#cece is charles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain · 2 years

Note

May I please ask for headcanons on they the other version of the recruits react to mine?

Of course boo! I feel like a kid swapping baseball cards with a neighborhood kid

How they met was a random visit in the city by the gang, mostly for the siblings to find a place to perform and Jane Vera and Dante just followed to hang out, the same time when the friend group were in the city for college lessons and personal reasons

It gave them a heart attack by accident with this:

Joe sits at a small table with a drink as he relaxes for a bit and Jac walks over mostly covered in his red jacket with the hood up cause it's cold so Joe didn't notice right away, and Jac starts ranting about the cold and soon brings up a "hot babe" from a bar visit he went to and asked if wants details.

Joe goes pales and nervously and slowly getting angry ask "But what about Roxy?" In which Jac, assuming it's his best bud and referring to a chick previous said, "what about her?"

Luckily before Joe could sock this guy a new one Sia walks over with two cups of coffee and sat in front of them and starts complaining about a phone call with her boss' assistance (this world of Pan and Panic) who lost an important file

Jac and Sia talk back and forth and Joe slowly begins to question reality when Jac tries to convince Sia to go clubbing with her the weekend and how she needs to find a nice guy

Somewhere else in the building Jack is checking the sound when Joseph randomly sat beside him and said "Okay, so there's this cult documentary I watched last night right?" and just goes off on the documentary he was watching and complaining about his step-mom which is a normal vent which was a huge load of "whoa" on Jack

Then how it all tied together

Ivan was walking around and stopped by the vending machines and heard a voice a lot like Aya, now homeboy been crushing on her for a long time and been holding off letting those feelings known. So what he do? He goes over and starts talking until Zuri turns around and the two just stare at each other like "wtf"

Then Cece comes in while Sha comes in the same time and everyone's like "wait, wtf-"

So after gathering everyone introductions were made with Jack trying to be extra sure they were real and not magical beings like the recruiters, best not open that can of worms of the Disney Villain Recruiters just yet boo

Apologizes were made after everything

Wilhelm was mainly staring at Vince in per astonishment. He had similar features of his face but was obviously proud of his looks and not hiding him unlike himself, he was open with emotions when he wasn't, and not to mention Vince has a girlfriend when he barely dated. The two soon do bond over childhood stuff and books with Vince comfortable enough to show the guy a picture of Stephanie

Wilhelm scrunch his face u and said "Sorry. She just looks like Margaret" "Is she nice?" "She's a girl who lives in my building. We don't get along" Vince was just happy he hasn't met Apple Poison yet

Joseph was kind of taken aback at Joe in a way since he, like Vince, is open and not hiding like he is. The bond over the ocean and talk about Misty and Arielle together when they're away from others

Sia's first thought of Cece was she reminded her of her past self a bit. The two talk and as Sia soon mentioned her work and how she got a fancy ass home (she showed pictures) she was surprised to hear Cece offer to ruin her family's life with ease and bring even more damage to her ex-fiance. She simply grinned as they realized they're more similar than they seem and everyone can simply shutter in the idea of these two working together with Sia being Cece's main alibi if needed

Charles was amazed by Malachite. Like he has a band??? They talk about their life styles and Charles did his hardest to try and not tell Malachite his past but when it did he used way more physical power to make sure he won't go rampage

Aya adores Zuri to bits. Like tons of compliments and giggles. Like best friends imminently attached. Those two swap contacts with each other within the first 20 minutes of their talk. She just finds her so pretty and so happy she has a great life

Sha couldn't stop but find Nadia so pretty and so impressed by her boldness "So your dad lets your party?" "Uh, by dad you mean mom yeah." The two chat about being the younger ones of their groups and favorite activities and hobbies with Sha seeing more and more of the confidence she needs to grow through Nadia. Probably won't sleep with people much as she shows off the purity ring she had since she was 7 though she admitted to have dated and kissed before

Jac totally digs this Jack guy! They seemingly have a lot in common and Jack even got promises to have discounts at the diner he works at with Maria. There was a lot of apologies with Jac saying sorry about Jack maybe nearly kicking his ass kicked but assumption he's cheating on his girl

Janice was pretty much "wanna hang out?" with Jane and they two had a lot of deep nice conversations about life and their dads which Janice can't help but smiling hearing how nice her family sounds and how she luckily didn't have her childhood

Maria was more or less confused of Vera. Yes they had things in common, but she was... open of her feelings and her likes. There was no issue if she listens to rock music? She's open she's gay?? It honestly scared the poor girl more with the idea someone like her was worried all this time when it' isn't a big deal

Ivan fucking LOVES Dante man! They both talk about fashions, their moms, certain cute brown hair childhood besties in their lives

2 notes · View notes

godsfavdarling · 2 months

Text

Have you seen it?

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! reader summary: You start explaining the 'Pretty Little Liars' plot to your bf words: 440 warings: spoilers for pll obviously! a/n: how about pll/criminal minds cross over where spencer and spencer start dating? Has anyone ever thought of that? Is there a market for that?

You and Spencer sat comfortably on the couch, the soft glow of the TV casting gentle shadows in the dimly lit room. The movie, A Cinderella Story starring Lucy Hale, played on the screen.

You had a soft spot for these light-hearted, whimsical films, and every once in a while, you managed to persuade Spencer to watch one with you. To his credit, he always agreed, happy to partake in anything that brought you joy, even if it was a bit out of his usual interests.

"This girl was in this one show, Pretty Little Liars. It was crazy and had so many plot holes," you said, your eyes lighting up as you remembered the series.

"Have you seen it? It's actually about crime... kind of. Well, there's this group of girls who start getting scary messages and threats. Season 1 is pretty good actually. Oh, and this girl, Lucy Hale, she plays Aria, who starts dating her English teacher."

Spencer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"

"I know, it's crazy," you laughed, shaking your head. "Also, one of the girls... you'll never guess it. Her name is Spencer! And she’s super smart."

Spencer chuckled, a warm, affectionate sound that made your heart flutter.

"She is! She can hack and stuff, and she knows everything. Just like you!"

"How long was the show?" Spencer asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity.

With that question, Spencer unknowingly opened the floodgates. You forgot about the movie you were watching, your excitement bubbling over as you launched into a detailed explanation of the convoluted plot of Pretty Little Liars.

"And then it turns out CeCe is Charlotte, who used to be Charles, but she’s actually trans," you explained animatedly, your hands gesturing wildly. "And guess what? There's another character who has a secret sister."

Spencer's eyes widened as he tried to keep up with the barrage of information. Despite his impressive intellect, he struggled to piece together the tangled web of relationships and mysteries you were describing.

You grabbed your laptop, pulling up images and character charts to help illustrate your points.

"The movie ended an hour ago," Spencer noted, glancing at the dark screen, a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

You barely heard him, too caught up in recounting the show's most outrageous twists. "Spencer has a sister! An evil British twin sister! That was crazy! It was wild!"

Spencer's smile widened as he watched your enthusiasm. He loved seeing you so passionate, even if he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the labyrinthine plot of Pretty Little Liars.

For him, moments like these were priceless, reminding him of why he adored you so much.

You two were so different, but so similar at the same time.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x gn reader #spencer reid x gn!reader #gn!reader #pretty little liars #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader

149 notes · View notes

lovelytsunoda · 4 months

Text

purple haze // charles leclerc

summary: writing a novel is a long an arduous process. luckily for y/n, she has a very supportive partner in crime, and when it all works out, he's the only person she would want by her side.

pairing: charles leclerc x author reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, talk of deadlines, book referenced is a good girls guide to murder by holly jackson. gets a lil steamy towards the middle but nothing comes of it. still not sure how i feel about this one, but i havent written for charles in forever and i got an idea i really liked but i don't know if it worked out when i put it on paper.

by the time y/n closed her laptop, she felt like her fingers were going to fall off. she leaned back in her desk chair, gutted to find that the monaco cityscape outside her living room window was now pitch black, as might had fallen on the city.

her first book had been a red-wine and oasis fuelled fever dream, the last three chapters being written to ‘don’t look back in anger’. and now, the final edits were done.

“I’m so proud of you, mon tresor.” charles gushed, bringing her another glass of wine.

