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marcos-scorpion · 1 year

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Heyy a Charles Leclercx fem!reader request where he comes home exhausted and the reader is making him a romantic dinner he comes in while she is cooking listening to some old music and he sways her around the kitchen and then they just slowly dance around the kitchen all evening food long forgotten deeply in love with eachother thank you and love your work

il predestinato - Charles Leclerc x Reader

hihi !! so i was aiming for this to be totally fluffy, but there’s a lil angst, mostly around how this season is going for Charles and Ferrari. I really like this tbh, and although i wrote it pretty quickly, i think it’s cute! tysm for the request my lovely,, hope you like it!! requests are still open

warnings- lil sad cos of Ferrari and how they treat Charles,, mostly fluffy

w/c- 1489

——

Charles Leclerc was struggling this season. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wished it wasn’t true.

Ferrari disasterclass after Ferrari disasterclass were starting to weigh heavily on his mind. No matter how many positive interviews after less positive results he gave, how many toothy grins he shot your way after another day in the factory or on the sim, you could see how all of this was beginning to weigh on your boy.

You knew he deserved more, every F1 fan knew he deserved more. You’d seen messages between him and Pierre, him and Max, hell even a few with Sebastian that showed that they knew he deserved more. You’d watched quietly as his brothers rallied around him, despite Arthur taking off in F2 and Lorenzo always having to dash off for meetings, his career being more demanding than people realised. You’d watched as Charles’ dreams crumbled under the pressure of the team, under the tyres of his once-beloved red car.

He was meant to be ‘il predestinato’. The Predestined. One of the greats waiting to happen. He was meant to be fighting for that title, wheel to wheel with the Red Bull, the Mercedes, and, surprisingly, the Aston Martin. He was a front of the grid, top step of the podium driver, stuck with the team who had promised him the world, and left him to piece together the shards of the glory they had promised.

You felt powerless in this all. A girl with a degree earned in student loans and scholarships, and no career to back it up, in a fast-paced world of the rich and important. Finding a place in Charles’ life had been difficult as it was, but you would do it all again to support him. Put your dreams of a Masters degree, and a doctorate, on hold. Sell your meagre little studio flat for the life so many dream of in Monaco. Leave family and friends behind for a world that would never quite be yours, no matter how many brands suddenly wanted to dress you for paddock appearances, no matter how much diamond jewellery Charles draped around your throat. What could a normal girl do to support someone like Charles, in a situation as delicate and important as this.

Whatever you could. Anything you could. You celebrated his wins, commiserated and comforted after losses. Spent weekend after weekend in crowded garages, night after night holding him as his shoulders shook under the weight of everyone’s expectations, as tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks.

Today was going to be a hard day for Charles. You had seen it in his eyes when he had left your shared apartment that morning. Another meeting with the Ferrari high-ups, another meeting where they blamed everything but themselves for the poor results ahead of the Azerbaijan Grand Prix this coming weekend. As soon as the lock clicked into place behind him, you decided you needed to do something today that could hopefully lift his mood.

After spending most of the morning cleaning your home, washing his training gear and polishing the monitors on his sim, dusting trophies in the cabinets lining his office walls, a trip to the market began. The ingredients for Charles’ favourite food in your basket, you decided to stop and get a few more treats for him that would certainly anger his trainer. A bottle of his favourite expensive wine, pastries from the little stall he took you to the day you met, the chocolate his mum bought him after good results in kart races as a child.

Hours later, after what felt like much longer leant over the stovetop in your kitchen, the rich smell of the sauce you were stirring filled the room, the soft sounds of Elvis crooning though the speaker settled safely on the windowsill. Charles wasn’t meant to be home until seven thirty, and it was currently just past five. Enough time to finish the sauce, lay out the good plates and light a few candles. Maybe change into something other than the pyjamas you had put on when you got back from the market. ‘Pyjamas’ being a pair of Charles’ boxers fresh out of the dryer and your faded university jumper.

Tapping on your phone to increase the volume, you began to gently sway your hips to the intro to Suspicious Minds. So wrapped up in the music, you didn’t hear the front door click, or the bag hit the floor in the entryway. The footsteps making their way into the kitchen didn’t register, not until you felt an arm snake around your waist, palm pressed into the skin of your stomach and the waistline of the stolen underwear.

You didn’t even flinch at the sensation on your skin, it was so familiar and comforting. Leaning back into his touch, you smiled lazily as your eyes met.

“Hello, mon coeur.” He murmured, pressing his lips against your hair.

Twisting in his arms, you let him fully wrap you in his embrace, feeling the tension melt away from the muscles in his back. It had been as bad a day as you’d expected, you could see the slight glisten in his eyes, the furrow in his brow.

“Oh my darling,” you began “I take it the meeting didn’t go well?” You already knew the answer, but the tightening of his arms around your waist as he buried his face against your hair told you enough.

You could feel his lips move against your scalp after a few moments, the words he wanted to say struggling to come out. He sighed, stepping back slightly, shifting his arms to press his hands onto your hips. “They’re blaming me. Saying I’m not working hard enough, not trying hard enough to adapt to the car. I’m going against all their plans, against how they’ve set everything out for me. As if it isn’t their bad strategy that’s fucking me over every race.”

You suddenly felt insecure that your days-worth of work wasn’t going to help, or would even worsen his mood, that it was going against the plan designed by his team and his PT that was so clearly set out to help him be his best.

“I-I wasn’t sure how you would be feeling, so I’ve tried to cook your favourite. But if you don’t want it, the pre-planned meal ingredients from your trainer are in the fridge. I can make that, o-or I got some pastries from that stall, the one from our first date? And some chocolate, the one your mum used to get.” You smoothed a thumb over the crease between his brows, “We can do whatever you want.”

His hands dropped from your sides, and his chin drooped towards his chest, and you began to panic more. “O-or I can call Pierre, or your brothers, and you can have a boys night, I’ll get out of your way. Whatever you need me to do.”

His head is still down, and you’re so worried that you’ve made everything worse. But you weren’t expecting the look that you were met with when he raised his head. His eyes were shining more now, the glistening from earlier now lining his lashes with unshed tears. You weren’t expecting the sheer love that was emanating from his expression, his entire being.

The smile he gave you could move planets, reignite the stars. Any insecurity and anxiety settled in your chest disappeared, replaced with a deep-rooted warmth.

“Oh, my darling girl,” he sighed, “What good did I do in a past life to deserve you?”

His arms snaked around your waist again, pulling you tight against him. He began softly swaying to the music still playing.

“Sometimes, I think the universe made you for me. No one has ever done something so simple, yet so perfect. I think we were designed for each other mon coeur. Destiny did something right for once.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You know, I used to think the nickname il predestinato was a curse. A label placed on me for such an unattainable dream. A ridiculous notion, and unexpected pressure. But I believe that I was your predestined. And you’re mine. And as long as I have you, all of those dreams are within reach again.”

The food was long forgotten, simmering away to itself, and the candles on the table would remain unlit, for tonight at least. Right now, nothing would feel better than dancing with the love of your life to the songs your parents loved too.

And as the opening notes to Can’t Help Falling in Love With You began, and Charles reached around you to turn off the stove, twirling you to the song as he softly sang the words, you couldn’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This love was written in the stars. Predestined. And maybe, that was all you two would ever need.

#Charles Leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #Formula one x reader #charles Leclerc imagine #Charles Leclerc x you #f1 imagine #Fuck Ferrari this season #il predestinato deserves better #Mothie writes #Requests are open #Tysm for the request #F1 x reader fluff #Charles Leclerc x reader fluff

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