dhabi. She was only ever nervous or anxious when she was about to do something big, the other races she had been calm and collected, but something about that one being the last of the season had her palms sweating and heart rate excellerating. She kept telling herself she was worthy of success, that Jules was cheering her on. She hadn’t gone through all of the pain and hurt in her life for nothing, she was there for one thing that day, and that was to make him truly proud.

She was so ashamed to say it out loud, that she needed him, that she couldn’t be independent, that she built her whole life surrounding him. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her, she didn’t deserve losing all that she held dear, she didn’t deserve to almost die doing the same sport that took him from her, and they all knew that too. Her mother would tell her, “stay soft, ma fraise. Do not let things that have hurt you turn you into a person you are not.” But sometimes she believed she couldn’t do what her mother asked of her, she had to change, had to harden, in order to survive the world that was Formula One.

She knew she would win when she first started the season, not immediately, but definitely. But a part of her didn’t want to win, for that would mean a new chapter of her life. And it was hard to turn the page when she knew he wouldn’t be in the next chapter with her. Her home had been him, and now that he wasn’t there, she felt that sense of loneliness creep back up on her. Lando had gotten rid of it before the season started, but as their schedules got busier, the lonlieness was eminent.

People tell her, “what happened to you made you stronger.” She was a child, she didn’t need to be strong, she needed to be safe.

She would miss him forever.

She would never forget him.

She wanted more time with him.

The sky that day was alight with more red flags than ever before, yet not so much that the soul could not appreciate them all at once. There was a feeling of jubilation in the crowd as if she were both firmly on solid ground and levitating all at once. The sounds of the crowd become part of the happy centre of her brain, reaching in and pulling out the joy. The cheers rised around the stadium as if their hearts had learned how to fly together.

Her race car was molten dreams fused with a fresh coat of racing red. Her and Charles could be champions together if they allowed their pathways to weave as one.

This race would determine whether Ferrari won the Constructor Championship or not, only four points difference between Ferrari and Redbull. If both Ferrari drivers placed that day, their team would win, if both Red Bull drivers placed, it would increase the difference by around forty points. They new the Drivers Championship would not be handed to either Y/N or Charles that year, Max having won the majority of the races that season.

Her breathing slowed as she approached her vehicle, asthma puffer in her vest in case she lost her breath again in the middle of the race. Both of them needed to place that day, neither of them had high hopes for first place, but second or third was what they knew were guaranteed.

She closed her eyes for a second as she breathed in deeply, trying to find solace within her own mind, and when she opened them, she locked onto water coloured eyes. Lando stood in the Ferrari garage, dressed in his orange that contrasted against their firey red.

“I know I’m not allowed to be here,” he spoke quickly, approaching her with strength in his steps. His hands gripped the sides of her face, eyes scanning her entire face, “I just needed to see you before the race, I needed to know you were alright.”

“How do you always know when my mind has gone somewhere bad?” She smiled at him, thankful for his everlasting presence in her life.

“Because I know you,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you Y/N, you’re my best friend, I don’t want anything to happen to you ever. And after Las Vegas, I had to see you.”

“I’m okay,” she whispered back him, “but you need to leave before you get fined, or penalised.”

“I know,” he huffed, pulling back for a brief moment before pulling her into a hug, “good luck out there.”

“You too, muppet,” she grinned at him, watching as he rolled his eyes before stepping away from her and leaving for his own garage

Pulling the white balaclava over her head, she adjusted her hair until it wasn’t bunched up uncomfortably underneath. She wiped her fingers over the small card before whispering, “I love you.”

Placing the helmet over her head, she began to diligently follow the instructions of her engineers and strategists. They had wheeled her out of the garage, giving her the steering wheel to click into place as they readied her to drive onto the grid. She took her spot in P3 after a successful qualifying the previous day and waited. Max and Charles were situated in front of her, both of them within their own mind space. Carlos had been beside her in P4, and George and Lewis had been right behind her.

“Play, leave a light on by Tom Walker,” she instructed, shuffling slightly in her seat as the lights began to flicker.

“That’s a bit slow, no?” Her strategist commented, “I will put on something faster.”

“Non, put leave a light on on,” she huffed, satisfied when the beginning of the song hit her ears. At the same time the light went green and the race began. The song reminded her of the people in her life that she desperately needed.

She overtook Charles.

Her screams echoed throughout the hospital, clinging onto his lifeless body, begging him to wake up, to come back to her. She was just a kid, she wasn’t ready for such a loss in her life.

He was supposed to grow old and die, his life wasn’t wasted, for he spent everyday like it was his last, but it wasn’t ready to end. He still had so much to do.

“Ma fraise,” Charles let out a choked sob, hands reaching for her body, to pull her away from his cold skin. They were exceeding the amount of time they had with him, for she was not ready to say good bye to him.

“Don’t touch me!” She yelled at him, and he didn’t touch her, “leave me alone! I don’t need you, I need him.”

And he did, he did leave her alone, for years. For years he left her to fix her own troubles, she had did what she asked of him in her grievous state. She didn’t need him, she said it herself, she needed Jules. Charles needed Jules too.

She overtook Max.

“I always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world,” Lando whispered to her one night in Australia, looking at her over the bonfire Daniel had set alight on his property.

“Lando,” she warned, telling him he was leaning into dangerous territory.

“No, I need to say it,” he frowned at her, slightly intoxicated by the cold beers Daniel had provided them with, “you were breathtaking that night, but I made a decision, I knew we were never going to be more than friends, and I’ve accepted it. The more time I spend with you the more my original thoughts gross me out. I always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world, and you are, but you’re not mine. You’re my best friend, you’re my sister.”

“Lando,” she cooed at his sweet words.

“That was fucking disgusting,” Daniel cringed from the other side of the fire, gagging dramatically before taking a swig of his long neck, “but he is right, you’re very pretty Bianchi.”

“Daniel don’t be modest, the girl is fucking hot,” Heidi scoffed, winking at the younger girl.

She crossed the finish line first.

“Y/N,” he cooed, picking her smaller body up and holding her squirming limbs to his chest. Jules placing scattered kisses all over her face.

“Jules!” She squealed, excitement coursing through her veins. She was seven years old, too big for her mother to carry her but never too big to be engulfed and squeezed by her brother. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks, he had been off racing in the European Formula 3, having secured the championship title that previous weekend.

As soon as he got back home, the first place he want was her school. He didn’t want to go home just yet, he wanted to see his biggest supporter first. He had stood outside the classroom, caught up in a conversation with the headmaster about his title before he was finally allowed to interrupt her class.

When her beady eyes landed upon him, she had almost tripped over her school desk to get to him. She found solace in his arms, her whole body melting into his hold. Usually she would have gone to see him with her parents, but her schooling had been too important that month, and their parents had become more strict about her attendance after the headmaster had talked about her failing subjects due to her low presence in the school.

“You won!” She yelled, holding onto him tightly.

“So did you.”

When she had jumped out of the vehicle, she ripped her helmet and balaclava off of her head, kissing her hand before pointing it towards the sky. She had grinned up at the clouds, she had won.

“For the first time ever, Y/N Bianchi is the winner of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix!” The announcer exclaimed into his microphone, the crowd erupting in a cacophony of yells.

Max had finished not long before her, celebrating her win by nearly tackling her. The larger man engulfed her in the hug, it had been the first time he was genuinely happy not to gain first place. Charles had followed in at third, securing Ferrari’s win for the constructors championship.

“Scuderia Ferrari has just won the Comdtructors Championship, for the first time in fifteen years!” The announcer exclaimed again, millions of red flags rising into the sky, “this is a day for the history books.”

There was a great panoramic view of Abu Dhabi from the media room, the city lights, the tall towers of glass, as if they were watching some future happening. That interview room was her stage, upon it she was the wordsmith-star, the storyteller of heartwarming yarns.

Many of the questions had been related to her win, asking her how she felt about making history, about how she was the first ever female Formula One driver to win a Grand Prix. She was the most important person in that room, it didn’t matter that Max had won the Drivers Championship, it didn’t matter that Charles P3 placement secured Ferrari’s win in the Constructors Championship, what mattered was her.

“Where is the place you feel safest?” A young reporter asked, she was a very pretty woman, dressed both professionally but stylishly as well.

“Strapped in the most dangerous seat in the world,” Y/N replied with a devilish grin on her face.

“Why?”

“Because I know my brother is there with me,” She replied.

The grand spaces of her hotel in Abu Dhabi invited her lungs to expand, to absorb the floral aromas and enter the moment. The hotel was the perfect array of homey hues, for they gave a sense of home away from home, of a place of nurturing safety.

Her hotel room was bathed in the hues of nature, a story told in strong browns and forest greens. Despite the heat, she wore a long sleeved dress, the length expanding to the floor, following the cultural rules of the foreign place she found herself in. She had chosen the most lightweight item for the evening, and though it covered her body, it did not trap the heat against her.

Placing her golden rings on her fingers, she heard the knock on her door. She had assumed it was Lando, he had told her he would come and get her to meet with the rest of the grid for an after party celebration. The season was over, they had no reason to not go all out.

Walking quickly to the door, she unlocked it before walking away to continue placing her jewellery on her body. It wasn’t until hands gripped her waist did she realise that it most definitely wasn’t Lando she had just invited into her room.

Turning to face the culprit, she became inches from Charles. Their faces so close that her breathing had hitched, not in the dangerous way, but rather in a tension filled way.

“Ma fraise,” he whispered gently, ocean outer rings with ochre all the way to the black, those eyes were fixed upon her.

In his kiss she felt at home.

Suddenly, her phone began to ring, Lando’s name popping up. Jealousy began to eat him up from within until he became a zombie corpse, feasting on the hive-mind. The realisation that there was another man coming too, despite the platonic affections.

“Don’t answer it,” Charles whispered as she pulled away from him and towards it.

“He’s my best friend,” she whispered back.

1K notes · View notes

wildmavs · 1 year

Text

Birthday Cake [CL16]

pairing; Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!reader

series warnings; smut, fluff, angst, profanity, age gap ( reader is 20, Charles is 25), sexual tension, death, friends to enemies to lovers.

chapter warnings; not proofread, angst, mentions of death, mentions of traumatic experiences, the friends to enemies part

word count; 11k +

summary; Jules Bianchi not only left behind an unfinished legacy, but a young sister who was determined to finish what he started

authors note; birthday cake by dylan conrique always gets me emotional, and after seeing a tiktok edit of Jules and Charles to the song, I couldn’t just not write something…

next ->

Win or lose, he was always on your sideNever missed a match

Charles remembered the day she was born like it was only yesterday, despite him being only five years old at the time, he remembered it as clear as day.

“Y/N,” they all cooed, the entire Leclerc family shoved into the hospital room as they congratulated Christine on her newest addition to the Bianchi family.

Her newborn baby smile was as sweet as a summer strawberry and filled him with sunshine he never knew existed in the world. Jules held him up as his small body leaned over the bassinet, letting his little friend witness his baby sister in all her glory.

Arthur wasn’t very interested in the baby, more so annoyed that the attention was no longer placed upon him. He was only two years old and he was not yet ready to give up all the praise and attention he had been given, even though he’d always be the baby of the Leclerc’s.

When the small girl shifted in her wrap, Jules was quick to place her upon his shoulder, that’s when Charles grasped the concept of size difference. She was no bigger than a bag of sugar from the grocers, and with Jule’s newfound growth spurt, she looked even smaller than that. Charles's eyes sparkled as he noticed the tiny toes peek from underneath her blanket, dangling in the stagnant air of the hospital. Her head, a crazy mass of curls, wobbled beneath his supporting hand. Charles couldn’t believe how tiny new humans were, how vulnerable, how awe-inspiring.

As time passed, their bond became more substantial, and Charles and Y/N were inseparable. He was her best friend. The stability when the world went nuts. And she was the same for him. Together they navigated, grew, and followed their passions. Jules couldn't have been more excited that two of his favourite people were becoming close friends, which made it easier for him to spend time with both.

Philippe and Christine were always worried about the age gap between Jules and Y/N, twelve and a half years was a significant difference, but it seemed the pair were as thick as thieves. Tom had always gravitated more towards their mother, following her around and seeking comfort when things would go wrong in his life, and Mélanie preferred their father, a true daddy’s girl. But Y/N and Jules? They were together constantly. Jules had shared his love for formula one with his little sister, taking her to all his karting races and eventually taking her to his Formula races. Jules had been there every step of the way when she began to find her love of the sport, coaching her through her karting races.

On her first day of nursery school, only three years old and still stumbling over her own feet and talking in sentences that didn't quite make sense just yet, her two protectors were there. Jules had been sixteen, skipping his practice for formula three to take her to school, and eight-year-old Charles refused to go to elementary school before he got to see his little friend in the arms of her teachers. The teachers would laugh at the almost daily occurrence, of the small girl dressed in tutus and dresses being led into the nursery school by two boys dressed in head-to-toe racing gear, Jules for practical purposes and Charles for manifestation.

In that same year, three-year-old Y/N had fully convinced herself that her destiny was to become a ballet dancer and that she would one day attend the Paris Opera Ballet School. Her parents though, didn't. enroll her into such a prestigious school, instead, choosing a quaint school in Nice. Jules remembers the day he was set to pick her up after the lesson, his heart had dropped when he heard her squeaky voice screaming at the top of her lungs. When he came to interrogate he had come to learn that the teacher had been far too harsh on the little girl; insisting she didn't need so many snacks during her time in class and that she would not be a successful ballet dancer if she kept up with such a diet. The profanities that slipped from the preschooler’s mouth had been both amusing and shocking, Jules making a mental note on telling the boys at his races to keep the swearing to a minimum when she was around.

"I don't think I want to be a ballet dancer anymore," Y/N had mumbled out softly, head stuffed into her older brother's neck as he carried her away from the dance school she was no longer welcomed at.

On her first day of elementary school, the same thing had occurred. Charles had been late to his orientation day at secondary school simply because he wanted to make sure his little friend wasn't nervous or intimidated by the older students, and Jules, ever her protector, had called in sick to his pre-interview race for Formula Two, just so his baby sister could feel safe and protected on her first day of 'big' school. She hadn't cried that day, unlike the first day of being dropped off at nursery school, instead, she yelled out an 'I love you' and ran off to find her friends. That was their first and last day of dropping her off at elementary, as it seemed she didn't quite need the protection anymore.

A month after enrolling in elementary school, six-year-old Y/N had wished to drive in those big karts her brother did, and who was Jules to say no? Both he and Charles were there the day she got into her first kart, significantly smaller than the ones Jules or even eleven-year-old Charles drove. Jules had tightened the straps to her helmet, whispering tips and tricks in her ears, while Charles provided words of encouragement. eight-year-old Arthur was participating in the race as well and was throwing up his thumbs and yelling praises from his kart towards her, now over the fact that she was the youngest.