“the last three years are finally paying off. a good girls guide to murder is done, and the world is ready to meet pippa and ravi.” she grinned, clinking her glass against her boyfriends.

she had poured three years of her life into that book, and Charles had been by her side for all of it. through numerous rejections, edits and late night idea-vomit, nobody was prouder than charles was so see it work out for her.

and now he knew she needed a break.

taking her hand in his, he gently dragged her out of the desk chair and towards the couch, placing their wineglasses on the coffee table as he urged y/n to sit on the ground between his legs.

his hands were warm as he began to massage her shoulders, attempting to release the tension caused by the last round of edits, which she had worked on almost from sunup to sundown.

“there’s still so much to do.” she whined, tilting her head back to look up at her lover. “now there’s arcs and extra promotions and finding advance reviewers and-“

charles cut her off with a kiss. “none of that right now. right now, you and me are going to finish this bottle of wine and watch something pointless on tv.”

smiling to herself, y/n got up from the floor and moved to the leather couch, slipping seamlessly into charles' lap and nestling against his chest. his body was warm, and his sweater soft. even if his cologne was a little bit too strong, he made her feel safe. treasured.

"that sounds perfect." she hummed, gently turning his face so she could kiss him. "thank you for supporting me."

"always, my love." charles smiled before kissing her again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

it was half past five in the morning when the phone rang. charles could sleep through just about anything, but it was the vibrations of the phone against her side table that woke y/n.

she looked over at her sleeping lover, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades before slipping out of bed and creeping into the hallway to answer a call from her agent, cecelia.

"cece, its five in the morning. couldn't this have waited?"

ceclia cleared her throat. "i've just heard from the american office. the preliminary numbers for the new york times list are in."

"fuck. how did we do?" she closed her eyes, holding up her crossed fingers and praying to every god she wasn't sure she believed in.

and when cecelia spoke again, she almost dropped her phone.

"okay. thank you for letting me know, cece."

she slipped back into the bedroom, bare, dry feet sinking into the plush carpet at the end of the bed before she sat down at the end of the bed, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"mon amour." charles rasped, exhaustion in his voice as he rolled over onto his back. "what's wrong?"

"i just got a call from cecelia." she started, trying not to let her emotions show through. "she's just been on the phone with our american agent with the new york times numbers."

charles sat up, one of his warm hands going to rest on her thigh. "and?' he asked hesitantly, his piercing eyes meeting her uncertain ones in the dark.

"i made the top ten." she shouted, grin spreading all across her features.

making the new york times list had made everything worth it. all the sleepless nights when she had woken up with an idea she was scared to lose, all the rewrites, the weeks of writers block. the rejections, the aggravation, the insecurity.

this was it.

she had done it.

"i'm so proud of you." charles beamed, folding her into a hug. "i knew you could do it, my brilliant girl."

she dropped her phone on the bed, red-faced and giggly as she kissed him, allowing her hands to wander across his toned chest. "wanna show me just how much?"

THREE YEARS LATER

the theater was almost silent when the lights came up, the end credits of the final episode fading out on the screen. she held her breath, fingers gripping charles' hand so tightly that she thought she might break the fragile bones in her husband's fingers.

oh, yeah. they had gotten married about a year after her book had come out, while she was in the middle of writing as good as dead, the conclusion to the series.

since a good girls guide to murder had come out, her life had changed for the better. she felt more secure in herself and her talent, and the words had never come easier when she started writing the sequel, eager ton continue the story. she had since written two more books to complete the trilogy, as well as two standalone novels: five survive and the reappearance of rachel price. around the time that rachel price was announced, she had gotten another call from cecelia, asking if she and charles could come to london and meet with representatives from the bbc.

they wanted to turn her first book into a tv series.

she had been hands on from the beginning, throwing herself into her work and doing her best to make sure that the version of the story the readers saw on screen was the version that she had visualized when she'd first explained the storyboard to charles, the driver helping her connect everything on their living room wall with red yarn.

and now was the time. the time to see if it had all paid off. the theater was filled with minor celebrities, influencers, and the tiktokers who had made her book blow up in popularity.

it all came down this night.

"it's okay. whatever happens, you know you did your best." charles whispered in her ear, running one hand up and down her bare back. underneath the flimsy straps of her red dress.

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath when the roar off applause began to drown her.

she rode the rush of emotions, allowing the tears of gratification and relief to ruin her mascara as she let her body go slack, resting against charles as she watched the room rise in a standing ovation for pippa and ravi.

"we did it. we made it, charles." she laughed, tilting her head up to kiss him.

"no, cherie. you did this. they're all here for you."

she watched as the event's host, a former spice girl that charles knew through his paddock connections, stepped out into the middle of the small stage set up at the front of the theater.

"and now, the moment i'm sure you've all been waiting for, a few words from y/n /y/l/n-leclerc!"

she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, taking a deep breath before she walked across the stage, taking the microphone from geri halliwell, and turning to face the crowd.

in the front row, there was charles. her one true love. her biggest supporter.

and in that moment, she truly allowed herself to believe that she had made it.

#charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #f1 iagine #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #Spotify

309 notes · View notes

imaginaryf1shots · 1 year

Text

My Girls || Wasp

Drabble

600 words

Driver!oc X Max Verstappen

Platonic!Driver!oc X the grid

Summery: a wasp on stage

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Max Masterlist

Wasp

Max, Cecilia, Lando, Alex and Charles were standing on stage for a quick interview, the fans were watching, holding signs and calling their names.

Cecilia was standing between Max and Lando. Alex was being asked a question, so the female took a moment to look at the crowd. She laughed at a sign that had Charles saying it was an inchident on it.

She was pointing it out to Lando before they were attacked. A girly scream escaped Lando as he held Cecilia to hide behind her. The female tried to get away, also scared.

"Let go of me! Lando!" She screamed trying to dodge the wasp that was attracted to the orange dressed duo. Cecilia pushed Lando and hid behind Max holding his bicep. It all happened in a matter of seconds. The fans were laughing, Lando was on the floor and Cecilia held onto Max. the flying insect seemed to not give up, flying around the couple now. “MAX!”

Max felt her hand dig in his bicep, he moved so he was between Cecilia and the wasp. Alex took one of the cue cards from the presenter and tried to swat the bug away. Cecilia was seen looking over Max’s shoulder, Lando was on his feet far away from the action, and Cahrles just stood amused by this whole ordeal. Everytime Max tried to move Cecilia wouldn’t let him. Finally Alex managed to swat the wasp away and it disappeared just as fast as it appeared. Sighing, the female leaned her head on Max’s shoulder slowly letting go of him.

“That shows how brave some F1 drivers are.” Charles said in the microphone with a teasing smile and his female best friend glared at him, she cautiously came out from behind Max, but stayed close. Her boyfriend patted her back and sent her a smile.

“Dégagé, Charles.”(Piss off Charles) Cecilia said and glared at her friend.

“What she said.” Lando said and came to stand beside his teammate, Charles rolled his eyes.

“I think the big heroes here are Max and Aelx.” The presenter said gaining everyone’s attention back to the task at hand. “Give them all a round of applause.”

Everyone clapped for them while the Mclaren due sulked, this video will be all over their social media by the time they’re off stage. How can you act cool as an F1 driver after you fall on stage a scream on stage from a wasp.

Once they were done and the drivers were getting off stage, Max wrapped an arm around Cecilia’s shoulder, the female moved closer. “You were really scared there.”

“Uh, don’t remind me, that’s all I’ll be seeing the next few days.” Cecilia groaned, stomping a little like a child.

“Careful, Cece, your Nathalie is showing.” Cecilia flips Charles off leaving him and Alex laughing their heads off.

“Come on, mate, leave her be.” Max came to her defence, all in good fun of course.

“I personally liked how she pushed Lando to the floor.” Alex stated and looked like he was reliving the moment in his mind.

“That was mean by the way, Cece.” Lando said having slowled to walk with them.

“Lando, you literally were using me as a human shield, you had Charles on your other side.” Cecia’s eyes went wide as she pointed at the monegasque male.

“But you’re my team mate!” She didn’t answer him just glared, Max leaned over to speak in her ear.

“I liked how you instinctively hid behind me.” Cecilia scoffed but felt her cheeks tint red.

“Of course you did.”

Kissing her cheek the pair separated to finish their duties, but Cecilia’s cheeks remained red for a bit longer, Lando left his brows amused as the Mclaren drivers left for their motorhome.

Taglist:

@luciaexcorvus . @vellicora . @tpwkstiles . @belennasif . @eugene-emt-roe . @fanboyluvr . @fangirl125reader , @christianpulisic10 . @belennasif

#f1 x driver!reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen one shot #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1dr #max verstappen imagine #my girls #f1 scenario

615 notes · View notes

theemporium · 1 month

Note

#46 for ❤️ with werewolf!lestappen pls!

