crumbsssscookie

[crumbsssscookie]

actually, max just saw twinkclaren being useless and decided to recreate the Brocedes Spanish Divorce™ himself

[crumbsssscookie]

Lando's cooked then

I think next year instead of 2 mandatory pit stops to keep Monaco interesting they should have a troll in the tunnel who requires them to stop and answer a riddle

[crumbsssscookie]

tyres degrading? just say no.

charles leclerc’s medium tyre stint at the 2025 saudi arabian gp.

[crumbsssscookie]

completely normal about these pics

I am taking any photo Mercedes posts of Fred, printing it out, and eating it, thank you

[crumbsssscookie]

i'm not normal about fred in the merc

Need him to stop looking like a licked kitten it’s instilling violent cuteness aggression in me

[crumbsssscookie]

THISSSSSS !!!!!!

Alex asking girl!Logan on a Team Torque episode which sailor scout she'd be and Logan full on geeking out about her favourite anime 🤭

tan's 750: logan & alex for @midwestgp!

[crumbsssscookie]

CHARLES LECLERC in the Ferrari garage before FP2, Bahrain GP 2025

[crumbsssscookie]

*holds your face in my hands* listen to me. Mercedes is a femme. Red Bull is a butch. Ferrari is a girl you met at a club and she smiled at you and tilted your head back and poured tequila down your throat and you let her because of course you would look at her of course you'd do anything to make her smile and she giggled when you had tequila dripping down your throat and she sort of looked like she could kill you but she also sort of looked like to draw mortal blood near her would break her heart but she also sort of looked like she would cry gold tears but then she turned around and walked into the crowd and you ended up sitting on the side of the road looking at your reflection in a puddle in the stormwater drain and you never saw her again. And mclaren is a twink.

[crumbsssscookie]

You watch f1. You choose your blorbo. It's Charles Leclerc. You realise he's the most soggy saddest wet meow meow you've ever seen. He's having a bad time at least 90% of his career. You want him to do well. His team is ass. He literally will not leave. His loyalty is too strong. But yours is too.

[crumbsssscookie]

At least one employee of Ferrari's serving cunt today 💅🏻

Zhou for employee of the month !!!

Zhou Guanyu for CN Harper’s Bazaar 2025

[crumbsssscookie]

Imma crash out...

WHAT DO YOU MEAN CHARLES AND LEWIS WILL PROBABLY BE DISQUALIFIED?!!!!!

Also honorable mention to Pierre who couldn't let his bestie have an underweight car alone

[crumbsssscookie]

hey i dont wanna pressure or anything but are you going to update your girl!logan au on ao3?

Hey nonni!

be asured i haven't forgotten about girl!logan

it's just that i'm in a bit of a creative slump concerning that fic. logan leaving motorsport and the start of the new F1 season haven't really helped with getting the juices flowing again.

i won't promise an update soon, just that there will be an update sometime in the future bc i miss girl!logan and i like writing her, it just takes some time to get back in the groove again

[crumbsssscookie]

they really put laura winter in a room with 5 rookies so she could experience what it was like to interview one direction circa 2012

[crumbsssscookie]

oscar had lunch with his mum 3 days ago but he didn't tell her about the contract extension 😭😭😭

[crumbsssscookie]

Based on DTS alone, you would think Max and Charles have never met in their lifes, let alone raced on the same track.

[crumbsssscookie]

You (don't) own me

Summary: Bound by an arranged marriage he never wanted, Charles resents you - until a situation forces him to realize that perhaps you're not marrying him solely because of politics.

Warnings: violence, blood, murder, Charles is kidnapped, reader comes for him, a bit suggestive at the end

Pairing: mafia heir!Charles Leclerc x mafia boss!reader

Word count: 1.3k

AN: i don't think i'm the only one who was inspired by the new Chivas promo and those pics screaming mafia. you're still getting mafia!charles but i thought i'd take it in a slightly different direction 🤭

the cover art features a female reader but the fic can be read by anyone since there's no description of reader's physical features

______________________________________________

Charles always knew that he would stand at the top of a crime dynasty one day. After all, his father Hervé was one of the most respected mafia bosses in Europe. He always dreamt of following in his father’s footsteps and leading their family to a prosperous future. But fate, or his father in particular, had other things in mind. 

He wasn’t meant to lead; he was meant to follow. He was meant to become your husband. Was meant to strengthen his family’s standing in the grand scheme of Europe’s biggest crime families. When he’d found out that he was practically a bargaining chip in politics, he rebelled against it. Threw tantrums whenever the topic of you and your family came up. Fought his parents tooth and nail about, what felt to him, being given away to the highest bidder. But to no avail. He had to marry you and your fathers would see to it.

When he met you for the first time, he’d given you the silent treatment, hadn’t even looked you in the eyes or greeted you. Your father had growled something about him being disrespectful, but you’d just waved it off. He thought to see hurt flashing in your eyes, but you had slipped back to a kind and warm smile before he could even think about it.