Jules had cheered when she skidded across the line first, Arthur only seconds behind her, claiming it was 'beginners luck' and 'I let her win'. The two families had gone out for dinner that night, celebrating the places of their youngest drivers in the small competition. Y/N had received a tiny trophy with the word congratulations inscribed on the bottom, and Arthur had gotten a red sash with the number two printed in gold.

“I’m so proud of you, ma fraise,” he whispered to her, crushing her in a hug that night. He had placed her tiny trophy next to his own, perfectly on display.

She never saw her brother as a giant until the day she needed his protection again. She had won her third karting championship and a boy a few years older than she had begun to complain, whining about how a girl shouldn’t even be a part of the race. Jules had ignored them initially, celebrating his little sister’s win like it was her first until the father of the jealous boy had said something nasty about the girl. She was so young that she couldn’t remember what Jules had yelled in anger at the man, but she remembered the feeling, the feeling of being safe as long as she was with him.

Charles and Y/N's friendship soon dwindled when she got into secondary school, the young girl was growing up, which meant she had feelings she had never felt before and her emotions were far too overwhelming. She remembered sitting with Arthur at lunch, picking at her salad when she noticed the boys from Lycee strolling down the street, Charles being one of them. It was that day that her friendly gaze turned lovingly, and Arthur was the first to notice it. Soon her feelings for the older boy became far more obvious, the round eyes always searching for him and the newfound blush creeping up. from her neck and burning to the tips of her ears.

Jules had laughed at the fact, finding it amusing that his little sister chose their long-time friend to fawn over, but Charles didn't think it was funny at all. It embarrassed him, that such a young girl was so smitten with him. It was the day of the announcement of the French karting champion that she had realised he knew, when she had taken the title with a smile only her family and Arthur were there to support her, Jules chanting like he always did, but Charles nowhere to be found.

You called with the news, I thought you were kiddingYou were always joking all the time

That day was a sauna, the kind of weather that was supposed to invite deep calm and restfulness. The sunlight played upon the surface of the water as if sweetly inviting her to play. She had accompanied her friends to a day at the beach, a nice way to distract the thirteen-year-old girl from the fact that her brother was still lying in the hospital. She hadn’t talked to anyone since the Japanese Grand Prix the previous year, sitting patiently alongside her brother’s unconscious body; her mother and father had begged her to go that day, to start living her life again.

The sand was the most gentle hue of gold, almost earthen and muted, the humble star of the scene. She loved that beach, it was the same one she frequented with her older brother ever since she was old enough to walk. She loved the driftwood that came upon the buoyant waves as tiny rescue boats. Then there was the seaweed, that flora of those salty waves, as deeply green as any high summer foliage. Her favourite though, of everything that was there upon the softly rolling dunes, was the tall, tall grass that whispered so sweetly into the gusting breeze.

He was the mirth that brought oxygen to her soul; that cheeky joy she needed to breathe so deeply. There was so much comfort in being with him, a kind of rest that was so pure. Jules used to brag in interviews about her, about remembering the day she was born and how he swore on that day foreword he’d be nothing but a protector.

The sun was beating down heavily upon her body as she sat in the sand, knees pulled into her chest and her head perched upon her crossed arms. The water tickled at her feet, kissing the skin with the promise of easier journeys ahead. She knew she was there to take her mind off of her brother, but how could she stop thinking about the man who practically raised her? How could she ever stop thinking about him, when he never stopped thinking about her?

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice ripped her from her thoughts, the young Monégasque racing towards her with a large grin.

Smiling, the girl braced herself for the impact of the lanky boy. He had recently gone through a growth spurt, and with his newfound height, his clumsiness doubled. As the boy tumbled beside her, a small breath of laughter slipped from her lips. Arthur and Y/N attended school together, the pair quite close friends, always confiding in one another and spending time together. Though Y/N’s eyes always sparkled when she caught sight of the middle Leclerc boy, heart beating harshly against her chest and her cheeks tinted a peachy pink.

“Are you gonna come play volleyball with us?” The boy grinned, wiping the sand from his face as he nudged her shoulder, “We need four people, and Mum and Dad don’t want to play.”

Her gaze shifted from the face of her friend towards the older boys, Lorenzo stood there with the volleyball under his right arm, instructing Charles on where to put the net and how tight he should make it.

Slowly, she nodded, her voice still hoarse from all the tears she had been shedding for the past nine months. Arthur had offered her his hand, pulling her up with newfound strength and guiding her toward his brothers. Lorenzo was the first to notice the pair, a soft smile gracing his lips at the presence of the young Bianchi, Charles only noticing once he had finished the last knot, throwing a tight smile her way before marking out the rectangle with a stick.

Their friendship had dwindled, and the once bone-crushing hugs turned into head nods of acknowledgment, wide grins, and loud giggles turned into stiff smiles and grunts as responses. She was still the same Y/N, he was just a different Charles.

The game had started quickly, Lorenzo and Y/N on one team, and Charles and Arthur on the other. The boys had all silently agreed that the youngest Bianchi needed a bit of a win at that time in her life, so they put Lorenzo on her team, he was tall and strong enough to hit the ball hard, whereas Arthur was a little bit uncoordinated and Charles just wanted to look cool in front of the group of girls tanning to the right of them.

It was 3-0 when the game stopped, Pascale’s gasp reaching their ears. The sound echoed through her head, and her heart dropped to her stomach. A shell in the sand instantly gained her entire attention as wild thoughts went rampant through her mind, it was a garland of brown homey hues, its curls perfect.

She could feel her breathing slow, as she overheard her brother’s name fall from the older woman’s lips. The world around her fell silent, the ringing in her ears loud as her gaze lifted and she turned towards the woman. A tear had slipped from the woman’s eye as they made eye contact.

“Y/N,” Lorenzo’s soft voice echoed in one ear and fell out of the other, his gentle touch startling her as her wet gaze turned to him. The young girl stepped back, brushing his hand off like it had caused her pain, her face scrunching up and her heart rate accelerating.

The drive to the hospital was silent, Hervé and Pascale sat in the front seats, holding each other's hands and squeezing every so often, grounding themselves in the moment and stopping their thoughts from escalating. Lorenzo had sat in the left seat, eyes trained on his phone as he continuously sent location updates to Mélanie. Y/N sat in the right seat, her whole body turned towards the car window as she watched the world go by in a flash. She felt numb, her whole body was numb. Charles sat in the middle, though reluctantly. His own eyes welled up with tears, thoughts of his friend swirling around, though his gaze never left her. He would later tell Arthur he was just checking on her, making sure she was okay, but from the back seat, Arthur could see the gaze held more than just worry.

Everyone’s hearts broke that day, Charles’ shattering into tiny pieces as he watched the younger girl completely lose herself in her father’s arms. The sounds of her cries and screams were forever etched in his mind.

They say everything happens for a reasonBut it only makes you mad

Her Formula Three car was top of the specs for safety, heck, it could have sung you a lullaby and tucked you in if you asked it to. The car was designed to put trouble in the rearview mirror as rapidly as possible, and her Formula Three Championship title proved that not only her car but she was the best thing on that track.

The grin on her face as she sprayed the nonalcoholic champagne as she stood on the podium had people cheering, the idea of seeing another Bianchi back in Formula One creating an uproar in supporters for her. She was their hope, her brother may have started the story, but she would finish it for him.

The young girl was only sixteen, taking the championship within her first year of Formula racing, to say she was beloved was an understatement, but to say she wasn't hated would have been a lie. The other drivers had worked hard for years, just like she had, but some of them had spent over three years within Formula Three without even getting a podium placement, and when she came along, jealousy and hatred followed. There were a few drivers who adored her, one of them being her childhood friend. Arthur had watched as she took a placement every race, a beaming smile on his face no matter where his position was. That year was his last year in Formula Three, moving upwards on the chain towards Formula Two, and he was proud to stand in second place next to her.

After pictures had been taken and the celebrations had ceased, interviews had been trusted upon her. Many people had been shoving their cameras and microphones in her face, trying to get a statement from the girl, but all their questions fell on deaf ears as the ringing from the adrenaline only seemed to get louder.

Whenever Y/N was stressed she would go somewhere quiet and would be still for a time, letting the feelings of fear and sadness ebb and flow. Then, when she was ready, she counted her blessings one by one. It turned her around, Arthur had seen it before. After that, she would rest some more until she was ready to reface her challenges. But at that moment, she had no room for an escape, the stress bubbling up and overwhelming her quickly. Until she was pulled onto a stage, it wasn't silent, but it was quieter than being in the midst of crowds of people. She sat on the end, Arthur in the middle, and a boy named Louis Beaulieu sat furthest away from her. Louis always had a bit of trouble grasping the concept of a girl winning all their races, but he never voiced his concern out loud, only with glaring looks and snickering huffs.

"Our 2018 FIA Formula Three European Champion has now joined us," A woman spoke directly towards the camera, Y/N's face flushing as the camera panned to her. Her left leg was bouncing horribly as she sat on the stool, hands clenching and unclenching as she tried to find some sort of comfort in the crowd. Her parents and older siblings were hidden within a private viewing room, and her only form of comfort was no longer available to her, even though he would have been in the crowd if he could. "Y/N Bianchi, how does it feel to hold the title, after only joining this year and already dominating the sport?"

"I, uh, it feels overwhelming," She stumbled over her words, "I wish my brother was here to tell me what to do."

The crowd went silent, as did the interviewers, at the mention of him. Her eyes took the time to finally scan those that surrounded her, families, and other drivers all placed in a separate section from the fans. That's when she noticed Pascale, her smile wide as she witnessed the two babies of their families succeeding. As their eyes connected, she held her thumbs up and mouthed how proud of her she was. Her heart almost dropped when she saw Charles for the first time in three years, the pair's entire relationship ending the day after her brother's funeral. From that day onwards the peace between them snapped, no more tight-lipped smiles, no more nods of acknowledgment, there was nothing. They tiptoed around each other intending to avoid the other.

"God always has a plan," the other interviewer began, tearing her gaze from the people she grew up with to a man she had never met in her entire life, "everything always happens for a reason, my dear."

The frown on her face was enough for the journalist to realise his mistake, she had hated being told that because she believed there was no good reason for what happened to her family. There was never a good enough reason, and they would never be. Arthur's entire body went rigid as the words tumbled from the man's mouth, he hated the words too, especially after the massive loss his family endured the previous year.

Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop, and watched as the girl stewed in her seat, the fire behind those usually calm eyes raging on with hatred. Just as she was about to speak, a hand came to rest on her shoulder, and for a second she relaxed into the touch, she thought it was him.

"Charles Leclerc!" The woman spoke surprised, eyes trained on the figure behind the F3 Champion, "What a wonderful surprise! Here to see your young brother complete his last race within Formula Three."

"Sorry, I just couldn't wait to congratulate Y/N and Arthur on their amazing performance this year," the twenty-one-year-old grinned at the interviewer, and at the sound of his voice, her entire body went rigid again. She looked towards him, the tears in her soul becoming the tears in her eyes as she realised it would never be him again. Her grief had removed her from the world, and she had yet to find the real strength to reconnect and weave herself anew into the fabric of living, forbidding herself of a chance at future happiness.

"Well our times up unfortunately," the girl exclaimed, somewhat disappointed in the results of the interview, but still happy of being able to talk to the 2018 Formula Three champion.

Arthur's hand wrapped around her wrist, dragging her off of the stage with his older brother following behind them. Pascale had pulled the girl into a tight hug, rubbing her back soothingly, slowly moving them to a more private area as her body began to shake within her hold.

In her tears the inner version of herself pleaded for help and there, at that moment, was a chance to reach in and give the kind of nurture that would have changed their lives forever, but Charles did not take advantage of the moment to wrap her within her embrace and soothe the sadness that was exploding from her.

Instead, Arthur had comforted her, taking the place Charles once held dearly onto when they were younger. He was no longer her protector, now just a stranger who knew far too much.

"He would have been proud," the words tumbled from his lips before he could stop them, he had no right to talk about him like that in front of her, no right to say such things to her, losing that privilege the day she sought his comfort after the funeral and locked her out of his life forever.

She looked at him in disgust and pain, grimacing at him before whispering a soft goodbye to her friend and leaving towards the private viewing rooms where her mother and father waited for her with their tears.

You kept breathing but stopped living,

held it like poison inside

The world had stopped for a second, hearts dropping and gasps echoing through Monte Carlo.

"Y/N Bianchi has just crashed,"

She was at least ten seconds ahead of everyone else in the race, it was her last lap before claiming P1, but now she would not finish at all. It was her first crash since her karting days, and the shock had caused her to go still.

It had been a problem with the steering wheel, her Formula Two car had been going under large improvements only days prior, and those upgrades weren't the best option for that moment in time.

"She's not moving,"

The presenter exclaimed for all of Monaco to hear, her family watched from the comfort of their own home, sitting on the edges of their seats and dread forming in the pits of their stomachs for the first time in four years. Her father was yelling at the screen for her daughter to move, her mother praying for her to do something to indicate she was alive, her sister clutched her heart, mind blank and tears threatening to spill, and her brother held his breath.

Her mind swirled with what-ifs at that moment, the shock rendering her frozen as her anxiety skyrocketed. Her whole body was tense, her heart racing and pounding against her chest, like it was trying to claw its way out of her body. Bile began to rise in her throat, choking her. She could hear the people in her ear, yelling at her for a response, but all she could think about what if? She knew what was happening, she was about to have a panic attack, about to completely break down in a vehicle that was ruined. Closing her eyes, she forced a memory to the front of her mind, it was foggy, but it was enough to calm her heart and leave the what-ifs for another time.

“Mon chu,” his voice echoed through her head, and suddenly that beautiful smile appeared before her eyes. She was no longer seventeen and in a near-fatal crash, but instead, she was five again, running through the crowded streets of Nice.

The young girl had heard of a rumor that the ice cream parlour had recently received a new strawberry flavour, and with excitement, she took off. Arthur had trailed behind her, his six-year-old self more than excited about the new flavour as well. Charles and Jules had panicked when they noticed their younger siblings disappear from their sides, only allowed to roam the streets by themselves because their parents trusted Jules to keep the younger ones safe.

His long legs were a brilliant advantage in the scenario, scooping her giggling frame into his arms, Charles on the other hand, grabbed Arthur by the back of his shirt and pulled him towards the rest of them.

“Ma Fraise, you worried me,” He smiled down at her, “You stay with me, I can protect you that way.”