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

46. “Poor baby, all fucked out and I’ve barely even touched you.”

Nine times out of ten, you could handle whatever the boys threw at you.

They were insatiable and needy and demanding. There was a primal side in them, one that you could never keep up with despite how hard you tried. You thought as the months went on, as you learnt more about them—both as humans and as werewolves—that you would get used to it.

Unfortunately for your sanity, that was not the case.

If anything, you could have sworn they were getting worse.

More insatiable. More needy. More demanding. And your very human self was struggling to keep up.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

Max let out a groan, biting down on his lower lip as he held your face in his hands. You looked fucked out and exhuasted and overwhelmed. It was one of the prettiest sights he had ever seen, something primal and possessive twisting in his stomach. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He needed you crying out for them, clawing at them, begging for them like they were the air you needed to breathe.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice lower and rougher than normal. His thumb brushed over your cheeks, purposefully ignoring the way your lips parted eagerly for his fingers. “Poor baby, all fucked out and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Max,” you choked out, your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation between your legs.

“But I’m not the one who’s got you this needy, hm?” Max cooed, mean and mocking and, fuck, it shouldn’t have made your stomach twist in pleasure the way it did. “This is all Charles’ doing, isn’t it, baby?”

You only whined in response, your head falling from his hold as you pressed your forehead against the mattress and bit down on the sheets.

Max’s eyes darted to the boy behind you, his large, ringed hands holding your legs apart as he lapped and kissed and licked your needy, leaking cunt. It was a sight that made Max’s cock twitch, the pussydrunk look on the younger boy’s face as he nuzzled himself between your legs. He would stay there for the rest of the days if he could.

Max wondered how long you would last before Charles’ wicked tongue and whiny breaths would have you begging for mercy.

He reckoned you were pretty close around about now.

“C’mon, baby, thought you said you would be good for us,” Max mused as he raked his fingers through your hair, tugging your head back up until you were staring at him with wide, glossy eyes and parted lips. “You’ve been so nice for Charles, letting him break you apart. Not gonna give me a taste?”

Your eyes dropped to his cock, hard and leaking and pressed against his stomach, and instinctively your lips widened further.

“Atta girl,” Max cooed, his chest rumbling in delight the same way it did when he was in his wolf form. He held your head with one hand, guiding his cock into your mouth with the other. “This is just the beginning, baby, gonna completely break you apart until all you know is our cocks. Isn’t that right, Charles?”

The younger boy only moaned appreciatively against your sensitive cunt.

Your whole body burned up at the thought.

432 notes · View notes

spicyclover · 5 months

Text

No one can hurt you

Summary : A dinner of revelation and tragedy.

Hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know in the comment section.

Thank you! :)

Lots of love, xxx Spicy Clover

DISCLAIMER : Rewrite and final version of "All the things you said" | Netflix show: One Day at the Time | Elena’s Story part | Season 3, ep 2. WARNING: mention of physical and verbal aggression! Su*c*de WARNING !R@PE! WARNING: mention of SU*C*DE WARNING TOUGH CONTENT, BE AWARE

DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction and has no correlation with reality. All site names making acts, violence or any other type of aggression are used for artistic purposes, and they did not commit those acts

If you need help. Please get help. You are loved, and your life is valued. Even if you don’t see it, you are loved.

The Monaco Grand Prix is in a few days and you will be slowly preparing for tonight’s dinner. Charles decided to organize a small evening for the pilots and their respective companions. It is in a magnificent hotel overlooking the sea that Charles booked the room and privatized the chef of the restaurant. The luxurious life of Monaco in its greatest fullness, you are always amazed by all the secrets that this small principality shelters.

You were third-wheeling your best friend Heidi to that party. She and Daniel invited you after running into you in the afternoon at the marina. Since you were little you know most of the pilots. So you are happy to have been invited to celebrate this new year of racing in Monaco with them. The evening was going well until the subject of the conversation crumbled into something darker.

“I gotta admit, I’m getting kind of confused.” Ends up saying, Checo rubbing his nose with his glass.

“Oh, my god, me too. What if someone says, “I am not sleeping with you tonight?” And then... an hour later, they’re like, “Eh, fine.” What’s that?” Ask Lando, completely confused.

“Unsurprising,” Pierre whispers under his breath, laughing. You laugh at with him, ignoring Lando's thunder.

“How many women have said, “Eh, fine”?” Questions Heidi sarcastically.

“Yeah, I got to make some calls.”

“Now I’m perplexed.” Says Max trying to make sense of everything he heard.

“I know. It’s confusing. I hate to admit it, but I feel sorry for men. This consent thing is tricky.” Kelly responded and gets up to pour herself more wine.

“No.” You exclaim annoyed by her comment. “Women always blame themselves, and then the man never has to take responsibility. During rape prevention week at the university, all the signs are aimed at women. “Girls, don’t dress provocatively. Girls, don’t walk alone.” How about, “Hey, guys, don’t rape.”" You look up at Pierre knowing perfectly it will trigger him.

“Oh, my god, why are we talking about that? I took a couple pictures as a joke, and Cece thought it was funny.” Pierre exclaims as he gets up from his chair to get himself another beer at the bar.

“Did she? Or did she feel like she had to laugh ‘cause she doesn’t know what else to do with your hand on her boob?” Everyone around the table falls silent and waits. You get up from your chair and walk you way to Pierre.

“Ok, sweetie, take it easy.” Adds Sebastian taking your arm and tries to calm the conversation.

“No. He thinks what he did is cute. You are basically a predator.” You accuse, pointing your finger at him.

“You’re basically a psycho.” Pierre replies, knowing full well it will trigger you.

“Good, call me crazy for defending a woman’s right not to be groped!”

“You’re mad ‘cause the internet told you to be. You don’t know my life or even leave this apartment!” Pierre screams as he approaches you.

“Because of guys like you!” You answer with the same intonation.

“What are you talking about?” Charles asks, taking your hand for you to sit down.

You and Charles are special. You’ve been like ass and shirt since childhood. You’ve known him since you were six. For as long as you can remember, Charles has always been one of your dearest childhood friends. You have shared so much together. No one has ever made you vibrate like he does. Usually his simple touch makes you calmer and reassuring. But you are no longer able to appreciate this contact that you cherish so much.

“You want to know?” You said, scoffing. “Okay. A couple of weeks ago, Heidi and I were coming home from the movies, and we were holding hands. And we noticed these guys staring at us, and then we changed the sidewalks , and they followed us.” You speak with tears in your eyes.

“What?” Sebastian says concerned in his voice. His turn your body to him.

“Yes. And they were going, “Come one, you guys, kiss. We really wanna see it. Just kiss.” They thought that was really funny, too.” You continue telling while drinking a sip of your glass.

“It was actually terrifying.” Ends up adding Heidi after Daniel stares at her intently.

“It was terrifying. And then we finally lost them in a crowd and ran home...” You finish in a huff trying to hold back your tears. Your hand hides your eyes and you try at best to find your calm.

Charles, in his divine goodness, hastens to extinguish you warmly. At first, his touch hurts you and you have only one desire to remove his hands from your dirty body. Yet you cling to him like a lifeline. Deep down, you know it's time. Time to tell what happened that night, a year ago. Nobody dares to speak at your revelation and everyone feels guilty for not knowing sooner.

“Umm... Last year after the Monaco Grand Prix. Lance Stroll raped me. He was my friend, and he raped me in my own bedroom. And then, he threatened me not to tell anyone... but. Why did he do this?” You ask breaking down in tears. “Sorry, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what... I feel.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Sebastian asks tenderly, approaching you rubbing his hand on your back.

“I tried, but... nobody listened to me.” You respond looking at Lando through your tears. Your eyes pierce Lando’s being. He doesn’t know where to put himself and his cheeks become red. He implores you to keep your mouth shut, but the situation no longer belongs to you. You feel the body of Charles being redeemed against yours and you notice that he followed your gaze.

“You knew.” He accuses Lando turning his attention abruptly towards him.

“I... I.” He tries to defend himself. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh, you think she knew what to do either.” He yells, getting up from his chair and grabbing him by the collar.

“Charles, let him go!” Orders Carlos.

“You let her suffer silently when you knew what he did to her. I thought you were better than this. T’es qu’une grosse merde.” You’re a piece of shit

“Oh please, like you would have done something? We all know he’s untouchable and has done it before.” Admitted Lando, pushing Charles away.

