#CountingStars

[masterpromotional]

“Baby Shark Dance”

[poorboyinlove]

Cuando llorar pretendías, los ángeles se vinieron en gozo...

[omegalerc]

ricky have you seen this? https://countingstars-17.tumblr.com/post/698927152906764288/2-minutes-later-charles-showing-carlos-how#notes

oh and whoever is sending you hate, bitch I'm under your fucking bed, I'm in your walls, you will start coughing in 2 minutes you will get fucking rabies and *** a torturous slow and painful *****

EUEGSUZUZUKWWZUGH HOW HAVE I NEVERRRR SEEN THIS… WHAT IS HE DOINGGG.. bring back omegas with shame!!!!!

[lxndonorris]

Parallels.

charles gif by: ? (Pinterest)

max gif by: @countingstars-17

[souvenir116]

the thing is he probably was complimenting his helmet or something but that lip bite doesn't let him lie 😭

that helmet must be so... interesting... for him to bite his lip like that. or maybe he just has dry lips who knows 😁

[il-predestinato]

oh no don't let charles see this 💀

(hey charles, look at this. sends him these motivational photos ahead of the race.)

Max really be having a quarter life crisis by replacing his long suffering wife with a younger floozy - 😱😭

Charles the next time he sees Oscar:

.

.

.

(jk jk Oscar bébé, we love you 🫶 mwah mwah)

[yesloulou]

Char sad the attention isn't on him anymore. It's about Ollie now!

(steve carell in that one episode) IN YOUR FACE!!!!!

[samirahmed125]

I am the daughter of Ahmed Al-Astal, the sister of Samir Al-Astal. I ask you and I beg you. Samir’s condition is in danger and Samir’s condition is getting worse. Samir is running in the hospital and he is in a miserable condition. I ask you and I beg you and I am sending you a message from my father, my mother, my grandmother and all my family to help my brother Samir. We really only want treatment for my brother, even if we die of hunger. We do not want food and we do not want anything but treatment for Samir. O people of goodness and donations, I pray. May God hope that someone will see me and see the situation of my brother Samir and donate to us generously in order to perform the operations, and every person who is able to donate from 5 dollars, 10, 20, 50, 100, or whatever you are able to do. Please help us. Please, my brother is struggling in hospitals under danger. 🥺🥺🙏

@90-ghost @ot3 @a-shade-of-blue @buttercuparry @xxx-sparkydemon-xxx @feluka @fellahimedia @akajustmerry @applebunch @autisticmudkip @athena5898 @armchair-factotum @aesthetic @awetistic-things @opencommunion @ashwantsafreepalestine @asanjou @afro-elf @ahotknife @anyonghalimaw @averagenotnormal @xiranjayzhao @axolotlsandabsolsarethebest @axplode @azaryart @zvaigzdelasas @xiranjayzhao @countingstars-17 @communist-ojou-sama @vague-humanoid @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses @kianamaiart @kushblazer666 @lmaonade @littlestpersimmon @prinnay @prokopetz @pusheen @yekkes @lordzannis @loverboy-ish @italofobia @bongjoonheaux @fiapple @rebecca-levin-art @read-marx-and-lenin @resourcesmasterposts @wellwaterhysteria @wonderavian @wolfie979 @wo

[diegomansomartin]

OneRepublic - Counting Stars

We'll be counting stars...

[harrysfolklore]

charles leclerc answers the internet’s most searched questions

gif by @countingstars-17 <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Charles Leclerc and today I'm going to be answering the web's most searched questions about me."

Charles said to the camera, he was wearing his typical media day outfit, a Ferrari half zip up jacket and his baggy jeans, ones that no matter how hard his girlfriend tried to get rid off it was just impossible because he liked them too much.

"First question, what is Charles Leclerc's number?" he read on the iPad the Sky Sports team had given him to read the question, "I hope we are speaking about the driver number, because my girlfriend won't like that people are searching for my phone number on the internet and I'll be very worried if you can find it," the crew laughed at his comment, "But it's number 16."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite song?" he read the next question, "I think overall, it's Where is the Love by the Black Eyed Peas, but recently I've been loving Sabrina Carpenter's songs, and that's thanks to my girlfriend."

"Did Charles Leclerc retire?" he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the question, "Are people really asking this question? The answer is no, I'm not that old and I hope I don't look that old. I've still got many years in me I hope."

"Did Charles Leclerc win in Monaco?" a small smile played on his face, "The answer changed just a few weeks ago but yes I did. It was a really special moment, my mum cried, my brothers cried, my girlfriend cried. It was beautiful."

"Did Charles Leclerc adopt Oscar Piastri?," he couldn't help but laugh again, "That answer also changed a few weeks ago and yes I did. He's one of my sons now."