The camera spanned towards her, showcasing the entire world of her crash. And when she began hitting the steering wheel violently, a collective breath of relief washed over everyone. She was alive, she was okay.

All the pain she bottled up for the past few years began to spill over, all the frustration coming free. Jumping out of the vehicle the tears of frustration fell free, her legs coming up to kick the wheels of the car.

She didn't talk to anyone anymore, Arthur's words and messages falling flat, Pascale's words of encouragement ignored, and her parents' support no longer wanted. She was poisoning herself by isolating herself, only ever talking to her team, and only ever contacting her family on birthdays or holidays.

The people watching from the sidelines were quiet as they heard her screams of frustration, the sound of her shoe hitting the metal of the car echoing through their ears. Their hearts broke for her as they witnessed firsthand the struggles she faced.

"Y/N" Her name was spoken through the earpiece in her helmet, she had no way of speaking back to them, as the car was too badly damaged, "You need to get off the track, Moretti will come to get you."

With a final kick to the car, she stalked off towards the edge of the track, jumping over the barriers and getting to a safe distance away from the race. As promised, her engineer, Moretti, had arrived on a scooter to take her to the medical tent.

She had not spoken a single word since she was examined, entirely unscathed except for some minor bruising around her left calf and ribs. Ignoring the calls that flashed on her phone and all out refusing to participate in any post-race activities.

She had sent one message though, to the group chat between the Leclerc and Bianchi families; which was mostly used for family holidays or joint celebrations, before completely shutting herself off from the world.

I'm fine.

But as Charles read it from the Ferrari garage, he knew the girl was far from fine.

All the pictures on the same wallsLooks like he just went to the store

Eighteen was a big age, it was the age when she became a legal adult in the eyes of the French government, old enough to drink in multiple countries, old enough to own her house, and old enough to start making her own decision.

Birthdays were a big deal within her family, something that was highly treasured and extravagantly celebrated, though for the past few years she refused to celebrate. Phillipe and Christine had given her an ultimatum that year, they either throw an extravagant party for her eighteenth and get her no presents, or a small gathering with a million gifts. She didn’t like the idea of either, hated receiving presents, especially since she could afford everything she ever wanted herself, but the idea of a suffocating party surrounded by people who were only there to get a photo for their social media and not there for her was even worse; she’d rather receive a million terrible gifts than have to spend an hour with people who were only using her for her presence.

The gathering was family, close friends, and cake - simple, sweet, and destined to take its place in her album of good memories. Her girlfriends from nursery school were there, sipping slowly on white wine as they reminisced on their shenanigans as children, each of them a little bit happier than Y/N had stopped ignoring the world and letting them back into her life. Tom and Mélanie had taken the day off work to celebrate their little sister's big day, coddling her in cuddles and praise. Tom hadn’t stopped bringing up the embarrassing story of her as a toddler getting into the moisturising cream and spreading it all over the lounge room walls, and Mélanie rivaled him with the story of when she had tripped over nothing and went tumbling down the side of a grass hill when she was a young girl. Christine and Philippe had simply sat back and watched as their little girl finally began to glow again, the life breathed back into her eyes.

The Leclerc’s had arrived late, waiting patiently upon Lorenzo as he wrapped up a prior work commitment that couldn’t have been avoided. Arthur had come in running, tackling her to the ground as he yelled with excitement, finally able to drink legally with his best friend. Pascale had joined her parents, congratulating them on raising such a beautiful young girl before diving into the Monacon gossip she had accumulated from her hair salon. Lorenzo had said his birthday wishes before joining the older Bianchi’s in snickering about embarrassing memories of their siblings. Charles was nowhere to be seen, which had been expected by Y/N but still caused a bitter taste to form in her mouth. Arthur had said something about a holiday, that he was taking some girl to Milan before he had to be back in Steiermark. Holidays and birthdays that were shared by the families always went that way, either Charles or Y/N were absent, refusing to put their differences aside for simply one and coming up with some elaborate excuse as to why they would not be attending.

From the day she was born, Jules would make her a strawberries and cream cake. He would spend the entire prior day baking the cake, making sure the middle was the perfect shade of pink, making sure the cream was sweet and fluffy, and picking the perfect strawberries from their mother’s garden to place on top. When Charles got a bit older, around nine-ish, he would help Jules, doing the manual labour of whipping the cream or cutting the strawberries in half. That cake was now replaced with a cheesecake from the shop down the street, chocolate of course. On the top, Christine would place candy bars and sparklers to light. And while she was still grateful for the cheesecake, she always craved that messily made strawberry and cream cake.

As the day moved into night, the celebrations were taken inside, the sparklers lit as they sang an out-of-tune Happy Birthday. Jules’ photos lined the walls, and with the crowd that formed in front of them, she could almost pretend that he was there. She drank his favourite wine, wishing that it was he that gifted it to her, and not Lorenzo.

After the cake, the worst part began with the presents. Her parents hadn’t kept the promise of a million presents, simply gifting her with one that she would have never been able to get herself. It was a small box, wrapped in green paper and presented with a large silver bow. The small card attached to it sits in the middle of the square.

Happy Birthday ma fraise, With love forever and always J x

She began chewing her bottom lip as she read the words over and over, his handwriting smudged from what she assumed the years it had been kept away. With careful hands, she began to unwrap the present, a jewellery box hidden underneath the green paper. Inside was a delicate gold bracelet, a small strawberry charm dangling from the middle as well as her name written in cursive.

Jules had been preparing the gift for her thirteenth birthday, having talked to an Italian designer during the layover period between Grand Prix, and unfortunately, was unable to gift it to her on her birthday. The jewellers had contacted Phillipe and Christina when the news of their client's passing reached them, they had sent them their sorrows and promised to include them in their prayers, they also finished the piece he had ordered and sent it to them as a gift. The jewellery hadn’t been forgotten about in the five years it had been hidden away, no the Bianchi couple had planned to give it to her on her eighteenth birthday, a special gift from the heavens above.

All other gifts fell flat after she slipped that bracelet onto her wrist, though she did gratefully appreciate everything she had gotten. Pascale’s photobook of her childhood came in a close second, every single memory printed out on paper.

The night ended early, Y/N was drunk off of the wine and some of her friends had to be aided home. Arthur was the last to leave, the pair mumbling incoherently to each other about different stories they remembered. The last memory Arthur brought up was of her first sleepover, she and her friends were about nine years old, all a giggling mess underneath the fort they made in her lounge room. Coincidentally, Charles and Arthur were sleeping over that night also, terrorizing the girls until Y/N yelled at them and smacked Arthur in the stomach.

Her bedroom was just tidy enough to show that she cared about the space and just messy enough to show that she was able to let her creativity roam free. It was her goldilocks zone, perfect for how she was and never changing. Some of Jules’ trophies decorated the shelves, sitting next to her championship trophies as well. She had photos of her friends and family on every surface, encapsulating the memories in her room. She would only have one night in her bedroom til she jumped ship and met with Arthur in Spielberg for their next race, most of her belongings for the race were already there, all except her helmet. Taking the small card, she turned her helmet upside down, finding the perfect crevice to lodge the note into it. There we already a few lucky trinkets hidden within her helmet; the ring she wore to every race she won in Formula Three was shoved in a pocket created by a loose stitch in the inside fabric, a picture of her entire family tapped haphazardly on the inside, and now the card.

Her thoughts were quietly interrupted by the buzzing sounds of her phone, at first she ignored it, figuring it was probably one of her drunk friends calling to gush about the night. But as it began again, she thought she better answer it. His name lit up the entire room, causing her hand to stutter in picking it up. She doesn’t know if it was the drunken haze or not, but she had decided to answer.

“Hello?” She questioned quietly, not quite sure if it was a hallucination from the potent wine she devoured or if Charles had truly called her after not seeing each other for another year.

“Fraise,” His words were slurred, the old nickname slipping from his lips. His voice was hushed as he spoke to her, the fact that he was halfway across the continent shooting through her mind. “I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“What do you want Charles?” She questioned him, all the other years they had spent apart he hadn’t bothered to contact her for her birthday, so what was so different for that one?

“To tell you Happy Birthday,” he mumbled on the other end of the line.

“Well you’ve said it,” she huffed, “goodbye Charles.” and with that the line went dead, her phone being shut off for the rest of the night.

And when you look into the mirrorDoes it make you miss him more?

Christmas Eve was usually a time for family and friends, for warm drinks and warm laughter, for sharing good stories about the previous year and leaning into comfort, but that luxury was not gifted to her that year. Of course, she was given the gift of seeing them, getting ready for the FIA Christmas charity ball in the comfort of her own home, but she had wished she could have spent the entire night there, not half an hour away. It wasn’t an annual ordeal, so it wasn’t something she could have been looking forward to all year, instead, it had been announced to all drivers connected to the FIA at the start of December and was mandatory to attend, except for a few selected excuses. She had tried to get out of it, saying the holiday was a very special time for her and her family, but even that hadn’t been approved.

The dress she wore was long, and sheer. It covered her entire body, except for cutouts around her midsection, and yet it still left little for the imagination. It was the kind of pure black that spoke of new beginnings, garnished with a golden rope-like chain to add to the elegance of the expensive dress. She had originally bought it to wear to her sister’s thirty-fifth birthday party early the upcoming year but found she needed it earlier than expected.

“You look beautiful, mon chu,” Melaine whispered as she stepped into the room, watching as her little sister sprayed fly-away pieces of hair back. She wasn’t lying, in that dress, she held a sort of beauty that captivated an entire room as soon as she walked into it, she looked elegant and mature, despite the naivety of her age.

Walking up behind the young girl, Melaine began to smooth the fabric down her back, making sure there was no unnecessary fold or creases in the fabric, “You are his spitting image, Cherie, almost uncanny.”

“Thank you, frangine,” Y/N whispered back, eyes trailing over to the picture of the four Bianchi siblings. Y/N was only two, with a big pink tutu hanging off her hips and a Ferrari jumpsuit underneath, she had picked out her outfit for that day and refused to put on anything else. Tom, Jules, and Melanie wore coordinated clothes, all in black and white, Y/N simply refused to blend in with her family for their photos, and Christine and Phillipe had no energy to fight with her over it. She hung off of Jules’ waist, a dopey grin on her mouth as she knew she was being cheeky the whole day. “I do not want to go, I feel it is a waste of my time, especially since I will miss some traditions of ours.”

“What traditions?” Melanie chuckled, “leaving our shoes by the fireplace?”

“I will not be here for le reveillon de noel, nor will I be here to attend midnight mass, I will not be able to hang up my mistletoe, or eat buche de noel,” She whispered in discontent, “I will not be able to visit him before it all.”

“Mon chu,” she cooed, pouting at her sisters' words, “you will get all of that tonight, maybe not midnight mass, but I will make sure you will get it all, even if I have to fake an emergency for you.”

“Arthur’s here!” Phillipe’s voice boomed through the house, pulling the sisters out of their moment.

“I will call in two hours,” she whispered in her ear, “I’ll even get Tom to start choking in the background.”

Grinning at her sister's words, she nodded her head before making her way downstairs, finding Arthur near the entrance of the door with Carla. The blonde girl smiled brightly at the sight of his best friend, taking in Y/N’s beauty for herself. Carla and Y/N had bonded almost as quickly as Carla and Arthur had, the girl telling her of all Arthur’s embarrassing secrets and silly stories.

“You look beautiful,” Carla grinned, wrapping her arm around her bicep and squeezing softly.

“Two seconds in and you’ve already stolen my girlfriend,” Arthur quirked an eyebrow up, looking at his girlfriend and best friend with feigned jealousy.

“What can we say, Arthur,” Christine grinned, her phone out and ready to take pictures of the three like it was an American prom night, “we raised a catch.” Rolling her eyes playfully, she kissed her parents on the cheeks before bidding them farewell, promising to send photos of the night once it was over.

The drive was almost funny if it wasn’t for the dread of seeing everyone together sitting at the pit of her stomach. In events such as those, busy and impersonal, social anxiety was her basic response. Her brain wasn’t as brave as she wanted it to be, for in that room there were so many others and there was that little voice saying she wasn’t good enough to be there. She wondered if they could see the real her, the child who wanted to be with those who loved her the way Jules did, to be in a crowd of friends rather than in a crowd.

She had walked the carpet, posing for pictures by herself, with her team members, and with Arthur and Carla. She had answered questions at interviews, explaining that it was a privilege to attend and she was more than happy to donate money towards the homeless children that year. She had remembered all her media training, grinning at awkward questions, nodding along to accents she couldn’t decipher, and laughing at unfunny jokes.

The inside of the building was beautiful, Monaco was full of elegance, and the location for the FIA charity ball exhibited that. She had always loved the country, only a thirty-minute drive from her home city, and with her childhood friends, a frequent place to visit. Though she hadn’t stepped foot in the country unless it was for racing in almost five years, and still, she was only there because her work demanded it of her.

“Y/N,” her name slipped from his lips, a large grin plastered on his face as she stepped into the building. Max Verstappen had been somewhat of a friend during her much younger years, the pair only really interacting when she would watch Charles race, “you’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you. You were ten.”

“Eight years later,” she grinned at him, hugging him quickly, “I see the incident in the race didn’t deter you from completing your dream.”

“Ah yes,” he chuckled, “and I see you’re on your way to completing your dream, upgrading to Formula One soon, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” She nodded, the smile reaching her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Well you best be saying hello to Charles, he thought you weren’t coming,” Max nodded his head to the left, and that’s when her eyes fell upon him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too busy talking to his brother and Carla to realise she had attended the event. He was adorned in a black Armani suit, tailored just for him. He was handsome, there was no denying it, but her prepubescent crush no longer ruled over her mind or body.

Nodding, she shifted in the opposite direction, towards the bar, where drinks were served complimentary and donations were made. She had ordered a glass of Sercial Madeira wine and wrote out her donation check, needing to get it out of the way before Melanie called with the fabricated story of Tom choking on a gingernut biscuit.

As the drink was handed to her and she scribbled her signature at the bottom, a voice echoed through her ears, “Hello,” the British accent was charming, and the fact that it belonged to was equally that. She knew of him, having only narrowly missed the chance to race with him before he moved up into Formula One the previous year. Lando Norris was a face she had seen around the paddocks, adorned in orange and his laugh echoed throughout the entire area.

“Hello,” she smiled back at him, “I’m-”

Before she could even finish her sentence, he spoke, “I know who you are, Y/N. You had me breaking a sweat last year when you crashed, thought I wasn’t going to achieve my dream of meeting you.”

“Of meeting me?” She laughed at his words, “Shouldn’t it be the other way round, since you're the Formula One driver and all.”