“What?” Sebastian speaks up. This is the first time he has heard this from his former teammate. He never thought he would ever see Lance in this light.

“Nothing.”

“It’s nothing? He raped her, and now other girls too?” Charles advances again, preventing him from fleeing the situation.

“Don't play fouls, Charles. You were in his hotel room at the party in Abu Dhabi last year, and I quite remember your hands on some teenage girls, groping them.” He said suddenly, pushing Charles out of his way again.

“What?” You speak up, troubled by Lando's affirmation.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Charles turns to you, trying to explain himself. You get up from your chair and walk back as you see him approach.

“Don’t touch me.” You say, pushing him away. “Did you do it?”

“I... It’s not the same thing.” He justified himself.

“Yes. It actually is. Did you grope those teenage girls or worse raped them?” You ask scandalized. Charles, your best friend, your confidant, the one you most trust is capable of the same thing as the person who hurt you the most.

“Oui,” he admits in a small voice. “I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t want to? What the fuck, Charles. What's wrong with you all?” You yell, taking your stuff and leaving as fast as possible.

The thought of all this happening to so many more makes you sick. How could nobody speak up about this? You walk down the hotel hallway. You can hear footsteps and Charles's voice telling you to come back. When you get to the lobby, you ask for a taxi home. Tears fall down your cheeks, and you look at him as you push the door out.

You take your taxi and give him your address. All you want right now is a shower. A warm and reassuring shower. To pull away all those memories and thoughts. You want to scream to the world. You want to smash your entire apartment down. You want to stay in bed for the rest of your life. You want to jump off the roof. You want to cut yourself so that the pain stops. You want to be set free.

You arrive at the complex. Your dark thought runs in circles in your head. Like a robot, you open the door, press the elevator, and finally unlock your apartment. You let your essentials fall on the ground with your bag and coat. Like a machine, you take your shoes off and open the lights.

The sight of your home, which does not feel like home anymore. Since Lance pushes himself into you while you try to make him go away, this place hasn’t felt like home. You can’t even sleep in your own bed anymore. No matter how many times you clean the sheets, change the bed. This memory comes running back into your mind. Invade you like a parasite.

You go to the bathroom and open the valve to fill the bathtub. You watch the water. You can hear your phone blowing up with notifications and calls. “Why does this world have to be this cruel?” You think, taking your clothes off.

Your body envelops itself in the heat of the water, and you close your eyes. Your body slips in the bath. You head underwater. You hear focusing on your heart bit. You enjoy this moment of quietness and solitude.

That’s it. You feel alone since that night he took your joy, your life, yourself.

You can feel the water pressure you to gasp for air. Your head starts popping your blood. Your heart rises to find oxygen. You struggle. You have been struggling this long. You want to go, and you want to let go.

You let the water go in, and suddenly, all the scary parts disappear. The explosion in your head fades away, and you’re not scared anymore. You find it relatively peaceful. Very peaceful.

Strangely, you’re dreaming. Him with you. On a boat. Feeling the breeze in your hair. The warm sun on your skin. His light touches on your thigh. His breath on your neck. His lips are on your breast. You’re daydreaming. Are you? Is your mind trying to ease the pain in your heart? Is it even the day?

Then. You open your eyes. You try to scream, but your head is under the water. You feel weak but strong. Sick but healthy. Chaos but at peace. You can feel your body wiggling, but your mind is different. No one can hurt you now. Quietly, your eyelids become heavy again, and what a moment ago hurt you the most now makes you feel good.

The water fills your lungs, and you sink more and more into the darkness. Nobody seems to pull you up. The seconds pass, but you no longer find the courage to go out. The bathtub disappears, and you find yourself in the sea. In a warm and welcoming sea; The Mediterranean. An infinity of blue. An infinity of sweetness. The noises are only deaf sounds, and you feel your brain more and more calm. The sun’s rays pass through the water, and you move further and further away from it. Your eyelids become more and more stretched.

Then you see beautiful blue eyes through the water. No fair. You can’t reach them but can’t stop staring at those ocean-blue eyes. Suddenly, you feel scared. Scared to leave those ocean eyes. You’re afraid, and you’re drowning under the waves of words you haven’t said to them, to you.

You try to fight back this peaceful state, but darkness is an easier path than light. Suddenly the silence suffocates you, and you miss the sound surrounding you.

Then comes the darkness.

When you leave the apartment, Sebastian watches Charles running after you. He can’t believe what has happened. He doesn’t want to consider it. How could he? He sees and goes to the door, and Charles is defeated on the ground. He passes by without a look and walk his way to the lobby.

You have always been a fragile child. Even when you were a child. You were always this little fragile and precious porcelain doll. You’ve never been afraid of anything growing up. Sebastian always loved to see you grow up with him. Despite your age difference, he always considered you his little sister. The little one who needs to be protected from everything and at any cost. Knowing that you are suffering so much hurts him.

In the hallway, the walk seems long and endless, his thoughts wandering toward your shared memories. He remembers many summers spent in the countryside. At your grandparents' meadow, there was a vast field with a few horses grazing on the fresh grass. He remembers that beautiful-eyed little girl running in his direction.

You had dirt all over your clothes. Your hair was braided, and he still remembers the grass sticking in it. He remembers your laughter, which lit up the prairie thousands of miles away. Hearing you laugh has always been his favourite thing about you. Lost, it’s only when the doors block his way out that he remembers he has to go looking for you. He runs through the night towards your apartment.

Charles is devastated. Everything he tried to build with you has just broken in a moment. He feels lonely and ashamed. He wants you to know how much he loves you. How much you mean to him. How much you have become the center of his universe.

Before you, there was racing, and that was it. When you became something more his life change. It was as if you had lit the dormant fire in him. You have extinguished the flame since the death of his best companion, his father. You have given meaning to this quest. The stakes are not won but won for you.

He still remembers the first time he took you to his garage. You were with Sebastian. He was showing you around the Ferrari factory, showing you the different facilities, different parts. You were so captivated by his words, and your eyes were shining like stars in the sky.

He remembers the moment when your eyes landed on him. The smile you had, and the dress you wore and the clip in your hair. He counts you. Unable to say anything. Captivated by your beauty.

“Hi, Charlie.” You said in your beautiful voice.

He stuttered and blushed heavily. You laughed gently before putting your lips on each of his cheeks. He likes a kiss, and no, he likes your kisses.

A hand falls on his shoulder, and he sees Pierre. Tears in his eyes prevent him from distinguishing himself perfectly, but he recognizes his friend.

“Don’t worry. She’ll come back.” He says softly. Taking him by the shoulders to lift him up and bring him back to the room.

The others are still there. Confused and shaken, no one speaks. Silence reigns in the room, and no one knows what to say. Charles opens the patio door and leaves the fresh night air in the room. The city slowly began to calm down, and he heard the waves regularly hitting the harbour.

Daniel gets up and gets rid of the table. Putting this party away may make us forget the events that occurred. Heidi and Kelly help him while the others put orders in the room. No one dares to go to see Charles.

The hour passes quickly, and some decide to leave. They quickly greet the last remaining. Pierre observes his friend, who has not moved, and still looks at the sea.

It’s only when Charles' phone starts ringing that he looks away. He calmly enters the room and answers.

“Hello?”

You always liked the fields. You always loved hiding in the big wheat fields surrounding your grandparents' house when you were little. This stretch of yellow was as far as the eye could see. You liked feeling the stems between your fingers, the seeds melting to your touch, and the particular smell of wheat.

You remember a hot summer day. Lying on a tablecloth after a picnic, nature calms by this overwhelming heat, especially the calm of this yellow and green nature. You remember the farmer who held the farm. You spent days watching him working. Helping him through the mould. Watching him turn wheat powder into cereal. You remember this great man, always with a grain of wheat in his mouth that was constantly chewing.

You remember the hum that bees made at work. From wheat to wheat, pollen is harvested. You remember the nests in the hives that you created one summer. Your grandfather, with his jumpsuit, would go every morning and inspect the nests, and you loved watching him do it. You also loved to taste honey with each harvest. Honey is good. It’s sweet. It’s sweet. It’s wild.