"Does Charles Leclerc speak Italian? Yes I do."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a sister? No I don't."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a girlfriend?" he could feel his cheeks blushing as he read, "Yes I do. And as you can tell, I talk a lot about her, so much that there are compilation videos of me just talking about her, I've seen them."

"Will Charles Leclerc win a championship?" he made a thinking face, "I'm curious to know what Google says about that one, but I'll say yes. At least if I work day and night for that, so I hope it will happen one day."

"Is Charles Leclerc good at cooking?" Charles chuckled. "Well, I like to think I'm decent. I can make a mean pasta and I really enjoy it, but my girlfriend is the real chef in our relationship. She loves baking, and her cookies are the best."

"Can Charles Leclerc play the piano? Well I'm not a pianist but I have enough skill to really enjoy it. So yeah, I can play the piano.

"Does Charles Leclerc have any pets?" he smiled warmly, "Yes, my girlfriend and I have a dog named Leo. He's a an absolute sweetheart. He even comes to some of the race weekends with us."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite date night activity?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "Did my girlfriend search that?" the crew laughed, and Charles continued, "If she did, she knows I love our cozy movie nights at home, eating whatever we want and just chilling on the couch."

"Alright, last one," he said, looking back at the iPad, "What does Charles Leclerc do in his free time?" he read, "When I'm not racing or training, I enjoy spending time with my family, friends and my girlfriend of course. I love going to the beach, traveling or just relaxing at home."

He set the iPad down and looked directly into the camera. "Thank you for all the questions! I hope you learned something new about me. Until next time, ciao!"

did i reference my own fic here? anyway i hope you like thisss

[pretzelgotze]

Singapore GP 2024 - Max and Charles Edition

shoutout to @countingstars-17 for the sky italia video <3

[thearchercore]

adding to another solo charles fan reaction I saw THE blush, Charles had and I literally had to say out loud what are you doing? like tell me you just started experimenting with make up and that's not a blush certain Dutch driver gave you because im-

i especially love this moment when you can see that charles gave himself an ick after that giggle and serioused for a hot sec

(gif from the talented @countingstars-17)

[lxndonorris]

doubts - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: a little bit of everything cheering up Max after a frustrating qualifying session x word count: 2500+ taglist: @cloud-55 I needed that.... open for requests. Gif by @countingstars-17 thank you bub!

The motorhome is quiet, almost too quiet, compared to the roar of engines that filled the air just a short while ago. The walls, adorned with racing memorabilia, framed photos of victories, and splashes of Red Bull blue, feel like a sanctuary from the outside world, a cocoon away from the glaring lights and curious eyes. 

But now, the energy inside is tense and heavy, almost suffocating.

Max is sitting on the leather sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging down loosely as he stares at the floor. The upper half of his racing suit hangs limply around his waist, the fireproof undershirt clinging to his chest and back, soaked with sweat and frustration. His hair, usually slicked back, is tousled, his face a mix of fatigue and quiet anger.

The qualifying session was a disaster. A car that wouldn't behave, tires that wouldn't grip, and a series of small, infuriating mistakes left him far lower on the grid than he has any right to be.

And for a man who built his life on perfection, on pushing limits, on winning, this was unacceptable.

You watch him from the kitchenette, silently taking in his frustration, feeling the tension radiate off him in waves. 

You know this side of Max well—the one who lives for the thrill of the race, who feels every setback as a personal failure. It hurts to see him like this, wound so tightly that he seems ready to snap.

You move quietly, almost hesitantly, from where you are standing, as if afraid any sudden movement might shatter the fragile silence that settled between you.

The sound of your footsteps is almost inaudible against the soft carpet, but you can feel Max's eyes flicker toward you as you approach.

"Max," you say softly, sitting down next to him on the sofa. 

You reach out, resting a hand on his knee, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric. 

He doesn't pull away, but he doesn't respond either, his eyes still focused on the ground. You sense the storm brewing inside him—a mixture of exhaustion and self-recrimination—and you know you have to find a way to break through it.

"It wasn't your fault," you begin, your voice gentle but firm. "You did everything you could out there."

"Did I?" he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice is low, rough, like gravel.

"Maybe if I had pushed harder or backed off in that last corner... maybe..." He trails off, his firsts clenching, the knuckles turning white.

You shake your head, even though you know he isn't really looking at you.

"You can't control everything, Max. Not the weather, not the track conditions, not even the car sometimes. You know that."

He sighs heavily, finally looking up at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt and frustration.

"But I'm supposed to be able to handle it. That's what makes a champion, isn't it? Being able to deal with anything and everything?"