“So you know who I am then?” His grin widened at her words, standing up just a little bit straighter as well.

“Of course I do, I had to find out who belonged to that laugh, almost gave me a heart attack the first time I heard it.”

“If it was that loud it was probably actually Daniel Riccardo, but I’m flattered anyways,” He rolled his eyes playfully. “You already on the hard stuff?”

“What can I say? I don’t want to be here,” She teased, even though it was mostly true.

“Me either,” He huffed, “though meeting you has brightened my night.”

Soon enough, a slow beat echoed through the building, couples taking their spot on the designated dance floor, swaying back and forth in time with the romantic tune. She watched from the bar with a twinkle in her eye, Carla and Arthur were swaying together, giggling about how for a racecar driver, the boy had two left feet.

“Would you like to dance with me, Y/N?” Lando questioned softly, and she would have said yes, would have taken his hand, and led him to the floor if it wasn’t for another voice answering for her.

“Actually, Lando, she promised she’d dance with me first,” Charles’ voice filtered through the air from behind her, causing the grip on her wine glass to tighten. The genuine smile she had on her face turned sour, her lips forming a thin line as she turned her attention to the older driver.

His hand wrapped around her waist, and the girl shot Lando a sympathetic look before following after Charles, knowing the area was too public of a place to cause a dramatic scene. Charles had placed both hands just above her hip, hers falling naturally to his shoulders, wishing she hadn’t left the half-empty wine glass at the bar. They swayed together awkwardly, Arthur and Carla sending confused looks from the other side of the dance floor as their conversation began to revolve around the scene in front of them.

“Il n'est pas assez bien pour toi he’s not good enough for you,” His voice was low as they spoke in French

“Et vous êtes? And you are?” She huffed at him, eyes rolling as his grip tightened. “N'ai-je plus le droit de me faire des amis? Am I no longer allowed to make friends?”

“Pas lui not him” He frowned at her, she had yet to meet his eyes. Even if his rights to protect her had been revoked, he always would, no matter the circumstances.

“Pourquoi pas? C'est votre ami, Why not? He’s your friend,” She scoffed at him, looking anywhere but at him. She had noticed Max had walked up to Lando, stealing the younger man's attention. She wished to know what was being said between the pair for the British boy to keep stealing glances towards them.

“Exactement, c'est mon ami, pas le vôtre. Exactly, he’s my friend, not yours.” The frustration was evident in his tone, not only for her constant fighting against him, but also for the fact that she simply refused to look up at him, to smile at him the way she had just been smiling with Lando. His palms rested against the naked skin of her sides, brushing against the chain every so often, and he couldn’t help but feel the heat from her skin, letting it ignite something within himself. “Where’s your girlfriend?” She questioned him, looking over his shoulder to see Arthur on the phone, looking somewhat worried.

“She didn’t want to come,” Charles informed, “Arthur told me you weren’t either, that you were trying to come up with some excuse to bail.”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t have a trip to Milan planned to get out of this event,” She seethed, “Dancing with another woman is not a good look.”

“Anyone with half a brain would know we’re only friends,” It was now Charles's turn to roll his eyes, the man noticing his younger brother approaching through the busy crowd.

“We’re not friends, you’re nothing but a stranger to me,” She hissed at him, moving to pull away from him, only for his grip to tighten and pull her back.

“I know too much about you to be just a stranger,” Charles whispered in her ear, the tension in his words thick.

“A fan then, but you’ll never be a friend,” She spoke, venom dripping from her tongue as she finally looked him in the eyes. Those lovesick eyes he grew to know were no longer to be found, instead angry slits peering up at him.

Before he could retort, Arthur had arrived, pulling his best friend from his brother’s grip, “Y/N, Melaine just called me, she couldn’t get ahold of you, Tom’s choked on some food, she’s waiting outside for you.”

In that moment she couldn’t have been more grateful for her sister’s ploy to get her out of the event early, she had even called an hour early, so that she could attend all of the traditions she was so sour about missing out on. Though if it had been Lando she was dancing with, she would have made her sister wait just an extra few minutes til the song ended.

But I think he'd

Want you to live like the world's on fire

In every part of Italy, there was an energy filled with the spirit of young and old people. Every suburb had its old buildings, a mother church held together by the tenacity of the parish priest. In every province, children run to and from, bounding, yelling, and jumping; as youthful innocence and impatience did. Italy had its drunks, madmen, and fools as well, some of them attending the Monza Grand Prix that evening.

With her budding success that season, she believed that it would be her last year in Formula Two, McLaren had already offered her a contract before the season had begun, but with the hopes of receiving a contract from a different team, she postponed the negotiations til she won the Championship.

As a McLaren Driver Development Pragramme member, she received a few special tasks throughout the year, all of which included aiding the McLaren Formula One team, though this task wasn’t simply just to pick up the slack of the cleaning crew, this time she was faced with the challenge of actually watching the race. The crew members had welcomed her eagerly, showcasing their work and explaining the differences between Formula Two and Formula One, as if she didn’t already know. It wasn’t until a loud laugh echoed through the garage to she finally get her excuse for leaving the reintroduction into the different levels of horsepower.

She had followed the sound diligently, til she came to find Lando Norris giggling at something his team member, Daniel Riccardo, had been saying.

“See I knew that was your laugh,” She revealed, causing the two men to turn towards her. Daniel had smiled instantly in her direction, a wave of nostalgia falling over him as he took in her appearance, the similarities astonishing. Lando on the other hand, had been shocked to see her there. He had known all about her, except for the driver's academy she had been a part of, and the fact that she wasn’t in red was a surprise, though she looked good in orange. “And you blamed poor Daniel for it.”

“What is she talking about, mate?” Daniel chuckled as he turned to his team member.

“I, uh,” Lando stumbled over his words, still in a revelation that he was seeing her again after almost nine months.

“I’m just fucking with you,” His friend laughed, “Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, I’d say that orange looks good on you, but I’m pretty sure everyone would prefer you in red.”

“Yes, well it was my pick of the litter, and my dad had made me mad the day I was supposed to choose,” She confessed, walking closer to the two men.

“So you chose McLaren out of spite,” Lando hummed, eyes not able to look away from her, “that seems very on-brand for you.”

“Are you calling me a spiteful person, Lando?” She questioned, a teasing lilt to her tone, “because you would be right.”

“Hmm, I don’t believe spiteful,” Daniel intervened, “petty, yes. Did a certain Ferrari drive also make your decision for McLaren a little bit easier?”

“And what makes you say that?” She eyed him, wondering what exactly had been said about her before she even had the chance to make a name for herself within the Formula One racing world.

“I had a personal French translator by my side at the Christmas ball last year, and dancing next to you and Charles was more than entertaining that night,” The man smirked at her, a cheeky glint in his eyes as he looked at her.

Rolling her eyes, she huffed and pouted, taking a seat on one of the empty chairs and nodding quickly, she had made her decision almost a year before that night, and had thoughts of transferring to the Ferrari Driving Academy, but that night had sealed her into the McLaren programme. She knows Jules wouldn’t have been happy about her decision, but she also knew that he would have laughed over the reasons why she chose McLaren, and that thought was enough to keep her smiling during the day.

“Y/N!” Arthur’s voice squealed through the McLaren garage, giddy that they were watching from the paddock together rather than doing miscellaneous chores for lazy workers. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, I thought you were joking about coming here with McLaren. No offense, Lando, Danny.”

“Full offense was taken, little Leclerc,” Daniel mumbled as he leaned further into the leather couch that was provided in the watching area of the garage.

“Arthur, you know I’m a part of the McLaren programme,” she groaned, rolling her eyes as she greeted her best friend with a curt hug. “I’m here as a member, not as a fan.”

“Are you saying you’re not a fan?” Daniel clutched his chest and flung himself back further into the couch.

“I like to believe I’m a Lando fan, not a McLaren fan,” she teased, sending a playful wink to the uncharacteristically quiet British man.

“He’s going to be so mad,” Arthur whispered, having been informed about the Christmas Eve night only hours after it had happened, once she was safe and sound within her home.

“Just don’t tell him I’m here,” she huffed, a frown forming on her face as she noticed Arthur’s guilty look, “you already told him.”

“I thought you were gonna be in red!” Arthur defended himself, pulling at the collar of his Ferrari polo shirt before scanning her outfit. White jeans that clung to her thighs but flared out around her ankles, and an orange and black polo hanging snugly from her shoulders. Her name was embroidered on the right side of her chest, the French flag sewn onto it underneath. “Just hide, I’ll tell him you aren’t coming or something. Tom started choking again or whatever.”

Chuckling at his words, she mumbled a small thank you before returning to her seat amongst the drivers. Daniel and Lando had watched the whole ordeal with curiosity, Max had told Lando some small bits and pieces about what the pair were like in childhood, but the cute stories he had been told didn’t add up to the tension he had constantly witnessed.

“I’m gonna say it,” Daniel narrowed his eyes, Lando coming to sit alongside him, the same question swirling through his mind, “What happened with you and Charles? Aren’t you both supposed to be childhood friends?”

“We’re not friends anymore,” she scoffed, just the thought of him riled her up and made her face flush with anger, “we just grew apart, he’s five years older, we were at different stages in our lives constantly.”

“I feel like there’s more to this, Max told me about all the times he saw you two at each other's races,” Lando revealed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. At the Christmas ball, Lando had wanted to get to know her, wanted to see her for more than just the elegance of that dress, but after his conversation with Max, he learned that the closest he’d ever get to her was as a friend.

“We were best friends, but the world wasn’t on our, on my side,” she shrugged, fiddling with the strawberry charm on her bracelet, “life’s hard for everyone, I know that, but when the people you want to be there for you during the worst moments of your life aren’t there, a rift forms, and eventually bonds get broken.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando frowned, just the thought of seeing her upset made his heart tighten, and the idea of not being there for her during her toughest times made him angry, made him want to protect her from those that caused her pain.

As her eyes glanced towards the clock, she thanked time for being on her side that day, “You boys better start preparing for your race, introductions will be made soon.”

Standing from her seat, she left the pair to discuss between themselves. Walking towards the vehicles, she admired the details on them. Its bright orange and blue paint shone in the light, their sponsors' names slapped all over in a haphazard pattern. On one car had a bright blue four painted in the middle, and the other had a matching three. There were extra cars there, for the reserve drivers in case something bad happened pre-race to either of the main drivers.

Her hand came to smooth over the car, feeling its texture. She knew both drivers had been having trouble adjusting to the new MCL35M, but it sure did look amazing.

She could almost imagine Jules beside her, listing off things they needed to change and how the color definitely wouldn’t have been his first choice. Smiling at the thought, she began twisting the bracelet around her wrist, the comfort she had once missed from him replaced in the form of a golden chain.

“Y/N Bianchi,” his voice was laced with venom, footsteps loud as he approached her quickly, she had no time to react before she was pulled to his chest by her wrists. The fire in his eyes matched the red suit he wore. He wasn’t allowed in the garage, but the man didn’t seem to care as his anger took over him, “what the fuck are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here, Charles?” She hissed at him, ripping her wrist from his tight hold, “You can’t be here, this is against regulation, you could get fined for this.”

“I don’t care what driving program you’re with,” he growled at her, shoving a red shirt and hat into her hands, “you are a Ferrari girl, take that shit off, I’ve had enough of this, and put my name on.”

Their interaction was quick, the argument swift and his point proven. As suddenly as he was there, he was gone just the same, leaving her standing in the McLaren garage with Ferrari merchandise that she already had hidden away in her home.

Throwing the shirt in the bin, she rolled her eyes as she recounted his words. She wasn’t going to jeopardise her membership with McLaren over a t-shirt, but she couldn’t force herself to throw out the hat. It was a custom one, her brother’s numbers sewed onto one side and Charles’ on the other. It was his hat, the one Charles received from a fan during his first year of racing with Ferrari. She couldn’t throw away something with such a precious memory attached to it, so she did what she was told for the first time in a long time. She wore the hat.

Want you to love like hearts don't breakNever look down when you walk the wire

Ferrari announces new rookie team member after Carlos Sainz moves back to McLaren and Daniel Riccardo rejoins RedBull

Who is Ferrari’s new pilot? All you need to know is here.

Charles Leclerc is just as clueless as the rest of us; Here’s what he has to say about the unknown rookie

Headlines had been blasted all over social media, and the mysterious new Formula One driver was unknown to not only the world but to most of the Ferrari team members. After Carlos had prematurely ended his contract on good terms with Ferrari, the team had scoured the world for a new, or even an old, face to join their team. The decision had been unanimous once the suggestion had been brought up amongst the board, the perfect candidate only an arm's length away.

Charles had been annoyed, and rightfully so. Nobody would tell him who would be his second pilot since the decision was made, not a single hint slipping past the lips of those that knew. The 2023 season was only months away, and he feared that without knowing who he’d be driving with, they’d start the season off terribly. The man had spent every minute he could on the driving simulator, trying to take his mind off of the information that was being withheld from him.

Arthur even seemed to know something he didn’t, and for a man that couldn’t keep a secret his entire life, his lips were locked. Pascale and his brothers had been spending a long amount of time within Nice, throwing invitations his way without expecting a positive response in return. They would leave Monaco early in the morning and eventually return late at night, for the first day Charles had assumed it was to congratulate Y/N on her Formula Two World Championship in person, but as the visits became constant, there seemed to be a bigger reason for their visitation.

He had seen all over social media of his family’s interactions with her. His heart clenched as he stared at the photo of her and Carla smiling at the beach, that same beach where the true end of their friendship began. He remembered the way he felt, the hole in his heart that was Jules shaped, how he wished to embrace her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, even if that was a lie. He remembered the nervous smile he sent her way, wishing he had enough courage to just talk to her, to let her know she wasn’t alone.

During his downward spiral of social media stalking, he also noticed his friend and rival frequently pop up. Lando was haunting her likes, appearing in all her comment sections, and worst of all, he was there with her, on the beach, in the mornings, and at the clubs, she began to frequent. Lando was taking up a part of her heart that he always wished of holding, a revelation he had come to when his ex-girlfriend threw it in his face. He remembered her yells, the way she was sick of hearing so much about another girl from the man that was supposed to be only loyal to her. It had come the day after the 2021 Monza Grand Prix, after she was photographed celebrating with McLaren for their double podium, his hat sitting perfectly upon her head and contrasting against her McLaren clothing. Charles refused to let anyone else wear the hat the moment he got it, and for his girlfriend to see it sitting upon someone else’s head had been the final straw.

That day was cool in Italy, the breeze was welcomed upon his sweltering skin as he walked into the headquarters of Ferrari. Many academy drivers raced around the grounds, giggling amongst themselves as he walked past them. He had just finished another run-through of the new 2023 Ferrari, noting down some adjustments he believed they needed to make before reporting back to his team principal.