You remember Sebastian. His blond hair, his smile, the sound of his kart engine. Many hours passed in his company at the track with his dad. You remember your big brother, following him and Sebastian all day long, like the annoying little sister you were. You remember falling from a tree after the boys thought it was a great idea to climb it. You see your brother jumping down the tree to get to you and hear Sebastian running back to the house to get help. You spent the night at the hospital. You broke your arms that summer, and you had a commotion. Your parents were furious and punished your brother for the rest of the vacation.

You remember your first winter in the mountains. Mornings skiing, and afternoons making snowmen, eating maple syrup, drinking hot chocolate, just playing in the snow. See your happy brother’s face after he managed to get the last pancake.

You remember Sebastian’s victories. To see him move up from category to category. You remember his encounter with Hanna. You love Hanna. She is so sweet and kind. You remember your great jealousy towards her from the height of your twelve years. She who steals your Sebastian. She who steals your second brother. Oh yes, you were jealous, but she knew how to win your heart, and after all, she stayed.

You remember the Ferrari years. Everyone was in red. You saw the world with red glasses. Red like love. Red like anger. Red as the colour. Red as blood. It’s kind of at this time, when adolescence really starts that you start to change. Physically, mentally, and spiritually, you were no longer the wise little girl your parents admired and your brother despised. No, you grew up making mistakes, a lot of mistakes, until you met him.

Him. The golden boy. The one destined to be great.

You remember his perfume, his smell, his laughter, his mimics, his way of speaking, his way of being and his way of simply being. He intimidated you so much; this guy was destined for something big. Whereas you, we never expected much from you besides being pretty, lovely, not disturbing, quiet, and reserved.

Quiet.

Reserved.

Pretty.

In those words, your brain falls into the dark side of your life. The darkened side of time. Painful and unhappy memories. The memories of him, the one who once was your best friend. He who once was your confidant. He who once saw fit to r*pe you.

To find you after the Grand Prix, in your apartment, in your house, in your home. To be a little too drunk, surely. To hold you firmly. To put his lips on yours. To hold your wrists. To put all his weight on your body. To force you into bed. To beg him to stop. To cry in silence. To feel it in you. To feel dirty. To feel unloved.

To feel alone, so lonely, too lonely.

To find yourself curled up in a ball in a corner. To wait until morning for him to leave. To want to end your life. To end your nights. To seek help. To be abandoned. To be alone. To be dirty. To be silent. To be reserved. To be pretty.

To be pretty.

To be.

Silent is all you ask for.

It’s been a long night. The hours have been staggering. The noises of monitors, nurses, doctors, and ambulances invade their ears. No one speaks, and no one dares speak. It is as if a white veil covers the weighing atmosphere and borrows all those present.

The wait is long, too long. They wait patiently for the outcome of this atrocious night, something that does not happen. Sebastian holds his head in his hands, tears have finished flowing, but his eyes are still red. He feels bad. He feels immense guilt. This mixture of shame, sadness, contempt and anger is eating him increasingly as the hours pass and pass before his eyes. He blames himself for not coming sooner. He blames himself for not holding you back. He blames himself for not seeing. He blames himself.

Full of life and ardour, this little girl was smothered under this icy water. Frozen in time. Only the repetitive sound of drops escaping from the pipe disrupted this freezing scene. She hides all her problems behind her smile. Never in his life has he thought of having this vision of you. This pure horror vision of an act yet so courageous. Because it takes courage to think about yourself before thinking about others. It takes courage to put yourself forward and not others. It takes courage to achieve what others have likely failed to achieve.

The roar of the machines stifled Charles. He closed his ears in the hope of silencing them. To see you with your tubes hanging around you, in you. On this hospital bed, this white bed, this room that feels the end. Eyes wet, Charles looks at your pale, serene face. The doctor’s words are dry and not encouraging. Your parents arrive a few hours later, a flight later. They cry. Your brother has tears in his eyes. Sebastian collapses in a corner. Hanna is there; a veil of sadness covers his eyes. Heidi cries in the arms of Daniel, who looks again in the eyes of Charles. Charles holds your hand, your hand. Your hands are cold, frozen by the consequences. Lando doesn’t dare to come in. He feels guilty because he refused to believe you, to reach out to you, see you, and see your distress. He preferred to become blind rather than awake. It haunts him.

Charles, sitting next to you, is watching people walk by. To say goodbye to you, goodbye, forever. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. You’re still breathing. Your heart is still beating. So why do you have to leave? Why did you choose to go?

“Why?” He mumbles one more time, his head against your ear. “Why are you not fighting?”

“Cha... we have to go.”

“No... I-I-I can’t. I can’t leave her.” His voice breaks in a sob.

“Charles,” Pierre says, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder. “Let her go.”

“No...” Charles pushes him away, gripping your hand tighter. “She’s going to survive. She’s going to live. She has to live. You have to live.” He prays, kissing your cold skin.

Pierre sight and get out of the room. His family, her family, his friends, and her friends are here waiting for him. The visiting hours are almost over. Everyone wants to go back to their house and sleep a bit. They haven’t slept all night. Charles hasn’t slept all night. Pascale enters the room quietly. Staring at his son.

“Charles. We need to let her rest. Will come back in the morning, d’accord mon bébé?” She says, taking him in her arm.

He acquires at her request despite himself. Unable to fight anymore, fatigue slowly eats him away, and he knows that he is of no help if he is exhausted. He leaves the room not without a last kiss, a last look, a last goodbye.

On the following day, Charles came. Staying for hours next to you. Stroking your hair, mumbling your name, praying for you to wake up. He can't take you out of his brain. He can't take you out of him. You're haunting him. We realize how important it is in our life when we lose someone we take for granted. Charles looks at you as a friend until he realizes he loves you. Is it too late? Were you supposed to be?

Sebastian came a few times, only a few minutes. He can't unseen what he saw. He plays and plays the night in his head over and over again. Wondering what he could have done differently.

The doctors are not really optimistic about your recovery. Your body is tired. Your mind is exhausted. They did all they could do. All we have to do is wait. Wait for you to come back. Wait for you to fight for your life. How could you fight if you're not even awake? It's painful.

Strangely enough, he came. The rapist. The abomination of your life. You came late at night when everyone left. He felt bad. "It's too late to feel bad," you think when you feel his hand and you. You wanted to cry, to scream, but nothing. He left shortly after. Looking at you one last time. Looking at what he did to you. You hear from Lando a few days later that he got arrested. Other girls spoke, and there were enough accusations to start a trial. Even more strange, it did nothing to you. Well, how could you feel? When he toked everything you got and smashed it in a million pieces?

Sometimes, you can feel the warmth of the afterlife tingling your skin. You feel it right near you, calling you. Calling you to answer the call. You want to feel this feeling of peace, this quietness. You don't know how to feel. You just want to float. You forgot how to be happy. How to be. Why fight if you may never find yourself again? What were you made for? You wonder to yourself.

Time flies. A couple of weeks passed. You made some improvements for the doctors to feel optimistic for you to wake up eventually. You're stabilized by all those machines. Your parent finally arrived a few days after you were admitted. You can feel your mother's tears on your cold hands and the soft kisses of your father on your forehead. You can smell the sunflower Heidi brought you every time she comes to see you. Sometimes you want to react. To show her you listen. But you can't. Or you don't want?

The feeling of loneliness passed. You can see now how much you're loved. How they love you. You love to hear Arthur talking about your favourite series. You love to hear Sebastian remembering childhood moments whenever he found the courage to come. You love to listen to your mom singing your favourite songs. You love to hear Daniel telling dad jokes, hoping you'll smile in your sleep. You love hearing Lando talking about his latest Quadrant adventures or Twitch lives. You love to listen to Charles saying how much he loves you. How much his life is plain without you. You can't imagine somebody else cared so much about you.

That makes you cry. You can't show them you can hear. You can't show them you love them too. You can't show them how grateful you are or will be. More time passed, and the more you could slowly feel you were losing yourself. All you need to do is happen your eyes, but for some reason, it seems an impossible task to do.

"This is impossible," Alices says in disbelief at the creature rising upon her.

"Only if you believe it is." The hatter whispers, scared of the outcome of all this adventure. But wasn't this all the point of this madness?

"Sometimes, I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

"That is an excellent practice." The hatters says. "However, just now, you might want to focus on the Jabberwocky."

"Six impossible things. Count them, Alice. One, there's a potion that can make you shrink. Two, and a cake that can make you grow. Three, animals can talk. Four, Alice, cats can disappear. Five, there's a place called Wonderland. Six, I can slay the Jabberwocky."