You give him a small, sad smile, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

"You're already a champion, Max. You don't have to prove that to anyone, least of all to yourself."

He closes his eyes at your touch, his shoulders slumping as some of the tension seems to drain away.

"I hate this feeling," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "This helplessness... like I'm not in control."

You lean in closer, sliding your hand from his knee to his stomach, feeling the taut muscles underneath the thin fabric.

"You're still in control, Max. Tomorrow is another day, another race. You can still turn this around."

He opens his eyes, looking at you with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability that he rarely shows to anyone.

"How do you do that?" he asks quietly, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing it gently against his stomach.

"Do what?" You ask, your fingers tracing small, soothing circles on his skin.

"Make me believe it's going to be okay, even when everything feels like it's falling apart."

You smile softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of him—engine oil, sweat, and the faintest hint of his cologne.

"Because it is going to be okay," you murmur against his skin. "I believe in you, Max. And I'm not going anywhere."

He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss that sends a shiver down your spine. You feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist.

It is just the two of you, cocooned in this small, private space, where nothing else matters.

When he pulls back, his eyes are softer, the tension in his body less pronounced. 

"I don't deserve you," he says quietly, his voice tinged with self-reproach.

You shake your head, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"You deserve all the love and support in the world, Max. You give so much of yourself to this sport, to your team, to the fans... it's okay to let someone take care of you too."

He doesn't say anything; he just leans into your touch, his eyes closing as he lets out a slow, shaky breath.

You feel him slowly relaxing under your hands, the storm inside him beginning to calm. You shift closer, tucking yourself against his side, your head resting on his shoulder, your hand still tracing soothing patterns on his stomach.

You sit like that for a long time, the silence between you no longer heavy or oppressive but comforting, like a shared understanding. You feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm of his breathing slowing as the tension ebbes away.

"Thank you," he whispers after a while, his voice soft, almost fragile.

You lift your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. 

"For what?"

"For being here. For knowing what I need, even when I don't."

You smile, snuggling closer to him.

"That's what I'm here for. You don't have to go through this alone."

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, his fingers gently brushing against your arm.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he admits quietly, his voice so low you almost don't hear him.

"You'll never have to find out," you reply, your voice equally as soft.

He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering there as he breathes you in.

"I love you," he whispers, the words carrying the weight of everything he can't say, everything he feels but can't express.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love and affection for this man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but still finds the strength to let you in.

"I love you too, Max. Always."

He smiles then, a real, genuine smile that reaches his eyes, chasing away the last remnants of his frustration.

Leaning down, he captures your lips in a kiss that is slow, tender, and filled with unspoken promises.

Max's hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you even closer as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more insistent. You feel the last of his tension melting away, replaced by a different kind of heat, a desire that is as much about comfort as it is about connection.

You shift, sliding onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as you press yourself against him, feeling the hard planes of his chest against you.

His hands move to your waist, holding you there as he kisses you like a man who has been starved for affection, for touch, for the reassurance that he isn't alone.

You feel the fire in him, the same fore that drives him on the track, that pushes him to be the best, but here, with you, it is tempered by something softer, something more vulnerable. 

It is a side of Max that few people ever see—a side that he only ever shows to you.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other, you see the change in him.

The frustration and anger are gone, replaced by a calm determination, a quiet resolve that tells you he is ready to face whatever tomorrow will bring.

"I'm ready," he says softly, his hands still holding you close.

You nod, brushing a thumb across his cheek.

"I know you are. And I will be right there with you, every step of the way."

He kisses you again, a soft, lingering kiss that leaves you breathless.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmurs against your lips.

You smile again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"You don't have to do anything to deserve me, Max. You just have to let me love you."

He closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against yours.

"I can do that," he whispers.

As you shift on Max's lap, you let your fingers trace the contours of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his undershirt.

Your touch is slow, deliberate as you move just beneath his pecs, right where you know he is most sensitive. His muscles tense momentarily at the contact, a shiver running through him, but then you feel him relax, his head tilting back against the sofa with a deep, contented sigh.

You smile to yourself, enjoying the way his body responds to your touch—how even in the midst of his frustration, you could find that one spot that makes everything else melt away.

Your fingers dance lightly across his skin, just enough pressure to coax a reaction, but not too much. 

You watch his eyes flutter shut, his breath hitches slightly before he lets out a soft growl of contentment.

"Mmm..." he murmurs, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. It is a low, rumbling noise that sends a thrill through you.

His hands move to cover yours, holding it against his chest as he opens his eyes to look at you, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The tension that gripped him earlier seems to have evaporated, replaced by a warmth and ease that is rare for him in moments like these.