Red ran thick through the building, coating each wall and showcasing each shade. Seeing it everywhere reminded him of what the colour meant to him. Red was luck and romance, red was heart and home. It was a colour he’d loved since he was a child, it was the colour of strawberries, half the colour of his flag, and it was the colour that reminded him of her.

“Charles, finally,” Frederic Vasseur huffed as the man walked through the doors, his racing suit tied around his waist and his fireproof shirt on full display, “your new teammate is here, they’re just fitting into their new suit.”

“Where are they?” Charles questioned, impatience running through his veins at the prospect of finally knowing who’d be on the track with him.

“They’re in the office at the moment,” before Vasseur could even let another word slip from his mouth Charles took off. The man half wished his new partner was Sebastian again, or that the headlines were just some big joke and Carlos was there.

A sense of nostalgia waved over him as he witnessed the person zipping their suit up from behind, helmet already securely placed upon their head. The number seventeen is on display in the center of the back. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, before reality came crashing down and anger washed over him. How could they? How could they let some rookie take his number? He knew realistically he shouldn’t be mad, that drivers change their numbers all the time and eventually someone was bound to take that one, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The person turned towards him, the visor on the helmet pulled up, and for a second he truly believed that what was in front of him was a miracle. Not only was it his number, but his eyes were staring back at him through the helmet.

“Charles,” though it wasn’t his voice that he heard, no it was her voice.

Removing the helmet from her head, she grinned at him with mischief in her eyes. There she was in all her glory, in the colour she was born to race in. He swore he fell in love all over again at that moment. The realisation that he loved her caused his heart to pound mercilessly against his chest. He loved her like she was the last of his kind as if she spoke a language only he could understand.

Their moment was interrupted quickly though, as her phone began to ring and Lando Norris’s face popped up on her screen. The love he felt for her was pushed down, being replaced with jealousy and resentment.

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wildmavs · 1 year

Text

Crown of Dreams

Pairing: Rhys x female!Reader

Wordcount: ~11k

A/N: Happy birthday, @redbleedingrose! Thank you for being the brightest part of my day every day. I hope you enjoy it, bb. I literally could not stop writing this piece, I could have gone on for another 11,000 words, and it would not have felt like enough.

Keep reading

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wildmavs · 1 year

Note

Hello! I don't know if you're up to writing smut (if not you can just ignore it haha), but maybe you could write something about reader not being very experienced and Charles, for teaching purposes, offers her some private lessons/tutoring, letting her do whatever she wants to him? Not in super kinky way, just getting to know his body and kind of exploring it ^^

sweet and hot at the same time, we love to see it! Loved the “for teaching purposes” hahaha Thank you for your request, I hope you like it!

Learning Hours

MASTERLIST

pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

summary: you and Charles have been friends for a long time, however, the sexual tension between the two of you was there pretty much since the beginning. It was just that Charles, in contrast to you, was a lot more experienced. Time to share the knowledge, right?

warnings: nsfw, smut, porn with a little plot lol, oral (m receiving), typos probably

a/n: I got carried away with this ahhh I hope you enjoy it

“Oh come on, Y/n!”, Charles said as he sat on your bed, his head leaning against the headboard. “When was the last time you got laid? Last weekend?”

For context, the two of you somehow ended up in a conversation about how often the other one had sex over the past year. It was a joke, a lighthearted conversation between you guys.

You and Charles had been friends for what felt like a lifetime, hence, you were comfortable with him no matter what topic you were talking about.

In Charles' case it was no secret that he had his fair share of one night stands, girls he was seeing for a longer time and also two actual relationships over the past years. You couldn’t blame any of the girls he was with, that man is too gorgeous for his own good.

You on the other hand, never participated in the so-called hook up culture. You never blamed anyone who did, in fact you couldn’t care less, but you never felt comfortable enough to just go home with someone after a night-out or to meet someone online.

You’re not a virgin though. No, you had that one boyfriend, he later turned out to be a total douche, but for the time being, he was good enough to show you the basics in bed - never something crazy or actually anything but boring missionary sex where you’ve almost never really gotten off.

Sometimes, your inexperience made you a little shy and talking about your sex life has never been a preferred topic for you. So you just scoffed in fake annoyance and replied: “Sure, and I assume that you just came back from yet another poor girl's house?”

Charles put his hand over his heart to feign hurt. “Wow, ma chérie, that was personal”, he said but couldn’t help but chuckle a little. But then he looked at you again and the look on his face was nothing but curious. “But seriously, when was the last time? You never went home with someone after we went out together and as far as I know there are no dating apps on your phone…”, he thought out loud.

You didn’t like where this conversation was going. The last thing you wanted this afternoon was to admit to your guy best friend that you haven’t gone further than kissing a guy at a bar ever since you broke up with your ex-boyfriend, Charles never liked him anyways.

“So?”, you simply replied and tried to look as indifferent to the conversation as you possibly could.

Charles seemed to be able to connect the dots on his own, one could practically see the gears turning inside his head. “You’re telling me you haven’t had any sex since that excuse of a boyfriend?” Charles looked almost shocked.

You just rolled your eyes, really wanting to end this conversation. “I never told you anything like that”, you hugged out in annoyance.

“But, I’m right, am I not?”, Charles said, now there was a cocky grin on his face which just annoyed you even more. Of course he would find humor in this. It’s not to humiliate you, you know that, but between you two and also Pierre and some other friends teasing comments like these were very common.

You don’t know why but today you did not want to be on the receiving end of these remarks. “Okay, you are”, you said and moved your eyes down to the strings of your hoodie you were absentmindedly playing around with. “Are you happy now?”

Charles immediately noticed the shift from your relaxed and sarcastic state to seeming uncomfortable in the situation you two were in. Quickly, he stumbled out an apology: “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that. There is nothing wrong with not doing it often, nothing wrong with being inexperienced or… or-“

“Just drop it, Charles”, you sighed. “I know that I could go home with someone when we go out, but quite frankly, I don’t really want to.”

“That is fine! There is no shame in that, really, please, I didn’t want to make you feel bad about yourself”, Charles continued to ramble. He always did that when he was nervous or embarrassed, you couldn’t deny that it was kind of cute.

“No, it’s not that. I think it’s just that my inexperience keeps me from doing it, or something like that”, you said quietly.

“How does that make sense?”, Charles asked in confusion but put his hand up in defense when he saw your annoyed glance at him.

“I don’t know…”, you danced around the answer. “My ex and I we never really did anything… new in bed.” It took everything in you to admit the truth to Charles. “I guess I just don’t want to embarrass myself when I’d actually end up in bed with someone…”

Charles listened attentively and turned his head to look at you with a smile. You still avoided his gaze and casted your eyes downwards but he still noticed the faint reddening of your cheeks. God, you were so cute.

“You can practice on me if you want.”

Your eyes widened and you abruptly turned your head to look at Charles. “What?”

Charles didn’t really think before he said it. It just came to his mind. But when he took a second to actually think about it, he just shrugged. “Why not? We have know each other forever and I promise you won’t embarrass yourself.”

You also thought about it. Was it really a good idea? Definitely not. But then again, why not try it?

“I don’t know, Charles…”, you sighed. “I wouldn’t want it to ruin our friendship, you know?”

Charles nodded understandingly. It was the last thing he wanted as well. He knew it was a thin line they were moving on but if it could help her, he would do anything. “It doesn’t have to”, he said. “We only go as far as you are comfortable with, nothing more.”

You listened and nodded slowly.

“It’s only for learning purposes”, he smirked and when you saw his face you couldn’t help but smile too, shaking your head a little. This was insane, wasn’t it?

“I’ll teach you how to make a man feel good and you can try anything as well, okay?”, Charles searched your eyes for permission.

“Okay”, you whispered and looked him in the eyes.

The two of you stared at each other for a long time but then Charles slowly leaned his head forward into your direction. He held his gaze onto yours as to look out for any sign of hesitation from you.

But there was none. So, he closed his eyes and when his lips were just mere centimetres away from yours he stopped for a second. You on the other hand didn’t want to wait any longer so you closed the remaining gap between you two and connected your lips.

Kissing Charles felt different from kissing any other guy you did before. And you weren’t sure if a best friend was supposed to make you feel like this with just a simple kiss.

He moved his hand to your neck and the other one around your back to pull you even closer. You obliged immediately and leaned into him.

Charles swiped his tongue over your lips and you opened them just a little bit so that he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You involuntarily moaned a little which caused Charles to smile into the kiss.

“Keep making those noises, chérie, that’s a great way to turn us on”, he teased but there was truth behind his words - he wanted to hear more of those little sounds from you.

You couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks when he said this. “Quit being a smart-ass and take your hoodie off, Leclerc.”

You don’t know where this sudden confidence came from but you somehow wanted to show him that you can make him feel good.

“Bossy, are we?”, Charles continued and only laughed a little at your warning glare. Nevertheless, he leaned away from you a little to take off his hoodie.

His next words were a little muffled because he struggled to get the hoodie over his head for a second: “Don’t worry, it’s ho-“

As he was busy taking his hoodie off he failed to notice that you were doing the same so when he threw it somewhere behind him and turned to look at you again his words got caught in his throat.

You were sitting in front of him only wearing a black bra to cover your boobs. In all of your years of friendship he has seen you wearing a bikini plenty of times and even sometimes he saw you in your underwear, but never in a context like this. He couldn’t help but stare.

You however failed to interpret his staring correctly and so you felt your insecurity rise up back again. You were about to bring your arms up and around your chest to cover up a little again but Charles immediately took ahold of your wrists.

“Non, none of that, you look beautiful”, he muttered and tried to reassure you with one of his gorgeous smiles. You were sure you would melt if he kept looking at you like that during all this.

“Can I kiss you again?”, he asked but already pulled you into him by your wrists. You simply nodded before your lips were on his again, this time a little sloppier and less sensual. But still, it knocked the air out of your lungs.

Maybe you would regret it later but there was no space in your mind to think about the consequences of your current actions right now. Everything you though or felt in this moment, was him.

Charles laid down and pulled you with him so that you were now laying on top of his upper body. You moved one of your legs over his waist so that you were straddling him. Your lips stayed connected the entire time.

The confidence came back to you as you pulled away from his lips only to press a soft kiss to his jaw, then just below his ear and a few on his neck. This wasn’t new for you but it still gave you reassurance when you heard Charles letting out a shaky breath and a quiet moan.

Charles moved his hands down your back to your hips, squeezing the skin there lightly.

“Are you okay with taking off your sweatpants, let me see you?”, he muttered when you continued to litter his neck with soft kisses.

You nodded and felt his hands make their way past the hem of your pants. You lifted your hips slightly to help him get them over your ass and down to your knees. You sat up to pull them off completely, causing you to sit on top of him in nothing but your black underwear.

The movement caused you to grind a little on his crotch, which you didn’t even take notice of until you heard him curse some word in French under his breath and felt him tighten his grip on your hips again.

“Oh, sor-“, you were about to apologise but Charles cut you off by shaking his head at you. “Don’t, it feels good but I really need you to do something about it”, he said with a smirk on his face. He tried to make you more comfortable and confident.

Charles moved his hands up your back a little to pull you down to his level again. “O-okay”, you just replied hesitantly. Charles noticed, looked at you and brought his right hand up to caress your cheek. “We can stop here if you don’t want to, continue some other time or we just forget about it but-“, you cut him off.

“No”, you said and shook your head. Smiling at him before you leaned down to his lips again. It was rough, both of you moving your lips against each other messily.

“Can I suck you off?”, you asked him between kisses, the sheer innocence in your voice making him crazy. “Shit”, he muttered under his breath, “yes, okay, yes.”

You grinned and gave his lips a quick peck before you lifted your head away from his and dragged your lips down his chest. “But, you have to guide me, I- I’ve never-“

“I got you, mon amour.”

You felt a jolt of heat rush down your body at his words. You knew Charles was sweet, he was a good guy but somehow you always thought that when it came to sex, he was more rough and rushed. But you appreciated him reassuring you.

You got off him for a moment so that he could take off his sweatpants as well. What you weren’t expecting though was that he also took off his boxers in one go, freeing his cock from its restraints. It was already semi-hard.

He was big. Were your first thoughts. Sure, you only had your ex for reference but you were pretty sure he was above average.

You looked at him briefly and he was still smiling reassuringly at you. “Start with stroking it a few times, okay?”, he said.

You nodded and did as he said. Sitting across his legs this time you bent down a little, licked your hand and loosely wrapped it around the base of his cock. You observed his reaction; another breathy moan at the contact. You moved your hand up and down once, twice, and with the third time you swiped your thumb over his tip, eliciting another shaky breath from him.

“Good?”, you just managed to ask and he nodded, “Yeah, use your mouth now, okay baby?”

You tried to ignore the nickname, amour or chérie were a regular by now but this was new. In this context, however, it really turned you on.

You hummed in agreement and slowly moved your head down to his cock, darting your tongue out to lick along the shaft.

“Keep going, use your tongue like that, yeah”, he mumbled. You did as he told you, licking up his entire length a few times before you swiped your tongue along his tip, giving it a few kitten licks.

Your shifted your gaze to look back up to him, your eyes connecting. Charles swore he could have died then and there. For a brief moment the thought of how they were supposed to go back to friends after this crossed his mind. He was unsure if he would be able to do that.

The sight of you like this in front of him sure burned itself into his mind for the rest of his being.

“Feels so good”, he moaned. When he felt your lips wrap around his tip it hit him unprepared, causing him to thrust his hips upwards a little into your mouth.

It caught you by surprise, your eyes widening for a moment. “Shit, sorry”, he started to apologise but you just continued to suck his tip a little.

“You are evil, Y/l/n”, he whispered with a smirk and you smiled back at him, as best as you could with his dick between your lips.

“Can you move down further?”, he almost pleaded. You wrapped your lips back around him and moved them down inch by inch. It wasn’t even half way in but you felt as if you’d start to gag around him if you’d go any deeper.

“So good, use your hand for the rest, if you can”, he said and moved one of his hands to your hair, gathering the strands that fell in front of your face and pushed them behind your ears.

You brought one of your hands around the base of his cock again while simultaneously continuing to take as much of his length as you could, trying to build a rhythm with your movements.

Charles leaned his head back against the headboard, the feeling of both your lips and your hand on his cock almost too much to take.

Sure, he had done this plenty of times before but for some reason this was a lot different, and much more intimate.

You didn’t stop your movements until you felt him twitch inside your mouth, causing you to look up at him through your lashes again.

“Merde, I’m close”, he muttered.