You feel yourself falling into the rabbit hole, and you have been in Wonderland all this time. That's it! You can do it. Six impossible things before breakfast.

"One, you will get a major in architecture."

"Two, you can drive an F1 car."

"Three, you can be happy again."

"Four, Y/n, there's a place for you in this universe."

"Six, I will fight for my life."

At this, though, he feels darkness rising upon you. Everything fades away slowly. You can hear the constant beep of the machines around you. You can feel Charles's hands against yours. You can smell the hospital room you're in. You can see the light shutters again you close your eyes.

Then... you breathe.

Feeling the grass on your feet. The autumn breeze cools down your spine. For the first time, you appreciate being alive. To fill your lungs with air, to hear the water crash against the rocks, to feel the sun warm up your skin, and to taste food again.

You feel a hand around your waist, and Charles brings you closer to him. He sticks you to his bare chest. He holds you firmly for fear that you will disappear again. It makes you smile to see him so loving, so gentle, and so attentive. You turn your gaze from the blue horizon to meet his emerald eyes. He smiles tenderly. His eyes sparkle with a thousand lights when you return his smile. You hold these eyes a few moments before you look wandering towards his lips.

If only it could be true.

If only you could be with him.

______________________________________________________________

Hi! Hope you enjoy this final version of the story. It took me sometimes to get back to writing but I'm getting there. I know some of you really like it and it's fill my heart with joy <3

Tag List : tyna-19 dessxoxsworld ynbutbetter alexander-hamilhoe honethatty12 janeholt3 mloyer karmabyfernando omgsuperstarg laura-naruto-fan1998

#Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #charles #charles leclerc sad #charles leclerc x you

47 notes · View notes

bitchinbarzal · 3 months

Note

ok but tomorrow you’re getting cece’s and mama’s reaction charles crashing while Celeste is there

alright, hit me with it, make me sad 😔

-linkedin anon

Cece’s sitting up the back of the garage on the stools, headphones on watching the screen.

She doesn’t realise what’s happening until she hears everyone gasp then she sees him flip on the screen.

That plus the commotion around her makes her shake and look at her maman

“Mama!”

She’s scooped up into her mommy’s arms “It’s ok”

She doesn’t know it’s ok but she’s praying.

The moments of silence that follow are soon interrupted once more when the garage gasps when Charles’ car sets on fire.

Mama gasps lowly, trying to contain her emotions to not scare her daughter.

Celeste is in her arms, hands clasped together mumbling what sounds like a prayer - something she’d been doing a lot with Pierre lately.

Mama can’t stand it any longer, turning to walk out of the garage.

When she’s in the fresh air she can’t contain the sob that escapes her, CeCe joining in because she doesn’t know how to control her emotions in this moment.

“Is papa ok?”

Mama sniffles “I don’t know babygirl… it’s going to be ok though I promise”

Someone calls her name and the two girls look up to the door they just exited, a member of the team looks quite stressed

“He’s out the car. He’s ok”

She lets out a cry of relief “Ok! Ok, CeCe come let’s go see papa”

When Charles is finally able to see his girls he feels the world of guilt on his shoulders, both their eyes are rimmed red and faces red and splotchy.

“I’m ok, I’m here”

“You can’t leave me Cha, I thought I’d lost you. It was the worst five minutes of my life”

#celestial au #cece leclerc #Charles and mama

14 notes · View notes

fatherfigurefusion · 5 months

Text

Based on Avery's @ask-drdt-secret-swap-au's, I've created a DRDT secret swap AU myself! Questions and thoughts on the AU are always appreciated!

(Note: Talents stay the same in this AU, but personalities may or may not be altered!)

(Warning for family deaths, suicide, transphobia, homophobia, self-harm, eating disorders, etc.)

Teruko Tawaki: Your twin brother killed himself because of you. You should have never left.

Xander Matthews: You were quite the hopeless child. Dying once wasn't enough, so you attempted suicide three times.

Eden Tobisa: Your body is falling apart, but you still refuse to eat.

Hu Jing: How could I even select which secret to be your motive? Just about everything you've done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is all your fault.

J Moreno (aka. Julia Rosales): Blackmail, rumors, lying, stealing, slander. You did everything you can to ruin your mother's life.

Veronika Grebenschikova: Your best friend died, but you don't remember her at all.

David Chiem: Ever since you kissed him, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships.

Arturo Giles: No one accepted you because of your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your work colleagues, and everyone else. (Note: In this AU, they're genderfluid.)

Levi Fontana: You only took on your talent to distract yourself from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun.

Ace Markey: You always treated the competition with ruthlessness, but poisoning them to win was a bit far, wasn't it?

Min Jeung: You're a murderer and you hold no remorse.

Whit Young: You took on your talent to earn money for your family, but you've since put them in a lifetime of debt.

Cece Elliot (aka. Charles Cuevas): You hid your name and birthright to pretend that you aren't the latest heir of the Cuevas family.

Arei Nageishi: Your mother is dead. You always omit that fact.

Nico Hakobyan: You exist to manipulate others. Everyone else exists to be taken advantage of.

Rose Lacroix: You're constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn't matter that it's not your fault, just that you didn't go with them.

43 notes · View notes

brightlight-dazzlingeyes · 1 year

Text

everything that rises | charles leclerc

🏎️ synopsis: cecilia and charles were once inseparable friends, sharing the same dream of working in formula 1, but a disagreement drove a wedge between them. years went by, and the two lost touch. now charles is a ferrari driver and cece is a stats analyst at red bull racing. warnings: childhood friends to enemies to lovers; angst; minors dni. (W.C. 4k)

| the playlist |

"Remain true to yourself, but move ever upward toward greater consciousness and greater love! At the summit you will find yourselves united with all those who, from every direction, have made the same ascent. For everything that rises must converge."

Part 1 — Where did all the years go?

I was a child once.

Those were the days of our picnics, when we scattered old blankets across the grass in my backyard and surrendered ourselves to the endless expanse of the sky. Hours would slip away, and time would become an afterthought as we lay there.

My mother would prepare us a feast. She would cook plates of succulent chicken, pasta dripping with rich, homemade tomato sauce, and potatoes crisped to perfection. But the real stars of our picnic were the sandwiches, meticulously crafted with layers of tender deli meats, crisp lettuce, and the tangy bite of mustard. To wash it all down, there was the cool, golden elixir of orange juice, poured into Disney character themed glasses that seemed bottomless in their generosity.

In that sun-drenched haven, every bite carried the weight of innocence and the taste of simpler times. Each bite transported us back to a place where the world was benevolent and the future an uncharted landscape filled with endless possibilities. Each and every bite had the taste of childhood and every gaze skyward a glimpse of eternity.

Yet, amidst the symphony of flavors and the warmth of the sun, what I remember most vividly is the sound of his laughter. It echoed through the air, a melodious tribute to our unbridled joy. It was a laughter that mingled with the rustling leaves, harmonized with the distant chirping of birds, and danced in the interplay of sunlight and shadows.

The memory of his laughter takes me to our old secret world, hidden away from the watchful eyes of adulthood. We would slip into our racing suits with the same eager anticipation we had reserved for our favorite childhood games. The rubbery scent of the helmets and the squeak of gloves being pulled on marked the transformation from ordinary mortals to speed-seeking daredevils.

The karts, vibrant and sleek, stood in readiness. Each curve was a ballet of precision and speed, a dance we had rehearsed countless times before. The thrill of victory, the fear of defeat, and the unspoken camaraderie bound us together, making us push the limits of our machines and our own abilities.

Growing up, Charles was always the color red, vibrant and full of life, while I was the color blue, calm and introspective.

Charles embodied the fiery spirit of red — bold and adventurous. He could light up a room with his presence, his laughter ringing out like a joyful melody. Red was the color of his enthusiasm and his unwavering determination to chase his dreams.

I, on the other hand, gravitated toward the soothing embrace of blue. I was the quiet observer, the one who found solace in introspection and the gentle cadence of the world around me. Blue was the color of my contemplation, my affinity for art, and my penchant for delving into the depths of my thoughts.

At home, seated in front of the television watching F1, he pointed at our idols and said:

"Someday, that will be us!"

We became teenagers after that.

We wouldn’t laugh as hard because, you know, it wasn’t cool. Mom would still make those same sandwiches and they tasted exactly the same.

Those were the years we started growing apart. But if you asked me then, I would have bet my life that we would remain close friends forever.