"Right there," he whispers, his voice a mix of amusement and pleasure. "You always know exactly where to touch."

You grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I know you too well, Maxie."

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep, vibrating against your lips as he kisses you back.

"Not that I'm complaining."

"Good," you tease, brushing your thumb across his skin again, watching as his eyes darkened with that familiar spark of desire.

Max's smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he relaxes completely against the sofa.

The frustration and weariness from earlier melted away, leaving behind the man you know so well—the man who thrives on competition but also craves the simple comfort of touch and connection.

He sighs contently, the sound almost a purr, as you continue to stroke his chest.

"You have no idea how much I needed this," he admits, his voice soft and low.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "I think I do," you whisper, your breath warm against his skin.

He turns his head slightly, his lips finding yours in a slow, languid kiss that speaks of gratitude, affection, and something deeper.

When he pulls back, his eyes are bright, a smile playing at his lips.

"Thank you," he says quietly, his fingers trailing up and down your arm in a gentle soothing motion.

"Not for that."

As the warmth of your embrace lingers, you feel Max's breathing slow, the tension fully drained away from his body. 

Sensing that he needs a moment of deeper comfort, you gently shift off his lap, sliding down to sit beside him on the sofa.

He looks up at you with a mixture of curiosity and contentment, the corners of his mouth still curved in that relaxed smile.

Without a word, you reach for him, your fingers threading through his hair as you gently pull his head down towards your lap.

Max doesn't resist, his body easily following the motion until he is lying down, his head resting comfortably against your thighs.

His eyes close as he settles in, a soft sigh escaping his lips, and you see him relaxing even more.

You look down at him, your heart swelling with love and tenderness for this man, so eager, so passionate, yet now he seems so at peace, so vulnerable in this moment.

You begin to caress his cheek, your fingers moving in slow, soothing strokes along the strong lines of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble that starts to form there.

Max leans into your touch, a soft hum of contentment vibrating in his chest. His body seems to melt even further into the sofa, his entire being surrendering to the comfort you are offering.

"This feels so goood..." he sighs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You lean down slightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

"I'm glad," you breathe deeply, your fingers continuing their gentle dance across his skin. "You deserve to rest, Max. You work so hard, and sometimes... you need to let go."

His eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a gaze full of gratitude. 

"It's easier with you here," he admits. "You make everything easier."

"That's what I am here for."

He reaches up, his hand covering yours where it rests on his cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a mirrored gesture.

Max's breathing grows even slower, deeper as the exhaustion of the day finally catches up with him. His eyes drift shut again, and you could see the lines of stress and worry smooth out as sleep begins to take hold.

You continue to caress his cheek, your touch light and gentle, hoping to keep him in this peaceful state for as long as possible.

Watching him like this, so calm and serene, you feel an overwhelming sense of love for him. 

Max is so much more than the fierce competitor the world sees on track; he is kind, strong, vulnerable, and so incredibly human.

And it is moments like this that you feel closest to him, when he lets down all his walls and lets you in completely.

As you continue to stroke his cheek, your fingers moving in slow, rhythmic patterns, you whisper softly.

"I will always be here, Max. No matter what happens tomorrow or the day after, I'll be right here with you."

He doesn't respond, but the small smile that tugs at his lips tells you he heard you. His hand still rests over yours, warm and reassuring, even as sleep fully claimed him.

[racingcore]

felt fitting

(gif credit: @countingstars-17 & @livetogether--diealone)

[russellsppttemplates]

Passing Charles Herve at the soccer game seen in said video,

https://www.tumblr.com/countingstars-17/740243711787728896?source=share

Note: this man with a baby in his arms 🥹

"Who's that, baby boy?", you cooed as Charles walked closer to you, "That's papa! He looks a bit sweaty, doesn't he?", you scrunched your nose, making your son giggle loudly as he looked for his father, making grabby hands.

"There's my two loves!", Charles said as he stretched his arms, holding Hervé as you passed him to your husband's arms before a member of security helped you up the bars and onto the floor safely, "thank you", you smiled, walking along the pitch with your boys.

"Do you think my skills have improved?", Charles asked you, "I, I don't know", you stuttered, not having the heart to tell him that he should stick to motorsport, "I know they haven't, but I like doing these things", he smiled, kissing Hervé's cheeks multiple times as the little boy took his surroundings in, "it's different from the paddock, isn't it?", he wondered, "but you know what isn't? Mama's beauty, it's always there", he said as you blushed, kissing both of your boy's cheeks.

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[formulafang1rl]

All I can hear is: "What made me fall in love with racing is the competition, is fighting on track. And we had that plenty of times with Max."

Credit for the GIFs to @countingstars-17