“Cum in my mouth, okay?”, you asked with a hoarse voice, pulling him out of your mouth for a moment.

Charles looked at you for confirmation. “Really?” Instead of giving him an answer you just wrapped your lips around him, sucked harshly once and then went down to take him until he almost hit the back of your throat.

Charles let out a groan and moved his hand to the back of your head, pulling on your hair slightly. This caused you to moan around him, the vibrations of it giving Charles the rest it took for him to realise himself into your mouth.

You swallowed all of it without really thinking about it. You licked up his length another time before pulling off him.

Charles tried to control his breathing and when he looked at you again he smiled. “I don’t believe you when you say you never did that before”, he said with a cocky smirk back on his lips.

You let out a chuckle, not sure what to answer. It was true though, this was your first time doing that.

“Well, like I said, my ex wasn’t really experimental in bed…”, you said and looked down again. Charles sat up slightly and lifted to lay on his chest again.

“Well”, he begun as he smirked at you, “he sure missed out on something.”

You couldn’t help but smirk and shake his head at him. “You’re a menace, Leclerc.”

Charles hummed and placed one hand back on your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin there for a moment.

“I’m sure you won’t say that again after I returned the favor to you.” There was a questioning tone to his statement and you just lifted your head from his chest and raised an eyebrow.

“I guess we will have to see about that after…”

—————

I might write a part 2 in which they realise their feelings hehehe but let me know if you’d be interested in that!

As always, feedback and reblogs are dearly appreciated <3

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wildmavs · 1 year

Note

💖 with carlos sainz, please?

Oh anon! Please know that i live for writing hot and heavy make out sessions with Carlos.

hold back the river (let me look in your eyes)

{carlos sainz x fem!reader}

in which your ongoing affair with carlos is starting to prove problematic.

warnings: cheating on one’s husband and explicit mentions of affairs, dirty talk, oral sex, unprotected sex, making out, masturbation, catching feelings, angst, no happy ever after (yet)

“I’m going out,” is the last thing your husband says, as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. You offer him a brief smile that’s too-tight around the edges, but he doesn’t notice. It’s the first time he’s touched you in a month.

“Don’t wait up.” He says, already one foot out the door, “my meetings will probably run late.”

He needn’t have bothered to say that - they always do. You’d stopped asking for explanations the year after you got married.

You watch out the window as he gets into his car and pulls away into the far edge of your street, before turning out and disappearing.

You heave a big sigh, and close your eyes - fiddling with your phone in your hands. Wondering if this is the thing you can keep doing behind his back.

Fuck it. You don’t need to give too many details when you send your text to him - it’s a waste of time. He’s gone for the day.

The response is almost instantaneous. I’m on my way.

—

He lets himself in with your security code, and then minute he enters, you lunge at him, fisting your hands in his hair and holding him to you. “Carlos,” you say, just holding him for these precious seconds, taking in his clean scent and rough stubble that tickles your skin. “I’ve missed you.”

He strokes your back with gentle fingers. “Then don’t wait so long to call me, cariño.”

Guilt pricks in your chest. “I… you know I have to be careful.”

He doesn’t say anything. You’ve had these arguments so many times - about why you can’t leave your husband for him. But tonight, you don’t want to rehash old wounds, nor do you want to fight with him. All you want is just to be with him, and he knows that.

Instead of fighting, he just holds you in an embrace that’s so intimate, it steals your breath. You could cry from how good he feels just like this - so solid, so warm. In his arms, you feel complete again.

“How long do we have?” He asks, burying his face in your neck. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“I don’t know,” you tell him, a little hope creeping into your voice. “Maybe until tomorrow morning.”

He swears - it’s never been this long you’ve had. You’re offering him the possibility of staying the night. “Thought you wanted to be careful.”

He’s right. But there’s a yearning that goes beyond logical thought when his mouth starts to trail across the sensitive column of your neck, taking his time with covering every inch of you that he can reach, paying special attention to the parts he knows will drive you crazy. You inhale sharply when he kisses the spot behind your ear, and whispers, “you’re so beautiful, love.”

You pull back, seeing the sincerity and yearning in his eyes. There’s nothing about this that’s okay. Nothing at all. But you’ve stopped caring long ago.

“I want you,” you tell him, leaning forward until your lips graze his, and he parts his mouth in anticipation. You run hands up his chest, over his shoulders to loop behind his neck, as you back him up against the nearest wall so you can kiss him.

Carlos makes a sound when your lips touch his, and it’s clear this slow, sensual kiss isn’t enough for what he wants. He moves his hands to cup your face so he can pull you in closer, to make more demands of your mouth as he kisses with a renewed intensity that makes you gasp. His tongue is indecent - it always is, sliding against yours in a manner that’s filthy and possessive. But what you love most - is the way he moans into the kiss, like he’s hungry for it, that you’re the only one who makes him feel this good. And although he’s the one you’re pinning against the wall, you feel completely, fully in his control.

“Fuck,” he breathes, feeling your hips press to his cock - already starting to grind into him. “Need you so much, pretty girl.”

You whimper and beg him to hurry, sliding your hands down to the open neck of his button down so you can rip it open, rushing to push it off him so you can touch his bare, tanned skin - all the lines of his muscles that are far too tempting for you to just look.

His own hands are equally as opportunistic - in between kisses, he pulls off your clothes, leaving you in the bra and underwear set you’d bought that has tiny embroidered chillies along each of the cups, and one smack in the centre of your panties. He touches the row of embroidery, appreciatively taking in all of you in the process. “I like this,” he grins, and you flush at his praise, at the unparalleled feeling of having pleased him.

You kiss him again, and this time it’s different - he’s so playful and hot when he lifts you in his arms and you squeal in delight, never breaking the kiss as he carries you into the bedroom. He throws you onto the bed, letting your hair spill wildly on the sheets as you giggle. He can’t keep his eyes off you as he unbuckles his pants and tosses the belt onto the bed beside you, and your eyes dart to it hungrily, before looking back at him. He groans as your face becomes a transparent picture of what you want, and you don’t even need to say it - he intuits your needs so well.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, looking at the darkening spot of wet at the centre of your panties. You hum, growing a little self-conscious and shy, but he won’t allow that in his presence. “Show me.” He says, as he toys with the button of his pants, as if withholding his cock until you do exactly as he says.

You hurry to comply - spreading your legs so the thin scrap of cotton is fully bared to him - and he can see the wet fabric stick obscenely to your folds. He licks his lips. “You need to be touched so bad, huh baby girl? To be fucked until you can’t walk straight?”

Your skin heats instantly at his erotic words. “Yes. Fuck. All that - please, Carlos.”

He hums with approval, and undoes the button of his pants. Your eyes dart down to the bulge encased in his pants - enticingly hard. He runs a palm over the erection and you swallow. “Touch yourself for me,” he whispers.

Your cheeks flush. “Carlos!”

“Show me how you touch yourself when I’m not here to fuck you,” he murmurs, eyes so dark with intensity you feel hard pressed to obey. “Wanna hear those fingers wet with your slick, baby.”

You grow brave - need overpowering any potential embarrassment, and so you slip your fingers under your panties, circling around your clit. The action isn’t lost on him - in fact he likes the suggestiveness of it - like he can’t see fully what you’re doing, but it’s unmistakable. You buck up against the touch of your fingers, panting already because your clit’s sensitive and aching and you are dying to have him touch you. “Carlos…” the word is needy, desperate, and he echoes your own name back in that same voice full of want.

He kneels at the foot of your bed, reaching to wind his hands around your thighs so he can pull you to him to watch you closer. His eyes are so wide - completely mesmerised by your fingers under your panties, the way the wet patch spreads as you touch yourself for him, how your chest is heaving from being so breathless for him. He strokes your bare thighs, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Let me see,” he says, and you whine when you slow your fingers, taking them out to pull aside your panties for him to look. He makes a pained sound in his throat, leaning forward as if he cannot bear to stay away any longer, before covering all of your wet cunt with his mouth.

You have to cover your mouth with your free hand, quelling the scream that wants to emerge, because he’s not holding back with you - his tongue is everywhere, teasing your clit until you’re a mess, writhing and frantic and bucking into his mouth and tongue and he’s just groaning into the taste and feel of you.

“Don’t hold back, cariño,” he says, between illicit dips of his tongue, “scream if you want.”

It’s all the encouragement you need, letting your hand fall away and slide down to fist into his thick hair, grabbing him and pulling him deeper, until he’s half laughing and half moaning from how much he likes this desperate side of you. You dig your heels into the mattress, pulsing with unbearable heat that twists inside you, threatening to explode. “Carlos, you’re going to make me come.”

“Yes, take what you need, baby,” He tightens his grip on you and doesn’t change a thing - and eventually the hot, wet suction of his mouth gets flooded with you, as you buck off the bed and scream with the force of your orgasm. He watches this unfold with dark eyes full of delight, until you squirm away from his mouth because you’re too oversensitive. He presses his stick, swollen lips to the inside of your thigh, where it’s trembly, patiently letting you come back to him. Carlos snickers when you slump back and exhale so, so slowly to compose yourself again. “You okay?”

You shake your head, unable to keep from smiling up at him. He looks so beautiful when he’s turned on. “Yes. But uhm… I want… more.”

He chuckles, looking down at you with so much indulgence it looks a little like love. He lifts himself off his knees and you sit up to pull him close - cupping his hard on through his pants. “Get these off,” he says, when your touching gets too much, and you chuckle when you unzip him carefully and you shove his pants and underwear down around his thighs. He’s so pretty, with that bead of moisture just edging out from the tip of his cock. You can’t help yourself - you lean in to lap it off with your tongue, and he sucks in a breath at the contact, swearing as you mouth at the tip of him, fingers coming into the mix as you stroke him slow, wanting him in ways you won’t ever dare to say aloud.

“So pretty…” he says, hands running through your hair now as he cups the back of your head. Never demanding - just tender, sweet, holding you close, as if he never wants to let go.

“So are you,” you tell him, and he laughs as if it’s a ridiculous notion. You take him into your mouth, fitting as much of him in as you can. He watches you with fascination and lust, the way your tongue skirts the underside of him, the suction of your mouth. He parts his lips and the sound that comes out is the perfect blend of agonised pleasure.

“So perfect,” he says, “but I don’t want to come inside your mouth, sweetheart.”

He pulls you back and pushes you so that he can get on the bed and stretch himself out over you. You let out a helpless sigh at the feel of him - that warm, comforting weight atop you. In bed, here, he can simply be your Carlos.

“So pretty for me,” he praises, kissing up your neck as his hands roam the curve of your waist, settling you down roughly into the bedspread that still smells like your husband. You writhe under him with desperate little whimpers, hips arched into his. Carlos over you is so much wilder - the scrape of his stubble leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You reach up to twist off your ring - suddenly feeling its loop too stiflingly snug, but Carlos notices, and instantly growls. He grasps your wrists in his wide hands and pins you down so you’re left helpless, unable to move under his strong grip.

“Keep it on,” he says, almost with sinister delight, and you feel almost ashamed by how much you like this control he exerts over you. “Wanna see this ring in plain sight when I fuck you.”

The twist of shame and delight in your chest is somehow so erotic, especially coupled with the way Carlos just looks at you with such unparalleled lust. It’s so much.

You lean up to kiss him, moaning into his open mouth as he reaches for his cock and glides it between your legs. He feels criminally good. “I want it, please,” you beg, hands cupping his face, and he hums in agreement.

He shifts his hips forward, sinking into you with a slowness that feels like the best form of torture. He watches your face morph with pure pleasure, taking all of him inside, and he lets out a quiet moan. He’s so close that you feel like one complete entity together - it’s so fucking magical. Your wedding band glints in the light as he starts to fuck into you, littering kisses at your lips, your cheeks, as you wrap your legs around him to pull him in deeper. His cock rubs against your gspot and you buck up hard into him, shivering as you cry out. “Fuck. Please. Do that again.”

He does. Over and over and over until you’re sure you’re no longer able to hold back the way he makes you feel - you’re thrashing against him, feeling your heart pound in your chest, swelling with the weight of love for him - for how he cares about meeting your needs, how his hands on you only brings you pleasure. The way he looks at you with those dark eyes full of adoration and hope - the way you feel your own gaze mirroring back those exact same emotions.

You love him. There’s no use pretending otherwise.

“Carlos,” you gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him. “Carlos, yes… fuck that’s so good.”

He rubs his nose against yours, leaning his forehead to you as he can’t help smiling, knowing he’s the one making you feel good. He loses himself in the sensation of you, the noises you two make together, the pull of something that’s more than just physical lust.

“Gonna come,” you warn him, reaching down to rub your clit now, letting him know that you’re so desperately close, and he groans, burying his face in your neck, sucking at this little spot behind your ear that drives you wild. Making his little mark.

“Please,” he says, “wanna feel you come when I do.”

The orgasm that hits feels like a bullet train - a whirlwind rush of heat and sensation and you grip so tightly around his broad back, sinking your fingers into his skin as you cry out, shuddering into the sheets and calling out his name as if it were the most profane obscenity. He doesn’t last at the sensation of your cunt spasming around him, and so he comes with wild abandon, with your name on his lips, babbling nonsense and noises that have no right to be as erotic as they are. You clutch him to you as he lays half-atop you, boneless, weighty, and it feels so perfect, being so close like this to him, you can almost forgive yourself for this.

Carlos turns his face to look at you, his eyes so sparkly in their dark depths. You can’t help smiling at him, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes, but it’s no use: the locks are untameable, just like him. You kiss the bridge of his nose, the tip of it, letting yourself enjoy this stolen moment with him, where everything can be just perfect, and without complication.

“What are you thinking about,” he asks, his hand now coming to stroke your side, the dip where your waist curves in from your hip.

You blush. “I’m thinking about how much I want to do this again.”

“So greedy.” He laughs, and pulls you in closer for a kiss. “I’m going to need a few minutes.”

You enjoy the kiss - so much slower now than his hasty, urgent ones earlier. You put a hand on his face and trace the rough stubble you find there. “What are you thinking about, Carlos?”

He goes quiet for a moment, just looking at you with perfect peace and contentment. He takes a breath, as if steeling himself for what comes next. “Thinking about how much I love you.”

Your smile slips. “Carlos.”

He’s ruining it - the illusion that this is just nothing. Your heart hammers in your chest, fanning the flames of your worry.

“I’m sorry you had to hear it like this.” He says, squeezing you closer. “But I’m not sorry I love you. I have always loved you.”

You twist out of his grasp, sitting up now in the bed. He doesn’t move to force you to stay with him. “You can’t say these things, Carlos.”

He shrugs. “But it is true. And I know it’s true for you.”