“Remember when…”

That's how all our conversations began. Remember the pillow forts? The ridiculous arguments that ended in tears and laughter? Remember the candy that only appeared on Christmas? My God, do you remember Christmas?

We stopped making new memories.

Shortly after that, we had a fight.

I remember the words, fragmented and disjointed. It began with a misstep, a clumsy remark, and the spark ignited. The exchange of words grew sharper, laced with the bitterness of misunderstanding.

I have long forgotten if it was something I said, a careless word or something I’ve done – maybe a thoughtless action. I don’t know what he saw that made him feel so much disgust for me.

Because he was supposed to stay in my life forever. Charles had been woven into the very fabric of my existence, an inseparable part of me. So I said to him, "I'm sorry."

And I continued to extend apologies. Each “I'm sorry” was a desperate attempt to mend what was broken, to bridge the chasm that had suddenly yawned between us.

But Charles, his anger still smoldering, met my apology with silence.

And then, the silence fell like an impenetrable veil. Charles stopped talking to me.

He no longer responded to my texts.

Time flowed on, relentless and unyielding, and before I knew it, our teenage years had slipped through my fingers like grains of sand.

College became my new reality, and I embarked on a journey that led me to graduate with a degree in data analytics. It was a world of numbers, algorithms, and logic, a far cry from the carefree days of picnics and karting.

The memories of those sandwiches, once a cherished taste of innocence, had blurred into oblivion. I couldn’t remember what they tasted like. The words we used to share, the stories and secrets that once bound us, had dissolved like whispers in the wind.

In the ever-advancing march of time, I became an adult, charting my own path in a world where the laughter of my dear friend had become a distant echo.

There’s a long list of songs that I’ll never listen to again, they remain etched in my memory, melodies that Charles introduced me to — the notes that accompanied our whispered confidences.

When he departed from my life, when I reluctantly let him slip away, he carried with him more than just his presence. He took with him a trove of treasured memories, moments of joy and connection that were now irrevocably severed.

It was as though I had surrendered a piece of my own soul, willingly letting go of the incredible gifts he had bestowed upon me.

The movies we used to watch together. Our secret codes. Our special places — all of these now lay dormant, waiting to be rekindled by the spark of his return.

I think about him every time I go to the beach.

Of all the people who had drifted out of my life, Charles was the most difficult to move on from. His absence cast a long shadow over my days, and the ache of missing him lingered like an unhealed wound.

Part 2 — We’ll never be those kids again.

The ache of losing Charles never truly subsided. In a cruel twist of fate, he remained a constant presence in my life, his voice echoing in the corners of my mind, a haunting reminder of what we once had. It was as though he had never truly left, and his absence had become an ever-present, silent specter.

The years passed and Charles and I reached the peak of our respective careers. Our paths continually converged, not by chance, but by the magnetic pull of shared ambition and relentless determination.

Everything that rises must converge.

As fate would have it, Charles realized his lifelong dream, ascending to the position of Ferrari's number one pilot, while I, working at Red Bull, helped orchestrate the collective genius that propelled our team to the summit of the sport.

Our paths, once so intertwined, had now diverged into two different realms of Formula 1 excellence.

Every day, I had to navigate the treacherous terrain of our shared world. Going to work became a minefield of emotions, a tightrope walk of avoidance. I watched my every step to shield myself from the painful sight of his face. The mere prospect of crossing paths with him was a torment I couldn't bear.

He was everywhere, woven into the fabric of my daily existence, an inescapable ghost haunting my every moment. Each reminder of his presence, every trace of his existence, felt like a dagger in my heart, a constant, gnawing pain that refused to relent.

I yearned for closure, for the opportunity to attempt the difficult task of moving on. But with him perpetually in my midst, I remained trapped in a state of perpetual longing and unresolved emotions. His lingering presence, both a blessing and a curse, had become a prison from which I couldn't break free.

The ghost of our friendship continued to haunt me, and the weight of his ever-presence threatened to suffocate me. It was a torment that knew no bounds, a relentless battle between the past and the present, and I found myself caught in its merciless grip, yearning for the solace of closure that remained agonizingly out of reach.

And then, the Monaco Grand Prix after-party incident unfolded.

Amid the glittering extravagance of the Monaco night and the boisterous revelry of a crowded party, where luxury cars lined the streets like jewels and the Mediterranean moonlight cast an enchanting glow, the dimly lit room swayed to the rhythm of mirth and the clinking of glasses and the scene was set.

As the hours slipped by, the influence of alcohol cast a hazy, intoxicating spell.

In this whirlwind of emotions and blurred boundaries, I found myself inexorably drawn to Charles, as I had countless times before. Perhaps it was the liquid courage coursing through my veins, or perhaps it was the persistent undercurrent of our unspoken connection that had grown increasingly difficult to ignore.

With a half-empty glass in hand, he approached me, a crooked smile playing on his lips. My eyes, sparkling with the same intoxication that infused the room, met his in a moment of shared recognition.

"You know," he began, his words slightly slurred, "you're really, really pretty."

Our laughter, like music in the night, rang out as I tilted my head in amusement. "Well, thank you," I replied, the warmth of a blush coloring my cheeks. We haven't spoken privately in years.

His gaze remained fixed on me, his words sincere amidst the alcohol-induced haze. "I wish... I wish I could meet you for the first time tonight," he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

The admission hung suspended in the atmosphere. In that fleeting moment, the past and the present converged, and the burden of unspoken grief simmered beneath the surface, a pain that could never be relieved.

We stood like two lost souls in the heart of a tempest, caught in a moment of naked vulnerability and raw despair. It was a confession that held the promise of unattainable redemption, a fervent wish that whispered of a future forever denied by the inescapable weight of our sorrow.

And in that fragile, alcohol-soaked moment, the boundaries between yesterday and today blurred, leaving us both to ponder what might have been if we were, indeed, allowed to commence anew — an agonizing reminder of the happiness we once shared, now seamlessly forever lost.

Our lips met in a moment of vulnerability, an impulsive act. The taste was bittersweet, a fusion of longing and confusion. But as our mouths sought solace, an overwhelming realization washed over us.

Regret, like a bitter aftertaste, flooded our senses. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

In that fleeting embrace, we had crossed a line that should have remained unbroken. Our eyes met, mirroring the profound disappointment that now hung heavily between us. It was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that threatened to shatter the fragile equilibrium we had struggled to maintain.

As we pulled away, the weight of our actions settled upon us like a heavy cloak, suffocating the intimacy we had once cherished. We stood in silence, our regrets echoing in the stillness of the room, a painful reminder of the irrevocable damage we had inflicted upon our precious bond.

It was a kiss that should never have happened, an ill-fated attempt to recapture something we had lost. And now, the bitter taste of regret lingered on our lips, a constant reminder of the irreversible mistake we had made.

Part 3 — You texted me at midnight.

In the aftermath of the ill-fated kiss, regret was a constant companion, a shadow that cast a pall over our interactions, a reminder of the irreversible mistake we had made. I retreated into the solitude of my own thoughts. I couldn't help but wonder if our connection was destined to remain in this purgatory of regret and unresolved emotions. The echoes of our teenage years had returned to haunt us, a reminder that some wounds, once reopened, could never fully heal.

We couldn't bear to acknowledge the vulnerability we had exposed in each other, and so, instead, we channeled our frustration into a bitter exchange of words and glances.

On the paddock, where our professional lives intersected, we found ourselves caught in a never-ending cycle of snarky comments and pointed remarks. Every interaction was laced with resentment, as if our anger had become a protective armor against the discomfort of our shared mistake.

We exchanged angry looks, each one a silent accusation, a reminder of the blame we had heaped upon each other. It was a dance of frustration and hurt, a toxic cycle that neither of us could break free from.

The tension between us was palpable. Our anger and blame had become a wall, a barrier that kept us at arm's length from each other, a defense mechanism against the pain of our own regret.

Pierre, our only remaining mutual friend, had mustered the courage to ask:

"So," he began tentatively, "what happened between you two?"

We sat in his living room. The walls displayed abstract art and a minimalist charcoal-gray sofa took center stage. A low, polished coffee table featured art books and a sculptural vase with white lilies, floor-to-ceiling windows framed a city panorama, with navy silk curtains adding drama.

I sighed, my eyes drifting to the floor as I searched for words that would capture the complexity of our situation. "Why don't you ask him?" I countered, my voice tinged with bitterness.

Pierre gave me a knowing look. "I did," he admitted, his frustration evident. "And he said the same thing."