It wasn’t that he hated you. No, he wished it were that simple. He wished he could despise you, find something in you that was repulsive, unbearable. But you were none of those things. You were everything he should want. You were a couple of years older than him. Around Lorenzo’s age. The only heir to your father’s empire, already leading most of it at your young age. You were the epitome of regality and it made the front of his jeans just a little tighter. But the way you carried yourself with effortless confidence only fuelled his frustration. Because you weren’t his choice. It was never his choice.

You never let his cold demeanour deter you though. In the months and weeks leading up to the wedding you tried everything to get to know him. Even when Charles refused to acknowledge your existence, turned his back on you in public, or left the room the second you entered, you never stopped trying. You showed up to family dinners with gifts tailored to his interests, learning about his favourite wines, cars, and even the books he read in secret when no one was watching. But he remained unmoved, locked behind a wall of silent defiance.

Yet, as the wedding grew closer, something inside him started to shift. He tried to ignore it, tried to convince himself that he still resented you, but the way you still made a real effort to get through to him, how you wanted to see him although he’d only met you with rejection, also terrified him. 

He caught himself lingering on your praise whenever you caught him playing the piano, felt a strange pull in his chest every time you brought him another piece of hard-to-find sheet music. But to admit that he was moved by you, that he felt the need to worship the ground you were walking on? That would mean giving in. To you. To this arrangement. But you didn’t own him. Nobody did. He refused to submit to you, didn’t want to give your fathers the satisfaction of thinking he wanted this marriage, even if his body betrayed him every time he even so much as smelled a hint of your perfume.

It was also the reason he had gone out for a drive that one fateful evening. Needing to breathe air without you in it, needing space. The streets of Monte Carlo blurred past him, turning quickly into the winding roads of the French Riviera as he let the roar of the engine drown out his thoughts. He didn’t see them coming. He didn’t hear them coming. 

He only knew they were coming when it was too late. His car rammed off the road, bodies swarming the scene before he could do anything. He fought, of course he did. His fists colliding with flesh in the process but there were just too many. A sharp blow to the back of his head sent him spiralling. The world turning black before he could hit the ground.

He woke up to agony. Slumped down in a chair, pain radiating from every inch of his body, his hands tied behind his back and the stale air burning in his throat. His lip was split and his nose most certainly broken. He couldn’t make out much in the dimly lit room he was held in, but he could hear his captors talking amongst themselves. Cheering. Laughing. Their boasting voices confirming that he was taken to send a message. To his father. A slow, painful death for the son of Hervé Leclerc while they could still get to him.

They took their time with him, wanting him to suffer before they dumped his body somewhere he would be found quickly. A fist to the gut, a boot to his ribs. Time lost all its meaning, the sensationless bliss of unconsciousness pulling him under like the currents of the Mediterranean. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones and taste the metallic taste of blood coating his tongue whenever he came back to. He was mostly numb by the time they started mocking him for being worth more dead than as a ransom, the only thing keeping him at least halfway sane was the thought that he’d never be able to apologize to you.

The laughter of his captors filled the room, their amusement at his helplessness slicing through his pride like a blade.

Suddenly the laughter stopped.

The silence was deafening.

A sharp crack, bone breaking, a strangled cry of pain. Shouting. Gunshots. The heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Another one. Then another. Silence.

When he opened his eyes all he could see was you, standing in the door. Dressed in black, a gun still warm in your hand, blood splattered across your cheek, eyes blazing with a fury he’d never seen before in you. He might’ve gone insane, but you were breathtaking in your rage. Dangerous. Lethal. With the precision of a predator you went on to untie him, only allowing yourself to relax once you made sure there were no more threats around. Your focus now entirely on him, you knelt in front of his slumped figure.

“Charles,” you breathed, gently touching his bruised face. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

You had come for him. Not his father, not his brothers. You. 

Even after all he had thrown at you to keep you away. After his constant rejection. You were here, saving him and apologizing to him for not getting to him sooner.

He wanted to open his mouth, to tell you how sorry he was for ever doubting you but before he could even mutter a word you pressed your lips onto his. Soft and careful. Cautious but exploring. His body protested, but he leaned into your kiss without thinking.

He finally let himself want you and it felt better than anything he had ever felt before.

He didn’t know how much time you spent there, him holding onto you for dear life but when you pulled away and finally led him out, stepping over the bodies you had left in your wake to get him, a heavy calm settled into his chest. You had torn through them like a storm, swift and merciless. The blood on your hands a testament of your feelings for him.

That night, after he was all patched up again, Charles let himself fall apart in your hands. You touched him with reverence, whispering against his skin that he was safe, that he was yours. He had never been worshiped before, never been adored so completely. Every kiss, every careful touch, was a promise. A vow that no one would ever hurt him again.

And for the first time, Charles didn’t just accept it. 

He believed it.

As the night stretched on, he surrendered to your love, to the warmth of your embrace, to the realization that he had never belonged to anyone. 

Until now.

[crumbsssscookie]

No notes, canon reason

theres a reason his ass is doing the pm test drives 😭