He stares at you, as if daring you to contradict him. It’s unbearable - this silence, the pressure to tell him the truth. If it were possible, you’d drop everything in a heartbeat to be with him. To throw caution to the wind and just let him love you. Fully. Freely.

But you’re stupid. Cowardly.

“My husband will be back soon.” You tell him, even though it’s a lie and you both know it. Carlos flinches, and you watch his eyes turn icy, steeling himself with indifference now.

You gather up your legs to your chest, and wrap your arms around them. You can feel the mess he’s made inside you threatening to leak out to reveal all your shame, to mess up the sheets that had been clean, pressed-neat, before Carlos came along.

He doesn’t say anything, but he understands the dismissal. It’s not the first time you’ve done this to him. He hoists himself up and kisses your cheek - but it’s a cold, distant peck, and you hate every bit of it because you made him like this. Defeated, angry, hopeless and helpless to change your stubborn mind.

He picks up his clothes from the floor and hops into the bathroom to clean up. When he comes out, he looks untainted and decent, except for the hair that still falls in wild swoops - a mess you made. He’s gorgeous to a fault, and you have to look away from him - because the longer you stare, the greater the sense that you’re losing so much more than just a second round of frivolous sex with him.

“See you around,” Carlos says flatly, slipping out of your bedroom without ceremony or fuss, and really, you should be grateful he does not make this any harder for you than it has to be. He does not spare you a second glance or a parting kiss to tide you over until the next time, nor does he guilt-trip you into feeling sorry for him. His cold indifference stings, but it’s exactly the punishment you deserve.

—

Okay so - not an advocate of cheating at all, of course, but i have wanted to write a scenario like this for the longest time and it just seemed to flow with carlos in my mind. I haven’t written about him in so long, so this was certainly my foray back into exploring him. Feel free to let me know what you thought - or if you wanna just yell at me for doing carlos so dirty.

Thank you so much anon for letting me explore this! It was only supposed to be a tiny fic but it ballooned into something very unhinged - i hope you liked it!

Here’s my ongoing kiss challenge! Feel free to leave me a request for more kisses (:

My masterlist

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wildmavs · 2 years

Text

Breaking Up Slowly Masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ Only, smut, angst, breakups, getting together, past love triangle, talks of grief/loss/violence)

summary: a four-part series where joel and his ex-girlfriend, reader, find themselves tasked with escorting Marlene’s immune teenage ward to the Fireflies. all the yearning and all the lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers shit that makes me happy.

*indicates smut. minors DNI.

(in chronological order)

Drabble #1

Chapter One

Drabble #2

Chapter Two*

Drabble #3*

Chapter Three*

Finale*

reblog or comment on this post to be added to the taglist!

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wildmavs · 2 years

Text

Like Phantoms, Forever Masterlist

Read on AO3 ✩ Read on Wattpad ✩ Spotify Playlist

Pairing: Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Reader

Summary: Your destiny had never been clear to you, only becoming so when it led you to leaving behind the life you knew to train with the galaxy's sole Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker. His Jedi Academy became your new home, bringing with it the promise of someday becoming a Jedi Knight. While navigating the ways of the Force, an inexplicable connection forms between you and a fellow student—the heir to the legendary Skywalker bloodline, Ben Solo. Together, the two of you must face your destinies and forge the path to your true selves.

What to expect: fluff, violence, sexual content, general angst, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

Additional info: this story is set in 28 ABY, six years prior to the events of TFA

───────── ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ─────────

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

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wildmavs · 2 years

Text

Like Phantoms, Forever

Chapter Nine | Heavy Gloom

Pairing: Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Reader

What to expect: fluff, violence, sexual content, general angst, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

Additional info: this story is set in 28 ABY, six years prior to the events of TFA

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 5.5k

Chapter-specific CW: NSFW content, oral sex (m receiving), inappropriate use of the Force

A/N: Okay so I lied last week! I plan on having a consistent upload day eventually, but today is not that day. Updates will be posted in 7-10 business days, that much I can promise. Also, I made a playlist for this story! Just like the fic, it's a work in progress (also feel free to leave recommendations for it!) Thank you guys for all the kind comments and messages, you have no idea how much they mean to me :') Anyways, enough with the sappy shit, enjoy the chapter!

───────── ⋆ ☆ ⋆ ─────────

The sound of bristles scraping against stone had droned on for what felt like an eternity, but in reality only twenty minutes had elapsed. Dark grime was embedding under your fingernails as you scrubbed the steps, your knuckles already tiring from your tense grip on the brush.

The light of the twin suns bled through the cold, gray atmosphere. Billowing clouds loomed above, overlapping each other in various sizes and tones, threatening to open up and pour down at any moment. Rain or shine, Master Skywalker’s words echoed in your mind, mocking you.

Despite the less than ideal weather, you were grateful that your punishment partner had yet to show. The prospect of having to interact with Ben made your stomach flip, unsure if it was because of what had happened yesterday morning, or because regardless of how much you tried to fight it, you were still completely infatuated with him. It was the same reason why you clung to the minuscule hope of being with him.

Certainly, the knowledge that you would be spending a week of punishment with him hadn’t influenced your decision to wake up earlier than usual to style your hair in a new, intricate braid. Or the choice to apply the berry-tinted balm that you knew he liked. After all, you weren’t trying to impress him—you were doing it to make yourself feel good. Though, it wouldn’t hurt if he saw you like this.

Deciding that the stone you were currently scrubbing the life out of was adequately clean, you dropped your brush into its accompanying bin and watched it sink into the oblivion that was the muddy water.

The sound of your classmates training in the distance carried in the wind, reaching you at the top of the temple steps. It taunted you, the dull hum of lightsabers slicing through the air, laughter and declarations of victory as someone bested their partner in sparring practice. It truly felt like rubbing salt in yesterday’s wounds.

An irritated groan rumbled in your throat as you fished out your brush and began working on the next spot.

“What’s all this grumbling about?”

You didn’t need to turn around to know who the owner of the deep voice was. Predictably, your pulse quickened as you pushed your shoulders back, fixing your slouched posture.

Without turning your head, you addressed Ben, keeping your tone apathetic. “And here I thought that Skywalker had let you off easy.”

“Skywalker? That’s awfully casual of you,” he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. “And of course he didn’t. My uncle is nothing if not fair.”

Despite your indifference, he was still friendly, which only exacerbated your bad mood. Knowing that he wasn’t experiencing the same turmoil that you were made your heart ache.

“You’re still late,” you huffed, finally turning to face him. Your cold demeanor threatened to melt at the sight of him standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted slightly as if he were amused by you. “So, at the very least, he favors you in that way.”

He didn’t respond to that, only reaching down and picking up the pail he had set down at his feet, moving to begin scrubbing a stone beside you.

The sudden change in proximity to him made your head spin, forcing you to focus on the brush in your hand to avoid looking directly at him. A full week of this was going to be agony.

To your surprise, Ben was quiet for the first few minutes of monotonous work, leaving the two of you simmering in only the sound of brushes scraping stone and the occasional swish of water. The tension hanging between you was unfamiliar, almost eerie.

“We’ll be lucky if it doesn’t rain today,” Ben stated in a blatant effort to start a conversation. In your periphery, you could see his eyes flicker up to you as the sentence hung in the air.

“Mmm, yeah,” you replied idly. Having to make small talk with the man who you had been completely naked in front of less than 48 hours ago was a uniquely tailored level of hell. You could only dream of being so fortunate that the sky would open up and unleash lightning, striking you where you sat and allowing you an escape from this conversation.

“If it doesn’t today, then it definitely will tomorrow. Possibly even the day after that. Either way, these clouds don’t look very–”

“Okay, I get it,” you snapped. You clenched your jaw as you inhaled from your belly, trying to ground yourself. “I’m totally fine with us just not talking, especially if it’s about the weather.”

“Well, I’m not,” Ben said abruptly, grabbing your attention from the weathered rock you were cleaning to his wide, honey eyes. His brush clattered against the stone as he dropped it, his frustration palpable. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me?” you scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe some sense? Some self-respect?”

“What in the world are you talking about?” His voice raised slightly, his cheerful front slipping away. “Self-respect? What did I do to infringe upon your self-respect?”

You shut your eyes, trying to compose yourself before speaking again. Your nails bit into the flesh of your palms as your temper rose. “I don’t know about you, but personally, being called a ‘hookup’ makes me feel pretty insignificant.”

Ben stared at you, baffled by the words leaving your mouth. “Hookup? I never called you a hookup!”

“Oh, but you did!”

“No, I didn’t! Why would I ever call you that?”

“I don’t know,” you hissed, lowering your gaze to pick at your nails. “I think I just misinterpreted what the other night meant to you.”

“What makes you think that? Being with you was nothing short of a dream come true.” His features softened as he spoke. “I certainly didn’t interpret it as us just ‘hooking up.’”

His words were sickeningly sweet, nearly successful in lifting the heavy gloom that had been cast over your mind the past day. Still, you persisted.

“You said it yourself, we’re not the first or last students to hook up at the Academy.” A pang ripped through your heart as you repeated his words.

“How was that me calling you a hookup though? I was just trying to put your mind at ease about us being together.”

All you could do was blink in response.

“I could have phrased it better, but I thought you knew what I meant.” His voice was softer now as he moved closer to you, his hand resting just above your knee.

The tension in your neck and shoulders vanished at his touch, a pathetic reminder of the influence he had on you. You realized how stupid you must’ve sounded, getting so worked up over a single, poorly-worded sentence. All of the heartache that one sentence had wrought was null.

Ben noted the change in your demeanor and suppressed a laugh. “That’s what this is all about? Is that why you stormed out yesterday?”

You shot him a sheepish look, inadvertently answering both of his questions. He pulled you against him in a snug embrace and you nuzzled into his neck, relishing the warmth of his skin.

A beat passed before you pulled back and looked at him, searching his eyes for any sign of anger, finding none. You dropped your head and let out a quiet sigh, ashamed that your insecurity had gotten the better of you.

“I’m sorry, Ben. I should’ve communicated better and asked you what you meant. I…” You pushed the next words out, ignoring how vulnerable you felt. “I was just afraid of being hurt–”

His lips smothered yours, cutting off the last word as it left your mouth. Cupping your flushed face in his big hands, he grazed your cheekbones with his thumbs, soothing you.

Warmth erupted in your chest, extinguishing any remaining animosity in your heart. You sighed into his mouth, melting more and more into his touch with every tender swipe of his tongue.

Ben pulled away, tucking a lock of hair that had fallen out of place behind your ear. “No need to apologize,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. “I feel the same.”

The fire in your chest calmed to a mere flicker, like a pilot light on stand-by, waiting for Ben’s lips to ignite it once more.

“You do?”

“Yes.” Your name slipped from his mouth before he paused, drawing his words out almost teasingly. “I do.” His lips curled into a smile, one that danced on the line between adoring and devilish.

Commotion erupted at the treeline below, revealing a handful of students wielding bright lightsabers, sparring with remote droids. Their eyes were covered by opaque visors, blinding them to the movement of the spherical droids.

You jumped out of Ben’s grasp and reached for your brush in the pail.

Reality had taken a brief intermission while you were in his arms, no longer at the Jedi Academy, but somewhere far away. Somewhere where you didn’t have to hide your affection.

Not a moment later, the last rays of sunlight were snuffed out by the dark clouds, a crack of thunder ringing through the air. The two of you glanced at each other at the sound, eyes wide with horror.

The students below flipped their visors up and squinted at the clouds overhead.

“Hey, we should get inside! It looks like it’s about to start coming down!” One of them shouted, setting off towards the temple. The others followed, quickly jogging up the steps and passing you.

One boy in particular kicked Ben’s bucket as he passed by. “Have fun you two,” he said in a borderline mocking tone.

Before you even looked up, you recognized the voice as belonging to Tai. Narrowing your eyes, you glared at Ben, who only offered you a shrug in response.

The students filed into the temple, pulling the heavy doors shut behind them. As if on cue, a wet drop hit your cheek. And another one. And then multiple at once. The slate stone became littered with dark blotches, slowly evaporating into the atmosphere and being replaced with new ones.

“At least it’s just sprinkling,” Ben said as he looked up at the clouds, analyzing them with the grit of a true meteorologist.

A flash illuminated the sky, fiery and unruly as it burst through the gray canvas. Now you decide to show up.

What started as a soft trickle quickly turned into heavy, roaring rain, crashing into the steps and dousing you both where you sat. Strands of hair were glued to your face, streams of water running off the tip of your nose.

“You just had to say that, didn’t you?”

Ben laughed, revealing a toothy smile and creased dimples. “Okay, I’ll admit it—that one’s on me.” He snatched your hand as he stood, pulling you up to your feet. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What are you doing?” you asked as Ben started down the stairs, taking you with him. “We can’t leave, Master Skywalker said ‘rain or shine!’”

“Don’t worry about him, I’ll handle it,” he shouted behind him as he raced down the slippery steps, nearly dragging you behind him. He looked back to you, squinting through the wall of rain. “First, let’s just get out of this.”

The robes that once draped your frame were now glued to your skin, hindering your speed as you ran through the training grounds. Ben gripped your fingers tightly, as if you would slip away and be lost to the downpour forever.

Your mind raced through the possible places where you two would hide out. Surely not either of your quarters—that would be the first place Master Skywalker would think to look when he discovered that you both were missing. Certainly not the temple, considering he was guiding you in the opposite direction from it.

The cold, wet air burned your lungs as you ran behind Ben, becoming breathless and tired from the elements.

Without warning, he stopped in his path, causing you to nearly crash into his tall frame.

“Watch where you’re going, princess,” he said, peeking over his shoulder to see you.

You frowned at him. “I would if I knew where I was going.”

“Well, we can go to either of our huts from here, so it’s up to you.”

“Are you insane? Our quarters are the first place Master Skywalker will look when he realizes we’re gone,” you argued, water dripping into your mouth as you spoke.

“Do you have a better idea?” he asked, his once pink lips now a faint shade of violet.

You glanced at your free hand, as if the answer would be written on it, but only found blanched, mottled skin from the lack of circulation.

Then, it hit you.

“We’ll hide in the showers.”

Ben only nodded in agreement as you pulled him behind you with almost no resistance. As you made your way to the building, you searched the area to ensure that no one was around. If anyone was, you hoped that they would be too occupied with finding shelter for themselves to care.

Your knuckles ached as you squeezed the door handle, pushing it open just far enough to pop your head in and scan the space for any signs of company. Finding none, you pushed it fully open with your shoulder, yanking Ben inside with you.