Pierre hoped he could jolt me out of my impasse, force me to confront the truth that had remained buried beneath layers of anger and resentment.

"I thought you had gotten over it," he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "That little feud. We're adults now, how come you two are still fighting?"

I sighed, the bitterness of our ongoing conflict gnawing at me. "It's not that simple," I replied.

"But it's been years," he insisted.

I sighed, hesitating for a moment. "We kissed. In a moment of weakness. It was impulsive and... Wrong."

Pierre's shock was palpable, his features frozen in a mixture of surprise and concern. "You mean... You and..."

I nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "Yes.”

He didn't press the matter further, however, Pierre couldn't help but give knowing looks whenever, for some reason, our paths crossed. Those glances were a reminder that he carried a secret with him

A text from Charles arrived unexpectedly, its arrival marked by the soft glow of my phone's screen in the darkened room. The clock showed me it was past midnight. The message, simple yet laden with unspoken questions, sent a jolt of surprise through me.

"I got your number with Pierre," it read, "Do you still think about me?"

Charles's question hung in the stillness of the midnight hour. Charles, the vibrant red to my calming blue, had reappeared in my life with an impossible question.

With a sense of trepidation and nostalgia, I began to compose my reply, knowing that the past and the present were converging once more, like the colors red and blue blending on an artist's canvas, creating a new and uncertain shade of emotion.

The words flowed from my fingertips in response to Charles's late-night text, a confession that I had held in my heart for years. "I never stopped thinking about you," I typed, my words echoing the truth that had lingered in the corners of my mind.

The message hung in the digital space between us. In those few words, I had bared my soul, revealing the depth of my emotions and the unspoken longing that had persisted despite the passage of time.

As I hit send, I couldn't help but wonder how Charles would respond to my confession.

Charles's response came swiftly, his words laden with a mix of longing and unresolved emotions. "I never stopped thinking about you either," he admitted, his vulnerability shining through the text message. "I want to kiss you again. Is it weird that I'm still angry at you?"

The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy blanket. It was a confession that mirrored my own feelings.

As I considered my reply, I knew that our reconnection had opened a Pandora's box of emotions. The desire to kiss him again was tempered by the knowledge that the past could not be erased, and the anger we both felt was a testament to the wounds that had yet to fully heal.

"I'm still angry too," I replied, my fingers hesitating over the keys. "I hate you for every single one of our birthdays that we spent apart."

"I'm a bit drunk right now," Charles admitted, his honesty and vulnerability shining through, "I don't think I can handle this well. But please, let's talk tomorrow."

The admission of his inebriation added another layer of complexity to our conversation, a reminder that the emotions we were navigating were raw and unfiltered. Charles's request for a conversation the following day held the promise of a sober and more coherent exchange, a chance to delve into the depths of our feelings without the influence of alcohol.

So I agreed.

Part 4 — That’s it, it’s finally over.

The next day, Charles and I found ourselves at an al fresco restaurant in the heart of London. The table was meticulously set, bathed in the gentle, dappled sunlight that filtered through the lush canopy of trees overhead. Our tentative smiles were like fragile echoes of a bygone connection, softened by the clinking of cutlery and the distant murmur of conversations that framed our reunion.

I absently played with my napkin, my gaze drifting to the greenery surroundings that seemed to envelop us. Charles, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass, appeared equally preoccupied by the world beyond our secluded table.

Finally, Charles broke the ice, though his words carried an air of uncertainty. "It's a good weekend for Red Bull, right?" he ventured.

I played along, offering a light-hearted jest. "Maybe I can convince you to join us. The champions' side."

Charles's response came swift and unequivocal, like the snap of a whip. "I would rather lose at Ferrari than win anywhere else."

His words landed like a sharp blow to my chest. I found myself simply staring at him, the weight of his words settling upon me, forcing me to confront the truth I had long avoided.

And then, as if compelled by an unseen force, the words began to spill forth from my lips. "I could never be happy losing."

In that moment, our conversation had shifted, the undercurrent of our emotions resurfacing like a long-buried truth, leaving us both to grapple with the implications of our newfound understanding.

Charles's gaze remained averted, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance as if unwilling to meet mine. “We should talk about what happened.”

I nodded in agreement. "Yes, we should," I replied, my voice carrying a hint of hesitation.

The air around us grew heavy, tears welled in my eyes, their slow descent tracing a path down my cheeks.

"I hate that I have to see you all the time," I confessed, my voice trembling, "and I hate even more the fact that I'm not allowed to talk to you."

Charles finally turned to face me, his gaze locking onto mine with a vulnerability that mirrored my own. His hand reached across the table, tentatively finding mine, and a flush of warmth spread across my cheeks at his touch.

"You can talk to me," he reassured me, his voice a whisper in the intimate space between us. "I don't even remember why we stopped. I don't remember why we fought."

The tender caress of our entwined hands was a poignant reminder of the closeness we had once shared, the meal on the table long forgotten.

"I remember we yelled," I admitted, "and I never yelled like that at anyone before. I felt so awful for what I did to you. So I apologized, but you never responded."

Charles's eyes brimmed with remorse, his grip on my hand tightening. "I'm sorry," he murmured, the words carrying the weight of his own regret, "I'm so sorry. About the kiss too."

"You don't have to apologize for the kiss," I whispered, my voice barely above a hushed breath. My gaze was averted, fear of rejection gnawing at me, embarrassment coloring my cheeks.

"No?" Charles questioned, his hand tenderly tilting my face to meet his gaze.

"No," I confessed, my voice now filled with newfound confidence.

A playful smirk graced Charles's lips as he asked, "So is it okay if it happens again?" His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw the face of my friend — happy, just as I remember.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, a cascade of emotions swirling within me. I nodded, my heart pounding with agreement.

We both acknowledged the need for more privacy. Our stay in England was tied to work, so we made the decision to retreat to the muted solitude of my hotel room.

It was an adult decision, the hotel room was a cold and impersonal space, devoid of the warmth and familiarity of our cherished pillow forts. Its sterile decor and neutral palette seemed worlds away from the vibrant tapestry of our childhood adventures.

The environment in which we found ourselves was a stark contrast to the carefree days of our shared past, a visual and emotional testament to the changes that had occurred in our lives.

As Charles's hands traced delicate patterns on my body, it felt nothing like the innocent games of our youth, the boundaries between friendship and something more blurring with each passing moment. Our intentions were clear, and the space around us seemed to hold its breath, aware of the transformation that was unfolding between us.

"I've wanted this for so long," Charles confessed, his voice heavy with desire, after fervent kisses.

I tried to inject a hint of humor into the charged atmosphere, my nervousness evident. "You do know they say sex is the fastest way to ruin a friendship, right?" I quipped.

Charles responded with a lighthearted tone, but the truth in his words was unmistakable. "It's okay, we're not really friends anymore," he replied, his words carrying a weight that hung in the air.

In that moment, it dawned on me with a profound clarity. We truly weren't friends anymore, not in the way we had once been. We were two individuals who wanted each other, drawn together by desire and an unspoken longing.

As our lips met in more fervent kisses, years of unspoken longing and regrets melted away, replaced by the urgency of the present moment. The past had faded into insignificance, and the future remained uncertain, but in that moment, none of it mattered.

In the intimate confines of that hotel room, Charles and I succumbed to the pull of our desires, shedding the weight of unresolved history and embracing the present moment. The chemistry between us intensified, our bodies finding a rhythm that was as natural as it was passionate.

"I'm sorry," I thought I heard him say it in the midst of our shared passion. But in the quiet of that hotel room, we were both offering apologies with our bodies, each touch and caress a silent acknowledgment of the complex emotions that had brought us to this point.

Words had become superfluous, unnecessary in the language we were now speaking — a language of desire and understanding.

In the heat of the moment, we were both apologizing with our bodies, seeking solace and connection in the physical realm. It was an apology for the years of distance and misunderstanding, a silent reconciliation that transcended the spoken word.

As our bodies entwined, the burden of our past regrets melted away, evaporating into the hushed confines of the room. In its place, we found ourselves bathed in a profound sense of catharsis and renewal.

This was a moment of profound vulnerability, an unguarded authenticity that had eluded us for far too long. In the quiet aftermath of our intimacy, we lay together, wrapped in the warmth of our newfound understanding. The room bore witness to a testament to the power of connection to heal wounds and renew the bonds that had once defined us.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #oc fanfiction #angst with a happy ending #friends to enemies to lovers

46 notes · View notes