Relief washed over you as you stepped out of the rain, the stagnant air in the room a welcome greeting to your senses. You made swift work of peeling off the drenched cloak from your shoulders, dropping it to the ground with a loud plop. You didn’t dare attempt to remove your other layers out of fear of wrestling to get them back on later.

“I don’t think that Master Skywalker would dare to check in here,” you said as you pushed wet clumps of hair out of your face. “Plus, I’d bet credits on there being plenty of hot water right now.”

Ben considered what you had said, chewing on his lip as he studied you, completely soaked before him.

You shifted your weight under the intensity of his stare.

“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, a tiny smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Before you could open your mouth to respond, Ben lunged towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off the ground.

“Put me down!” you cried through a string of giggles. Your weak attempts to free yourself earned a laugh from your captor.

“Not yet,” Ben said as he set you down, only to adjust his grip and pick you up again, this time holding you firmly against his chest. “We have to get in the shower first.”

“What, no! We can’t hide in the same stall—what if someone comes in?” You considered fighting back again, but knew it would ultimately be futile.

With your hands wrapped behind his neck, he carried you down the line of stalls.

“They won’t know.”

He can’t be serious, can he? you asked yourself, your mind teetering between logic and desire.

“Seriously, we could get caught!” There was a hint of sincerity in your tone, a vain attempt at rationality amidst the excitement.

“Caught doing what, exactly?” he asked wryly, pulling back the curtain to the last stall in the line.

“I…I don’t know,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as your feet hit the floor, your legs weakly supporting your weight. He didn’t deserve the satisfaction of hearing you say what you meant.

Ben drew the curtain closed, sealing you inside the white-tiled walls with him. “I was just going to warm you up,” he said, snaking his hands up your waist, leaving behind a trail of gooseflesh on your skin. His eyes flitted down to your lips, then to your neck and chest, admiring you as if you were a work of art instead of a rain-soaked mess wrapped in Jedi robes.

“I’m sure you were.” Your hands found their way back to behind his neck, as if resting there was second nature to them. “I’m sure you had no ulterior motive for bringing me in here.”

A fleeting twitch under his eye confirmed exactly what his motive was, but you knew he wasn’t going to admit it. No, you could tell he was enjoying this banter far too much to give in immediately.

“Someone’s got their mind in the gutter.”

You stretched your neck up and traced a finger down his chest, your lips barely an inch away from his. “Like you’re so innocent yourself, Solo.”

He remained stoic, and without so much as twitching his fingers, he manipulated the Force to turn the faucet on, a faint squeak the only evidence of the motion. Cold water sprayed from the spout, hitting the back of your head and running down your spine.

You gasped at the sensation, jumping back and nearly out of his grasp. His strong arms anchored you in your place. As if you hadn’t spent enough time in the cold rain today.

“Very funny,” you said flatly, trying to pry his hands off of you to escape the unrelenting stream. Unfortunately for you, his hold was stronger than your will to pull away from him.

“It actually was very funny,” he said, suppressing a laugh with his hand. “You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

If the water weren’t beginning to warm up, you might have spontaneously learned how to slap someone with the Force. Instead, you silently shot daggers at him. You hated how amused he was, but in the same breath, you couldn’t deny that seeing him like this made your heart swell.

A beat passed before either of you spoke again—you, standing proudly with your arms crossed, and Ben, leaning closer towards you, his eyes darting between yours and your lips.

“C’mon, princess. I promised that I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

His lips captured yours in a tender kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as he kneaded your flesh beneath the wet fabric. A soft moan vibrated across your lips as you raked your fingers through his hair, his damp locks clinging to you like static. His warm breath fanned over your skin as he leaned down, dragging his lips along your jaw and neck, pausing over your hammering pulse.

“And how exactly are you going to make it up to me?” You rolled your head to the side, giving him full access to the sensitive skin. Blood rushed to your head as he worked down your neck, making you almost dizzy.

“If I tell you, then it’ll ruin the surprise.”

His words sent lightning through your body, causing heat to pool between your legs. Your clothing felt all too constricting, weighing heavily on your limbs. Fuck what you had said earlier—you’d find a way to get these back on later.

“Fine,” you huffed. “If you won’t tell me, then you’d better show me.”

As if you had just granted him the permission he had been waiting for, Ben pushed your hips into the wall, sending your back colliding with the tile. He left a few more rough kisses on your neck before straightening his back, his massive frame now towering over you. His irises were nearly consumed by the void of his pupils as he scanned you, his gaze lowering down your figure.

“I don’t think I can when you’ve got all these clothes on,” he said, his voice low and raspy.

Your knees threatened to buckle at his words, the possibility of turning into a puddle becoming more likely with each passing second.

Without hesitation, you lifted your arms from his neck and fumbled blindly for your belt knot, eventually finding it and pulling it loose. Seemingly in slow motion, the saturated material tumbled down your body and landed on top of your boots. Why were those still on, anyways? You made quick work of slipping them off your feet as Ben watched, a smirk playing on his lips.

“For someone who thinks we’re going to get caught, you sure are eager.”

The last boot fell from your grasp, hitting the floor with a heavy thunk. “Hardly.”

His hands skated over your shoulders as he peeled off the soaked fabric, his touch lingering as he pushed the cloth down your arms and onto the tile floor.

All that remained was your undershirt and bra, the gray material stretched taut against your skin, outlining the contours of your clavicle and chest.

“I think I can change that,” he whispered as he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply.

The pressure of his lips was intoxicating, a sensation you could never get enough of.

He pinned you against the wall with his weight, parting your legs with his thigh to hold you in place. A rough hand smoothed down your jaw and neck before settling on your breast.

His touch felt like a live wire, sending a current of electricity through your nerves. Through the material, his thumb skimmed over your nipple, amplifying the heat building between your legs. A familiar sensation blossomed in your stomach, even through the layers of clothing separating you two.

Ben hooked his fingers under the hem of your undershirt, tugging it up your body until it gathered below your neck. Your bra followed suit, the flimsy material squeezing your chest as it rolled up.

He pulled back, leaving your lips tingling and plump. His eyes traveled down to your exposed skin, pausing there as if he were memorizing the image before him.

“You’re absolutely divine, you know that?” he said as he leaned down, taking a stiff nipple in his mouth. His plush lips created the most heavenly suction around it, tugging lightly at the skin.

“So I’m told,” you replied, stifling a moan as you rolled your head back, letting your eyes fall shut.

The world around you became dull as you focused on the feeling of his tongue swirling around your delicate bud. A whimper escaped your lips, nearly drowned out by the sound of water hitting the tile. The noise spurred Ben to twist your free nipple between his thumb and index finger, drawing another moan from you.

Suddenly, a warm, buzzing sensation wrapped around your clit, an invisible hand massaging you.

Your eyes shot open. “Fuck—Ben!” you gasped, pressing your thighs together as the pressure grew. “Is that?”

He locked eyes with you, dragging his teeth gently over your rigid nipple as he stood, a small—but wicked—smile on his face.

“Yes,” he said, kneading your breasts as he spoke. “It is.”

“How?” Your voice was raspy, rushed between sharp breaths as pleasure spread throughout your body.

“Just a little Force manipulation,” he said, his words coming out as a baritone growl. “I’ll teach you sometime.”

He dipped his head back down, closing his lips around the skin of your throat in wet, greedy kisses.

The coil of bliss tightened in your stomach, threatening to send you over the precipice at any moment. The Force was unrelenting around your clit, rolling in what felt like the perfect pattern to draw you closer to your release.

Between the Force, Ben’s lips, and his dexterous fingers, your nerves were blazing, just short of overwhelmed.

“It feels so good,” you moaned into his ear.

“You like that, baby?” he growled, nipping at the skin of your throat.

“Yes, fuck! I’m so close, Ben!” you cried, clinging to his shoulders for support.

You were barely coherent, your words trapped between wanton breaths, stringing together into one desperate plea. The energy swirling between your legs intensified, driving you closer to your peak.

“I want you to come for me,” he growled into your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw.

That was all it took for the pressure in your core burst, flooding your body with raw, blinding ecstasy. For a brief moment, you felt weightless, as if the ground beneath you had disappeared.

Ben kept you pressed against the wall with his thigh, his fingers bruising your breasts as he carried you through your high. Slowly, the flames of pleasure ceased, leaving behind flickering embers throughout your body.

The sensation of soft lips against yours pulled you from your haze, grounding you in reality. You regained your focus, your heavy eyelids fluttering open to see the man before you.

He looked nothing short of ethereal, his sharp nose dripping water over his full lips, his fair skin flushed with color in the steam of the shower.

“That was incredible,” you panted, your chest heaving as you inhaled the humid air. “How long have you been hiding that trick up your sleeve?”

“Since about…” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes ago.”

An airy giggle spilled from your lips. Ben’s effortless charisma was hypnotizing, and possibly one of your favorite things about him. It felt like a privilege to be charmed by him, to see this side of him on display.

And to think that less than a day ago you had been ready to take off into the galaxy and live as a true Jedi, entirely free from attachments.

“I’m impressed,” you said, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, blood rushing to the thin skin as you released it.

Mist burned your eyes as the water ricocheted off your bodies, splashing onto the porcelain tiles surrounding you. The chemicals that had flooded your veins had begun to dissipate, the cloud of bliss slowly lifting from your nerves.

Ben worked your clothing back into place, smoothing out the wet wrinkles with his palms. His touch was remarkably tender, especially considering the sheer size of his hands. His callouses occasionally snagged on the material as he skimmed over it, a reminder of his years of experience with a lightsaber.

With one final tug on your undershirt, Ben stepped aside from the cascade of hot water, reaching to turn off the faucet.

If he thought he could get away that easily, he was mistaken. You shot out a shaky hand, wrapping your fingers around his wrist in protest as you pulled him back under the stream.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He blinked at you. “I’m…getting out?”

“But we’re just starting to warm up,” you purred, easing the grip on his wrist and batting your lashes up at him. “Besides, do you really want to leave with this?”

With your other hand, you lazily brushed over the bulge in his pants, giving it a firm squeeze at the base.

An unsteady breath hitched in his throat as you grabbed him, his cock twitching against your fingers. You could feel his pulse hammering against your fingertips that gripped his wrist, further evidenced by the pink hue flushing his cheeks.

“We probably should get back, j-just in case someone’s looking for us,” he stammered unconvincingly.

“Mmm, now you care about being responsible.” You dropped his wrist and tugged at the waistband of his pants, snapping it against his wet skin. “Always the hypocrite…”

Ben was lost for words, his dark eyes following you as you sank to the floor, your knees barely cushioned by the pile of discarded robes.

The wet fabric of his pants clung to his hardened length, pulled tight against his hot skin. You hooked your fingers around the waistband, looking up at him through wet lashes for permission.

“Let me take care of you, baby.”

He sucked in a sharp breath and nodded, watching as your fingers slid further down the band.

You dragged his pants past his hips, exposing the drenched material constricting his length. Fuck, he was so big. Not that you had somehow forgotten in the past few days, but seeing it again made your stomach flutter.

You pressed your lips against the fabric, kissing along the line of his cock. With one last, slow kiss on the head of it, you met his gaze, finding his dark eyes locked on you.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, reaching down to cup your cheek.

Heat rolled through your chest as you watched him, his lips parted and pupils wide. His wet hair framed his face like dark curtains, dripping onto you.

Encouraged by his words, you kissed the head again, letting your lips linger a moment longer this time. He let out a low groan, sending warmth coursing through your veins.

You slipped your hand under the fabric and pulled his cock free from its confines. Sheer confidence had gotten you this far, but now your actions had to match your boldness. With anyone else, you would’ve felt intimidated, but with Ben, you relaxed and let your intuition guide you.

You wrapped your fingers around the shaft and gave it a few slow pumps, testing how he felt in your grip. Ben sucked air through his teeth, his dark brows drawn together.

Heat licked between your legs, inciting you to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and take it into your mouth.

The size filled your mouth almost immediately as you pushed further, stroking the length that couldn’t fit with your hand. You swirled your tongue over the head, slowly taking him deeper.

“Fuck,” he hissed, weaving his fingers into your hair. “You look so beautiful like this.”

The muscles in your jaw and cheeks slowly relaxed, stretching to accommodate for his size. Saliva pooled in your mouth, spilling out with every movement of your head, running down your chin and chest.

Ben rolled his head back, looking at the ceiling to gather himself as a quiet expletive fell from his lips.

Your own moans vibrated against him as you took him deeper, testing your limit. His hips bucked at this, almost triggering your gag reflex as tears pricked at your eyes.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his eyes pinched shut in bliss.

Between his praise, the pressure tugging at your roots, and the ache between your legs, your own need was demanding attention. But you stayed focused.

A moment later, you pulled away, gasping for air as you continued to pump him in your hand, his length now coated in saliva. Water dripped onto your face as you peered up at him, watching his chest rise and fall as your hand moved.

You took him back into your mouth, working faster than before to please him, eyes wide as you looked at him. He was lost in his pleasure, the sight of which prompted you to suck harder, to swirl your tongue over his head with more pressure.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come–”

A rumble from your throat acknowledged his words, your pace unwavering on his throbbing cock. The faint taste of salt spread over your tongue, and before you knew it, Ben’s face was twisted in pleasure, his muscles tensing as he filled your mouth with ropes of hot, sticky cum.

Sinful words fell from his lips as you continued to suck gently, a mixture of saliva and cum now spilling from your chin. Knowing that it was your good work that had brought him this euphoria caused pride to swell in your chest.

You sat back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you watched him come down from his high.

“My fucking god,” Ben gasped, trying to steady his breath. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“Hmm, like five minutes ago?” you quoted him, smiling up at him.

He scoffed and shook his head amusedly as he pulled his pants back over his hips. When you moved to stand, your knees were aching and your legs were wobbly, causing you to grab at the slick shower wall for support.

Ben reached under your arms, bracing you with his fierce grip.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

You dipped your face into the hot stream, rinsing away the layer of spit around your mouth. A grin pulled at the corner of your lips as you rubbed your face, still high on the confidence surging through you.

You turned the faucet and it squeaked to a stop, leaving you both cold in its absence.

“Stay here, I’ll go get us some towels,” Ben said, planting a soft kiss to your tingling lips before ducking out of the shower.

Your head spun as you leaned against the tile wall, relishing in what had just happened. So much had happened these past few days and you hadn’t even begun processing it all. This brief moment of silence allowed you to start.

The door creaked open, indicating that Ben was leaving as expected. What you didn’t anticipate, however, was a new, sharp voice slicing through the air.

“Oh, excuse me,” the voice said with a grunt, evidently colliding with Ben as he exited.

The blood coursing through your veins turned to ice, flushing the color from your skin. You could recognize Voe’s voice anywhere.

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